Born of Legend (3 page)

As she stepped onto the flight deck, she tapped her earlink. “This is Vice Admiral Ushara Altaan. May I ask why we haven't been given clearance?”

“Um … Admiral, we were told that you took a fugitive on board your ship without proper clearance or warrants.”

Oh wait, this was a new, unexpected twist. Ushara glared at the man on the monitor in front of her. “Don't be ridiculous. My son—”

“Not your son, Admiral. The Andarion prince.”

Oh, okay. The comptroller was obviously high.

She laughed at the absurdity. “I didn't bring any prince on board. Are you out of your mind?”

The comptroller shot a photo up on her screen of a much cleaner and rotund version of the scrappy vagabond who'd just saved her son's life from the slavers. “Jullien eton Anatole. Andarion tiziran and former heir. Has an outstanding League bounty. Thrill-Kill termination warrant.” Then he showed footage of them in the bar. “Is this not the same male you carried on board your ship?”

Of course it was. 'Cause the gods had had it out for her since the day she was born.

But as she stared at the photo on her screen of a tall arrogant prince full of regal snobbery, all she could think about was the way the determined male had looked as he stood ready to defend her child with his last breath. His words to Vas—
are you safe, boy
—before he allowed himself to surrender to his injuries.

Don't be stupid, Shara. He's a prince of the family that destroyed your race. Hand him over and be done with it. Give him what he deserves. What all Anatoles deserve. A brutal death, in the worst way imaginable.

They should all be put to death, in screaming agony.
That was what they did to everyone else.

It was what she should do.

She glanced to the monitor that showed Vas biting nervously at his nails as he held a small stack of items in his lap.

To be rather than to seem
. That was the motto her husband had lived by. The words he'd wanted her to impart to their son.

Worse, she heard her own father's words in her head.

We do not repay mercy with murder. Kindness grows kindness, and you will reap the harvest of whatever seeds you sow.

Damn it.

Hitting mute, she turned her back to the screen so that she could speak to her crew. “Buckle up. Admiral at the helm.”

All around her, her crew exploded into acts of defiant protests, and with making quick religious gestures.

“Holy gods!”

“Sacred Mother preserve us!”

“Sacred Father save us!”

“Saints have mercy!”

“I didn't sign up for this shit!”

“Open the hatch! I want to surrender!”

“Mommy!”

Ushara rolled her eyes as they continued whining like small children. “Oh bite it, you big bunch of nancies. You're supposed to be hardened pirates. Act like it.”

Even her brother was whimpering.

Her cousin, Gavin, who was actually the one who'd stolen this ship on his most recent Tavali raid, took up the guns. “We are, but damn, Shara … just damn.”

The only one who was smiling was her child. Through the monitor, she saw Vasili in his seat, grinning ear to ear as Ushara assumed the controls, while the comptroller continued to demand she release the prince to their custody.

Popping open the channel, Ushara cleared her throat. “Sorry, I was intentionally ignoring you as we armed up and took launch positions. Now, let me explain what's going to happen. You will clear the way for us, or we're blasting out and taking a shit-ton of your people with us as we go.”

“I don't think you understand. We have canons aimed at you.”

“You mean, you did. They are now deactivated.” She continued to plow through their system as they tried to lock her out. Smiling, she shook her head. “Who programmed your security? An infant? My son was creating tougher protocols as a toddler.” She opened the door. “Back your patrols down. I don't want to kill anyone for doing their jobs, but I will if they try to stop us.”

Ushara launched to the sound of her crew screaming in dire protest.

Ignoring them, she focused on the fighters that descended on them with ion canons, locked and loaded. She bolstered the shields and flew straight up, knowing the fighters would have a hard time matching the escape velocity of her much more nimble ship. Still, they fired. She rolled and dipped, then rose again and cut a sharp left before she came out of the spiral.

Gavin and his gunners returned fire while her engineers kept the power flowing through their engines without interruption. By the time they hit open space and she was able to release the hyperdrive, half her crew had broken into sweats.

Or passed out.

Irritated, she smirked at them. “Really?”

Gavin drew a ragged breath. “Here's the problem, Star Skream. You say,
Look at me, I'm a professional. You can trust me. I won't screw up and slam you into anything or get you blown into atoms.
But … if one of
us
dared to fly like you just did, you'd bust our asses to slag for it.”

Folding her arms over her chest, she arched a brow at him. “Your point?”

“No point. Just letting you know I need stain remover for both my paints and the seat.”

Ushara hated the fact that she actually laughed at him. “I don't find you charming, Captain. Take your helm.”

“Gladly.” As he resumed his seat—by crawling to it in an overly exaggerated manner—there was a raucous cheer and applause that went through the crew that he'd relieved her.

“I hear all of you!” she called out.

“We know!”

Ushara shook her head. She'd be more offended if she didn't consider them her family. With an aggravated sigh, she went to check on Vasili who was still buckled in next to Zellen. “Any complaints you want to file?”

Vas shook his head. “Proud of you, Ma. Thank you for not surrendering.”

She brushed the white-blond hair back from his forehead and placed a kiss there. “No problem. Now stay here and let me see about our guest.”

“Go easy on him, okay?”

“Why?”

Vasili handed her the stack on his lap. “When he freed me, he gave me these and told me to use them to get home. He said that I was to call my parents and tell you that I was safe so you wouldn't worry. And that I wasn't to stop. No matter what.” Vas handed her the blaster. “He gave up his weapon to me, Ma … while surrounded by enemies. Who does that for someone they don't know?”

That level of thoughtfulness and sacrifice stunned her. It wasn't often anything caught her off guard. But
that
did. She wouldn't have credited an eton Anatole capable of such feelings for anyone other than themselves.

Unable to believe it, she took the items from his hand.

First she checked the blaster. It had a biolock that had been deactivated. Fully charged. Unlike the one they'd picked up that the prince had aimed at her. That one had been drained completely. No shots in it whatsoever. He'd left himself defenseless and given her son a fully charged blaster for
his
protection.

Ballsy, and for that, she could forgive the prince a lot of sin. Any male who would willingly sacrifice his own life to protect a child he didn't know …

It said a lot about him.

Curious, she turned the link on, expecting it to be locked, yet it wasn't. But then, there was no need as there were no numbers programmed into it. According to the log, no one had called the prince.

Ever.

Neither friend, nor family. The only outgoing transmissions had been for random information. Impersonal calls. Mostly hunting for work or transportation. Very cheap places to stay. The kind of dives that served the homeless and charity cases.

She paused as she noticed the link's background photo. Clicking to the album, she realized it was the only picture in it. And it was the last thing she would have expected. Rather than being of the prince or a female of his, it was of a much younger Tadara Cairistiona of Andaria and Emperor Aros of Triosa—the tiziran's parents when they were young. Teenagers, in fact. Embracing, the two of them were staring into each other's eyes. It was actually a very touching couples photo.

Strange that he'd carry this one picture, and no other photos at all. Music, either. There was nothing personal in the link. It was cold and sterile.

Turning the link off, she opened his wallet. Like the link, it was basically bare. Less than twenty credits. No cards or identification of any sort. Only a strange bump in the coin area. She opened it to find a royal Andarion signet ring. Her jaw dropped at the sight of something worth a fortune. “He gave this to you?”

Vasili nodded. “He said there would be enough inside it to see me home to my parents.”

The antique ring was more than enough. In fact, it could probably buy a small planet. The joke of it said the ring was worth the tiziran's weight in gold, and given what Jullien eton Anatole was reported to weigh … that was a
lot
of creds.

Stunned past rational thought, she closed it and carefully put them in her pocket. “Stay here, Vas. I'll be right back.”

“Okay.”

Not sure what she'd find, she headed for the infirmary where Marshal was cleaning up from having tended the prince. He glanced at her as she entered the room.

“How's your patient?”

“Now that Gavin's flying us, much better.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Not you, too.”

He grinned before he answered her question. “He took a bad knife wound. Poisoned blade. Luckily, it was an indy strike and not a League assassin. Had we not found him, he wouldn't have made it another half hour before the poison finished off shutting down his vitals.”

“Now?”

“Should pull through. I think I got it all cleaned out.” He left her.

Alone with the tiziran, Ushara headed to the bed where Jullien lay unconscious. For the first time, she allowed herself to see his features. He was much better looking than he'd been in the old royal photo they'd shown her on screen, and more so than she'd realized in the bar where they'd met.

Of course, then she'd been more focused on her son and those out to harm him. Jullien had been the last thing on her mind.

Now, however …

He was exquisite. Tall, but lean from too many missed meals, the former tiziran was incredibly ripped. Every part of his tawny flesh was cut and defined. Every single muscle in his entire body was sculpted and honed like an athlete in training. Yet that being said, he was riddled with vicious, intersecting scars … knives, blaster wounds, claws—even bite marks. It appeared as if every type of creature imaginable had done its best to end him.

Sympathy choked her hard as she realized that he'd been forced to fight hard for his life.

Often.

Before she could stop herself, she stepped closer and touched the deepest jagged scar that ran so close to his heart it was a miracle that it'd missed it. There was another that ran along his collarbone, and a series of faint, faded smaller ones across his right rib cage. They were unlike any she'd ever seen before and she couldn't imagine what had caused them.

How peculiar for a tiziran to be so marred when Andarions valued physical beauty above all else. Indeed, this much damage could cause an Andarion son to be disinherited, shunned, and ridiculed.

And he had definitely been disowned. There was no missing the marks that crisscrossed his shoulders in a distinctive pattern where his mother had slashed his lineage and marked him Outcast. A harsh punishment for his kind that forever severed him from his birthright and exiled him from any Andarion territory or outpost.

“Ouch,” she breathed as more sympathy for him choked her. No matter what he'd done, she couldn't imagine how any mother could be so cruel to her own child as to cast him out of his lineage and banish him from his home and family.

From everything he'd ever known.

Curious about this enigma before her, she dropped her hand to his and examined it. Like the rest of his body, his knuckles were scarred and bruised from fights. His claws torn and ragged, not the manicured hands of a spoiled aristocrat. Rather he had rough calluses and healing scuffs that said he'd been doing hard labor for some time now. Living hand-to-mouth like a savage animal.

On the inside of his left forearm, from wrist to elbow, was a tattoo of a sword piercing a bleeding heart, flanked with wings. The blood appeared to drip down his arm to his wrist. At the bottom of the heart was a rocker banner with a single Andarion word.
Indurari
.
I endure
or
I am strengthened
, depending on context. It was an ancient warrior's symbol that had once decorated the battleshields and war helms of the mighty War Hauk family. That word signified that through hardship and conflict, their warriors were honed for battle and made better and stronger. Forever strengthened by adversity. Ironic that he'd choose such a symbol given that the Hauks were the mortal enemies of the Anatoles, and had been since the beginning of Andarion civilized history. Even though the two families were related, the Hauk lineage hated Jullien's bloodline even more than hers did.

Not to mention tattoos were profaned by the darkheart Andarions unless they were done to pay tribute to or honor your own family.

For a darkheart tiziran to have one …

His royal family must have
loved
that.

Bemused, Ushara returned his hand to the mattress and checked the bandage to see how he'd been wounded. It'd been a low strike, near his hip and close to his groin. From the downward angle of it, she'd guess the assassin had been going for his femoral artery when the tiziran had countered his assault.

“If you want to move your hand over a bit more to the left and lower, I won't protest.”