Page 4 of Possessed by the Dragon Alien (Zarux Dragon Brides #6)

"Chancellor," Rien said. Her avatar manifested in crisp, monochrome lines, the effect of an old transmission habit she refused to break.

“I did a routine follow-up check on new arrivals at Central. Over the past twelve cycles, all eighteen have been given work assignments. Five of them have been flagged.”

He arched a brow. “Flagged for what, precisely?”

She hesitated. “The usual. Disruption. Insubordination. But one is…unusual. I wanted to bring it to your attention.”

Madrian reached for the datapad and brought up the files. The first four were unremarkable: recycled genes, predictable behavioral markers, all destined for a mining assignment or the lower cells. But the fifth—

He paused.

The fifth profile, flagged in dark red, showed a prisoner’s designation number: 93-A.

The image loaded slowly, as if reluctant: an adult female of a species he’d not encountered before.

He would have remembered the look of this one.

She was…hard to turn his eyes away from.

Her smooth oval face was composed, almost serene, showing her temperament as she had stood for Axis intake processing and scans, including this image.

Shining gold spots were sprinkled over her forehead, disappearing into long, dusty green hair.

But her eyes, which were a deep, lush shade of green, had the disconcerting steadiness of someone who saw everything they looked at.

There was not much other than this image in this female’s profile.

Her species name and designation were about it.

“Why are the records for this female incomplete?” he asked, not looking up.

“They were purged before arrival. No purchase certificate, no sponsor on file. According to what I have, she was pulled from the Falmic-5 auction before bidding began. I only learned that from a disgruntled aide.”

“Central doesn’t meddle in auctions,” Madrian said. “Odd that they did this time.”

Rien’s monochrome lips pressed thin. “There must be something special about this prisoner.”

Indeed, there must be. Or she was an informant, saboteur, or some such internal agent.

“Did this aide have any more information?”

“No. Only that the directive came from Central.” Rien’s avatar blinked, a rare sign of discomfort. “He wouldn’t say anything more, other than he disapproved of the move. I thought you’d have insights on this one.”

He didn’t. Whoever had authorized this female’s transfer to Central had done so quietly.

Madrian pinched the bridge of his nose, considering the implications.

There were a thousand possible motives for bringing this female here and all of them were bad.

Everyone in Central had a price, even the Twelve.

Even him , if he was to be completely honest. No one had found Madrian’s price yet.

He didn’t even know what it was, but he sensed that one day he’d be offered it.

And when that happened, he had no idea what he’d do.

“Are we even sure these scant records are accurate?” he asked.

“They say she’s from Settlement 112-1 and that is a Terian penal colony, but I’ll try to verify,” Rien replied.

He stilled. Terian . The Axis had catalogued the species, but he’d never seen a sample.

Their home world was long conquered and swallowed up by the Axis’ resource machine.

He wasn’t even sure where it was. What system it was located in.

By now, it was likely a toxic, lifeless husk of a planet.

“Why is she here?” he murmured to himself, but Rien’s avatar shrugged.

“Someone wants her in Central,” she replied. “Someone with enough clout to overrule protocol. The file had a double cipher. I nearly missed it.”

Rien had always been more curious and tenacious than most. He respected her for it, but also kept her at a healthy distance from his affairs. Madrian let the moment stretch as he drew up from memory what he knew of the settlement this Terian had come from.

“Settlement 112-1 is one of four in that sector, and all are classified as no transfer,” he said. “It has been so for over six hundred mig -cycles. Nobody leaves.”

“And yet,” Rien said, her avatar folding angular arms, “here she is.”

He leaned back, stretching the cords along his wings, thinking. It was not the breach that unsettled him, but the precision. Someone had erased the auction, but left the number, the origin, the species. A message, or a test. Or both. “Who received her?”

“Gardens. She’s assigned to propagation maintenance in a greenhouse, but will likely be transferred to the main garden soon.”

“Why?” he wanted to know.

“She’s exceptionally competent at the work and has a perfect behavior record.”

Of course, she does. He digested this. Axis bureaucracy was absolutely bloated, but there were rules for every living thing that came under this dome, to keep spies and enemies out.

This was not the first time he’d seen someone slip the net, but it was the first time one of the Twelve had been instrumental in slipping someone through.

“Monitor her for anomalies,” he said. “Continue looking into this— quietly —and keep me updated.”

“As you wish, Chancellor.” Rien’s eyes flickered once more. “If I may—”

“You may not.” He closed the channel, then called up the image again. 93-A. Terian. The only other thing in her record, which was of no real use at all and barely a data point: Compassion threshold exceeds median. Likelihood of subversive behavior: indeterminate .

He keyed in a private note to Rien and encrypted it. Monitor 93-A for indirect manipulation. If contact is initiated by a member of the Twelve, alert me immediately.

Madrian pressed his palm to the glass once more.

The gardens had shifted subtly. The workers in white now spread out around a section that was being redesigned, uprooting plants and setting down new ones.

Somewhere among them, the Terian might be at work.

His gaze searched among the tiny figures.

He was too far away to make out features, but long, light green hair would give her away.

He imagined her hands in the soil, dirt beneath her nails, the vibrant world rising around her. Why pull this female from the Falmic-5 auction? Why obscure her records, and why, of all places, consign her to the one part of this empire that had the most scrutiny?

None of the workers had her unique shade of hair, but he found himself leaning closer to the glass, straining his eyes, hoping for just a glimpse… Such foolishness was an embarrassment. He shook his head to clear his thoughts.

He let the gardens blur. The forms of the workers lost in the slow haze of the artificial dusk.

The ache in his chest returned, sharper this time.

He could not say what 93-A was doing here, only that someone close to him believed this female mattered more than the rules that governed the empire they all served.

There was an answer somewhere in this, hidden like a larva beneath leaves, but he had far more pressing problems to deal with.

The Terian female’s fate was not one of them.