Page 19

They entered Q space only moments after Zhina’s personal chef finished tattooing small crests over Tyelu and Jos’s pulses, beneath their left jaws, using the specially crafted Domorian empathic ink embedded with healing nanos to speed the process.

“The bare minimum,” Jos had told the woman.

The needle’s sting had been minimal as well. Afterward, Tyelu felt no differently than she had before. Perhaps the fabled bond the mark supposedly fostered took time to settle in.

They had no time to test it. The moment Kartikeya docked, Jos hustled her off the ship, his mind occupied by the coming deployment.

Tyelu stood now in Q’s spaceport, waiting while Jos spoke with his grandmother. The port itself was sleek and modern, designed for efficiency and speed. This one was specifically for civilian use. From the conversations around her, she inferred that there were others designated solely for military use and still others for cargo. Strategically, separating those functions made sense. Multiple ports, widely spaced, made it difficult for an enemy to wipe out all spacefaring capabilities in one or two blows.

Building all of them must’ve taken a good chunk out of Q’s budget for decades.

She shifted her stance and studied a nearby map of the city, whose name she didn’t know. Q was so secretive, so well-hidden by their technology and military might, that the only city outsiders knew by name was its capital, Vidarr. Tyelu would not make the mistake of assuming they’d landed in the capital, or that Q’s government and military centers were located there. Where Q-mercs were concerned, it never paid to assume.

At least everyone here seemed to speak Galactic Basic. That would make navigating this strangely advanced world so much easier.

Jos said goodbye to the taq and touched Tyelu’s elbow. “I have to report directly to Q Command. Will you be ok making your own way to my apartment?”

She arched a single eyebrow. “I’m not a pup, husband. Give me directions and I’ll be fine.”

“I know, princess.” He smoothed a hand over her hair, his fingers lingering on a stray strand. “I’m sorry I can’t go with you.”

“Jos,” she said firmly, taking his hand in hers. “Go. Do your duty and return to me with the skulls of our enemies in hand, or not at all.”

He barked out a laugh, his eyes dancing with heat and amusement. “I’ll check in as often as I can.”

He dipped his head and touched his lips to her right pulse. Her eyelids fluttered closed, and she found herself unaccountably mired in a ripe sorrow underlain with a thread of fear. He has to leave, she reminded herself. Has to go and protect us all. She’d known what he was when they met, and understood in a way others might not what duty drove him.

Then he tilted his head and gently kissed the tattoo inked over her left pulse, and a wave of emotion washed her own thoughts away, battering her so hard she would’ve staggered if not for Jos’s restraining hand. His emotions were vivid, swirling colors. The sharp purple bite of regret, the soft, muddy brown of sorrow, the militant scarlet of duty, and beneath them all, the tender eddy of love.

“Jos,” she whispered, shock robbing her voice of strength.

He pressed her mouth to his pulse, and her own emotions flooded outward, into the sea of his. He’s right, she thought dimly. This is overwhelming.

But now, she understood why he’d wanted to do this. He’d given her a window into his heart, a precious glimpse of his innermost self. A priceless treasure. Before, she’d intuited that he loved her, through actions and words and his participation in the Choosing. Now, his love wrapped around, as warm and steadfast as his embrace.

He broke away and touched his forehead to hers, his regret stinging her inside and out. “Try not to provoke the taq while I’m gone.”

She had time only to huff out a laugh before he walked away. The loss of his touch sent her reeling. She swayed under the blow, stayed upright only through ingrained discipline. Still, her hand went to her heart and she fought the urge to crawl into a corner and curl up for a good cry. Their emotions stretched between them, thinning with each step he took. When he disappeared from sight, she braced herself for that thread to snap, but it merely thinned and thinned until her emotions became her own and Jos’s emotions narrowed to a tiny tug against her heart.

A passing elderly couple gave her politely questioning looks.

“New bond?” the woman said.

Tyelu nodded. “How did you know?”

They pulled down the high collars of their tunics, displaying matching tattoos running down both sides of their throats.

Tyelu’s eyes widened. She croaked out, “It gets worse?”

The couple slid sly looks at each other, then the man said, “It always hits soldiers the hardest. It’s the emotional discipline. When those emotions cut loose—”

The woman laughed softly. “Darling, you’re embarrassing the poor girl.”

The subtle undercurrents running between the mated pair didn’t embarrass Tyelu. They worried her. If that initial touch had nearly dropped her to her knees, what had it done to Jos? He was literally riding into battle. How could he function effectively while grappling with this maelstrom pressing against his skin?

The woman touched a gentle hand to Tyelu’s forearm. “Don’t worry. The Q’Mhel will be fine.”

“You know him?”

“No.” The man tapped his temple. “Implants. We’re retired now, but at one time we were hell on the battlefield.”

“I want one,” Tyelu said fiercely, and the couple laughed.

“Here, darling,” the woman said. “Where are you going? We’ll ride along with you until you settle.”

Their conversation had helped her weather the twin shocks of that initial wave of emotion and Jos’s departure, and she was grateful for their kindness. A pulse of emotion hit her chest, milder now, though startling enough to draw an undisciplined gasp out of her. The hand she held to her heart was clenched into a fist around something small, thin, and hard. She opened her hand and gaped at the chip laying in her palm.

“Oh, he’s given you his pass,” the woman exclaimed. “How thoughtful. You’re new here, then?”

“Pruxn?,” Tyelu murmured, still staring at the chip. When had he given it to her? How had he done it without her knowing?

The sneaky, wonderful fiend.

Again, the couple exchanged knowing glances. “Did you steal him, or did he steal you?” the woman asked.

Tyelu managed a shaky smile. “Both.”

The couple chuckled, then the woman threaded her arm through Tyelu’s and guided her gently toward the exit. “I’m Inisru and this scalawag is my husband, Ezo.”

“Tyelu af Alna,” Tyelu replied. “My…husband is Jos.”

Inisru’s steps faltered a fraction. “I see.”

Tyelu stopped dead, her eyes narrowed. “What exactly do you see?”

“Who you are,” Ezo said.

“I’m—” Tyelu clamped down a retort before it left her mouth. No need to spread her own credentials around until it was necessary. She held up Jos’s chip-pass. “Exactly how does this work?”

Inisru plucked it from Tyelu’s fingers faster than a woman her age should’ve been able to and nodded toward the map Tyelu had noticed earlier. “Come along. We’ll get you situated. Ezo, be a dear and contact the taq’s secretary.”

“No!” Tyelu said, her eyes wide. “That’s really not necessary.”

“Of course, it is,” Inisru countered, not unkindly. “Now, about that pass.”

Tyelu suppressed a sigh and let herself be led along. Maybe she should’ve stayed on Abyw where no one cared that she’d married into what passed for royalty on this strange, secretive world.

A denial followed immediately. No, better to be here at Jos’s home base. Better to take her time learning about Q, while he was occupied elsewhere, than to stew in her worry back home.

Let him be safe , she prayed silently, and immersed herself in Inisru’s patient guidance.

As soon as Jos exited the lobby, he staggered to a wall and pressed a palm flat against it, holding himself upright. His heart pounded against his sternum, driven by the chaos of Tyelu’s emotions and the strength it had taken to walk away from her.

Even now, it took every ounce of his willpower not to turn around and run to her.

To help his focus, he opened his internal communications. Immediately, a call popped up from Seni, his dal’s medic.

When he connected, she said, without preamble, “What’s wrong? Your health stats are all over the place.”

Silently, he cursed the implants monitoring his every move. “I just got married, Seni. Give me a break.”

“Oh,” she replied. “That.”

“Yes, that,” he said, exasperated, and straightened away from the wall. At least her call had broken through the chaos, affording him a slender window to snag control.

“What’s your ETA? Magda’s throwing a fit.”

“As soon as I can get there. I’m at Vidarr Port C now.”

“The civilian side? Frek, Jos. Marriage brought you down a step, didn’t it?”

“Shut it, Seni,” he grumbled. “I’ll route a more exact ETA to the dal when I hit the connector.”

“Roger that.”

The connection snapped off. A pulse of emotion from Tyelu hit him and rebounded back. Had to get that under control, or she’d feel too much of the battles yet to come. The whole point of bringing her to Q was to keep her safe. Maybe they should’ve taken the marks before the Choosing, so they’d have time to adjust.

He resettled his duffel across his shoulders, tightened his grip on the case holding his armor. No, he hadn’t been ready to mark her then, hadn’t known enough about what was in his own heart. They’d moved so fast, two warriors running on instinct toward an embattled victory.

Unlike civilians, who mired themselves in endlessly indecisive courtships. A civilian could afford to take his time courting a woman. A soldier never knew when duty might drag him away. That’s one of the things he admired about the Pruxn?: they chose a mate and made done with it.

He’d made the right call on the timing of the mark, but damned if he didn’t wish they’d had more time to adjust to it.

He caught an underground tube to Vidarr Primus, the military-only spaceport, flashing his credentials via implant at every checkpoint. The brand-new tattoo on his throat drew a few raised eyebrows and more than one knowing grin. People who knew him offered congratulations as they hurried past. Even in times of war, it was good to have a reason to celebrate.

Of course, Q was always at war in some way, since they hired the bulk of their military out as mercenaries.

He tucked the wry thought away as the underground carried him under the capital city to the military port. Tyelu’s emotions had dimmed to a faint counter beat, pulsing irregularly against his own. The sensation fell somewhere between pleasant and uncomfortable. Domorians were used to it, being empathic creatures, but it often took humans a while to acclimate. How the ancient tradition had passed from their culture to his escaped him in that moment. Pondering it kept him from worrying about Tyelu. Had she figured out how to use his pass? Was she navigating Vidarr ok?

Magda connected. “Whatever you’re doing, stop it. It’s bleeding into us through your implant.”

He bit back an apology. “I swear, I’m siccing the first suitable Pruxn? I meet on you.”

Kodh would do. A vicious lubber the man might be, but he could fight like the fiercest d’ga. Jos’s not-quite-healed rib twinged an agreement, and he grimaced against the unexpected pain.

“Don’t even joke about that,” Magda said flatly.

“Who’s joking?” he murmured. “Run me through the dal’s readiness.”

She rattled off healing injuries, repairs being made to Apedemak and its crew. They’d taken serious damage in the last conflict with the Sweepers, one of several Jos had missed after Tyelu kidnapped him.

He regretted not being there for them, but couldn’t regret having her in his life. One day Magda would understand.

He distracted her with a question about their next assignment as he exited the tube and let their conversation push out any lingering worry over Tyelu.