Night of the Zandians (Zandian Brides 1)

“What will we tell others?” My face burns with embarrassment. “Veck, everyone will know we picked an inferior mate!” Even as I say it, I can’t believe it’s true. Riya was perfect—so perfect. But it was all a lie.

“It’s not our fault,” Jax snaps, his cool finally broken. “She’s the one. She is infertile, and she lied about it. And that’s on top of being a murderer! With her, we could never father a child. Or have trust.”

We’re silent, I assume each Zandian thinking about this. To be honest, although I think young are cute, they are a little terrifying, and I never felt the driving need to have one of my own. I was excited more because it seemed a challenge, and because it’s good for Zandia, and because… well, I thought Riya wanted it. But it wasn’t even in my mind when I claimed her.

“She should have told us.” Tarren’s voice is loud. “Allowed us to decide if it mattered. Hiding it is a coward’s way. We do not deserve a coward.”

Something twists in my gut. Would it have mattered? If she’d told us from the start she couldn’t conceive, would we have still chosen her?

A little voice in the back of my head screams yes.

But it’s too late now. She lied, and she’s gone. King Zander will decide her fate.

Veck.

“We deserve better, cousins.” Jax rummages in a cupboard and brings out a bottle of Oteera Spirits, imported at great cost and swaddled in layers of protective wrapping from the Oteraian Galaxy, on a planet known for their distilleries. “I was saving this for when Riya finally…” he pauses, looking ill. “But perhaps we should drink it now, because that other thing will never happen.” He smiles, but it’s mirthless, and when he pours us three tall glasses of the clear, powerful liquor, his fingers tremble.

I take a deep swallow, and the fluid burns like fire in my throat, the taste of juniper blasting my tongue, causing me to cough and splutter. “Veck. I haven’t had this in a while.”

Zandians don’t need liquid nutrition, but alcohol affects our physiology in much the same way it does other beings, and I admit that sometimes we indulge. Rarely—because warriors can’t be weak. This seems like an appropriate time, if there ever was one.

Tarren tosses his glass back without a sound, and Jax sips his, morose, tapping his long fingers in the table. We’re silent for long minutes, until my vision softens, and the room seems warmer, brighter, as if the edges of everything are soft, like Riya’s fleece blanket, the one that smells of her.

“Why would she be so duplicitous?” I say, enunciating to avoid slurring, an unfortunate side effect of spirits.

“Does it matter? She was, and is, and we’re done with her. We’re done!” Jax announces and pours himself a second glance. “She needs protection from beasts? Someone to plow her fields for her vecking calendula, over and over again? She can find… some other being.”

Except I can see by Jax’s face he doesn’t believe what he’s saying. Heartbreak is written all over it.

Tarren nods. “And when she gets lonely at night, she can find herself some other being to veck. We don’t veck traitors.”

That thought makes me clench my fists with rage. Riya with some other being?

Over my dead body. But she left.

“She betrayed us.” My eyes burn.

“Cousin, hold up.” Tarren puts his paw onto my shoulder, a rare gesture of affection. “We will find another mate, one who will… be… better. For us all.” He drains his glass again. Jax quietly refills it.

“Beings will talk.” I stare into my glass, where the liquid curls into oily swirls, a mouth that laughs.

“If anyone mocks us, I will vecking destroy them.” Tarren slams his glass down. “We are not a laughingstock.”

“No! We aren’t!” I agree. The room tilts in a congenial way. “We’re honorable. Powerful.” I dig deep for an anger at Riya. “I’m glad she’s gone. Good riddance.”

Too bad I don’t believe a vecking word of it.

12

Riya

I throw up three times on the flight home.

Lily shoots me worried glances from the cockpit, but I can’t even speak to her. I don’t want to tell her what’s happened. The pain I just caused my dear, dear mates. It’s too awful to discuss.

Tears spill down my face as I watch the landscape fly beneath us. I feel dead.

Fucking dead.