Chapter 1
Chapter One
What is a love match? Kyzel Raptorclaw stared at the projection of the mate matching application that hovered in the air over the table in front of him. A monarch should know, should understand, but this was beyond his experience.
He shifted his backend to ease the ache from sitting too long on the coved wooden perch. Careene had known—on some level, at least. And it had resonated with her enough to pluck a death-bed promise from him.
“Your next mate, Kyzel, choose her for love, not duty or tradition. Swear it.”
He had so sworn. There had been no other choice. After more than thirty-seven sun migrations together as co-monarchs of the raptor clan, he could not let her soul pass into the Great Aerie in anything other than a state of peace.
It was now nearly one long sun migration of mourning and secrets since her passing.
“Are you sure you must do it this way, Kyzel?” The question came from the male at the opposite end of the long wooden council table.
He raised his gaze to meet Rol’s eyes, one gray one blue—a unique and unfortunate combination for a raptor.
His childhood friend, and full-time prime advisor, understood the reasons behind his subterfuge, but had reservations.
Heavens, he had reservations, yet he must follow through.
It was a sin to disregard a deathbed vow.
“Do you know a better way to both keep my promise and fulfill the law?” Because the law for surviving monarchs was clear: a sun migration to mourn, another sun migration to find a new mate and co-ruler.
If he did not fulfill the law, he would be replaced as the elected leader of the raptor clan.
In short, he would betray the confidence of his people.
Yet, fulfilling his promise to Careene could very well disturb the fabric of Bezchian society.
No, not could…would. Once the elders found out, they would protest.
It was not his intent to undermine the immortal mate-matchers of the Firewing clan, but they did not make matches for this elusive emotion called love.
Their matches were made based on logic and the strengthening of the families.
It was a sacred duty they performed for the four mortal clans, and they took it very seriously.
Rol shook his head, the silvery streaks through his dark headfeathers catching the light from the ceiling fixture as he did so. “I had hoped that during your time of mourning, a better air current would open to you than the services of an agency founded by an off worlder.”
So did I.
He scrubbed his hands over his face. “The Silverstar Agency has an excellent reputation for love matches. Their success rate rivals that of the elders.”
“The elders did well by you and Careene.”
True. Both of them had had the desired strengths of character to lead their clan, and, by law, no monarch could rule alone. So, they had entered into a mating union together, provided six heirs for the Raptorclaw clan, and led their people in harmony and prosperity.
Kyzel rested his forearms on the table and let his wings droop a fraction under the weight of the truth. “As fond as we were of each other, it was never a love match. And that is what she wanted for me.”
“But, does it have to be Earth?”
There were many other planets in the Galactic Alliance of Planets to choose from, but something about the obscure little planet appealed to him.
A chuckle rose up. “Honestly, Rol, you have already admitted several times that such a match might help solidify our relationship with Earth. It is largely due to your efforts that the Bezchi Intergalactic Trade Guild has finally reached out to them with a request to open negotiations.”
Rol fluffed the feathers of his mighty wings and made a harrumph sound. “Only because Captain Sovah’s Earthling mate would not stop beating her wings at me.”
He gave an amused huff at the turn of phrase. “Ava does not have wings.”
“And that’s is another issue,” Rol raised one finger and shook it in his direction. “Humans have no wings, or even talons.”
As illustration, Rol extended and retracted the claws embedded in the tips of his fingers.
“Her lack of wings, and the presence of finger and toe nails, does not seem to have affected Sovah’s feelings for her.” The older couple had been a mated pair for over fifteen sun migrations, ever since Sovah had discovered and freed the human female from an illegal slave ship.
Admit it—they have something you and Careene never had.
Something the elders had refused to acknowledge. He tapped one finger against the opposite forearm. Could Careene’s close friendship with the captain and his mate be why she had made her request?
“You know,” Rol said tracing a design across the tabletop with one finger, “it is not too late to have the elders match you with a younger mate who could provide more heirs.”
Anger swelled in his chest. He slapped his palms against the table and rose, unfurling his wings almost fully.
“Again, no.” How many times did he have to say it?
“At sixty sun migrations, the last thing I need is a new brood of fledglings to chase around. I have done my duty to Bezchi in that department, Rol. Have you?”
Red colored Rol’s face from pointed peak of his headfeathers down to his chin. His friend drew his wings close to his back and dipped his head in a show of submission. “I have served our clan and Bezchi by serving you and Careene, Kyzel.”
Shame washed away the anger, and Kyzel blew out a gust of air. It was not Rol’s fault he was unmated. “I did not mean to devalue your contribution, my friend. Forgive my words spoken in haste and frustration.”
The stress of this decision must be weighing heavier on his wings than he had realized.
He shoved his fingers through his headfeathers.
“I do understand the sentiment you are trying to convey, Rol. I truly do. I do not seek to disrespect the elders; they are vital for the continuation of our society. But I have done my duty to all, as did Careene. We have assured the future of our clan, and our world, with more than enough heirs. I have no desire to enter another arrangement with a younger, fertile female. Bezchi has what it needs from me. It is my turn to find a female of age with me to share what remains of my time this side of Aerie.”
The final choice was up to his mate, of course—whoever she was.
And rejection was always a possibility. A ripple of unease shivered through his wings as he returned his backend to the highly polished perch.
This would be a quest of faith, one in which he would put his trust in others he did not know. Others not from Bezchi.
“You spoke to your heirs, then?” Rol’s question broke through his thoughts.
“Yes. They are all in support of my choice.” Especially the youngest three, who were not yet mate matched.
“Then by all means, submit the application now before the rest of your advisors arrive. They will be here soon.”
He shifted his gaze to the projected document and tapped the fuzzy outline of the icon marked Submit at the bottom. The image blinked out of existence and another took its place.
Application and bio-sample accepted. The Silverstar Agency thanks you for your application. You will be contacted by an agent for an interview. Your agent’s name is Ms. Nixy Vogel.
“It is done.” A deep sigh slid out. “Do you still plan to make the journey to Earth with me once a match is found?”
Rol nodded. “With any luck, the Trade Guild will have progressed to the negotiations stage with the humans by then. It would give me an opportunity to sit in on a session or two.”
The soft sigh of the doors opening to admit his lesser advisors, Kopa and Vyat, ended their private conversation. Kyzel waved his hand through the projection of the Silverstar confirmation and it dissipated from view.
“Greetings, my monarch.” Kopa—Rol’s presumed successor when his friend eventually stepped down—bowed her head in his direction.
Vyat mimicked her action, dipping his featherless head.
“Greetings, Kopa, Vyat.” Kyzel inclined his head as each took a seat on the backless perches on either side of the table.
It had been the four of them since Careene’s passing.
An even number—which was risky if they split on a vote.
That had not happened yet, but could change today depending on how well he presented the situation at hand.
And if he could convince them he was not in the beginning stages of the mindlessness.
Thankfully, the cognitive-stealing condition did not normally affect one of only sixty sun migrations, and there was no history of it in his lineage.
“Thank you for your attention today.” He paused as they murmured the appropriate responses. “My sun migration of mourning is near an end, and I have much to tell you about our future. I request you hold your comments and questions until I have laid out my plan.”
Kopa and Vyat exchanged a brief glance, then refocused their curious gazes on him. He presented them with what detail they needed from his death bed promise to Careene.
“Rest assured, my advisors, I do not make this decision lightly. After extensive research, I have determined two facts. First, though smaller and wingless, we all know that the humans of Earth are compatible with Bezchians. Second, the Silverstar Agency has a nearly perfect love-match success rate. What remains is will you support me in this endeavor?”
Silence weighed heavy in the room, which was better than he had hoped. At least neither of them had jumped off their perches to shout him down as some sort of winged abomination. Or worse, a traitor.
“My monarch.” Vyat tilted his head to one side. His crown was topped with smooth, leathery red skin instead of headfeathers. “I am not unsympathetic, but do have my reservations about this plan.”
Kyzel flicked his gaze to Rol and back. “You are not alone in this, Vyat. Even I have reservations. However, after nearly a full sun migration, no better plan has presented itself. Unless you have one.”
“If only I did.” Vyat sighed. “Still, it is my advice that you refrain from this action and have the elders find you a new mate.”
“I disagree.” Kopa’s caramel headfeathers framed her heart-shaped face and round golden eyes. Her kind were one of the few raptors with night vision. “Our monarch has served us well. I say that he has more than earned the right to such potential happiness, as unconventional as it may seem.”
A chuffing sound of disagreement rattled in Vyat’s throat. “The tradition of mate matching has also served us well, for many thousands of sun migrations.”
“True.” Kopa nodded. “Yet, would you agree that without the support of his advisors, Monarch Kyzel will be unable to fulfill Monarch Careene’s final wish?”
“I do agree.”
“And that failure to not at least attempt to do so will be a sin upon his soul, which could deny him entrance into the Great Aerie?”
Vyat shifted in his seat and lowered his gaze to where his folded hands rested on the table. “Yes.”
The poor bird was as conflicted as the rest of them.
Rol’s huff drew Kyzel’s attention back to the opposite end of the table. “As we are all aware, the Silverstar Agency has a nearly perfect success rate.”
Kyzel gave his head a single slow nod. Where was Rol going with this flight of thought?
“Then, there is a small chance this match will fail. If it does, will you agree to turn to the elders and accept a Bezchian mate?”
That was more than fair. “Yes, I will agree to this.”
“Then you have my support, my monarch.”
Satisfaction flashed in Kopa’s eyes as she turned to Kyzel. “You have my approval as well, my monarch.”
“Which leaves me.” Vyat chuckled and made a shrugging gesture with his hands.
“Despite our current even numbers, we do not seem to be in danger of a split vote. You have my support, my monarch, although I still have reservations. But the future is unwritten, and I look forward to meeting your new mate.”
Kyzel dipped his head in gracious acknowledgment. “I am humbled by your support, my advisors. Rol, will you oversee announcing our plan to our clan?”
The sooner word got out, the sooner he could address his peoples’ questions and concerns. It would be reassuring to have most, if not all, on his air current before Silverstar located his mate.
I hope you are right about this, Careene.