Sacred Planet: Book One of the Dominion Series (6 page)

“Of that I’m still unsure,” Zantorian said, voice now quieter but equally rich.

Kastor’s muscles flexed defensively. “My lord?”

“Walk with me,” the Grand Lumis said, ambling down the long corridor.

Kastor remained at Zantorian’s side as the Grand Lumis drew in a breath to speak again.

“Why do you think I keep a champion, young Kastor?”

The simplicity of the question took Kastor aback. It almost insulted him. “To represent you on the field of battle. And to lead your armies in war.”

Zantorian nodded, resting his hands behind his back, a rather vulnerable position. “Indeed. Any champion worth his armor does that. But why does the
Grand Lumis
need a champion? I have many generals who bear my insignia. They represent me well.”

“But they fight for the Regnum,” Kastor said. “Not on behalf of Zantorian the Fox.”

“Ah.” Zantorian’s eyes brightened. “So you’ve come to fight specifically for me, to defend and uphold my honor.”

“Of course, my lord.” The obviousness of it made Kastor feel as if walking into a trap.

Zantorian stretched out his hand to the glossy floor, and instantly, the tiles illuminated in an expansive display of the galaxy, large swaths of stars curving outward from a central axis of bright light. He turned over his hand and lifted, zooming in on the central arm of the coil—the Regnum. “Loyalty, young Kastor, cannot be bought. Nor changed on a whim.” He brought his fingers together, and the Sagittarius Arm began to glow. Hundreds of individual stars flickered in purple, save a handful around the margins, which flared red. “How many systems in Sagittarian space still stand in defiance of me?”

That one was easy. “Thirty-three, my lord.”

“And what would be your duty if you were to become my champion?”

“Reduce that number to zero.”

“For whom?”

Kastor hesitated, sensing the trap again. “For you, my lord. For the Regnum.”

His answer was the right one. Kastor knew it, but the words elicited no reaction. Leaving the starmap in the floor, the Grand Lumis opened his hand beside Kastor. From his cuff, a faint hologram of light and color emerged in the air. It showed a video from the perspective of a hover-drone looking down on the arena the day before—Kastor leaning against a boulder.

“Guarin,”
Kastor’s holographic image called out from the cuff’s tiny speakers.
“I know why you hide. It is who you are, and who I am. It’s in our nature. The Swan will always kneel before the Eagle.”

Zantorian cut off the video. “Why did you say that? You knew the entire Regnum would be watching, including Swan.”

Kastor hesitated. “I . . . it was merely a taunt, my lord. A way of flushing him out.”

“An effective tactic, I noticed. But worrisome, all the same.”

“Worrisome, my lord?”

“Naturally,” Zantorian said. “When the Regnum is ruled under the Fox rather than the Eagle.”

Kastor fumbled to assuage his ruler. “Eagle . . . is my homeland, but my ultimate loyalty resides with the Regnum.”

“Yes, I do believe that,” Zantorian said. “Eagle’s academies may produce Spartans, but they’re patriotic Spartans.”

“What worries you, my lord?” Kastor asked.

The Grand Lumis halted, hands behind his back. His eyes were as hard as the diamond leaf on his brooch, weathered with more years than Kastor could imagine. They cut straight through him. “You have designs for my throne.”

Kastor stepped back, taken off guard by the accusation. He didn’t know whether to lie or smooth over the truth. “My lord, I—”

“No use in denying it,” the Grand Lumis said, continuing to pace in a circle around Kastor. “I’ve studied you, your genetics, your conditioning, your training, your temperament. There were no flaws, and you never erred, never lost a battle, never lost
anything
. It would only be natural to believe yourself worthy of the Regnum’s highest title.”

“You’re not wrong, my lord,” Kastor said, taking a risk. “My history speaks for itself, and my birth is of the highest quality, but my aim is more modest than you suggest.”

“Enlighten me of your aim.”

Kastor shifted on his feet to remain facing the Grand Lumis. “I may have designs for the Diamond Throne, but nothing nefarious. Nothing the Champion of Triumph should not expect.”

“
Expect
?” The word halted the Grand Lumis. “You already have expectations of me?”

Kastor stood his ground. “Were you not the champion of Vradiman before he made you his heir?”

“Yes, and I earned it,” Zantorian said, his words picking up speed. “I fought and bled in Vradiman’s wars. I conquered. I
sacrificed
. And you? You win a tournament and you feel
entitled
to the Diamond Throne.”

Kastor’s jaw clenched.

“All your life, even from the days when you were nothing more than specks of DNA, you’ve suffered nothing but the best,” the Grand Lumis went on. “Everything comes easy for you. Doesn’t it?” Zantorian’s words were calm, coolheaded blows. “Have you ever lost anything of great value to you, young Kastor?”

Kastor let out a quiet huff.

“You feel entitled to my throne,” Zantorian said. “But you have no knowledge of the sacrifices the Grand Lumis must make.” He nodded at a Guardian before the obsidian doors. With a deep moan, the great doors crept open. The two Guardians from the foyer strode in, escorting Pollaena between them.

Kastor’s breath caught. His hand flinched reflexively to his hip, where a gun holster would normally be. Pollaena didn’t struggle, but her face showed sizzling anger and hints of fear. She’d been in the Royal Court many times. Kastor saw it in her eyes—no wonder or awe. But she’d never entered like this.

The massive doors rolled shut.

Kastor’s throat tightened as he met Pollaena’s eyes. She searched him for answers, but he had none.

“What is she doing here?” Kastor asked.

“I know who she is, young Kastor,” Zantorian said. “Pollaena, your fellow Eaglespawn, your cradlemate.”

Kastor fought to swallow his pride and restrain himself. Across the hall, Raza rose from her throne and walked down the steps, Diamond Scepter in hand.

“Every lumis needs his queen,” Zantorian said, then, over his shoulder, “Isn’t that right, Raza?”

Raza made her way to Zantorian’s side, the train of her robe stretching far behind. “Of course. But there is already a lumis, and he already has his queen.” Her feline eyes flicked to Pollaena, examining her impassively before turning to Kastor.

He had to act, had to do
something
.

Kastor twisted the ring bearing the golden Eagle insignia off his finger and tossed it onto the slick, glittering floor. He unpinned the Eagle brooch at his chest and dropped it before the Grand Lumis’s feet. He pried the gold buckle from his belt and let it clink against the hard tile. Trust would not come free and easy. So be it. Kastor would prove himself.

“My loyalty isn’t with Eagle,” Kastor said. “It’s with—”

“
Loyalty
,” Zantorian interrupted, “cannot be bought. Nor changed on a whim. It must be proven.”

Kastor’s jaw tightened. Teeth ground in his mouth. He took in a sharp breath. “My lord—”

“I have ruled the Regnum a hundred and twenty years,” the Grand Lumis boomed. “I can smell conspirators before they even begin to conspire.”

Kastor tried to protest, but Zantorian plowed on, pacing around him. “Many hounds have tried to catch the Fox. So many I’ve become familiar with their look, their demeanor, their schemes, their weaknesses . . .” He paused before Pollaena.

“We have no schemes against you, my lord,” Kastor said.

The Grand Lumis studied Pollaena’s resilient features. “Do you have schemes against me?”

“No, my lord,” Pollaena bit off quietly.

“No, perhaps not,” Zantorian said. “But that’s what you’re supposed to say. The script is already written. It’s written in your DNA, in your conditioning, in your training.” He pressed his fingers into the side of Pollaena’s head. “It’s burrowed into your brain.”

“What do you want from me?” Kastor snapped. This fox enjoyed the chase, but Kastor wouldn’t give him the pleasure.

The Grand Lumis faced him and smiled, spreading his hands. “I want you as my champion. I’d be a fool not to. The battles ahead will be too fierce for any lesser warrior.”

Kastor let his shoulders relax. Perhaps he had misjudged the old lumis. Perhaps this was all a tactic of intimidation—the Grand Lumis asserting his authority. But Zantorian’s sneer and Raza’s cold gaze said otherwise.

“Aermo,” Zantorian said, calling up one of his Guardians. “Swords.”

Aermo, tall and broad-shouldered with a bullet-shaped head, snapped at a younger Guardian, who brought forth two short swords in unadorned sheaths. Kastor’s heart raced as Zantorian took one. Aermo pressed the other into Pollaena’s hands. The Guardians moved closer to form a circle around them, keeping their automatic guns ready. Zantorian stepped before Kastor, close enough to hear him breathe.

“First I want proof,” Zantorian said, holding out the sword. “Prove your loyalty to me, and I will make you my champion. Prove your mettle, and you might even become my heir.”

Panic spread through Kastor like wildfire, burning him from the inside, tearing into his heart. There had to be another way.
Any
other way.

“My lord, please . . .” Kastor said, trembling as he struggled to think of an alternative. “Let me prove my loyalty another way. I . . . I’ll conquer the defiant systems. I’ll bring all of Sagittarius under your rule.”

“Indeed you will,” Zantorian said. “If you become my champion.” He shoved the sword against Kastor’s chest, forcing him to take it, and then stepped to the side.

All others backed away, leaving Kastor and Pollaena in the center of the circle, facing each other. She looked at him in shock and disbelief and, despite her best efforts, fear. Swords remained in sheaths as the cradlemates tried to communicate with their eyes, tried to find some way out. There had to be a way out. Somewhere.
Somehow
.

“My lord,” Kastor protested. “Pollaena is my lifemate, my maiden. She does not deserve—”

“
Deserve
?” the Grand Lumis repeated. “Something you must learn, young Kastor—neither of you
deserve
anything from me. You were born to serve the Regnum, not the other way around.”

“Why does the Regnum require this?”

“Because
I am
the Regnum!” the Grand Lumis thundered. “And
I
require it!”

Aermo stepped forward. “Draw your swords.
Now
.”

Neither drew their swords.

Zantorian crossed his arms, waiting. He took in a long breath. Kastor watched his maiden glance around at the circle of Guardians. They wouldn’t be able to fight their way out. Compassion welled in him. It wouldn’t be a fair match. Pollaena could nail a bullseye two kilometers out on a windy day, but her swordsmanship was lacking. Nothing like Kastor’s. He could deal a lethal blow in six moves. He knew dozens of sword tactics that she had never learned, that she wouldn’t be able to parry. A new weight dropped in him when he realized his thoughts, murderous thoughts, focused on
Pollaena
, his destined love, his maiden. He couldn’t do this. His heart ached, wanted to burst. How could he do this to her?

“Too bad,” Zantorian said dismissively, before swiveling and stepping away.

On impulse, Kastor’s sword sliced out of its sheath with a loud
shing
. Pollaena’s eyes bolted to him. A storm roiled inside him, and one last time, he met her gaze with love and tenderness, pleading for forgiveness for even this small gesture of betrayal. But she knew him. She knew him all too well. Their love, their history, their plans for glory—none of it meant anything anymore. He had drawn his sword.

Pollaena’s lips pressed together. Eyes hardened. Kastor watched as she forced all warmth from her face, all softness from her skin, all memories from her mind, until only the rigid core of the warrior remained. She drew her sword in a quick flash and tossed its sheath aside.

“If you’ve made your choice,” she said, her voice carrying no more life. “Then get on with it. But you won’t get it for free.”

Zantorian returned to Raza’s side, looking pleased and faintly amused. Kastor dropped his sheath, feeling his muscles flex and twitch involuntarily. His eyes wanted to cloud, but he steeled himself. “I love you, Pollaena.”

She let out a fierce cry and charged. Kastor recognized the tactic—her only hope relied on staying on the offensive. He raised his short blade, blocked her strike, then sidestepped and pushed her past him. She stumbled toward the Guardians before recovering, raising her sword. Once again, she cried out and charged, throwing two swings before he shoved her out of combat distance.

“Come on!” Pollaena shouted. “Fight me!”

Their blades met with echoing clangs, his feet shuffling backwards as hers shuffled forwards. Kastor allowed her to knock his sword to the side so that she would thrust at him. He dodged, grabbed her by the neck, threw her away, unable to force his blade through her precious skin.

When she wheeled herself around, her face displayed tearful rage. Her chest heaved for oxygen as she sucked air through locked teeth. “Take off your velvet gloves, old cradlemate. I’m no helpless child.”

Kastor’s heart slowly cracked. He couldn’t do it. His hands wouldn’t let him.

Pollaena ran at him again, swinging hard and fast. Kastor saw a new opening every few seconds. He could initiate a sequence and finish her in a handful of moves. And yet he couldn’t. An impassible mental block prevented even a flinch toward hurting her. Even as she grunted with the power of her blows, even as she exhausted herself from swinging, he didn’t make a single offensive move at her.

She pulled away for a breather. “Come on, you bastard,” she said between gasps. Then she calmed herself and pushed away the fiery anger in her eyes. “Kastor . . . son of Tyrannus . . .”

Pollaena swung from the side and Kastor blocked. Then from below. He blocked. From above. He blocked.

“ . . . warrior of Eagle . . .”

A flurry from the right and left.