"Keep digging!" Adrev growled.
The wretch on the receiving end of his ire clutched his shovel, trembling in spite of the hot suns beating down on him. He was digging his own grave. No amount of pleading would save him.
"Dig!"
He pushed his shovel into the soil, not knowing what else to do.
Sitting in a chair on the veranda, Adrev turned to his guest. "As I was saying, there are far easier targets than the princess. Lower hanging fruit, as it were."
Thatos represented Kar Kantar, the most powerful warlord in the sector. He was skeptical of the proposal. "You're afraid of the Qowat Milat?"
Adrev proceeded carefully. The last thing he needed was for Thatos to suspect he might be covering for Zani. Undoubtedly, his visitor had spoken to others in the settlement and learned of his meeting with her the previous evening. "The people support the nuns. Why provoke another confrontation with them," he oiled, "when we can obtain an equally valuable prize with less effort?"
Thatos examined the ale with his good eye, thoughtfully swirling it around in his glass. He wore a patch over his damaged eye. It was said he lost it in a fight against a Jem'Hadar. Why he'd never received medical treatment for the injury was unknown. "A prince should fetch the same ransom as a princess," he conceded, finishing the blue liquid.
"Of course he will. And that doesn't rule out the princess." He refilled Thatos' empty glass. "She can't stay at the Sanctuary forever. Those nuns have no ships and we surround them. It's only a matter of time."
Thatos smiled. "And while we wait, we can collect ransom for the prince."
"Exactly." He leaned forward, drawing in Thatos' attention like a weaver pulling his knot tighter. "His family will pay. Then afterwards, when we have her, he will plead the loudest for her release."
Thatos threw back his head and laughed with delight. "Because that half-breed will know how we treat prisoners, ha ha! We can command a higher price for her. I like it!"
Adrev nodded. "That's my plan." He noticed that the underling who'd displeased him had dug a deep enough hole and continued to dig, hoping they wouldn't notice.
"May I?" asked Thatos.
"By all means."
Thatos aimed his disruptor and fired.
One of the suns blazed high, while the other hovered just on the horizon. Already, the heat was nearly unbearable. It didn't seem like it now, but in a few weeks the moons would eclipse them both and cover Vashti in darkness for a short season.
On days like this, the Qowat Milat trained before midday. It wasn't midday yet.
Elnor had trouble focusing. He parried the feigned strike – and failed to anticipate his opponent's true intention. His legs were swept out from under him. He landed on his back.
"Your enemy will not pity a yearning heart," Kerosa reminded him.
"I know!" he snapped back, angry that everyone seemed to know about his foolish feelings. "I'm already embarrassed!"
"Focus, and I won't need to remind you!"
Springing back to his feet, he landed in a fighting stance. Sweaty palms gripped the hilt of his sparring sword. He followed each breath in – and each breath out. His mind cleared. Releasing his frustration, he let his training take over his movements. He existed only in this moment.
The ground beneath his feet offered him strength, and he drew from it. That was fine for a recovery, but he knew he could not depend on the ground, either. Only the Elements controlled what the future held. He recognized that the time might come when there would be no ground to support him.
Kerosa attacked again. Elnor stepped aside and struck, landing the next point.
"That's better," she said, "but not good enough."
She was right, of course. He'd allowed himself to get distracted. If this had been a real fight he'd be dead.
After practice, he went back to his room to clean up and wrap his bruises.
He felt grateful that Julie wasn't there to see what happened, though she'd asked to watch. The heat had been intense, even earlier, and she'd decided at the last minute to help with the cleaning inside.
Humans were indeed soft, so different from Romulans. Yet Elnor discovered he liked that about Julene. He marveled at how that very aspect caused every fiber of his being to want to protect her. She was like the tiny, delicate flowers that bloomed on the cliffside. Despite his physical superiority, she held power over him. He never imagined it would be so. The thought both thrilled and terrified him.
Was this what love felt like?
He'd never visualized himself falling in love. They never talked about such matters at the Sanctuary. But the sisters always reminded him that he was not bound to their vows. Even now, Zani advised against his forming an attachment; Kerosa scolded him for a lack of focus – they didn't forbid him from falling in love.
He sank to the floor, resting on his knees. What was he going to do? If this wasn't defeat, he didn't know what was.
No, Julene must give her heart to a prince. Despite her believing otherwise, Elnor felt certain that prince would be Tristan.
Tristan folded his arms as he examined the single, large bed.
The trail had been long and rough, the suns beating down on them as they walked, driving them to the brink of exhaustion. Water proved scarce along the way, and they'd eaten the last of the food supply.
Paol and Herve stood on either side of their prince, staring in silence. They were dehydrated and in desperate need of rest. The sight of these so-called accommodations filled them with dread. The air smelled like sweat and it looked like the linens hadn't been changed in quite some time.
The innkeeper assured them there was enough room for the three of them. She hadn't lied – not exactly. The bed was large enough.
Tristan decided, however, that he was most definitely not sleeping with his companions.
When questioned, the innkeeper brushed him off. "I'm old and good help is so hard to find these days." She eyed the other two. "They won't let us keep human slaves on Vashti. I must do everything on my own." With a thump, she set a lukewarm pot of mystery slop on their small table. "Eat your soup. Jolan true." She hobbled off.
Herve exchanged glances with Paol. "Are all Romulan women like that?"
Tristan didn't feel like discussing that particular topic at the end of the day, not when faced with the prospect that there was nowhere else for them to go. It was here or the open road. "I'll take the first watch again. You two can have the bed."
They seemed uncertain at first, but fatigue got the best of them and they didn't argue. After scarfing down the meager broth, they collapsed onto the bed and were both snoring within minutes.
He leaned against the wall and prepared himself for another rough night. More than once, he started when he felt tiny legs crawling on his arm.
When his turn came to sleep, he chose lay his head on the table. Nothing would convince him to go near that bed – even if Herve wasn't sprawled across it.
Paol still looked worn after his nap. Dark shadows were etched beneath his cheekbones.
"Have courage," Tristan assured him, grasping his shoulder. "We can do this."
"We're finding somewhere along the road to sleep tonight," Tristan announced the following morning. "Maybe we can climb one of those large trees in the distance? He peered over the surrounding boulders to get a better look.
Paol and Herve were scratching. Apparently, the bed had been infested by biting bugs.
"I would've expected this from Erostay," Herve said, rubbing the back of his neck.
"That last place seemed more respectable than the shanty town," Paol agreed. "Are we so far removed from how normal people live?"
"I'm pretty sure our people on Nua Breizh don't live like this..." Tristan trailed off when he heard a twig crack nearby.
He turned to see a huge Romulan approaching them from down the road.
"Merde," Herve whispered.
At first, Tristan was going to tell them to keep calm. But as the traveler came closer, his intentions were clear. The disruptor in his hand left no further room for doubt.
They hastened their pace, only to spot another thug ahead. Then another. A fourth ruffian stepped out from behind the nearest boulder. All Romulans, all pointing weapons at them.
"We don't have any money," Tristan told them, in Romulan. His parents taught him not to cower in the face of death. He was a prince. Threats didn't intimidate him. Yet he did fear for his companions.
The leader grimaced, revealing a mouth half full of rotten teeth. "We want you, half-breed," he said, in English.
How could he have been such a fool? Ambushed on an abandoned road. Kidnapped for ransom! What could be more humiliating? Then he thought of Julene. Had they taken her, too?
He and Paol had trained in self-defense, and he expected Herve could brandish a wrench. But against disruptors? They didn't stand a chance.
Time to step up and be a leader. "I'll surrender myself if you spare my people," he said, holding up his hands.
The brute chuckled. "Of course I'll spare them. I need them to deliver the message to your idiot father."
Laughing along with their leader, the toadies shoved Paol and Herve forward. "Go! Human scum! There's a subspace relay station in the next settlement. Tell your royals that we have your prince."
So, Julene was still safe. And if he played the cards right, his men would live, too.
He watched Herve and Paol stagger down the road. His pulse raced as they dodged the rocks hurled after them. One of them hit Paol and he went face first into the dirt.
"How many does it take to deliver a message?" the leader asked his goons.
The other aimed his weapon at the fallen human. "Only one."
"No!" Tristan shouted, grabbing at the assailant's arm. He received a blow to the back in return for his act of bravery.
As he lay on the ground gasping for air, he caught a blurred glimpse of a cat-like form who joined the group. The ring of a blade drawing from its sheath echoed in his fading consciousness. He imagined he recognized the habit of the Qowat Milat.
"My friends," said a voice, "choose to live."
