"It feels weird," Alystra declared when she had finally managed to get her mother alone. "Annoying but in a good way. Is there something wrong with me?"
The queen smiled and walked across the carpet to where her daughter stood. Celouise took Alystra's hands and squeezed them gently.
"There is nothing wrong with you, little one," her mother said. "What you are describing is attraction and possibly more."
"Attraction," Alystra said flatly. "I have never been attracted to anyone in my life and what is this strange ache here?" She asked, placing a hand between her breasts.
"You have not due to your feelings being caged. But now they flow free and unchecked you are beginning to form bonds and Dumar is one of them. I can see why, he is an attractive man."
"Mother!" Alystra gasped.
The queen chuckled but turned serious a second later.
"Listen, my love, I doubt this is the advice I am supposed to give you, yet the future is uncertain and I wish only the best for you.
If you like Dumar, if you want to be with him as men and women are, you must. Before it is too late. They will be leaving soon…"
"Leaving?" Alystra demanded, fright and shock chilling her chest.
"To tackle Malthrom," her mother said.
Cold bands grabbed Alystra, tightening around her chest at the thought of Dumar facing Malthrom. Her evil uncle would think nothing of destroying him.
I will never see him again. Just like father. She thought in despair.
"Aly? Are you all right?"
"No, mother, I am not," she admitted as panic began to set in. "I-I…" she started to stammer as her emotions whipped through her like a tornado.
Her mother wrapped her in a protective hug, shielding her from the hardships in the world.
Yet the hardships Alystra faced came from within herself and spiralled out of control. Her breathing came in short gasps but she gained no air. Her heart pounded as if it was about to burst from her chest and the princess felt the same weakness she had before.
Dumar appeared in her mind, telling her to control her breathing.
'Deep breath in and then out.' He told her.
Alystra did as her memory of him told her and the panic began to dissipate.
"There is to be a ball soon in honour of Dumar and his slaying of the Dal," her mother said. "There will be wine and dancing. Afterwards, who knows?" Her mother asked. "Go to him," she added.
"How am I supposed to do that?" Alystra asked in frustration. "What would I even say?"
"How grateful you are he is here," the queen told her. "How proud you are to know him and the fact he is Knight Protector."
"Knight Protector?" Alystra asked in shock. "That is the greatest honour the kingdom can bestow."
"You think it unwarranted?" Celouise asked her daughter. "How many lives has he saved already? How many more would have succumbed to the Dal had he not killed it?"
"I suppose it is warranted then," Alystra agreed.
And if he is Knight Protector, he will be a suitable match for me. Alystra thought with a flash of delight. Wait, is that why mother is honouring him?
"You do not wish me to die a maiden," Alystra stated. "Your belief is they will fail and Malthrom will come," her tone of accusation was plain and Alystra watched as her mother's face fell.
Misery and despair flooded from the queen, vying with hope and need.
"I have the utmost confidence in your uncle and his abilities," her mother stated. "Yet there is always a chance, however small."
"A deal then, mother," Alystra stated coldly. "If we are all to die and I go to Dumar, you must admit to my uncle how you feel about him."
***
Dumar lounged in the sun in the sitting room of the suite they had been assigned. The warmth felt good and he was relaxed.
Physically.
His mind was working at the problem of who his mother had been. Buried in the tablet somewhere amongst all the files there must be some mention of her.
Where the fuck is it?
Flicking through yottabytes of data, Dumar finally managed to find some clues and dove into the files like a terrier down a rat hole.
'Due to current technology restraints, it has been necessary to utilise a human female to incubate the subject. Unit acquired subsequent to brain death.'
Dumar read the lines several times.
Brain dead unit? He thought with heat exploding in his chest. That was how they saw my mother.
At the bottom of the screen was a photograph of a young, dark-haired woman, eyes closed in an almost serene expression.
Monitors and medical devices had been attached to her – needles inserted into veins, tubes in her throat and nose – to keep her alive long enough for them to take him out of her.
I wonder what her eyes looked like? Dumar wondered as he scanned her dusky skin, a hard lump growing in his throat.
South American features shone through in her heritage but had been diluted by generations of other races too, making Dumar wonder what his real heritage was.
With nothing but the appearance of his mother to extrapolate information from, it was all just guesswork.
The tubes made it difficult to get a good look at her face, frustrating him but he sat and stared at the image for a long time.
So, you're my mum then. He thought. Pity I never knew you but it looks like you were dead before they even knocked you up.
Misery and anger vied for dominance inside Dumar.
His unfettered rage at the Company and everything they had done to him had doubled at the sight of his mother's body plugged in like some kind of…
Unit!
His sadness came from the knowledge he would never have gotten to meet her, hear her voice or see her eyes.
Something else they took from me.
His jaw twitched and fists clenched as the thoughts crashed through him, dragging him down into a spiral of rage he was almost unable to control.
"Are you well?" The voice asked, actually making Dumar jump.
Grethron stood a few feet away, leaning on his staff and examining Dumar with a strange look.
"No!" Dumar snapped. "No, I'm fucking not."
"Is it something you wish to discuss?" The old man asked as Vilt slipped in through the main door and stared at them both.
"Nope," Dumar said. "It's just something else that's been done to me that I can't do anything about."
"If there is anything I am able to do, please just ask."
"Can you send me back so I can kill every last one of the fuckers that did this to me?"
"Ah, sorry no, that it something I am not able to do," Grethron said with what sounded like genuine regret.
"No," Dumar spat sarcastically. "That you can't do. Or is it won't?" He asked. "You're no different from the cunts back at the lab. Using me for whatever you want. Point me in the direction of what you want dead and let me go."
Grethron growled low inn his throat and fixed Dumar with a piercing look, anger plain in his expression.
"I made allowances when you were first brought here," the old man stated flatly. "Yet I will no longer tolerate being spoken to in such a manner."
"Really?" Dumar drew the word out sarcastically. "And what are you going to do about the way I speak?"
The necromancer approached Dumar unflinchingly, looking up at the taller man, his smoke-grey eyes darkening.
"You have seen the things I can do," Grethron said, "Moderate your tone unless you wish them used upon you."
Dumar knew he was being petty, knew the old man had not caused the things in his past. Had, in fact, treated him better than anyone ever had.
There were similarities in their wants and uses but Grethron, at least, had given him a choice and been honest, mostly, about that part too.
Even so the anger and disappointment over his mother robbed Dumar of his rationality and the chemicals his bio-circuitry were producing and releasing were taking over.
"Do it, bitch!" Dumar said coldly. "Good luck killing your brother."
"By Dawa, Dumar!" Grethron shouted. "I should…"
"Stop!" Vilt cried from across the room.
Dumar felt himself flung sideways, barely able to maintain his feet, while Grethron sprawled on the floor, sliding across the polished slabs on his belly. Dumar heard a rattling tap as his staff dragged over the stones.