Broken Vision Read online

  In this dark, icy place, she could touch three walls by stretching out her hand. She'd tried to locate the fourth and couldn't. She decided she didn't want to know what lay in that impenetrable void.

  There was no way to judge the passing of time. Her thoughts pulled her into warm, loving fantasies where she and Alerik put aside their differences and created a family together, only to jerk her away and batter her against painfully sharp spears of skepticism, doubt and mistrust.

  When a beam of light illuminated the darkness, she was convinced at first she dreamed or hallucinated. Stiff from cold, she managed to lift her head. It was no dream. Something large moved to partially block the beam of light. A rough exclamation carried a note of disgust. Dim lumens sprang to existence and slowly, slowly the room began to warm.

  "I apologize." The figure knelt before her and spread a soft, warm heaviness over her shoulders. Life-giving heat blanketed her aching limbs. "This is unacceptable treatment. I will register a protest with our council." The universal language flowed in beautiful, soft cadence from him. There was no trace of the heavy accent she had heard from her other abductors.

  The man tilted his head and she had her first full look at him as the hood of his robe slithered off his bald head.

  An odd sensation gripped her. Something was off. Her memory, sluggish from the cold, wouldn't respond to the nudge.

  He had one of the most beautiful faces she had ever seen. Sharm Foster's handsomeness seemed ordinary by comparison. High cheekbones, chiseled lips, everything in perfect proportion. But it was his eyes--liquid, midnight, extraordinary eyes--that compelled, drew her, made her forget where she was and why she was there.

  She swayed forward. He gave a gentle smile.

  Then suddenly her mind was her own again. Dazed, she tried to assimilate what had just happened, but couldn't focus. His gaze roamed her face, then her body. Everywhere it touched, it warmed. Her uncontrollable shudders stopped. Cold-induced aches vanished. Her terror evaporated. This man would keep her safe.

  He smiled again and held out his hand. Without hesitation, she put hers into it. A tiny jolt of intense pain seared through the veins in her body, but was gone before she really registered it. He glanced down at the hand he held and a curious stillness came over him. She thought she heard a hiss.

  The sapphire brand across her three fingers glowed jewel-bright in the low light. The man seemed fascinated by it. He rotated her hand to the side, turned it over and rubbed his thumb over the mark. When he raised his head, she had to bite back an exclamation. His eyes were fathomless, dark, blank, empty, yet strangely beautiful and compelling.

  "Alerik Mariltar's bonded mate," he said, his voice low and warm. "How surprising. Your name?"

  Without thought she spoke. "Maegan Shale."

  "Morgon's niece."

  He made the statement as if he already knew and was just reinforcing the knowledge. Her relationship to Alerik had been more of a surprise.

  Alarms were sounding in her head. Why was she answering his questions? At some deep level, her instinct screamed at her to be cautious, but the answers came readily anyway. She didn't seem to have a choice.

  "Do you know my husband and my uncle?" She stumbled over husband, but he gave no sign he noticed.

  "I'm acquainted with both. I am Nargune, Clan of the Merula. Come." Still grasping her hand, he pulled her to her feet. "This is no place for the wife of a Mariltar heir."

  He led her into the wide corridor of the star vessel. It was deserted, nor did they encounter another being as they walked for some distance in the dim light. There were no visible portals in the walls. She had no clue as to the vessel's location.

  Without warning, Nargune stopped and turned to face a blank wall. A portion of it slid soundlessly aside. He ushered her onto a narrow lift tube. Lift tubes were designed to move fast, but she was still unprepared for the rapid descent.

  Her stomach heaved. A hand closed around her arm as the door opened again and instantly her nausea disappeared. They stepped into a circular room filled with warmth and light. Eight Taragon priests were engaged in various tasks around the room. The dome that covered the space was not transparent but an opaque, luminous orange. Not a single priest glanced in their direction as Nargune guided her almost half way around the room and through yet another door that opened with their approach.

  The lack of attention paid her was surreal. It was as if she didn't exist, as if it didn't matter in the least that she had been removed from the dark, icy cell in which two of them had placed her. The room into which Nargune led her was far different, certainly an anomaly on a working class star vessel.

  "Do let me know," he murmured, his voice smooth and rich with warmth, "if there is anything you need." He released her arm and gave a brief bow of his head. "I must leave you to attend to other duties, but I will return as soon as I am able. My apologies again for your earlier treatment."

  Left alone in the room, Maegan marveled at walls covered with opulent, deep crimson fabric, an enormous sleeping platform suspended in mid-air and a sleek comm console that looked complex and more sophisticated than any Mariltar technology.

  A holovid suddenly appeared over the console and began to display images of food. Fascinated, she moved closer. Tempting aromas wafted through the room. A light pulsed on the console. She touched it. A panel in the console slid aside. A platter bearing the food frozen for an instant in the holovid image appeared. The food was hot, the aroma stronger.

  A craving greater than any she had experienced in a long, long time came out of nowhere. She reached for the plate.

  A stray thought prodded her. She was a prisoner. She should be concerned, cautious. Terrified.

  The Taragon priests had once been feared throughout the Crestar System. With the end of the Great Conflict, they had been driven to their knees, their power stripped from them. Chased back to their temples, they had become nothing more than consultants to the Taragon elders. She frowned and rubbed at her forehead.

  In the next instant, the tastebuds in her mouth erupted with the pleasure of a savory, delicate spice flavor. She hadn't been conscious of taking a bite of food. She ate and ate until she couldn't put another bite in her mouth.

  The enormous sleeping platform beckoned, and suddenly it was imperative that she rest. Yet again, an elusive thought, stronger than before, compelled her. She reached out to touch the comm pad.

  The door opened and a tall, handsome creature with beautiful, unfathomable eyes stepped into the room.

  Maegan smiled. "You're back. I was getting lonely."

  * * * *

  "Why won't they respond?"

  At dock on Pallas Four, the Taragon vessel showed no sign of activity. In the skies far above it, the starfighters of the Mariltar Seventh Fleet ostensibly performed practice maneuvers, an unsubtle message that the departure route was blocked. The counselor of Pallas Four waited on the dock for an audience that had not yet been granted.

  Alerik paced the length of the port's control center, which had been commandeered by his team. Morgon Trion stood, arms folded, a pillar of calm in the center of the activity. Alerik detoured around him a third time. Maegan, they were certain, was on that vessel, at the mercy of a sect that had been responsible for terrible atrocities in the Great Conflict. He couldn't bear to think about it.

  His impatience spiked. His control broke.

  He swung around. "How could you let her get involved in all this?"

  Morgon Trion didn't even glance at him. "She's a grown woman. She believes in a cause."

  "A treasonous one."

  "So say the disciples of the Coalition Council."

  "And hundreds of powerful, knowledgeable people, including my father and your brother, are wrong, while you--one man--are so right?"

  This time Morgon flicked a glance at him. "I'm less alone than you think I am. Why did you favor the governorship of Grogon, Alerik Mariltar, over the Council seat?"

  "That has nothing to do with this,"
Alerik snarled through gritted teeth.

  "No? Why did you, an heir of the Mariltar Nation, choose a life partner with a rebel reputation, who is known for daring to question the Vision?"

  "The Match Key chose her." In his peripheral vision, Alerik saw Sharm move toward him. A wicked brew boiled inside of him. Fear for Maegan. Rage toward this man whom he blamed as a trigger for so much.

  And doubt. The doubt tore at him, threatening to shred all the values and traditions around which his entire life had revolved. Worst of all, he couldn't believe he had just betrayed his love for Maegan.

  "The Match Key has never failed to link true-bonded lifemates. That alone should tell you something." Morgon stared out the plexiwall again. "Your selection of assignments should be another clue. Surely, the Council seat would have been a more logical choice for an heir of the Mariltar nation? When will you be true to yourself, Alerik Mariltar?"

  "Alerik." Sharm's calm, quiet voice penetrated the fog of killing rage.

  He sucked in an enormous gulp of air and forced himself to unclench his fists. "I know myself. My path is clear. My loyalties are unshakeable. The Vision brought us out of chaos. Without it, there is no coalition of nine nations."

  A faint smile appeared on Morgon's lips. "Convincing yourself? You have your father's stubbornness. The Vision has served a purpose. It was created by young warriors and old politicians weary of war. I suggest we're in another phase of societal evolution. I suggest it's time for change."

  "Because the Taragon priests are building child armies?"

  "Why is that so hard to believe? You have, or you had, evidence."

  "What evidence?" Alerik flung a hand out. "Six Taragon children kidnapped from their homes, their families? Because a crazy man thinks they're destined for an army?"

  "Yet I have seen the army," Morgon said quietly. "Witnessed the warrior training. Seen what and how they're taught. These children were sacrificed by their own parents. This isn't just an army. The priests are rebuilding their power base. They're practicing the ancient, outlawed rituals. They're building an army of Taragon priests."

  "Blood of Cor!"

  Alerik glared at Sharm. "You believe this nonsense?"

  Sharm raised his brows and shook his head. "I don't know what to believe, but I do know this. If it's true, we're in a zatfull of trouble."

  "If it's true," Alerik snapped, "why haven't the Taragon elders done something, said something? They can't possibly be so blind to the disappearances and they have the most to lose."

  "It's very simple. Because they all have children who are hostages in the army. Their silence was assured from the beginning. And a few, of course, are hostage themselves to the lure of great power. It's a human enough failing."

  "Unbelievable," Alerik muttered. He strode forward to stare through the plexiwall at the Taragon vessel. Maegan had to be there. Even Morgon was convinced of that. All signs of the priests had vanished at the same time she had. He was desperate to get her back. If even a fraction of what Morgon said was true, she was in mortal danger.

  And deep in his heart, he did not believe Morgon was crazy. Gods help them all!

  A chill tore down his spine. "Has Maegan seen this army of child priests?" If she had, and her captors knew it, he was certain he would never see her alive again. And with that thought came the shattering realization that he was actually beginning to accept Morgon's truth.

  "No, she hasn't," Maegan's uncle said. "She hasn't been to The Divide."

  "Are you certain they'll release her if we agree to return the children?"

  The skin at his nape prickled at the silence behind him and he swung around, enraged once more. "Blazing starpits, you don't intend to return them, do you? You're handing her a death sentence!"

  Morgon shook his head. "Think, Governor. Think of Maegan. Do you really believe she would endorse such an exchange?"

  "The children aren't facing a death sentence." But he didn't have to see the denial in Morgon's expression, because he knew in Maegan's view, they were. The future that had been decided for them as warriors in an unlawful army assured it. He also knew with a sense of cold, hard despair that she would sacrifice herself to protect them and the cause in which she so deeply believed.

  "What are we doing then?" he asked. "They won't just hand her back. There has to be some way to extract her safely. That vessel is going nowhere."

  "We wait," Morgon said, his stance unchanged, his very calmness a tinder for Alerik's impatience and growing dread. "They'll make contact eventually and tell us what they want. And then we'll strategize."

  But when a curiously shaken Counselor Gloriana entered the port's control center with the demand of the Taragon priests, not one person had anticipated it. The priests, it seemed, weren't interested in exchanging Alerik Mariltar's wife for six children.

  They demanded a council with Alerik Mariltar himself. On their vessel. He was to go unaccompanied.

  "Sacred hearts of Crillac." Sharm Foster's face was pale with shock. "This isn't a simple meeting request in exchange for a hostage. We cannot trust them. They get their hands on a Mariltar heir and we're headed for war."

  * * * *

  The priest had to be the most beautiful man she had ever seen. Maegan lay relaxed on her stomach on the sleeping platform, her face propped in her hands, and followed Nargune's movements about the room. His body moved with a fluid grace that was a pleasure in itself to watch.

  He paused not far from where she lay. A panel slid open in the wall to reveal rows of neatly hung garments. In complete fascination, she watched as he shrugged out of his robe. His smooth head and sleek, bare back gleamed like sabronze silk in the room's low light. His lower body was encased in a tight pair of breeches. A thrill of pure, hot lust speared through her body.

  He carefully hung the garment, and turned.

  In some weirdly disconnected corner of her mind, Maegan knew she should be shocked, even repelled. And yet she wasn't. Surprised? A little, yet now it was all so clear. The bald head was true to the race, even if the gender was hard to reconcile with the occupation.

  Nargune was a woman.

  A woman who looked at Maegan and allowed a slow, sensual smile to cross her face.

  And Maegan was compelled to roll over, arch her back and stretch her arms above her head. A shameless invitation.

  The gorgeous female creature strode to the sleeping platform and leaned over her. Stretched out as she was, Maegan was vulnerable and exposed, but she had no inclination to move. She lay quietly as Nargune studied her with black, fathomless eyes. Tiny prickles danced over her skin. Heat infused her lower belly.

  The priest's torso was lean and muscled, with small breasts crowned by ruby nipples. Her warm breath puffed gently over Maegan's face, and she reached out a finger to brush a strand of hair off Maegan's cheek. She used the same finger to trace an intricate pattern across Maegan's lips.

  Maegan parted her lips and flicked out her tongue to touch the woman's finger. The action earned her another slow, sensual smile. The priest's finger left her lips and drew a line down between her breasts. Her clothing separated and Nargune pushed the pieces aside. Maegan heard that curious hiss of breath, and something struggled for a fleeting instant to surface in her memory.

  Nargune lowered her head.

  Chapter 17

  Margaine Confluence:/Fourth Rising

  Pallas Four

  "You're out of your slieking mind!" Sharm swung savagely away from Alerik and fixed on Morgon Trion. "This is no longer the jurisdiction of the governor. This has become a Coalition Council matter. Tell him he's wrong. It's a violation of the Treaty. A Mariltar heir is not a bargaining chip."

  Without taking his own gaze off Alerik, Morgon said, "How quickly do you want Maegan back? You involve the Council, and these negotiations will be mired in political posturing for a rotation."

  In a control room filled with anxious energy, Morgon didn't so much as twitch. Alerik felt his own ugly brew of emotions begin to calm.
Both men were right. The governor should invoke the Council. The husband stood resolutely behind Morgon. There wasn't a doubt in his mind what he should do.

  It was taking Sharm longer to accept that decision. He was pacing now, clearly torn, his body rigid, his movements jerky with disapproval. Predictably, he tried again. "The Treaty is clear. The Council will move quickly enough to--"

  "The Treaty is not in play here." Morgon hadn't raised his voice at all, yet his words seemed to resonate throughout the room. Pallas Four port authorities and Mariltar security personnel stopped any pretense of being busy. Small sounds died away. "The rules don't exist. It's unwise to believe that the Taragon priests ever bowed to anyone's rules but their own."

  "The priests were neutralized at the end of the Great Conflict," Sharm snarled. "Their powers were stripped from them by their own clan elders."

  Alerik had an instant, clear memory of a discussion with Maegan, which now seemed so long ago, even though it was only cycles. He heard himself say, "A people who do not want to be integrated, cannot be integrated."

  Morgon inclined his head. A small movement. "Now you're beginning to understand."

  "Understand? Understand what?" Sharm threw up his hands and paced between them. "You can't believe this, Alerik. The Taragon elders were as committed as the other nations. There was no other choice. The Vision and the Treaty depended on it. Why would you say that?"

  "It was something Maegan said." But when had he actually begun to believe it? "And you just said it yourself. "There was no other choice.""

  "And so they went along with the Vision while they secretly rebuilt their power base? And the Council of Nine Nations, which includes elders from Taragon, was completely unaware of this?"

  "Not unaware." In the room behind Morgon, every gaze was focused on this enigmatic man.

  Alerik had a fleeting thought to clear the area of all but his own team. Despite the extraordinary things being revealed, it didn't seem important. Maegan. His desperation to have her back escalated.