"Jeng, what do you think Falchan might do if we were attacked by those pirates?" Lok's question was casual, but Jeng had studied his cousin for a very long time. Tried to emulate him, more often than not. He knew Lok's question had the weight of the universe behind it.
"We don't stand a chance," Jeng sighed, lifting a cup of rice wine to his lips.
Lok examined the comp-vid. Yes, he knew how to use one—the technology had invaded Falchan in the past handful of years. The program listed all the benefits one might come to expect from the Reth Alliance if one signed on as RAA or ASD—Regular Alliance Army or Alliance Security Detail. The pay was sufficient. Training acceptable. Accommodations depended on which branch hired you. ASD sounded more fitting to his talents. Of course, he wasn't about to tell some recruiting agent what he thought. That might gain him swift passage to the worst position in the Regular Army.
"Please sit," the tall, dark-haired man offered Lok a seat when his name was called. "Lok, is it?" The man consulted the portable comp-vid in his hand.
"Yes."
"I see that you've won the Solstice Trials eleven times."
"Yes." Lok displayed no emotion with his one-word answer. No indication of the eighty years of training he'd put into those brief trials, just to come away with a gold medallion, the Lion Warlord's image stamped on its surface.
"And you've come away from your military service with top honors."
"Yes."
"Are you serious about coming to work for the Reth Alliance?"
"Yes."
"What are you hoping to gain from signing on with us?" That question made Lok's dark eyes widen just a fraction.
"You want the truth?"
"Yes. Of course."
"I hope to gain knowledge that may protect Falchan someday. From pirates or other invaders. I hear they've stepped up their attacks on non-Alliance worlds. Falchan may be vulnerable. I wish that to be otherwise."
"Do you know who I am?" The dark-haired man asked Lok.
"No idea. A recruiter. That's all I know."
"I am Lendill Schaff, Vice-Director of the ASD. Welcome to the Reth Alliance, conscript Lok."
"He did not call her that."
"He did. Our son has made a choice." Garek knew the arguments would come—Keetha argued about everything. Belittled Radolf for desiring to be a cook. Even his position as Head Cook to the King of Karathia didn't mollify Keetha's thwarted ambitions where her son was concerned. Radolf had expressed his interest in Reah—to the King and to his father. Knowing what his mother's feelings were likely to be, he hadn't approached her.
Garek, wanting to soften the blow when it came, brought it to her attention instead. Wylend had accepted the news—he'd guessed at it already and had no problem sharing his mate with Radolf. And Reah—she bloomed like a shy flower around Radolf. If they talked of cooking, they were both in rapture. Keetha wanted to squash her son's feelings.
"Neither of them will get children. She has a High Demon's marks on her neck. That means that only he will father her children. This is the worst possible news. Tell Wylend I will not stand for this. It's bad enough that he brings something like that to Karathia and parades her around on his arm. He already has an heir. Who will give us heirs, Garek? Any ideas on that?" Keetha's hands were firmly positioned on her hips as she glared at her Karathian warlock mate. Garek was a trusted lover to their King. Keetha didn't mind that—it elevated the entire family's importance on Karathia. Now, her son was not only a cook—he wanted that filthy High Demon as a mate!
"Keetha, I never imagined that you might be racist," Garek said softly.
"Radolf never wanted filth for his mate before," Keetha nearly shouted.
"You say that about the King's intended?"
"I'll say it about any of them marrying into the Karathian race!"
"Erland is mated to the Vampire Queen."
"She's a Queen," Keetha snapped. "Even if she is a nasty blood drinker, she's a Queen, and a powerful one at that. And she's Wylend's granddaughter. This—this High Demon—has nothing. What will she offer Radolf, Garek? Tell me."
"I never thought you a social climber before, Keetha. This is opening my eyes a little."
"I will not sit still while our son sends the family into oblivion by not reproducing."
Garek wanted to point out that having only one child had been Keetha's choice, not his. He held his tongue. "Erland's son was born by surrogate," he pointed out instead.
"If you suggest such an unnatural act to me again, we will part ways, Garek," Keetha hissed. "You see that Wylend chose the heir born naturally instead of that one."
Garek drew in a breath. Keetha was dancing around treason. "This conversation is getting us nowhere, Keetha," Garek sighed. He'd wanted to smooth the way for Radolf. He'd stirred up the insect's nest instead. He would go to Radolf and ask him to hold off speaking to his mother about Reah for a while. Perhaps a few full turns might do the trick. Garek folded away from his mate as she lifted a finger to make another point.
"Sex tomorrow," Wyatt grinned at me. I wish I didn't embarrass so easily over things of that nature. But I do. I felt my cheeks grow hot. Wyatt laughed. Nine days I'd spent at Wylend's palace, receiving deferential treatment from Wylend, Corolan, Garek and Radolf.
Radolf and I prepared the duck recipe I'd dreamed up in my head. It had turned out very well. With only a minor adjustment here or there, it would be worthy to serve in the finest restaurant. I'd come to enjoy my time with Radolf like treasured jewels. We laughed, talked and cooked inside his kitchen. Wylend, whenever court didn't take him away, would appear there, tasting whatever it was we were cooking. He accused us of putting extra pounds on his frame, ate whatever we offered and disappeared. In the nine days I'd been there, I think half the palace found their way to the kitchen on some errand or other. They never went away empty-handed.
Wylend made arrangements to bring me to his bed the moment Wyatt released me. "Here, try these strawberry tarts," Radolf handed a saucer to Wyatt, along with a fork. "Your cheeks are still pink," Radolf grinned at me.
"I'll get you," I threatened.
"I'm so scared," he waggled his fingers at me.
"How many Falchani recruits did you get?" Norian set his comp-vid on the breakfast table and peered across it at Lendill.
"Six," Lendill replied, selecting a roll from a heaping plate and pulling the butter dish over. Norian and Lendill were currently working from offices in Ildevar Wyyld's palace, for different reasons. Norian didn't want to come near Gardevik Rath or his son. Lendill was there because Reah wasn’t on Le-Ath Veronis.