The Melier: Prodigal Son Read online

  Gi’Ren’s meaty hands froze on the console, sight whipping his direction. “That will delay us.” He had a point. “We can visit the market on our return.”

  Val’Koy stretched, ignoring the sense of urgency he felt when he glanced at the digital clock on the console screen. Already he was cutting it close.

  “Solo it is, then.” He grinned when Gi’Ren grunted his disapproval. “Relax. The conference will still be there.”

  “No prostitutes,” Gi’Ren warned. “We do not have that much time to spare.”

  Despite his mating troubles and the touch of impending doom, Val’Koy found himself laughing quietly as he headed away from the bridge.

  As soon as he entered the bay, his two guards were dutifully at his back. A hindrance, once down on the surface, but he had a plan. The weight of a device in his robe’s pocket spoke to that.

  He strapped himself into a white, oblong transport pod, the guards taking the front two piloting seats, as he had no knowledge of how to pilot anything. That wasn’t his job.

  “Control tower, requesting permission to land.”

  Val’Koy’s mind drifted as the piloting guard went through procedure and the pod gently dislodged from the ship, carefully edging away.

  His nose wrinkled when they arrived.

  The Pinian market always smelled faintly of tar. A bitter, pungent odor that clung to whatever clothing a person wore.

  Lifting his sight, he took in the copper colored open levels that were stacked on stilts and rose high above the dusty orange earth. Visitors and native Pinians alike milled about.

  The last time he’d been here, Gi’Ren had come to the surface with him. They’d attended a gerb-gerb race—a species of wild swine—and much to his surprise, two human females had entered. He’d been mystified and, once again, begrudgingly curious about why others found Therran’s compelling.

  They clearly had something unique about them to ensnare a Khyma, of all beings. It still baffled him how the golden one caught the eye of an Incuabri—their race preferred science over everything, after all.

  Val’Koy understood better now, having sampled a Therran. Not that it ended very well, obviously—since he headed toward what could be his end.

  “Ten credits!” a female croaked as he walked by. Her wrinkled cyan skin was half obscured by the tent’s curtain. “Have your fortune revealed! It could be your lucky day.”

  Val’Koy’s mouth tugged up at one corner. This most certainly wasn’t his lucky day.

  The universe could be a cruel bitch.

  He carefully watched where his feet led him, knowing the exact meeting point. Losing his guards needed to happen now. They couldn’t catch sight of the Treps he planned to meet. Every little detail would be reported back to Gi’Ren and later, Gi’Moy.

  Anything involving the Treps would pitch them into another war—the last thing his planet needed. The fragile accords they’d strived for would be ruined.

  Lower hand inching into his robe pocket, he grasped the palm-sized stunner.

  A’Drast, forgive me.

  In one swift movement, he stopped, turned, and jabbed the stunner into Thirnuk’s ribs. The shock worked quickly, and Val’Koy was spared the disbelieving stare. He wasn’t so lucky when he turned on the other guard.

  “Prince—” Bayl choked, no doubt caught between indecision to lay a hand on his superior or abandon his post to flee the stunner. Betrayal shone there and Val’Koy felt his gut twist.

  “I am sorry.” He planted the stunner in Bayl’s side, and the guard dropped.

  I hope that is worth something.

  Those nearby stepped back but kept to their business. No one wanted to interfere in another’s affairs on Pin Lang. Val’Koy supposed that had something to do with Vu’Mal’Su’s location choice.

  He slipped around a corner, feet carrying him exactly where he needed to go.

  The dark part of the port came into view, a lone, burnt red craft idling. Trepnil sentries were posted on either side of the open bay at the tail of the ship. The one on the left spotted him first and gurgled to the one on the right.

  Val’Koy got closer, walking at a clipped pace.

  “You showed after all,” the dull-scaled newcomer noted, sauntering down the bay’s incline. “I lost a bet then.”

  Val’Koy’s top lip twitched, itching to curl.

  “Matters not,” he swiped air with his three-finger hand. “You will give me many more chances to earn my losses back soon enough.”

  Again, he was reminded of the uncertainty of his situation. Vu’Mal’Su refused to tell him what he agreed to. He’d racked his brains, trying to figure out a way to outsmart this situation, but each attempt to leave a breadcrumb trail to his family was moot. Too risky.

  He had dared to tell one person about the news he had a son out there—nothing else—and that was only because his imprisoned twin sister had no power to stop him or jeopardize Dania’s safety. Gi’Calla was shunned, sealed away, with no visitors.

  Val’Koy locked the disappointing memory of their last encounter to the vault in his mind. He didn’t want to think about her right now.

  He knew he was walking into a trap, but did it matter? For the first time in his life, something mattered more than himself. What choice did he truly have that didn’t end with Dania and the youngling slain?

  If they were lucky.

  The longer they stood there, the sooner the stun bite would wear off and his guards would alert Gi’Ren.

  “Are you going to yap my ear off like a female or can we leave?”

  The Trepnil sentries snickered, ceasing immediately when the one in charge shot them a look. He pulled a long, phlegmy inhale and spat a wad of mucus to the ground near Val’Koy’s feet.

  Lovely.

  “Restrain our guest,” the chatty Trep sneered.

  None too gently, Lefty clamped two pairs of magnetic cuffs to his upper and lower wrists and shoved him toward the ramp.

  “After you, Prince.”

  TEN

  VAL’KOY

  Val’Koy stirred awake, immediately grasping his pounding skull and rolling to his side. The stars above, it ached. It felt like the morning after he’d experimented with the infernal spirits Lucia’s family partook that felt akin to liquid fire pouring into his gut.

  And they drank it for pleasure! Morbid humans.

  He exhaled through dry, parted lips, his tongue feeling too big for the cage of his mouth.

  “Water!” he commanded, wincing as the sound of his own voice vibrated through his pulsing brain. “A’Drast’s mane,” he moaned, “bring me water.”

  Body tender, bones rigid, he wondered what the blue hell he’d gotten himself into last night, and more importantly, why was it taking so long for his orders to be obeyed?

  Removing a hand from his face, he opened his eyes as he readied himself to glare at the concubines no doubt sprawled through the room. Even the lids felt sore. How was that possible?

  “I said—”

  Val’Koy paused.

  Disbelieving and confused, he fought through the throbbing of his head to let his gaze roam his surroundings.

  A cell. He was laying on the chilled, dingy floor of a room he could only describe as a cell.

  Reality came crashing into him. Pin Lang, the Trepnils, the deal of which he knew no details.

  His expensive robes were gone, replaced by a brown, sleeveless tunic of crude fabric that hung on his frame, hem grazing just above the knees. Breath labored from the exertion of simply standing, he made his way to the milky glass wall, different from the others, all four hands sliding hesitantly over the surface.

  Nothing happened.

  He fisted his fingers, paws pounding belligerently against the wall.

  “Where am I?” he shouted, the rising ire he felt taking precedence over his beating skull. The throb only made him angrier as he gave the wall another pounding, his teeth bared.

  A groan pricked his ears. Keen eyes unable to see anythi
ng beyond the milky white haze he was locked behind, he demanded, “Who are you?”

  Another groan, this one deeper. A cry of disbelief, a sob, shouting, and the muted thumping of limbs throughout whatever prison he was in. More voices joined in the fray, some shouting for help, others demanding to be let out.

  His mood flipped repeatedly from uncertainty to fury in the span of minutes that he stood there, listening to the uproar beyond the shield he couldn’t see through.

  Where was he?

  “Greetings.”

  The place silenced at the chipper feminine voice.

  “Welcome to the Hae’deth Games, and congratulations on your acceptance into the fiftieth round on planet Tundrin; our oldest facility for a thrilling term of blood sport.”

  His head swam anew.

  “I will instruct you on your purpose here, the rules, and—”

  “Let me out!” a voice screeched.

  “No interruptions. Please hold all questions until the end of—”

  “Fuck you!” some unlucky captive said. “Get me ou—”

  A loud pop and sizzle accompanied by a garbled scream reached Val’Koy’s ears.

  “As I said, no interruptions. There will be punishment, otherwise.” The voice didn’t seem to change pitch. She sounded monotonously cheerful even after being insulted. It had to be fake. A program. Artificial intelligence of some kind, or a recording.

  Everyone was silent again, the scream enough to deter anyone else from interrupting. They were forced to listen.

  The longer she spoke, the harder it was for Val’Koy to remain calm, collected, and think how he was going to remove himself from whatever nonsense he’d gotten into.

  A groan from behind had Val’Koy whirling around. A figure he’d missed upon his quick scan twitched in the darkened corner. Its taloned foot jerked roughly, as if it were coming to the realization it was someplace unrecognizable.

  The being scrambled away from the wall and into the light.

  An instant dislike twisted inside Val’Koy, the ingrained prejudice rearing its head for the deformed, barbaric cousin of his people.

  Draekiin.

  The A.I. interrupted his thoughts. “I’ll be taking questions now.”

  ****

  JRUVIIN

  His eyes tracked the movements of the Melier that paced back and forth along the cell. The hatred he’d been taught to feel for the self-righteous race brought about an uneasy bitterness in the pit of his stomach.

  The way his cell mate looked at him—as if he were the scum of the planet—made Jruviin wonder if all he’d been told held truth.

  His hands braced against the wall as he lifted himself off the dirty floor that looked as if it’d never been swept. Granules of sand stuck to his feathers and he brushed them away. His talons scraped against his bared neck. The collar was gone leaving ruffled feathers in its wake.

  A heavy sigh of relief gushed from him, but it was quickly replaced with a weight in his chest. Last thing he remembered, he’d been tranqed in the back of the transport that toted him from home.

  His father had... sold him.

  Abandoned him to die, as he surely would in a Hae’deth facility. He’d been trained on weapons from a young age, but if the streamed games he’d been forced to watch throughout his life, in an attempt to appease Piktiin, granted insight into his current future...

  A death sentence.

  Jruviin couldn’t best the beasts and rabid fighters Hae’deth was known for.

  “What?” the Melier barked at him and Jruviin realized he’d been staring. He glanced away.

  “Godless trillik,” his cell mate growled the insult.

  A humorless snort passed through Jruviin’s nasal cavity, his feathered lip curling up to reveal teeth similar to the Melier. “There are no gods.”

  ****

  VAL’KOY

  It didn’t matter that Val’Koy wasn’t as devout as most of his people—as devout as a member of the ruling family should have been—the words grated against his scales.

  Not because he was offended by them. No, because they came from a Draekiin.

  “Better for you, hmm?” Val’Koy grunted, ceasing his pacing and leaning against the cell glass. “No divine consequences for the way you treat your women.”

  “Hypocrite.”

  His eyes narrowed, and his spine straightened. “I love females,” he proclaimed, his chest vibrating with an unleashed growl. “I respect females. You subjugate them, abuse them, disrespect and rape—”

  “I have never!” the Draekiin spat. “Are the tables not reversed? Do your females not abuse and rape your males?”

  Val’Koy’s scales tightened.

  “Our races are not so diff—”

  Val’Koy crossed the room in two quick strides, his arm shot out, grasping and clenching the Draekiin’s neck. He grated, “Never compare our people again.”

  The defiance in the Draekiin’s eyes slowly faded, replaced by an emptiness that felt chilling. It didn’t give Val’Koy a sense of victory. If anything, it made him feel petty and hot headed.

  “Ah, ah, ah,” a third voice tsked and he snatched his hand away to whirl toward the cell glass. No longer opaque, but transparent, Emperor Vu’Mal’Su’s form was easy to see on the other side. “No killing each other. I paid a small fortune to get you here.”

  Val’Koy made his way back, standing arm’s length away from the barrier. Though Vu’Mal’Su stood close to a foot shorter, Val’Koy gained no enjoyment looking down at his long-snouted enemy.

  “Why have you brought me here, Vu’Mal’Su?” His voice scratched against his throat and a muscle in his cheek jumped. “And why is there a Draekiin in this cell?”

  As if the Trep momentarily forgot the last part, he peered around Val’Koy, his crooked, green brow scales lifting above his left eye. They glistened with liquid, but the red tinged yellow around his slit pupil was dull.

  “Thought you could use the company,” the Trep said, brows lowering in a smirk while he tapped his black claw on the belt that held up his topless robe.

  Instant suspicion rankled up his spine.

  “And the rules of the game require a two-fighter team for entry,” Vu’Mal’Su continued.

  There it is.

  The Emperor wouldn’t go out of his way to ease the possible loneliness of Val’Koy, and the A.I. left that little regulation out of its rule speech just moments ago.

  Big fucking problem.

  “Find me a different teammate.”

  By the figurative twinkle in Vu’Mal’Su’s eye, he knew exactly what he was doing saddling him with a Draekiin.

  “Too late for that,” he gurgled and licked his snout with the long, purple, tapered tongue he possessed.

  Val’Koy pounded one fist against the glass as the Trep crowed with laughter and turned to walk away. Stopping short, as if remembering something, he turned back.

  “Another thing,” he chimed, tapping a toe talon on the ground, “keep each other alive. He dies, you die—rules of the game—but to make it interesting...” Dull eyes slid to the Draekiin farther back in the cell. “If he dies, they die.”

  The hairs on Val’Koy’s tail rose. He didn’t need clarification on who they were.

  “Bring me a fortune, prince,” he hissed, resuming his cackling, jaws snapping the air, and left.

  His stomach boiled on the next glance he sent to the Draekiin. It seemed as if he’d checked out since their exchange, eyes still vacant as he stared at nothing.

  It didn’t go unnoticed that most of the Drae’s feathers bore a strong color resemblance to his own skin tone.

  Mostly a shade of blue on his body with flecks of gold and green sprouting from his crown. They grew darker, finer around his eyes resembling a black band or mask. His body was leaner and for a split second Val’Koy worried the Drae wouldn’t survive.

  A single harsh sound blared, and the glass wall of their cell lowered into the floor.

  “Please, join the lin
e with your teammate,” the chipper A.I. announced. “Your participation in the arena begins today.”

  His tail flicked side to side.

  They cannot be serious.

  The restless males from each cell spilled out into the main divide. Val’Koy waited, watching the others form a double line, cellmates side-by-side.

  “You coming?” he shot at the Drae.

  His response was silence. Only the moving of his feet indicated he’d heard and remained coherent as he joined the back of the line beside Val’Koy.

  “Can you fight?”

  The Drae stared straight ahead.

  If he had flat teeth, he’d grind them. “Do you have a name?”

  The last thing he wanted to do was make conversation. He didn’t care if his cellmate could fight. He only cared what would happen if his possible lack of skill got Dania and his son killed.

  “Jruviin,” the feathered being muttered.

  He nodded once. “I am Val’Koy.”

  The line kept moving, fighters disappearing beyond the colossal black doors that loomed high above his own fair height. On the next opening, a monstrous howl vibrated through the hall, echoed by a garbled shriek. The chilling calls disturbed all who stood waiting.

  Val’Koy’s fists clenched, a sickening heat rolling his insides. He had no idea what he was up against. His tail curled tight.

  Whatever lurked out there sounded big. Surely the line wouldn’t continue to shrink if the previous fighters had finally slain whatever beast that howl came from.

  Yet the line moved again.

  The duo at the head refused to enter the arena. Two men, different species from what Val’Koy could tell, decked out in black bodysuits that held a fine sheen in the light—armor he guessed—grasped the scared fighters and dragged them through.

  Again, the doors slammed shut.

  Not good.

  Quicker than the last, the doors opened once more. The guards grasped him and Jruviin, pulling them over the threshold. Half a breath and they were thrust into the arena.

  His pulse flowed through his ears, nearly drowning out the deafening sound around him. Thrum, thrum, thrum, it went.

  Broken—no, shredded—bodies littered the brown sand of the arena. Severed limbs and heads, guts, meaty spines and bones strewn everywhere. The foul fluid mixture of the different species turning the muck black and raising the bile in his stomach until it burned at the back of his throat.