Alien Paladin's Redemption - Mina Carter Page 0,1

command. Instead, they kept themselves apart from him, no one willing to sully their reputations by kissing up to him. Not a Veshina.

He didn’t care. He was used to it. If he harbored any residual sting from his ostracization, it was buried so deep in his psyche he no longer registered it.

Looping his towel over the end of the bunk to dry, he approached the small altar set up between his bed and the wall. Lowering himself to his knees, he made the sign of the goddess—a circle drawn in the air in front of his chest and then a line from his forehead down to his heart.

His lips moved silently as he prayed, his eyes fixed on the small statue of Liaanas on the altar cloth. Unusually for a warrior’s altar, it wasn’t of the battle goddess in her armor, outfitted for war. Instead, she wore the simple robes and cowl of a wise woman, Neranitis blooms woven into a crown on her flowing hair.

It depicted the goddess after battle, when the full import of decisions taken became known.

As he prayed, his hands clasped his forearms in the traditional manner, and his fingertips brushed the furrowed flesh on the insides of his wrists. The skin there was marked with deep scars.

The ritual scars of atonement.

He’d undergone the Vesh—the trial of judgment. In the temple of the goddess, his wrists had been sliced down to the bone for the sins of his past, letting Liaanas herself decide whether he lived or died. In her wisdom, she’d deemed him worthy of life, and he had pledged himself to her service.

He opened his eyes, catching sight of his reflection in the polished mirror behind the altar. His dark hair hung around his face like a cowl, his eyes in shadow. Why had she let him live? It was a question he’d asked himself many times over the years. Had the goddess saved him only to condemn him to a half-life without connection with anyone else? As soon as others saw his scars, they knew what he was, a Veshina, and treated him accordingly.

Movement behind him caught his attention and he looked up. A warrior hovered by the end of his bunk, obviously unwilling to intrude on Nyek’s prayer. He might be reviled, but no warrior would risk the wrath of the lady goddess.

“Yes?” he asked, not turning around.

He was technically off duty, but the work of a garrison command officer, even a second officer, was never done. They had to be ready always in case of pirate attack. The cargo the Tev’tolath carried was critical for the survival of several colonies out in this sector.

“The commander wants to see you,” the warrior grunted, obviously not at all happy about being sent as a messenger. “Says it’s important.”

Nyek’s eyebrow winged up toward his hairline. Even though Nyek was the garrison’s second officer, the commanding officer, Karth D’Rek, normally liked to ignore his existence. For the male to send for him… well, things must be dire.

“Of course, I will attend him at once.”

Levering himself up, he turned. The warrior who’d delivered the message was already gone, probably happy to escape. Reaching for his uniform jacket, Nyek slid it on, settling it over his shoulders. Tall, he wasn’t as broad as some warriors, but he was whipcord lean and filled with the sort of corded muscle that meant people underestimated him.

Flicking his braided hair back over his shoulders, he left the barracks to find out what his superior officer wanted. Hopefully, it would be an attack, a glorious battle in which he could finally give up his life for the goddess and spend eternity at her side. Knowing his luck, though, it would probably be a discussion on cleaning rosters.

“Are all human females like you?”

The words were uttered with a combination of such horror and fascination it made Indra smile. She broke away from the warrior she’d been attacking, twirling her weapon over the back of her hand with a practiced gesture.

Aastan, the poor sod who had lucked into being her babysitter for the day, watched the movement out of the corner of his eye as he brought his guard up again. “I have never seen anyone pick up and master the s’tovik so quickly.”

Indra raised an eyebrow, spinning the alien weapon in her hand again. “This? Simple once you get the balance of it. You should try a tazvarth’s lance gun,” she said, naming a street weapon common to the gang she’d belonged to.