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Somehow, it had felt better when we’d thought we were going to be sold as slaves. At least that (probably) wouldn’t involve vivisection.
That day, we ate in silence. The food was bland and uninteresting, some kind of packaged protein bars, but that day? It could have been a four-course feast, for all that we focused entirely on it, trying to forget the word “lab.”
The day after that, day eleven by my count, was when something changed.
Usually, breakfast arrived before we woke up, but that day, there was nothing. I couldn’t put my finger on why, but it felt like the ship was holding its breath. Was it quieter, the machinery humming beneath our feet? Was it the lack of giant blue guys?
When we’d been awake a few hours, Kenosi was the one who finally broached the subject we were all avoiding. He went and poked the last empty container the blue alien had brought food in yesterday. They always took the old one away when they brought new food. He looked at all of us, then looked up at the lights, which had been following a very day-like on-off schedule. They were bright and clear overhead.
Beau wrapped his arms around himself. “Maybe they’re busy? They wouldn’t forget us, would they?”
I was still trying to formulate a proper, sensitive answer for poor Beau, when we all jerked sideways, scattering like bowling pins. A second later, the guy in the glasses—Wesley’s—theory for why the furniture was attached to the floor was proven true, because gravity just... stopped being a thing, and all of us—but thank goodness, none of the giant metal furniture—drifted into the air.
There was another jarring of the ship, but it didn’t make much difference to us, because we were fucking floating. Like astronauts.
“Not exactly the way I wanted to lose weight,” Ree whispered raggedly next to me, clinging to my hand. “You think the ship is under attack?”
When the ship jarred again, so hard that the wall came careening into the two of us, I couldn’t help it. I screamed.
CHAPTER4
KAELUM
In many ways, it was good to be off Thorzan. Out here, away from our people, I was not different. My crew had true-born Thorzi, and it had hybrid warriors, and they worked in tandem under my command.
None questioned my right to lead, and the stars and planets beyond our own gave me perspective and eased my worries.
Though we were on patrol, I doubted we would come across any Zathki. Our enemies were cowards who slunk below the ground in tunnels, afraid of the star that gave us power, afraid of light, afraid of death.
If they were wise, they would see our ship and flee before we knew they were near. If they were not, then Jax would be happy to give chase, to take their heads and present them to the king in my name.
But he was wrong about their worth. No number of Zathki skulls would make me a fitter ruler of Thorzan.
For one thing, my father had spent much energy to keep me safe, to protect me. Being so coddled did not make for an impressive warrior by the standards of our people.
For another, I had only three marks.
Hybrids of our kind could bear the light of Lyr. It would reveal the marks of our power, same as it would for any Thorzi warrior.
But the thick, dark blue skin of a true-born Thorzi could absorb the light for days in meditation. I could barely stand it for an hour, and too much radiation would kill a hybrid as surely as it would kill a lightless Zathki worm.
I could try for one more mark, but it might kill me, and the dead could not rule. The limit to bravery was unnecessary risk.
But no king of Thorzan had ever shown less than four full markings. Even Jax had as many. Vorian, bastard that he was, had seven.
At the navigation console, Aldor was the only Thorzi on board with fewer marks than myself, despite his dusky blue skin. He had meditated in the light of Lyr and come away with a single mark—one that turned his skin a luminescent pink and had no other effect on his abilities, fighting or otherwise. After that, he had determined the whole process was a waste of his time.
That did not affect his ability to pilot our craft, so no one questioned his choice.
Nevertheless, a navigator was not a prince, and while my power was so limited, I would not ascend the throne.
I sat back in the captain’s chair in the center of command, my legs spread, slumped down in the seat with my head in my hand as I watched Jax and Lethen wrestle in the center of the room. So long as Aldor maintained course, there was not much else to do but watch Jax fight and flirt his way past Lethen’s defenses.
Jax had just pinned him to the floor when Aldor shot forward, his chest hitting his station. He grunted.
“Prince, a distress signal. From Crux’s ship.”
Jax sat on his heels, and Lethen pushed his way out from under him, stumbling to the center console before he’d caught his breath. He brought into focus the battle that raged outside our ship.
