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"Furthermore, even suggesting that a Minor Clan could be allowed such outrageous privileges goes against all that we have worked for--"

"All you have worked for, Thelyssa Marigren." S'aryn, great-grandmother of Shanin Betandi, was growing impatient. "I did not unite the Clans in order to subjugate the Ta'burs, and it seems as though the noble Houses would rather return to the old ways."

A single glance from S'aryn's mate sent Thelyssa Marigren stalking down the corridors of the palace complex, away from S'aryn's rooms. No Athmari male was truly feared, but if one came close...it was Solundat Betandi.

Those intimidating, raven-hued eyes turned on her. "Let's go to bed, then," Solundat replied.

S'aryn did not bother to remove her audience robes. She simply poured herself some glein, tossed back the glass, and fell into her bed. Her dreams were filled with dark visions: soulless creatures ravished the Athmari Empire, leaving the Houses of Caden wandering among the stars.

The next thing she remembered was standing on the balcony and retching. Her skin had taken on a wan color, and felt like it was rotting off of her body. Eventually this passed, and S'aryn was left feeling somewhat more relaxed than she had during her audience with the young Lady Marigren. Her lips curved in a grim smile.

The smile quickly disappeared as she turned and saw Solundat reach for the flask on her nightstand. "No!" He recoiled almost before she opened her mouth to speak; their telepathic bond was that strong. "There's mist in there."

His eyes went wide. "You're sure? How do you-- the child! S'aryn, you need a medic!"

"I think not," One hand went unconsciously to her barely-rounded stomach. "I can still join minds with her; she must be uninjured."

S'aryn shook her head. "No. Even if she were foolish enough to do this, I would rather deal with her than her heir. Sorana is harder to manipulate."

Solundat was pleased by this logic, and S'aryn could not think of anything more gratifying that that.

Cereda snatched a praja fruit from the dish on her table. She ripped it apart with the nails of one hand as she drained the vial of brochena she held in the other hand. Like most Athmari, she disliked solid food, but the brochena was not always available in the field and the medics told her that if she did not even take the praja, her stomach would not accommodate the food she'd have to choke down if captured or stranded on one of these starforsaken enemy worlds.

Of course, that was rapidly beginning to not matter. The feud against the Kessels was running smoothly, and the last thing Clan Betandi needed was a pregnant heir setting herself up to possibly be trapped behind enemy lines.

She bit into a slice of praja. It was bitter. Making a mental note to have the cook placed in a kamikaze unit, she forced herself to swallow. Bits of the fruit stuck between her teeth--disgusting!--and it had just as much sugar as it had useful nutrients...how could other races stand it? Cereda finished the rest as quickly as she could, then called for her first officer. Lerain was a medic herself, and always the first to start whining when Cereda tried to push herself to what she knew were reasonable extremes.

Cereda opened her mouth to reply--and began gasping for breath. Lerain rushed to her side and, placing her hands on Cereda's cheeks, used her limited telepathy to find the source of the illness. Cereda was not aware enough of reality, at first, to react, then--

"Nothing? There was enough mist in your breakfast to kill you--and what's this? You're with child?" Lerain's voice had shifted up half an octave and she was holding on to Cereda even tighter, despite the direct order.

"My family's resistant to poison, apparently. Mother drank enough to kill her twice over, while she was bearing me, and nothing happened."

Lerain frowned but said nothing. It was only a male child, not the all-important heir that Clan Betandi needed. Just enough to get her CO sent back home and coddled unpleasantly for the better part of a year.

"You will not back down that easily, Lerain. I know that you will not shut up about this. That laves me only one choice." Cereda paused, and Lerain leaned in closer. "You will lead the assault yourself, and if you do not give your Clan the victory it needs more than another male brat, I hope that you and he both have the good sense to die."

Seleyn brought his sword down in a curving stroke. Sweat covered his brow, and there were signs of fatigue in his obsidian-dark eyes. The hiss of starmetal on starmetal harmonized with the sharp gasps of his breath.

Leru Kessel held out for a moment more, then made the sign for surrender. "Are you Solundat reborn? I think you must be."

"Why not admit that there's more than one Betandi male who can handle a sword?" Seleyn scowled and brushed a lock of white hair away from his eyes. "If you don't accept me this time, Kessel, it just means that you'll have to fight me again."

His grandfather's sword arm and his mother's tongue, Leru thought. Pity. He might have made our people consider new paths.

"Very well, Domyn, but I doubt your Clan will have much reason to celebrate this day."

"Then I'll have to give them a reason," Seleyn replied grimly. He felt the dim stirrings of an attraction...toward a Kessel? The High Domyn Leru was part Betandi, but she was still Kessel by blood and allegiance, not to mention the daughter of Lerain. Cowardly traitor!

Ignoring the tight, tousled curls of Leru's hair, Seleyn sheathed his sword and walked out of the room.

His mate, Iria, was waiting for him. He greeted her with a weary embrace, then submitted to her scrutinizing glare. There was only one small cut from the duel with Leru; Iria immediately placed her lips on the tiny mark.

It was more than symbolic nurturing. Iria, a warrior herself, knew the taste of the blood was wrong.

***Yes...but I feel better, not worse.*** The lust surfaced again; he used sending to bring it to her attention. ***See?***

***But we must be careful.*** She sent to him the sensations of her own body, fearful. ***I could...***

He flooded her mind with memories given to him by S'aryn as he unlaced her tunic. **Why not?***

When Shanin woke from the dream, she was screaming inside. So many tangled images: the mindless ones, S'aryn, and her last, most difficult childbirth. There was nothing but black and stars outside her window, when she could have sword she saw again her birthworld's final sunset.

She examined her bare left arm. Her cybernetically enhanced eyes noted one more grey pinprick in the skin of her wrist. At the same time, a pair of Clan Betandi medics studied the surveillance recordings of Shanin's quarters, along with medscanner readings and transcripts of telepathic scans.

"I don't really care, Julani. Just so long as we don't have to up the dosage again--"

The third woman in the room, who was neither Betandi nor a medic, cut her off. "She can take much more. As she becomes accustomed to the drug, she'll need more to produce the same controlled effect."