A’Ran l’Anshantuwei, the exiled dhjan—king—of the planet Anshan, looked over the three women before him. Each was a specimen of perfection to her people. He turned away from them, his gaze going upward and peering through the skylight in his spacious battle command center.
No one but the dhjan could understand that choosing a lifemate wasn’t so simple. The dhjan nishani—king’s lifemate—would complete the circle of Anshan’s life force. Her presence would make the rivers run with water again and bring new life to the dying planet that was his domain. If he were allowed to pick his mate, he’d have chosen long ago and saved his planet. But the planet chose for him, according to what his father told him long ago.
He met the gaze of his only ally, Jetr, a man from a distant galaxy who had been an ally of Anshan for three generations. The small man waited next to A’Ran’s trusted second-in-command, Ne’Rin, whose sister was one of the three before him. Ne’Rin was a man whose forefathers had been chief advisors to the dhjan dynasty since Anshan’s inception and had served A’Ran’s family for a millennium. Jetr and Ne’Rin were both patient and hopeful, and A’Ran steeled himself to tell them what he must.
None of the three beauties was the woman chosen by his planet, or he’d know. His own mother had been far from beautiful, and his father had told him the signs he’d found the right woman were unmistakable. The earth would drop from beneath his feet and the sun pierce his soul. He felt nothing like this when he looked at the three women.
Like his sisters and advisors, he was losing faith that his nishani existed. He was thirty-two sun-cycles, beyond the age when his forefathers had found their lifemates. Half the population of his planet had been decimated by famine and war. For all he knew, his intended was among them. The Planetary Council, his second-in-command, even his sister, had paraded women through his home every time he returned from a battle. His lifemate simply wasn’t there.
“None of them,” A’Ran said. Ne’Rin frowned but escorted the women out.
The dhjan had known nothing but war for over half his life, since exiled with his sisters to the tiny moon across the galaxy from his home of Anshan. It was the smallest moon in the Five Galaxies, the section of space under the influence of the meddling Planetary Council. He’d continue the war until he won back his planet and birthright by force, then find another way to heal his planet, since it didn’t seem likely that he had a lifemate.
“I think you prefer war, my friend,” Jetr said with his gentle humor.
“You know well the bond between the lifemate and the planet. Without her, the rivers are dry, the women are barren, and the mines produce no ore,” A’Ran replied, then added pointedly, “And the Planetary Council interferes with everything you try to do to reclaim what’s rightfully yours.”
“You’ve refused women from every Council member’s family. It’s no wonder they don’t favor you.”
“It has nothing to do with that, Jetr, as you know,” he said. “They want the ore only Anshan can produce but don’t understand why there will be none until I claim my lifemate.”
“In the meantime, you’ve driven up a debt to them,” Jetr reminded him.
“The Council has a selective memory,” A’Ran said in irritation. “Every ship, every weapon they own, came from Anshan ore.”
“True,” Jetr said. “But until they choose to remember that, they ask another favor of you, their last.”
“I’ve heard this before, Jetr,” A’Ran said.
“I brokered this one.”
A’Ran waited, observing the tiny man with white eyes. Jetr, the only Council member he trusted, had been an ally for three generations of his family without appearing to age. He wore heavy clothing, as if easily chilled, and moved with the smoothness of a warrior. There was a time when A’Ran would’ve scoffed at Jetr’s mention of a favor. That time eroded fast when he was faced with the suffering of his people and the ability of the Council to coerce all his allies but one to leave his side.
He had to repay the odious debt to the Council. Only then would he be free of their interference and maybe even gain the support of some of its members.
“The Council wants an end to the millennia-old blood war between Anshan and Qatwal,” Jetr said. “You have the dominant armies in this galaxy, and the other civilizations in your solar system are sick of the war. The ruler of Tri’trij has vacated his planet and lives on colonies outside the solar system. Too much of the on-again, off-again war has impacted your neighbors.”
“So it is up to me to broker a peace deal with Qatwal,” A’Ran said. “I have no planet, half an army, no food or water for my people, and I must broker a peace deal.”
“I’m not saying I agree, just that it must be done,” Jetr said. “If you do this, the Council will leave you alone.”
“A peace deal depends on two parties, not one,” A’Ran reminded him.
“If they refuse, they refuse. But we will work with them to come to some sort of terms. Peace will benefit the solar system, and your neighbors will be happy.”
“My neighbors will be fortunate if I don’t destroy them next. They stood aside while my planet was overrun by the Council-sanctioned vagrant Yirkin forces!”
“Not sanctioned, just not prevented,” Jetr corrected. “The Yirkin are wanderers. The Council wants nothing to do with them and views the presence of your father’s betrayer and your people on the planet as a sign the Yirkin are willing to share your planet rather than take it over.”
There is no negotiating with the Yirkin scum or my father’s killer, A’Ran thought but held his tongue, aware his only ally believed himself right in this.
He thought for a long moment, knowing no peace treaty could be reached with Qatwal. Their war was passive-aggressive rather than open, consisting of Qatwal making his ore ships disappear and then reappear without the ore. Or his affront at the last Council meeting, where A’Ran had Kisolm, the man who would be dhjan, imprisoned in his quarters and miss the Council’s final vote on who would maintain distribution rights to the ore only Anshan possessed. A’Ran won the vote by one.
He’d done his part to agitate Kisolm and received every bit as much as he’d given. They’d trained together on one of the Council’s neutral planets and ended up rivals in everything.
“I’ll do it, Jetr, for you, not the Council. You swear the Council will consider my debt to them repaid?” he asked.
“I swear it. Peace cannot be underestimated, A’Ran. Several members, including Qatwal, may be willing to aid you in regaining your planet after you’ve reached a peace treaty.”
“If they do, it will be to steal my ore. I’ll do this and go back to war. I’ve given up on finding a nishani for my planet.”
“This system is truly unique. I didn’t believe the planets died without the dhjan and his lifemate until I saw what happened to Anshan.”
A’Ran desperately needed allies, food, and water for his people. He clenched his jaw, his pain deep and hidden as he thought of his people and his planet. He fought hard to build alliances. The Council then destroyed them, and bartered, cheated, and stole for the weaponry needed to defeat the invaders, the Yirkin, a sophisticated race whose goal was to claim as many planets as they could in their empire-building. It was the Yirkins’ first venture into their system. They chose Anshan for its ore then wooed traitors within his father’s government with the promise of ruling their own planet.
“A’Ran, there is something else I must tell you.” Jetr’s voice grew quieter, and he drew near. “My warriors intercepted information from Anshan. Your father’s betrayer planted a traitor among those closest to you. I don’t know who, but I suspect Ne’Rin.”
“Ne’Rin?” A’Ran said, crossing his arms. “His father may have betrayed mine, but he has been loyal for all these years we’ve been exiled. He saved my sisters from his own father. If he could’ve saved my father and mother, he would’ve.”
“You must consider this a possibility. The whereabouts of this moon on which you claim exile have been leaked off-planet. My men intercepted it before it went to Anshan, just as they’ve intercepted other messages from Anshan directed to someone here.”
“There are hundreds of thousands of my warriors here,” A’Ran said. “Why do you think it’s Ne’Rin?”
“He has direct access to you and the most to gain. You forget: I am not a warrior bound by honor but a diplomat accustomed to undermining others,” Jetr replied. “Ne’Rin does his part to prevent you from suspecting him. As an observer, I can tell you there’s a great deal of motivation for someone in his position to betray you.”
The words stung. If they came from someone other than the man who’d supported his father and grandfather, he’d disregard the warning and have the messenger killed. But this was Jetr warning him. Jetr was stacking a new problem on a pile of other problems he couldn’t deal with.
“Brother?”
They both turned at the soft voice. His youngest sister, Talal, stood in the doorway to his war quarters, her gaze hopeful.
“Not yet,” he said, aware of what misery he was bringing his sisters. They’d been praying that the last three women would yield his nishani.
His people’s hope had turned to desperation in the hands of the Yirkin when every sun-cycle passed and there was no nishani. From the dhjan came strength and stability; from the nishani, restoration and healing. His planet was dying without either, and many had begun to accept this was the planet’s fate. He was helpless to find her. He had to wait for the fates to bring his nishani to him.
Talal’s face fell, and he had no words to offer. He’d already broken promises of finding his lifemate by his thirtieth, his thirty-first, his thirty-second birthdays.
“I’ll think on what you’ve told me,” he said, turning to Jetr. “Promise you’ll barter my freedom if Qatwali imprisons me on this peace mission.”
“I’ll do my best. If that doesn’t work, I’ll take your sisters to my planet,” Jetr answered. “It’s all I can offer.”
A’Ran nodded in agreement, knowing it was the best he could do. He had a feeling Kisolm, the crown prince of Qatwal, would not even hear him out but would view his attempt to barter peace as a sign of weakness and keep him as a trophy.
“Talal, send Ne’Rin to the practice fields.”
His sister hurried away. Jetr bowed his head, sensing the dismissal. A’Ran left the command center for the practice fields, the area where his men trained. He stepped into the bright sunlight and withdrew one of hundreds of grey swords housed in small racks along the back side of the dwelling that was his temporary home, until he reclaimed his planet. The field was empty, his men preparing for another space battle.
He hefted the curved sword and marveled at the grey metal. Only the ore on Anshan could produce the metal that was not only unbreakable but easily molded. All the spaceships, computers, and weapons within the Five Galaxies were made from ore from Anshan mines—even the swords, the only weapons sanctioned by the Planetary Council as fair and appropriate for man-to-man combat. The Council disallowed lasers or other advanced weapons, instead opting for the traditional weapons of their ancestors, and the only weapons used by some planets with their less developed civilizations.
Swiping at the air, A’Ran couldn’t help but feel furious that the Council would protect such civilizations from those that were more advanced out of some sense of fairness while sitting by doing nothing as his planet was overrun and his parents murdered. Despite his hatred for the politics, he knew he needed the Council’s help. His people were starving as the planet died, and soon, the Council would realize the planet produced no ore without its rightful ruler.
Anshan—a chunk of rock in space—was smarter than the entire Council combined, even Jetr, who was content to mediate between him and the Council without truly choosing sides. Jetr had been loyal to his family for generations. A’Ran respected him for his service. The odd-looking man was the only reason the Council hadn’t ceded to the Yirkins’ petitions to claim the planet officially.
And yet, he couldn’t help feeling as if he alone bore the weight of his planet on his back as he struggled to pay for food, water, and weapons. He was running out of ore and other means to barter; he’d need the Council’s mercy soon.
“I am sorry my sister did not please you, A’Ran,” Ne’Rin said as he stepped into the field.
“She pleased me, Ne’Rin, but she is not meant to be my nishani,” he replied.
“What do you wait for?”
A’Ran was quiet. He didn’t know how to explain it and wondered if he should even try with Jetr’s suspicions fresh in his mind. His father said Anshan would tell him, and the feeling would be unmistakable. He hadn’t been on his own planet since his parents were killed, and he wasn’t sure how the planet would choose someone for him when he wasn’t there.
“I’ll know,” he said with more confidence than he felt. “Are the warriors ready for the next campaign?”
“They are.”
“You and I have a different mission. A very unpleasant one.”
“Jetr told me.”
“Ready my personal ship for the flight to Qatwal.”
“Yes, dhjan.”
A’Ran watched him go, sensing the same disappointment and doubt he’d seen in his sister earlier. He wondered if years of disappointment had driven his most trusted friend away as greed did Ne’Rin’s father.
He could do nothing but continue to fight. He swiped at the air again, unable to shake his anger.