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Tyrk glanced back at me and I shook my head at him—the way was clear. For now. We scrambled onward through the cramped, mucus-slicked passage. The tunnel ended with a strange, padded platform we had to crawl across to reach the floor of a vast chamber.
Tyrk mouthed two words at me that turned my blood to ice, “Birthing room.”
I looked back at the gaping orifice where we’d emerged. It wasn’t a tunnel as much as it was a chute, one where the queen would birth her pupa into the world. I shuddered and swallowed back the rise of bile in my throat.
The urge to destroy the room and the pupa chamber below was as strong as the grip on the weapon at my side. My scales prickled with the conflicting urge to unleash my wrath upon the Gorken or maintain a cloak of stealth. A hot rush of adrenalyne coursed through my veins, as images flashed through my mind of my fated mate and the Valosian males held captive and forced to work in the mines.
I took a fortifying breath to slow my racing hearts and fell back on my warrior training, letting the fury raging within me wash over my scales in a heated display of blues and silvers. If I’d learned anything, there was a time to fight and a time for stealth. Now was the time for the latter. It would not do my spirit mate or my kinsmen any good to give away our presence—yet.
I followed Tyrk to one of two closed doors. He gestured for me to listen, although my sensitive auditory system had already picked up the muffled echoes of heavy footfalls resonating on the other side. I shook my head when the many footsteps accompanied guttural voices.
We made our way over to the second door. My senses strained, reaching out for any sounds of what lay beyond. Met with only distance noises of activity within the palace, I gave Tyrk a brief nod.
“Be ready,”he mouthed then placed one hand on the blaster at his waist and the other on the door’s lever.
Tyrk carefully pressed the lever and the door yielded, creaking open ever so slightly. Through the narrow gap, a dimly lit chamber revealed itself. A single torch cast flickering shadows across the bare floor and in the center of the empty room hunched a figure —unmistakably Valosian.
Dark-penetrating lenses in place, I could clearly see the male as he lifted his head before rising to his full height. The chains binding him clattered against the stone floor of his cage. Though his body bore the signs of imprisonment, his spirit remained unbroken.
My gaze swept over the caged male, but I failed to recognize him. He was not of Clan Trisess, but what did it matter anymore? Our common enemies had erased the disputes that once separated our clans. We were one people now, forged together in a united front against all who sought to steal our freedom.
“Who’s there?” the male hissed, his gaze narrowing in the general area where we stood. I removed the cloaking device and the male recoiled in alarm. “How did you appear out of thin air?”
“Cloaking device,” I said and rushed over. In a warrior’s greeting, stuck my forearm through the bars that held him captive. He clasped what I offered, his curious gaze flickering to Tyrk who had removed his cloak as well.
“Who’s he?” the male jutted his chin at the horned Nomadican who quietly closed the door.
“A friend to the Valosian. His name is Tyrk,” I said. “I’m Gunnox of Clan Trisess.”
“Vennox of Clan Huren. There were twenty of us brought here. What of them?”
“Held prisoner below ground and forced to mine an ore called sorium.” It was a wonder I could push the words past my clenched teeth.
“I’ve not been subjected to the mines. I was chosen by their queen and have been kept in this cage for her amusement.” Vennox raised his shackled wrists and shared a hopeful look between me and Tyrk that gutted me. “If you are here, you must have a plan to free us.”
“Not entirely,” Tyrk admitted, using a claw to pick the lock on Vennox’s cage. “This was meant only as recon, to discover an alternate escape route out of the mine without altering the whole of Gorka. What we found was a chamber filled with pupa and you.”
“Maybe I can help,” Vennox offered eagerly. “The queen and her guards speak freely around me.”
“Anything you can recall,” Tyrk urged.
“Most of what they utter is alien jargon and holds no meaning, but I know they cannot travel off this world to obtain more slaves because they lack a fuel called rillium. For whatever purpose the ore is used for, we are the last. I once heard the queen mention the Gorken could not mine the ore themselves.”
“She did say why?” Tyrk asked, not taking his eyes off his work.
Vennox’s hard stare drifted over my shoulder as he struggled to remember past conversations. “Something about energy absorption. Does that make any sense?”
Tyrk and I shared anahamoment before the door to Vennox’s cage creaked open. “It does.”
“Now for the shackles.” Tyrk's sharp gaze honed in on the intricate locking mechanism securing his wrists. With a deft hand, he assessed the mechanism's design before swiftly setting his practiced fingers to work.
“There’s more,” Vennox said as his restraints fell away.
The male remained still, his piercing gaze shifting between me and Tyrk. Despite his newfound freedom, he made no move to step out of his cage. His silver scales shimmered faintly in the muted light and a quiet determination flickered in the silver swirl of his gaze.
“The Gorkens' greatest weakness is their queen. She is about to outlive her breeding years. Their species cannot survive without a queen and she is the last female until another is birthed."
“You mean hatched,” Tyrk corrected.
