Born of Legend (10 page)

With his spine to the wall, he poured a drink and knocked it back. As he set up the next round, a short orange-fleshed Oksanan approached him.

He gave Jullien a speculative once-over. “You come in on a crew?”

“Maybe.”

“Tavali?”

Jullien hesitated. But he knew better than to claim citizenship. The Tavali would kill anyone who tried to pass themselves off as one of them. Their citizenship was something you earned, and you better be a full-standing member when you proclaimed it, or you wouldn't live for long. “No.”

His beady eyes narrowed on Jullien's neck.

Too late, he realized he'd left his scarf behind so his evidence of hard drug use was plain to see. But at least he'd remembered his sunglasses.

“You interested in some Bliss?”

Jullien pulled his collar up, over his scars. “Can't afford it.”

“We could work out a payment plan. First hit on me.”

Yeah, that was the last thing he needed. And that wasn't what he'd meant. Even if he'd had the money, he couldn't afford to have his senses dulled with that. Not with the number of beings out to end him. “It's all right. I'll pass.” He indicated his bottles with his glass. “This is all I need.”

“You sure? What about a companion? I can hook you up with whatever you're craving.” He snapped his fingers and an extremely attractive brunette walked over. “Delisa here has skills that are unrivaled.”

She cut a salacious smile at Jullien. “Hi, handsome. Need some company?” Sidling over to him, she slid her hand down to cup him in a firm, soothing grip.

Jullien couldn't breathe as the blood rushed from his brain, straight to his groin. He almost came instantly. But he'd had enough of bored females who watched the time while they pleasured him with disinterested hands.

Pulling her palm away, he sighed regretfully. “Sorry, love. I'm sure you're very good at what you do, and you are extremely beautiful, but I don't feel like treating another sentient creature as a commodity to be bought and sold. I've got enough sin on my soul. I'm not looking to add anymore tonight.”

“Pity.” She walked away to find someone else.

The alien tsked. “If you change your mind, I'm always here. Ask for Rrisk.”

Jullien saluted him with the bottle before he poured another drink.

“Have to say, I'm impressed. Not many males can turn Delisa away.”

Jullien scowled at the deeply accented voice that spoke way too near to his back. How had the bastard gotten that close to him without his knowing it? Had he been an assassin, Jullien would be dead.

Unnerved, he studied the tall, dark-haired human. There was something about him that seemed familiar. As if they'd met before, but he couldn't peg him. And while he wore Tavali gear and Canting, there was an air of regal refinement that clung to him denoting a fellow aristocrat. Had they met on the street, in regular clothes, Jullien would assume him another prince.

The male held his hand out toward him. “Name's Tray. You are…?”

“Dagger.” He shook the proffered hand.

“Join me for a drink?”

“Why?”

Tray laughed. “I have a private booth and you don't.”

“Well, in that case…” Jullien picked up his bottles and followed him.

As soon as they were seated, a waitress came immediately with a glass of Tondarian ale and assorted snacks.

Jullien arched a brow. “Take it, you're here a lot.”

“Yeah. I don't sleep much. You?”

Jullien knocked back a shot of his drink and sighed. “Sometimes I wrestle with my demons. Other times, we just snuggle.”

Snorting, he pushed the bowls toward Jullien. “You look like you could use some food.”

Jullien took a handful of nuts.

“So, given the demons comment, why did you pass on the drugs?”

Jullien watched the way Tray poured his drink. “I'll answer your question if you answer mine.”

“And that is?”

“Does anyone else here know that the high admiral of the Gorturnum Nation is a dethroned Trisani prince?”

 

C
HAPTER
4

All friendliness died instantly on Trajen Scalera's face. For a moment, Jullien feared he'd crossed the line and was about to have his brain melted by the man's superhuman psionic powers.

But after a long minute, Trajen leaned back and narrowed his dark eyes on him. “How the hell do you know that?”

“Which part?”

“Start from the top.”

“When we crossed to the booths, everyone skittered out of your way as if terrified of catching your attention, and no offense, you're no taller than I am, and not as muscular. And
you're
not the one who's fanged. Being more obviously Andarion, I'm the one who usually freaks the humans out.” He jerked his chin toward the waitstaff. “Only one who's approached you was the waitress, who knew
exactly
what you wanted, and it's the really good and expensive shit—not this watered-down swill I'm drinking. And she didn't ask for payment on delivery, which means you're more important than the owner of this less than refined establishment.”

Jullien spread his hands out to indicate the food between them. “The booth magically vacated for you the moment you appeared, and no one else went for it … and not just any table. The only one that has a clear view of every entrance and exit from where you're sitting, which you check as much as I do. There are two guards on each door, who keep eye-balling me and deferring to you for any cues on what to do. Your uniform, while understated is custom and made from the best materials to be found. As are your weapons and boots. And while I don't know your Canting, I do know the Gorturnum flag when I see it. Something you're not afraid to openly flaunt. There are plenty of creatures in this bar for you to waste time with much better looking and far more entertaining than I am, yet you honed in on the one stray Ushara just dragged in and planted here to grill tonight. Put it together, it makes you head badass of the Gorturnum Nation, wanting to see if you should allow me to stay or jettison my sorry ass out the nearest airlock.”

Trajen nodded with an irritated grimace. “Impressive. What makes you think I'm Trisani?”

“You don't have the typical eyes of one, which means you have mastered the absolute shit out of your powers and can camouflage all traces of your heritage—kudos on that, by the way. I don't even want to know what that cost you mentally and physically. But I'm guessing it's why the ancient Trisani word
Thaumarturgus,
or warlock, is stitched above your Canting. While you have buried the accent nicely, it slips every now and again on certain words and phrases. And like you, I'm a fallen prince. No matter how hard we try, we can't shake the mannerisms and decorum that were beaten in to us from the cradle. I swear to the gods, I think it's a genetic defect at times.”

“Minsid hell. You always this astute?”

“You grow up with everyone around you plotting to set you up for embarrassment, punishment, or death, you learn fast to pay attention to small details.”

“You must be hell at Squerin, then.”

“Not really. I only played for the snacks.”

Trajen laughed. “You didn't answer my question.”

“You didn't answer mine.”

He tilted his ale at Jullien. “As I said, you're a sharp one. And no. Only my VA knows who and what I am. It's something I suggest you keep to yourself.”

“No worries. Keeping secrets is what I do best.”

“And now it's your turn. I know you were a user and that you were tempted.”

“True.” Jullien reached for more nuts. “I had a moment when the Koriłon whispered in my ear.”

“And?”

“Luckily, I lost all hearing in that ear when my brother slapped me upside my head years ago. Didn't hear a thing.”

Trajen snorted. “That's not an answer.”

Jullien sighed. “Truth is, it took me too long to get away from it. I have no interest in going back down that dusty, dead-end road. I didn't like the gutter-hole where I ended up on it. Never really cared for waking up, covered in vomit anyway.”

Nodding, Trajen folded his arms across his chest. “Tell you what …
Dagger
. You stay clean and out of trouble, keep a good a record at work for the next year, and I'll sponsor you for citizenship candidacy.”

That offer stunned him. “Don't fuck with me and make false promises.”

“I'm not your grandmother, Andarion. I don't play those games with others. While I am not without my sins, insincerity isn't one of them. Like you said, we're fallen princes. I know what it's like to be without friend, family, or country. Hunted and alone. Hated and hurting. Checking every exit and entrance, knowing the next one through it could be an assassin who's gunning for me.… Sucks.”

Jullien twisted the glass in his hand, as he debated Trajen's offer.

Not like he had a plethora of them to choose from.

Or any, really.

Trajen snorted. “You know I hear your thoughts, right?”

“Do you?”

“Yeah. You're wondering why I would care or even want to help you when no one ever has. Honestly? I have no idea. I don't really care. I just understand. A long time ago, a Tavali helped me out of a bad situation, and I still have no idea why he bothered to pull me out of the slag-mire when I wasn't worth it. But had he not done it, I'd be dead now. Either by my own hand or someone else's. You have him to thank for this, and yourself. Because as I sit here, looking at you, I keep thinking about him and what he did for me when a sane man would have walked away and left me to rot.… And the fact that you helped my VA when you had no reason to, and every reason to stay out of it. For that single selfless act, you bought yourself a chance to make something out of your life again.”

Trajen manifested a Tavali Gorturnum cock badge from the thin air and pushed it toward Jullien. “The one thing about being Tavali, we are equal in our Nation. The only limits here are what you put on yourself. You rise and fall on your own merit and loyalty. No one else's. From this moment on, your slate is wiped clean. You have no past that matters. Anyone fucks with you, they answer to me. I'm not your grandmother. I don't work on hearsay or rumors. I will trust you until
you
give me a reason not to. Just don't abuse my trust, because I won't give you a second chance, and your life is what I will take when you break it. Understood?”

“Understood.”

“You accept my terms?”

Jullien nodded. “Thank you.”

Trajen inclined his head to him. “Don't thank me. Like I said, I'm paying forward a kindness that was once done for me. And you earned this by what you did for Vasili and Ushara. Keep making the right decisions and you'll go far in the Gorturnum Nation. Do wrong and I'll bury you.”

With those words spoken, Trajen got up and left him alone with the badge.

Jullien pulled it toward him and swallowed. The black patch had the ghostly image of a screaming skull. Legend said the Canting symbol was originally chosen by the Snitches who founded The Tavalian League to represent the sound their souls had made when they learned their daughter and her crew had been wrongfully seized and slaughtered by a corrupt government who'd wanted their cargo.

He knew that sound. His own soul had made it when he'd awakened to the shrieks of his mother. Drowsy and confused, he'd left his room, desperate to find out what was wrong.

“Matarra? What's happened?”

Screaming with hysteria, she'd turned on him with a vengeance. “My precious Nykyrian is dead! It should have been you who died, but you're too stupid to have gone to school with him. You couldn't even get in! God help this empire with
you
as emperor!”

Stunned, he'd stood there as a mere, innocent child, trying to process those words and the heartbreaking grief in his heart, while his mother had continued to rail against him.

His twin was dead?

Bitter agony had stolen his tongue as his soul screamed out for his brother. Nykyrian couldn't be dead. They were twins. They were supposed to live out their lives together. Forever. That was what twins did.

Wouldn't he know if something had happened to his brother? Weren't they supposed to be so close that he'd feel it in his bones if his brother died?

Then Tylie had turned her own wroth on him. She'd slapped him so hard, he could still feel the sting of her hand. “Where are your tears for your brother? Do you feel
nothing
for him? He was your twin!”

Still, he couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. It was as if all the breath had been violently sucked out his body.

Hissing, Tylie had wrenched him by the arm to drag him from the room.

“Matarra!” he'd cried, trying to reach his mother.

She'd turned her back on him as Tylie had shoved him into the hallway and slammed the door in his face, and locked it.

Then the tears had come. Fast and furious until he was sick from them. He'd wanted to go to school with Nykyrian. But as his mother had said, he was too stupid to get in. Even though he'd studied and taken the admissions test three times, he hadn't been good enough. He'd never been as good as Nykyrian, at anything. No matter how hard he'd tried. He'd always been lacking. Always second best.

“Don't you dare cry for that hybrid bastard!”

Jullien had shrank away as his grandmother and cousin Parisa had neared him. Knowing better than to let her see his weakness, he'd wiped his tears and drawn a ragged breath. “M-m-my brother's dead.”

“I know. Who do you think killed him?”

Eyes wide with cold-blooded terror, he'd looked from his grandmother to Parisa and back again.

“That's right,” his grandmother had said without any feeling whatsoever. “And if you don't behave and do just what I say, it'll be Parisa's son I see on my throne. Do you understand?”