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"Not my blood." Zimri scowled, squeezing my hand. "Zira's blood, just as it was your sister's blood that darkened the throne and gave you your power."
Our uncle was out of the throne and Zimri's throat in his hand before I knew what had happened. Terrified of my uncle, I jumped away with a yelp and fell onto the throne. "The male rules this planet. The royal womb is here to breed the next king. That's all she is good for."
Smirking at our uncle, Zimri didn't even seem scared. "Are you that insecure about everyone realizing it was your sister's blood that made you king, or have the elders brainwashed you to believe this hogwash?"
Placing my hand on the arm of the throne to pull myself up, the room filled with the brightest light. A moment later, I was airborne, landing with a sickening crack and horrific pain. Huddling terrified against the wall on the other side of the channel, I cried.
As my vision cleared, Zimri was kneeling next to me. Checking my head, his fingers came away black with my blood. When I went to move, I cringed over the pain in my arm, choking down a scream.
"You!" My uncle shouted, crossing the deathly channel. "You are nothing. If it wasn't for the fact that the next king must come from your womb, you would be thrown away like the rubbish you are. You are never to touch that throne again. It's not for you. Even the day you crown your brother—"
"Enough!" Zimri stood glaring at my uncle. "She knows her place already. You've made sure of it from the day she was born. She is my sister and a Princess. You will not talk to her like this anymore. If you cannot be kind, then you don't talk to her at all!"
"I am your king!"
"For now!" Zimri stepped forward until he was chest to chest with our uncle. Zimri's hair—braided like our kings but midnight blue in color as opposed to the king's black—flicked like the tail of a cat. It was one of Zimri's talents that his hair became an extra limb. "In only two years, I will be the king, and you shall only be regent. You've seen my natal scale, uncle. Treat my sister poorly again, and I will make sure you regret it when I sit on that throne."
Glaring at my brother a moment, our king's eyes swirled with rage as they came to me. "Get up and seek Nyla, then get to your lessons." Then, with a look to the Elder who watched in silence, our uncle stormed out.
Helping me stand, Zimri glared over my shoulder. Following his glare, I observed the Elder standing, watching us, his piercing gaze focused on me. Swallowing hard, I held my aching arm and looked up at my brother. "I'm sorry." My head spun.
Lifting me into his arms, Zimri carried me through the cold grey corridor to the stairs that led to the castle proper. "You are more than they will ever know, Zira. When I am king, we will change the way the royal womb is treated. Your daughter will know she is worth something."
Stepping into the empty public throne room from the hidden staircase, Zimri carried me to Medic Nyla's rooms.
A clicking sound brought me back to the present. Blinking the deluge of tears from my eyes, I noticed the device was shut down, and my hand sat heavily on the black box.
"Zira," Luther's voice was too gentle as he touched my shoulder. When I shied away from his affection, Luther retreated. Ashamed of the way I was treated and of how badly I still missed my brother, I wasn't game enough to observe his face.
Swiping the monitor from my eyes, I threw it on the desk before wiping at the endless tears. "Did you get what you needed?"
"More than," Vered answered in a tone of voice that spoke for everyone. "Zimri would have been a great king."
Nodding, I stood a little unsteadily. Commander Stark slid the office doors open and gestured to the Elite outside. They must have closed the doors sometime during my recollection. "I'll go to bed now. Good night."
"That was most interesting," Luther grumbled as I walked out. Returning to the display, he started capturing stills from my memory and filing them with plans. "Did you know they treated the Princess so poorly?"
"My companion is her Medic. Of course, it wasn't like that for all of them, but the last king was fanatical. I think Zira's power scared him."
"The Elder did not seem happy about it either." Luther's eyes came to me; a look I couldn't recognize crossed his face. For a moment, I thought it may have been fear, but I'd never known a Cyran to fear anything.
"It's problematic if there is always an elder watching the room," Ravid worried. "He will try to stop Zira from getting to the throne. That's if she can slip past the Barbarian to get to it." Ravid looked at the capture of the hidden entrance. "But, if she can slip through and is fast enough to cross the channel before the Elder stops her, it may work in our favor. There is no waiting. There will be an Elder there to witness the throne recognize her."
"The channel is also a problem," Luther decided. He replayed the King's explanation. "If only her blood can cross the channel, and Zira is the last of it, how can she appoint a caretaker?"
Stark stepped to the screen as Vered helped me to the door. "I found this the most interesting." Dragging a finger along the screen until a capture of the dead in the bottom of the channel appeared, he tapped it to play. It played a moment, then he stopped it. "There" –he pointed to a woman's face— "did you see that?"
Stopping, I watched as Luther took it back and played the snippet again, all of us focused on her face. Gasping, I was falling into nothingness before Stark stopped it again. "She blinked!”
ChapterTwenty-Four
My eyelids fluttered open as a body pressed against the back of mine. "Are you okay, Zira?"
I closed my eyes again. It was dark, probably very late, and Luther was just coming to bed. "Ask me again when the Barbarian is dead."
"Was it always like that, with your king?"
"No. When his companion was nearby, he treated me well. They didn't have any children, so she treated me as her own." Sighing, I pulled his arm around to hold me. "Let's not talk about it. It only upsets me and is in the past. Tell me about Dåligalandar?"
