Chapter 1 #3
“He looked older than this photo suggests during my observation of him,” Theora said, bringing it closer to her face, as if that would make him instantly age a few years. Finally she skimmed the bio-data included with the photo and felt herself internally slump. “Sovereign. He’s only twenty-five?”
Boada raised a brow. “Very much an adult, Your Grace.”
Theora huffed. Adult, yes, but six years younger than her? She’d expected a Warrior with a few more years of experience under his belt, but she supposed under the tight circumstances this was as good as she was going to get. “How are his ratings on recent field missions?”
“Beyond excellent,” Boada said, like a proud mother.
“Trust me, Your Grace, he’s the perfect candidate.
He hunts alone—successfully, which is just astonishing.
Best sense of smell I’ve ever witnessed in a Warrior, not to mention that his peers haven’t been able to kill him yet.
All that experience added up, he’s practically a veteran. ”
Theora swallowed. Haven’t been able to kill him. As if they’d been trying. As if he was that much of a threat. If the handler was trying to reassure her, she’d only managed to make Theora fear for her life more. “Are you sure he’ll obey me?”
Boada was shorter than Theora by a few inches, grayer than her by at least three decades, but she always managed to look just as fierce as any of her Warriors. “That’s not even a question. But are you ready for this?”
“Emotionally?” She raised her brows dubiously, nerves abandoning her Aranean stoicism for a moment. “Otherwise, yes.”
“Sit a moment, kiddo. We’ll wait for the nerves to pass.” Boada went to a shelf carved into the wall, full of romance novels and animal teeth, and selected a record, pulling it from its sleeve to look at it. “Let’s go over your command words.”
Theora sighed and sat in one of the ornate wooden chairs in front of the desk. Some casual crooning began to play from the gramophone.
“Cease means stop. Yield means kneel,” Theora recited.
“That’s a little oversimplified,” said Boada. “I can’t very well let you walk into a horde of Warriors if you’re not clear on what you’re saying.”
“Cease is the charmed word you use,” Theora said, a little impatiently. “If they’re acting out of line, they obey. If their Warrior magic makes them attack, the command forces them to obey.”
The handler nodded. “Good.”
The music’s sleek harmonies and soul-pulling progressions had been soothing her, but Theora felt nerves creeping in all over again. “If he doesn’t use his magic for the entire trip, will I still need the charm to control him?”
“Perhaps less often. But magic is present whether or not it’s actively being used.”
“So I’ve read.”
The women of Aranea were born with the same magic…
in theory. The ability to weave magical silk, which, to a degree, came naturally.
All Araneans had venom-filled fangs, which were not so much magic as part of their biology—for most, they were simply slightly sharper canines, unless extensive study and practice were put in to utilize the venom.
Then there were those few born with amplification magic—if boys were born with magic, and they rarely were, it was always this mutated version.
With it, they were stronger, faster, and their senses were magnified tenfold. Like beasts of prey.
Unfortunately, like beasts of prey, this type of Aranean magic also came with the unseemly side effect of animalistic prey drive—children testing positive for the trait were sent straight to the barracks to become Warriors, under the care of a handler who wielded commanding magic to control them.
Theora, on the other hand, had no magic to speak of.
It was a closely protected secret, held only by her advisors, tutors, and closest friends.
All through her tutoring years, she’d failed every single one of her weaving lessons.
Try as she might, silk would not obey her fingers, to the point that her tutors had resorted to importing balls of ordinary yarn and some knitting needles from a neighboring colony, so she could at least earn credit for her pattern and construction work.
“Poor thing,” her much kinder tutor would say when she thought Theora couldn’t overhear. “She’ll never be a great weaver, but at least she has something going for her, being second in line to the throne.”
“Poor thing, indeed,” her other tutor scoffed. “With the queen and little Leveya both the picture of health, she’ll never achieve that, either.”
Well…they’d been right about one thing. She was still a terrible weaver.
“If it makes you feel better,” said Boada, “he’s very diligent in fighting against his magic without my help. He won’t deliberately hurt you, the dear boy.”
“ ‘Dear boy,’ ” Theora scoffed. “How sentimental. Do you tuck your violent war machine into bed, as well?”
The handler pursed her lips and sat on the desk again, facing Theora. “You know, perhaps this is a bad idea.”
Theora gave the woman a wide-eyed glare. “Excuse me?”
“I just don’t think you have the right…temperament to handle a Warrior.”
“I need him, Boada,” Theora said, unable to keep a slightly desperate edge from her voice.
Need was an understatement.
No armor. No weapons. No pointed accessories of any kind. Those were the three main rules of the peace talks. Because, according to common sense, if you were there to make peace, why would you need to be prepared for a fight?
But bringing family along was allowed. In fact, family members were welcome to view the peace talks from the comfort of cushioned bleachers on either side of the room—to encourage good behavior from all parties and foster a spirit of unity.
Theora needed someone to bring along as a subtle bodyguard—someone who counted as “family” and who could also fight without need of weapons.
And if the only way to control said bodyguard was to make him her husband with a charmed piece of rope, well…
when she returned, no one in her colony would be the wiser.
Besides, it had been a few generations since a queen had had a strong connection to her Warriors, which seemed silly to Theora—they were, after all, the colony’s sole protectors.
Showing a united front, as a queen and her Warrior, could do nothing but solidify Theora’s image as a ruler not to be underestimated.
“The Vespulans are not noble creatures,” Theora amended. “I’m going to need all the protection I can get.”
The older woman sighed and folded her hands in her lap. “It’s just that sometimes you have a way of speaking to people that isn’t always, shall we say, the most respectful.”
“My people love me. Other colonies happily ally with us, trade with us. I don’t see how the way I speak makes a difference.”
“But Warriors thrive on respect,” said Boada. “Respect for traditions, for rituals, for their handler. And especially for their mate. They won’t marry anyone who doesn’t share that mutual respect.”
Theora sighed, shifting a bit to get more comfortable on the hard wooden chair. “Am I missing something here, Boada? He knows this isn’t a true relationship, doesn’t he? It’s just a temporary arrangement so I can bring him to the peace talks unchallenged.”
Boada frowned. “Leveya really did you a disservice by fearing her Warriors. You’ve been visiting the barracks twice a week for a year, and somehow you still don’t seem to understand much about them.”
“I understand they’re supposed to obey your commands.”
The handler rubbed her temples with a sigh.
“You do realize Warrior magic is one of the hardest types to control, let alone command? Why do you think I have to drill the command charms into them when they’re young and their minds are more malleable?
So that they’ll respect and obey my voice, even without the command words. ”
“Oh, wonderful,” Theora said, barely keeping a sarcastic bite from her voice. “And the Warrior I’m claiming has heard me speak a total of how many times? Zero? Reassuring.”
“He knows your voice—he’s heard your speeches.” She shrugged at Theora’s mild glare. “Need I remind you, Your Grace, that this was your idea?”
“Yes, well,” Theora fumbled, “your family has been doing this for generations. I’ve got nothing but a charmed rope to help me convince a Warrior and his unpredictable magic not to kill me.”
Boada smirked, but Theora looked far less amused. “Well, then you’re lucky I found you a sweet Warrior to balance it all out.”
“ ‘Sweet’?” Theora scoffed.
“Argos is gentle, by Warrior standards.” Boada paused.
“Even so, Warriors physically challenge each other all the time, so I had to command him to be gentle with you. Listen to what I’m telling you,” she said, snatching up a pencil and tapping the younger woman’s leg with it.
“Those are contrasting orders that break tradition. Already he’s going to feel shame at having to obey them.
Already he’s going to see these provisions made for you as weakness on your part. He’s going to see you as—”
“Prey,” Theora finished, her quick pulse throbbing in her temple. She gripped her knee, her manicured nails threatening to leave permanent marks in the skin around it.
“You are more than capable of handling him, Theora. But it has to be in a way that shows you respect him. Are you afraid?”
“No.”
“He’ll be able to sense it.”
“No,” Theora repeated, swallowing any bit of emotion that would prove her to be a liar. “I’m not afraid.”
“Good.” Boada pushed her gray streak behind her ear, leaning over and lowering her voice to a calm level. “Then it’s time for you to be the brave leader I know you are. You survived a brutal war, a huge loss. Claiming a Warrior will be nothing.”
Theora took a deep breath, relaxing her grip.
“Be stern. Commanding, but respectful. Show no fear. Make him respect you through your dominance and you’ll have nothing to worry about.”