Immersed: Interplanetary League, Book 2 Page 2

“May I present Ilexa Dhakir. A healer and daughter of N’yota,” Thane intoned without lifting his head.

  The elder sniffed in disdain. “No woman not of the Central Alliance has ever joined the noble Hakimu tribe. I doubt this daughter of N’yota even understands the honor bestowed upon her.”

  Ilexa didn’t know the proper etiquette for dealing with a Malkia. Hells, she didn’t even know what Malkia meant. The word had no corresponding concept in N’yotan or her translation implant would have provided it for her. She had learned the three main languages of the Central Alliance, but she had expected the translator to be a nice backup. She should have saved her money. Regardless, Ilexa did know insults when she heard them and would be damned before she stood there and let such affronts go unchallenged.

  Narrowing her eyes at the Malkia, Ilexa carefully clenched her fists. She kept her tone as polite as possible when she said, “She is capable of speaking for herself. Perhaps I don’t know the ‘honor’ bestowed upon me, but I do know when I’m being insulted. Is this how the Hakimu tribe extends its hospitality? Is this how it welcomes a new tribe member—with no invitation to enter the tribal dwelling? With cold dismissal and no welcome? Without the courtesy of even addressing the new member to her face? Tell me, Malkia, what about the Hakimu tribe have I seen that should make me feel honored to join it?”

  She could feel Thane’s shock that she would address one so revered with such lack of respect, but she kept her gaze fixed on the Malkia.

  The elderly woman met her eyes for the first time, but those glowing green eyes revealed none of her thoughts or emotions. After an endless moment, the Malkia gave a sniff, and turned to look at Thane. “Her chamber is prepared.” With that, she turned and strode back into the mountain.

  Ilexa watched her go. So caught up in planning diabolical ways to torture the missing cultural immersion counselor, she shrieked in surprise when Thane grabbed her by the upper arm and spun her around to face him. To her everlasting embarrassment, the surprise had her off balance and she would have fallen if Thane hadn’t latched onto her other arm as well.

  Thane’s face remained expressionless, but fury stormed behind his eyes. “Do you have any idea who you just insulted?”

  “You must have missed the conversation,” she shot back. “I was the one insulted.”

  Using his grip on her upper arms, he hauled her to her tiptoes and lowered his face to meet hers. “You are not on N’yota any more. Things are done differently on Dunia. As a member of our tribe, you will be expected to abide by our societal rules. Speaking to the Malkia with such disrespect is not going to be tolerated.”

  “I’m well aware that things are done differently on Dunia,” she said as coldly as she could manage. “That’s why the counselor was supposed to meet me.”

  He gave her a little shake. “Don’t play dumb. You knew how important she is by my actions.”

  “I never said I didn’t know she was important, but I was guessing blindly at how I was to react to her insults. On N’yota, letting someone treat you like that would broadcast you were a doormat. On the Inderian Motherland, it would get you killed. The Central Alliance is so damned secretive I had no way to deduce how to handle her insults.”

  He growled something too low on the register for her to make out the words and unceremoniously dropped his hold on her. She staggered before catching herself, narrowly missing winding up on her rump.

  “Your chambers are this way,” he snapped and strode through the entrance. A younger man passed Thane on his way out, nodding politely. The man ignored Ilexa altogether, and she glanced over her shoulder to see him heading towards the transport. She hoped he would bring her bags and turned to hurry after Thane—who moved so fast she didn’t have time to study the interior of the mountain she now called home.

  Chapter Two

  She stepped into the blessed solitude of her “chamber”, letting the heavy door close behind her. Alone, she let the confident façade she wore like armor melt and puddle at her feet. Her shoulders slumped, and she unclenched her fists. Tears of frustration and anger sprang to her eyes as she sank to the ground.

  Heedless of the tears, Ilexa raised her palms and studied the damage. Two deep, half-moon puncture wounds marred the smooth skin of her left palm, blood seeping sluggishly from them. It was an old trick, but it worked.

  Tears had been her enemy since childhood. As involuntary a reaction for her as a heartbeat. Unfortunately, it gave people the idea she was weak. As though tear ducts that didn’t obey commands reflected the strength—or lack thereof—of her character or her will.

  She’d learned as a child that pain could interrupt the signal her brain sent to her eyes. A valuable lesson for a little girl with five brothers. Usually, biting her tongue or cheek was enough, but the overwhelming stress of the day necessitated the endorphins that came from drawing blood. She hated having to do that. It made it hard to hide the trick when she had to explain why she was bleeding. She never bit her cheek or tongue hard enough to draw blood. Mouth wounds bled copiously, and it was much harder to hide a blood-filled mouth than an injured palm. Not to mention swallowing blood nauseated her. She only hoped no one asked about the scabs.

  Without her bags, she couldn’t treat the cuts. Instead, she pressed two fingers from the other hand against them and applied pressure. Aware that she would likely not be alone long—if nothing else, someone had to deliver her bags—she needed to compose herself. She looked up to locate a mirror and nearly gasped at her first real look at her room.

  Never one for camping, the idea of spending a year in a cave had caused dread to settle in her stomach. If her chamber offered any clue to her life in the mountain, she had nothing to fear.

  The stone walls had been smoothed so they gleamed and reminded her of the slate fireplace in the family area of the Prophecy Palace. A thick rug woven with a complicated pattern of deep reds covered the floor. She saw a small, but opulent bathroom through an open door and next to it, a closet more than adequate for her IMEP uniforms.

  She sat on the bed and was pleased with the firmness of the mattress. The layout of the room included a reading chair, a bedside table with scented candles and large dresser with a mirror against the wall by the door.

  A sharp knock drew her attention, and she swiped at her face to remove the lingering traces of moisture. Exploring her new rooms had served as an excellent distraction and she no longer felt like a blubbering two-year-old.

  Opening the door revealed the young man who’d been heading towards Thane’s transport. He was holding her bags and panting. “How much clothing did you bring?”

  She smiled. “Just a few uniforms and a couple of changes of regular clothing. The rest of it is reference books.”

  “Lady, you must have more books in here than all the Central Alliance libraries combined. You couldn’t use a data pad?”

  “No.” She didn’t elaborate. The kid didn’t need to know the healer’s tradition of handwritten journals and guides.

  He grunted and mopped his brow with a hand. “Dinner’s in an hour. Follow the hallway until you reach a ramp that leads down. Keep going down and you’ll find the great hall.”

  She nodded, but he’d already stopped staring at her chest and was heading down the hallway. The unpleasant task of unpacking loomed before her, but the time lag before dinner didn’t allow for a nap, so she had little option but to find a place for her things.

  Soon she found herself splashing cold water on her face and heading to the great hall. The hallways through the mountain didn’t appear to be naturally made, but she saw no evidence of tool marks. The arched hallway curved with the smoothness of a snake and felt slick beneath her hand. En route, several up-ramps branched off in graceful sweeps, the edges framed with rich hued wood for decoration.

  A down-ramp branched to her right and curved around to enter the center of the great hall. People milled around while others sat at long tables that appeared to be removable. “Hall” didn’t do the cavern
ous expanse justice. A huge fire pit sat in the center of the room, but the room didn’t fill with smoke, despite the lack of chimney. Looking up, she couldn’t make out the ceiling against the darkness, but assumed some sort of exhaust system pulled the smoke out.

  Gorgeous tapestries hung on the walls and a long, intricately woven rug stretched from the oversized doors across the hall and split to encircle the fire pit. It ended at the edge of the ramp. From her elevated position, she saw the weaving created images of the same creature tattooed on Thane’s chest.

  “I was looking for you.”

  The voice startled her, but she managed to control herself¾jerking rather than leaping from her skin. She turned. “You were?”

  Thane scowled at her. “I came to get you for dinner.”

  “The young man who brought my bags gave me dinner instructions.”

  He didn’t look appeased. “Come with me. You and I will be joining the Malkia at the head table for dinner.”

  Well, didn’t that sound as much fun as facing a drunken pirate with an armed laser? “Why?”

  “Why?” he asked, hauling her towards the table that sat above the others, one arm wrapped firmly around her biceps.

  “Why are we sitting with the Malkia?”

  “It’s a formal meal to welcome you to the tribe. It’s an honor to sit with the Malkia.”

  “Why are you sitting with us?”

  “I’m the Knife of the Hakimu. I’ve earned a seat at the table.”

  She fumed at the implication that she had no business being there. “Surely I can be honored and still sit elsewhere.”

  He jerked to a stop, forcing her to do the same as he still held her arm. “You will not insult the Malkia again.”

  “She insulted me,” Ilexa pointed out through gritted teeth. She was tired and more than a little cranky. Talon was lucky he was light years away from her. Right now, she wanted to crack his head like a nut for sticking her with Thane and his tribe.

  “Let it go, Ilexa. The Malkia is our leader and deserving of respect.”

  The dismissive tone told her he was done talking. She let it drop, recognizing that as tired as she was, she would likely come across sounding like a bitch. If she was going to be bitchy, she wanted there to be no doubt it was intentional.

  They’d reached the table when the Malkia swept in, a striking, silver-headed man at her side. He stood a few inches taller than the Malkia and despite his age, had the hard-muscled body of a warrior. The sharp, angular facial features reminded her of a relief she’d once seen carved into granite. Together, the two made a striking couple. Even without the way the milling tribe members parted for them, they would have drawn her attention.

  Thane must have followed her eyes. “That’s Rhys. He’s the Malkia’s consort and the highest ranking warrior, the Sword of the Hakimu.”

  “I bet you could take him.” She wanted to slap her hand over her mouth. Exhausted from her trip, she’d clearly lost some mental-filtering capabilities.

  A grin flitted across Thane’s face and she wondered if he’d been flattered by her observation or amused at her idiocy.

  “The consort is always the Sword, but no Sword has ever been a poor warrior. His primary responsibility is the Malkia. Then the tribe. And don’t let his age fool you. He’s a powerful warrior.”

  She nodded, not trusting her tongue. Then, she noticed something else. “No one’s kneeling.”

  “What?” Thane paused in pulling out her seat.

  “No one’s kneeling to the Malkia.” Accusation entered her voice. “You kneeled.”

  “All tribe members kneel when a new tribe member is first presented to the Malkia. That is the only time we bend knee to anyone.”

  She should know these things. “Where is my cultural immersion counselor? Will he or she join us at this table or will we meet after dinner?”

  “Your counselor hasn’t arrived.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “I don’t know. Probably some bureaucratic delay. For now, just follow my lead.”

  The Malkia nodded to the two of them and took her seat at the center of the table. Rhys sat to her left, Thane to her right. Ilexa sat next to Thane. A beautiful woman slipped into the seat next to Ilexa as the Malkia rose.

  The seating of the Malkia must have been some unspoken etiquette signal, because every tribe member had taken a seat by the time the woman rose.

  “We welcome a new addition to the tribe tonight. The healer, Ilexa Dhakir, joins us from the planet N’yota to share her healing skills with our doctors while learning our medical skills.”

  “Heyla.” The tribe cheered.

  “Smile,” Thane hissed at her.

  She smiled and nodded at the seated throng.

  “A N’yotan healer’s gift is negatively effected by violence. Therefore, I am excusing Ilexa from any and all warrior training and warrior rites. No challenges may be issued, because the challenge cannot be answered.”

  Silence descended upon the tribe.

  It became hard to hold the smile as the heavy weight of the tribe’s eyes bore into her.

  “Ilexa is sister-in-law to the Damaia of N’yota. Her brother, the first minister of N’yota, specifically requested the strength of the Hakimu protect his sister¾”

  The roar of approval drowned out the Malkia’s next words.

  She paused and waited for the vocals to die down. “Though her ways are different, in the spirit of the IMEP, I ask you to welcome our new healer.”

  A cheer and polite applause sounded. Ilexa glanced at Thane, but his face remained impassive. Uncertain if she should respond, she offered a gentle wave.

  Ilexa sent a prayer of thanks that the side doors opened to reveal tribe members carrying plates of steaming food and glasses of amber liquid. Attention quickly diverted to the trays and the Malkia settled in her seat.

  Rhys engaged Thane in a quiet discussion and it took more effort than she wanted to admit to keep her spine straight.

  “So, you are the woman Thane has been forced to babysit.”

  Ilexa turned to meet the poison-green eyes of the woman next to her. Hate contorted her features, detracting from her beauty. Stunned by the hatred emanating from the woman, Ilexa fell back on politeness. “I’m Ilexa Dhakir. I’m a healer from N’yota.”

  “I am Karia Shantra, the highest ranking female warrior of the Hakimu.”

  It’s a pleasure to meet you, she though sarcastically. “I didn’t realize women could be tribal warriors.”

  “If you had listened to the Malkia’s speech, you would know we are.”

  Ilexa tried not to grind her teeth. Reminding herself that exhaustion made her short-tempered, she consciously swallowed the smart retort that rose. Instead, she asked politely, “How did you rise to lead the women warriors?”

  “I am the most deadly of women fighters.”

  “The men and women train separately?”

  Karia speared her with a vicious expression. “Women and men train separately, but we have fought side by side for centuries to defend this keep.”

  Ilexa refrained from asking when the last time that occurred. She’d bet her life savings it had been centuries before Karia had been born. “That’s a noble thing.”

  “Far more noble than you will ever be able to understand.”

  It was official. She hated the bitch next to her. Instead of making a smart-ass response, Ilexa took a swallow of wine.

  “Being Hakimu means being a warrior,” Karia continued. “You should be warned, no Hakimu man will forge a relationship with a woman who cannot fight.”

  Somehow, Ilexa doubted Karia was offering such information out of the goodness of her heart. Especially given the possessive looks the woman was casting towards Thane.

  Message received. Ilexa swallowed a bite of roasted vegetables, which suddenly tasted like sawdust.

  For some reason, her thoughts turned to Thane’s mother. She knew the woman had died when he was young and his father was in the Se
nate. Now she wondered if his mother had died in some sort of barbaric challenge.

  Two warriors rose, walked to the head table, bowed and crossed the great hall to pull the large, wooden doors open. It took quite a bit of heaving effort.

  Curious, she kicked Thane under the table.

  He glared at her, but extracted himself from his conversation with Rhys. “Are you okay?”

  “What’s going on?”

  “We’re expecting the return of a rite-of-passage hunting party.”

  Through the doors, she realized the great hall opened over a large plateau. She didn’t believe she’d descended deep enough to reach the base of the mountain and wondered if the flat expanse was manmade or a natural geological formation. Across the vista, she could see the two moons of Dunia, but no stars. As she studied the alien sight, a middle-aged man raced in through the doors.

  She hadn’t noticed him approaching, but his head appeared first, which meant some stairs or another ramp led up to the keep through those doors. The man didn’t slow, but hurtled towards the head table, sliding to a stop before the Malkia.

  He bowed his head. “Malkia, the young hunter was attacked by a culia in heat. His arm is almost completely severed.”

  Chapter Three

  Ilexa watched more warriors carry a young man in on a stretcher. Even from a distance, she could tell that he needed critical care. Why in all the hells had they brought him here instead of to a hospital?

  Two men dressed in loincloths—loincloths—and with tattoos reminiscent of Thane’s carried the litter past the tables to the sunken area in the center of the great hall. They lay the wounded man down beside the roaring fire and knelt by his side.

  Ilexa skirted the long table and tried to approach the litter. If one could call him a man. He barely looked old enough to shave. Thane caught her upper arm in a bruising grip and shook his head at her. She glared back.

  “That boy needs a hospital,” she snarled.

  Thane shook his head at her again. “He has chosen to pass through the veil rather than live as a cripple.”