Valmoran Republic, Planet Kronai, Temple of the Seven

  Matthai Valtrellin, Future High Priest

  Matthai’s private chambers felt smaller than usual when he stepped through the door that evening. He slipped off his adept’s robes and hung them in the wardrobe next to the ceremonial robes he would wear tomorrow, his gut twisting at the sight of them.

  A familiar sense of relief washed over him as the cool air hit his naked body.

  Stripped of his robes, he was no longer Scion Matthai Valtrellin, 217th generation in an unbroken line of High Priests, sole heir to an entire religion.

  He was just Matthai.

  The day’s events weighed on his mind. He frowned, remembering how disastrously it had ended, but pushed thoughts of his accidental chronojump out of his mind. Unfortunately, there weren’t many positive things to focus on instead.

  Tomorrow, he would become even more of an outsider than he already was, his new role as the Ordained Scion setting him apart from his peers. People would give him a wide berth, not because of some rule his parents had made, but out of reverence for the High Priest of the First Temple.

  The galaxy would treat him like a precious relic to be admired from a distance.

  Thoughts of tomorrow—donning the ceremonial robes, attendants weaving the heavy silver Zanchion into his hair, the long, lonely procession to the cathedral—pressed at the edges of his mind.

  Crossing the room to enter his private bathing room, he used his Hix to fill the tub with water at his preferred temperature. Before he reached the edge, he undid the low knot that had secured his hair, shaking it out and releasing a deep breath as it fell over his shoulders.

  He descended the stairs into the small bathing pool and sighed, his tense muscles easing as he sank into the warm water. Crossing to sit on an underwater bench, he reached for the soap, dispensing the cool cream into his hands and working it to a silky lather before massaging it into his long tresses.

  As Matthai leaned back in the heptagonal bathtub, his gaze drifted over the intricate mosaics adorning the seven walls, each depicting one of the seven phases of Valmoran life in vivid color.

  This bathing room, the entire Temple, and all of Valmoran society were reflections of that seven-phase rhythm.

  He reached out and ran his fingers over the tiles along the tub’s edge, tracing their eternal cycle—Fertility, Beginnings, Discovery, Stability, Becoming, Completion, and Debauchery. The pattern repeated along the entire rim of the bathtub, just as the phases repeated with each generation of Valmorans.

  His fingers traced over the red and orange tiles of Fertility and Beginnings, the two phases that made up the season of birth. Matthai remembered very little of those early cycles. He hadn’t been born until the middle of the season of Fertility, and Liyara hadn’t come until the start of Beginnings.

  Lingering over the yellow tile of Discovery, he recalled the most carefree and innocent part of his life. Matthai hadn’t yet understood how different he was, and he and Liyara still had time to play before their studies consumed all their time.

  He walked his fingers forward to the green tile of Stability, the phase when the truth of his birthright had sunk in. They had begun to prepare him in earnest to become Liyara’s future advisor. It was also when her spark had started to fade.

  When he got to the sky blue tile, representing Becoming, he hesitated, as always. Liyara had grown melancholy and rebellious during the Phase of Becoming, sneaking into the city and getting Matthai to cover for her.

  Until that night, at the end of the phase during their Ceremony of Becoming, when she had fallen from the Tower of Becoming.

  If it weren’t so terrible, it might have been poetic.

  Next was the indigo tile for Completion, the phase now coming to a close, one shadowed by ever-present grief and endless studies as they readied him for his new role as heir.

  Finally, the violet tile of Debauchery—also known as mating season—the time when mate bonds were forged. He’d never lived through a mating season. His parents intended to make a spectacle of it by bringing the Kronai females from his list of potential mates to the Temple, and inviting the media to observe the proceedings.

  But that was a problem for the future, since it wouldn’t occur until the middle of the next phase.

  He continued to trace over the patterns, endless cycles composed of the seven phases of life.

  Valmorans lived by the cycles, worshipped by the cycles—an infinite sequence of phases, each flowing into the next, creating a never-ending whole.

  They were born together, found their vocations and mates, and began a new generation together, a synchronized society across the hundreds of Valmoran worlds.

  But while the others fit seamlessly into the grand design, Matthai felt ... broken. Separate. Alone.

  He felt a twinge of guilt at his own self-pity. The out-cyclers had it so much worse than he did. Those poor souls were, for unknown reasons, born outside of the season of birth.

  And he would meet with one of the most famous out-cyclers tomorrow before his ceremony.

  Callum Torion.

  You would have to live on an edge planet to not know who Representative Torion was. Most representatives kept a low profile, reporting to their ansibles and waiting for the AI Council to pull them into various debates. Representative Torion was more vocal and created a loyal following with his incisive series of vids on injustice.

  Callum wasn’t just born out-of-cycle—he was born radically out-of-cycle. When he was born, everyone else was already a teen.

  Like most out-cyclers, his family had shipped him to the out-cycler ward in Kronai City as a baby. While everyone else was preparing for their first mating season, Callum was still a youth.

  A radical out-cycler like Callum would have been painfully ‘other’ everywhere he went. He was between generations, forever set apart.

  He would understand what it felt like to walk through crowds, surrounded by people, and still be lonesome.

  Born into the Valtrellin dynasty, Matthai had always been set apart from his peers—both revered and isolated simply because of the blood that ran through his veins.

  Many people still reviled out-cyclers like Callum. He was, to many, untouchable, because of when he was born.

  In a way, they were both outsiders by circumstances of birth.

  Perhaps Callum would prove to be a kindred spirit.

  Matthai hoped they would at least find common ground, since Callum Torion would be his lifelong advisor on matters of Temple and State.

  After his bath, Matthai donned a soft pair of sleep trousers and a lightweight sleeping robe. They were silky and cool against his skin, refreshing after his hot bath.

  His stomach growled, reminding him he had skipped dinner. After convincing his parents he would not be chronojumping away during tomorrow’s ceremony, he hadn’t had much appetite.

  It was going to be a long night on an empty stomach.

  As he debated whether to call the kitchen to see if they had leftovers, there was a knock at the door.

  He knew who it would be, since Talia would have sent anyone else away. At this time of night, Talia and his parents were the only ones who would dare knock on his door, and he knew his parents were busy entertaining foreign dignitaries.

  The savory scent of fried draffla and mashed gon root struck him when he opened the door.

  “You didn’t,” Matthai said.

  “I did,” Talia said, grinning at him.

  Now that they were out of earshot of others, they could speak plainly. Well, somewhat. She still worked for his parents, so he had to watch what he shared with her.

  “You have to eat. We’ve been worried about you. Anyway, Janna’s busy tonight, and I could use some company. Mind if I come in?”

  “Sure,” he said, spirits lifting. His favorite food and a conversation with Talia sounded like a welcome distraction.

  “I’m fine, by the way,” he said, leading her into the room.

  Talia entered after him, but stopped before she’d made it two paces in. “Gods and Obelisks, that’s a lot of plants,” she muttered before returning her attention to Matthai. “You’re obviously not fine, since you ...”

  “Jumped?” Matthai cut in. He buried his face in his hands, shaking his head. “Ugh, don’t remind me.”

  She laughed good-naturedly. “Hey, at least you got it out of your system, right? Okay if I set this on your desk? Literally every other surface is covered with plants.”

  He murmured his assent before lifting his head. “Sometimes I wish my power was more useful, like yours.” Bitterness seeped into his tone as he continued, “My superpower is accidentally showing up naked in the East Garden, then snapping back with a crushing headache.”

  She shot him a stern look. “Don’t let anyone hear you talking like that. That’s a gift from the Gods.”

  He sighed, feeling a twinge of shame at his outburst. “You’re right. It’s just been a struggle.”

  “I know,” Talia said, her face drawn into a pained smile. “We miss her, too.”

  “Thanks, that means a lot. I just can’t stop thinking ...” he shook his head. “I wasn’t suited for this, not like Liyara.”

  Talia furrowed her brows. “Liyara was ... special to many of us, but ...” she looked up at the ceiling and heaved a breath. “And it’s not that I’m speaking ill of the dead, but ...”

  Matthai took pity on her. “It’s okay, Talia, I know you cared about her. What are you trying to say?”

  Talia lowered her gaze and looked him in the eyes. “It’s just that ... you seem to have this idea that she was perfect, that you’re somehow inferior. Liyara was many things—joyful, infectious, willful, a complete pain in the ass ... you know it was Janna who had to run after her all those times, right?”

  Matthai chuckled. “Yeah.”

  “And remember the times you got in trouble for covering for her?”

  Matthai nodded. “But still ...”

  “But nothing,” Talia said. “We miss her, too, but you’re not some poor replacement for a mythical perfect Scion. You’re going to make a wonderful High Priest in your own right. And you might not like to hear it, but I think you’re more suited for the role than Liyara ever was.”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  He opened his mouth to protest, but Talia held up a hand to stop him. “I’ve said my piece. Now, let’s eat.” She smiled, “And then I thought we could watch that new Legends adaptation to get your mind off things.”

  The tips of Matthai’s ears twitched with interest. “Which one? The one with the Feralix or the one about the lost homeworld?”

  “Well, we could watch whichever one you want, but I was thinking of the one with the Feralix.”

  Of course, Talia would go for the thriller. But it would be an effective distraction. “That’s fine with me.” He crossed the room to his small table, which was almost entirely covered with potted cloria blooms and horticulture texts, as Talia had so mockingly pointed out.

  He hadn’t been prepared to entertain, since he’d been in the middle of a new batch of cross-breeds. This breed of luminescent blue cloria flowers grew but refused to blossom in their climate.

  Once, he and Liyara had dreamed of visiting the garden at night, illuminated by the intricate blue flowers. He hoped one of these varieties would finally work out.

  “You’re still at it?” Talia said, reaching out as if to stroke the petals of one. “You’ll need to get these packed up soon.”

  Matthai swatted her hand away, then picked the plant up to move to his desk so they could eat. “I’m not letting anyone but Miral or me touch these. They’re delicate.”

  “I see how it is,” she teased. “Well, Scion, can I at least help you move these books to the desk?”

  He chuckled. “Of course, but don’t close the ones I left open unless they have a bookmark, and don’t stack the open ones on top of one another.”

  “Got it,” she said, and they moved everything from the table to the desk. Matthai headed for his bathing chamber to grab a cleansing rag to wipe off the table.

  Talia shouted from the other room, “I’m looking forward to the move.”

  “Don’t remind me. I like it here. It’s simple,” Matthai called back, re-entering the main room and moving to clean the plant detritus from the small table.

  He finished wiping it clean and retrieved the food containers from his desk. His stomach gave an involuntary rumble as he sat down and opened his food.

  Talia sat and grabbed the second container, dragging it in front of her and opening it. “Janna’s already got everything packed. I had to pull my work shoes out of a box this morning.”

  Matthai knew the mashed gon root was likely the better place to start, since it would be cool enough to eat. But the crispy draffla smelled too delicious to ignore. He took a tentative bite, recoiling and blowing on it when he learned it was, in fact, far too hot.

  “Where is Janna?” he asked.

  “Oh, she’s helping your parents with foreign dignitaries.” She heaved a breath. “She got stuck with Vargus Trix’s delegation.”

  “My parents invited him? Why?” Vargus Trix, mob boss and de facto leader of the pleasure planet, was not exactly the pious sort.

  “Beats me. But I know Janna will be thrilled to see him go. He’s ... fond of his gladiators.”

  Talia hung her head, suddenly intent on her dinner. Her subspecies, the Vraxai, were prized not only as bodyguards, but as gladiators. There was a long and wretched history of Vraxai children being snatched by slavers and sold on Ioria Prime to be trained as gladiator slaves. After a near miss, her mate Janna’s parents brought their daughter to the Temple for sanctuary.

  The practice was barbaric.

  Slavery was ancient history in the Republic and had been abolished even in the Federation generations ago.

  Ioria Prime was another matter.

  He shook his head. “Seriously, why would we invite someone like him?”

  She snorted. “Politics, I’m sure.”

  “Yeah … probably.” He wasn’t privy to that sort of thing yet. Scions lived with the other adepts, getting the same training, eating the same simple food, and living in the basic stone dormitories. The only difference was some of his classes. Matthai had a much heavier course load than most adepts.

  “Ready to watch the vid?” Talia piped up, clearly wanting to change the subject.

  Matthai nodded and pulled some cushions out from under his bed, giving each a firm smack and kicking up small puffs of dust.

  Poor Janna, having to serve a monster like Vargus Trix.

  A wry smile tugged at his lips as he arranged the cushions in front of the bed, remembering Janna’s sharp tongue. She was probably literally biting it to keep from giving Vargus a tongue-lashing.

  “Ready for the Feralix vid?” she asked. “We can watch the gooey romantic one, if you’d rather.”

  Matthai shook his head, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “The creepy Feralix one is fine.”

  “You won’t get too scared?” she teased, poking him in the side like she had when he was a child.

  Matthai rolled his eyes at her.

  As Matthai and Talia synced their Hix devices, firing up simultaneous 3D displays, Matthai had a sudden realization.

  His parents wouldn’t have put his personal guardians on duty with dignitaries, which meant Janna had volunteered. She may have had her reasons, but he was almost certain that part of it was to give Talia an excuse to spend the evening with him.

  His heart warmed with affection for Talia and Janna. Sometimes, it felt like they knew him better than his own parents.

  Matthai used his Hix to dim the lights, grabbed a blanket off his bed, and wrapped it around himself. He released a deep breath as he and his first guardian settled in to watch a creepy vid about a space monster who tortured adventurers on an expedition to find a secret homeworld.

  He almost felt like an ordinary man, watching a vid with a companion, spooking at the scary parts. As the vid ended, Matthai savored the fleeting sense of normalcy that had settled over the evening. Talia excused herself for the night, explaining that Janna had just gotten off her shift and was fixing to vent about Vargus Trix.

  It was so gloriously mundane that he wished he could freeze time and prevent the sun from creeping around the planet. As he crawled into bed, his heart sank into the mattress.

  The next day, Matthai would become holy in the eyes of the galaxy and lonelier than ever.

  This was his last night before the galaxy put him on a pedestal he had neither earned nor desired, and one from which he could never step down, only fall.

  Sleep eluded him, his mind racing with thoughts of the impending ceremony and the weight of his new responsibilities. He tossed and turned, the luxurious bedding offering little comfort as he grappled with the reality that his life would never be the same.

  Matthai jolted awake, his heart pounding as his eyes snapped open.

  A muffled sound pulled him from his slumber, and he blinked, trying to orient himself in the darkened room.

  As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he made out a small, huddled figure in the corner of his room, shaking and whimpering.

  Matthai’s mind raced, trying to make sense of the situation. No one should have been able to enter his chambers, especially not undetected.

  A sudden, impossible thought struck him. The figure had to be a chronojumper—it was the only explanation for their presence in his heavily guarded room.

  Chronojumpers only ever jumped to their past or future self, or to a place they had been before that felt safe. There was only one exception: they could jump to their mates, another place of safety. But that was impossible. This jumper couldn’t be ...

  The figure let out a whimper of pain.

  Driven by a sudden sense of urgency, Matthai used his Hix to raise the lights, illuminating the room in a soft glow.

  It was ... a woman. She was wounded, with bloody gashes and bruises all over her. She looked too thin to be healthy, and her hair was tangled and dirty.

  Matthai’s heart clenched at the sight of her battered form, a wave of compassion and protectiveness surging through him.

  And she was mated—the mark above her left breast made that clear.

  Instead of silvery skin and bluish hair, her skin was a shade of tan, and her hair looked like pale gold, though right now, it was caked in blood, so it was hard to be sure.

  Matthai furrowed his brows.

  The woman’s appearance raised more questions than answers. She was unlike any Kronai he had ever seen, yet she possessed the ability to chronojump—an ability exclusive to his subspecies.

  “Matthai?” She whispered, though it sounded like she didn’t trust the word even as she said his name.

  Shock rippled through him at the sound of his name on her lips.

  His mind raced, trying to make sense of the impossible. How could she know his name? Why did she seem so familiar with him, when he was sure he had never seen her before?

  He watched as a wave of emotions crossed her lovely face. Confusion, recognition, hope, relief, and finally, resolve.

  Matthai barely had time to ponder the situation before she scrambled across the room and straight into his arms. She slid into his lap, her knees straddling his thighs.

  Her sudden actions left Matthai breathless, his senses overwhelmed. The heat of her skin, the weight of her body against his—it was all too much and not enough at the same time.

  His heart raced, his skin tingling where her body pressed against him. Every nerve seemed to come alive, electrified by her touch.

  She felt … familiar. No, it was more than that—she felt essential.

  Every rational thought urged him to push her away, maintaining the distance befitting his station. But as he gazed into her eyes, Matthai found himself powerless to resist the pull he felt toward this mysterious woman.

  Instead, his arms wrapped around her delicate frame. She fit perfectly, as if she belonged there.

  Her eyes were red and glossy, like she had been crying. She started speaking to him, her voice imploring and urgent, but in a language he didn’t understand.

  Matthai couldn’t make out a word she was saying, apart from his name, which she kept repeating as if invoking it could somehow force his mind to understand her words.

  Frustration gripped him as he struggled to comprehend her foreign tongue. He should have understood her—his Hix was programmed for all Valmoran languages.

  She was desperate to tell him something.

  A troubling thought occurred to him, and he reached out to check behind her right ear, searching for the telltale bump of a Hix implant. His fingers met only smooth skin, marred by a jagged scar. Matthai’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

  He checked behind her other ear. Maybe they had implanted it on the other side? But there was nothing there, either, not even a scar.

  The absence of a Hix implant only deepened the mystery surrounding the woman. Who was she, and where had she come from?

  Then, Matthai noticed her ears—hers were cute and rounded, whereas those of a Kronai were long and delicately pointed.

  The woman turned her head back to him, a sad smile on her lips. She stopped speaking and caught his gaze. Then she took his hand in hers, pressed it to his chest, and said, “Matthai.”

  Lost in her gaze, he nodded.

  She moved his hand to her chest and said, “Kat-a-reen.”

  That must be her name. He attempted to repeat it, clumsily, and she smiled.

  Kat-a-reen pressed his palm harder into her chest, right above her heart, right over her mate mark. Then she spoke a single word, one that filled Matthai with joy and terror.

  One word that shattered the perfect future everyone had planned for him.

  The word that changed everything.

  “Amara.”

  Amara. Soul of my soul. My mate.

  This woman, Kat-a-reen, was his mate—he could feel it. His skin warmed and sparked, as if he was standing too close to a ceremonial fire.

  She took his hand from her chest and moved to press it above his heart, but for a moment, she stared at him in apparent confusion. It looked like she was searching for a mate mark, but of course, it wasn’t there.

  Of course, he didn’t have a mate mark.

  Although Kat-a-reen acted like she knew him intimately, and had known him well enough to jump to him, this was the first time that Matthai was meeting her.

  Oddly, Kat-a-reen didn’t appear surprised. She had composed herself.

  If she knew him well enough to jump to him, but he didn’t know her, there was only one explanation. It was an impossible explanation, but it was the only thing that made any sense.

  This girl, who was not a Kronai Valmoran and did not speak any known Valmoran language—somehow could jump through time and space, but her ability far exceeded any Kronai in recorded history.

  Somehow, in her panic, his mate had jumped to him from the distant future.

  Matthai would never have believed it if it hadn’t been happening before his eyes. Even now, it felt more like a dream than reality.

  And yet, Kat-a-reen rested her hand above his heart and stared into his eyes.

  Matthai grasped her hand. “Amara?” he asked, his voice breaking.

  She nodded. Kat-a-reen gave him a wan smile, but tears shone in her eyes.

  The sorrow in her expression tore at Matthai’s heart. He ached to take away her suffering, to shelter her from whatever horrors had driven her to seek solace in his arms. His mind raced with questions, with the desperate need to understand, to help, to protect.

  Matthai pressed his forehead to hers and curled his arms around her. She was his mate, the most important thing in the universe.

  And he was failing her. Just like he had failed Liyara.

  And like Liyara, Kat-a-reen was broken and bloodied. But she was still alive, he reminded himself. He still had time to figure out how to save her—a lot of time, if he had to guess.

  A sickening realization settled in his gut. Kat-a-reen had sought him out in her time of need, but he was not the man she had hoped to find. Not yet.

  The Matthai he was right now ... he was utterly useless to her.

  Soon, she would snap back to the time and place she had come from, where someone was hurting her, but Matthai wasn’t sure he could help her. He didn’t even know where to look, let alone save her from whatever this was. The least he could do was offer her some comfort before she returned to that horror.

  It was the only thing he could do.

  He pulled back and cupped her cheeks with his hands. She wouldn’t understand his words, but he wanted to reassure her somehow, so he spoke to her, hoping the look in his eyes, the tone of his voice would mean something to her.

  “Kat-a-reen, my Amara,” He kissed her forehead.

  Matthai’s heart ached with a fierce protectiveness he had never known before. This woman, his mate, had endured unimaginable horrors, and he was powerless to stop it. A swell of emotions surged through him—desperation, fear, longing, and above all, an overwhelming need to shelter her, to take away her pain.

  He cradled her face in his hands, his thumbs sweeping away the tears that spilled down her cheeks. In that moment, nothing else mattered—not his impending Ordination, not the expectations of his family and his people, not the scandal that would surely follow.

  All that mattered was the woman in his arms, the other half of his soul.

  Her desperate expression told him they didn’t have long—like him, she must have felt when her jumps were about to end.

  Matthai needed to reassure her. “It’s going to be okay. I promise I’ll find you, that I’ll never stop looking. I—“

  Suddenly, she leaned in to press her lips to his, and, for a heartbeat, there was softness and warmth. Connection. He grasped her tighter, as if he could keep her there by sheer force of will.

  And for a fleeting instant, everything was right in the universe.

  In that moment, Matthai understood with startling clarity that his life was forever changed. This woman, Kat-a-reen, was his destiny, his future. He would tear the universe apart to find her if that was what it took to keep her safe.

  And then—nothing.

  His arms collapsed in on themselves. Kat-a-reen was gone, the warmth of her skin replaced by cold, empty space.

  Matthai choked back tears. For a moment, it had felt like he knew who Matthai Valtrellin was supposed to be, that he knew his true purpose in life, before it had been ripped away.

  Kat-a-reen had returned to some terrible place, wherever and whenever she was, and he had no way of finding her.

  Despair threatened to engulf him, but he refused to let it consume him. He had to be strong, for Kat-a-reen’s sake. Matthai had to save her, no matter the cost.

  Bloody smears painted his skin. But the most remarkable, astounding thing was the mate mark forming on his chest, right above his heart.

  Right where Kat-a-reen had expected it to be.

  His chest tightened with a newfound sense of purpose. He would find her, no matter what it took. But how in the galaxy was he going to explain this?

  Kat-a-reen wasn’t Kronai; worse, this was an out-of-cycle mating. A thousand Kronai females were on his list of potential matches, waiting until the Phase of Debauchery to see who would become the next High Priestess.

  It would be none of them.

  Matthai’s High Priestess was a beautiful, terrifying enigma—and she needed him.

  Scandals, expectations, and politics aside, his mate was a chronojumper from the future. Future Kat-a-reen was being tortured, and he had no clue where to find the present version of her.

  The entire galaxy would watch him take his vows tomorrow, and all he wanted was to find someone, anyone, with a ship, answers ... something. He had only just met Kat-a-reen, and already, her absence was tangible.

  Matthai had never yearned to abandon his duties more.