Chosen by the High Judge (Under Alien Law Book 2)

Waiting by the front door was a guard holding shackles in his hand.

“No,” Bisma said. “Those won’t be necessary. Zara is going to be good, aren’t you?” She raised her eyebrows.

“Yes, miss,” Zara said.

The guard blanched. “Mistress Bisma, I’m supposed—”

Bisma shot him a barbed glare and he backed down.

The shuttle z

oomed over the rest of the traffic in a dedicated fly zone for the senior-ranking Vendu. It gave Zara a bird’s-eye view of the city. She should be spending the summer months familiarizing herself with the city and not locked up in the judge’s private prison cell.

The campus was quiet. Most students had taken the opportunity to attend special training camps and a few had gone to Halos to visit relatives. Those who remained behind were taking extra classes or conducting research like Zara. They met nobody she knew, which was fortunate.

Inside her pokey room, she grabbed as much as possible and stuffed it in her suitcase, the one she’d brought from home. The surface was covered in stickers from vacations she’d spend as a child with her family. She threw in all her clean clothes, a pair of running shoes, and a few personal items. From her desk, she collected the research pad, the device containing all of her notes. Flicking it on, she spotted an urgent message from back home.

What progress are you making? D

There was a 3D hologram video attached to the message. She dared not open it.

Bisma, who’d been watching from the door, coughed. “No. Leave that. No electronic devices.”

“But… how am I to do my research?” More important, contact people and reply to messages. She switched it off before Bisma could see the screen.

“No. The judge strictly prohibited electronic devices.”

The Vendu shunned paper. How could she study without her device?

“I have to study,” she fretted.

“You’ll have to discuss that with the judge. Come, it’s time to go,” harried Bisma.

As an afterthought, Zara grabbed the teddy bear from off her pillow. It was the twin of the one given to her sister. They’d promised to keep them safe for as long as they both lived. Zara sealed the suitcase and dragged it off the bed.

Back at Galen’s house, she didn’t have time to unpack. The case was dropped off in her room and from there, Bisma led Zara to another part of the house.

“The judge has authorized the use of his chambers for the inking. There is more space,” Bisma explained.

Galen’s quarters were immense in scale with a high domed ceiling and a skylight, paintings of distant planets on the walls, and a vast mirror. Other than a few chairs and a box-like cupboard, there was nothing else in the room bar the bed. And what a bed it was—wide enough to sleep four or five people abreast and long enough for two. Bisma laid a plain sheet over the sumptuous covers and flattened it out.

“Strip,” she ordered.

When Zara hesitated, she clucked her tongue like a mother hen. “You may wrap a small towel around your waist,” she conceded. “I’m going to fetch the inkers.”

Again, the use of the plural alarmed Zara. Two of them? Two ogling Vendu jabbing her with needles and ink?

She peeled off her clothes and nearly threw them on the floor in frustration. This was not a punishment. She’d been turned into some kind of artwork for the pleasure of one man. It was unfair.

She draped the towel around her midriff and folded her arms over her breasts, hiding them.

Four white-clad women floated into the room behind Bisma. They were hooded and one carried an elaborately carved box in the way a priest carried the vestments. They bowed to Zara.

She didn’t know what to say. Were they priestesses? Thankfully, they were women, but why four of them?

“Four,” she said with temerity. “Won’t that mean four times the pain?” She’d never had a tattoo before.

Bisma clapped her hands and pointed at the bed. “No, no, silly girl. This is not some ghastly human inking with sharp needles. We Vendu practice a painless version. Now lie down. I’ll put some music on.”