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them, the man Garlin. He resembled the Bard, but his features had an edgy, gaunt look and his hair was dark burgundy, streaked with gray instead of gold. Had he had access to treatments that delayed aging, Roca would have guessed him to be well into his second century of life. But according to Brad, these people had no health sciences. If this man had never known the benefits of modern biotech, he could be much younger, even in his forties.
    Garlin spoke tightly in his language, his words directed to the Bard, though he was obviously angry at Roca as well. His mood came through to her with unusual strength, making her suspect he too was an empath, though nowhere near as strong as the Bard. He regarded her with antipathy, as if it were her fault that this hotheaded person had hauled her off under the bizarre pretext of improving Allied-Skyfall relations. Gods only knew what they would do when they found out she wasn’t an Allied citizen.
    “You Garlin, yes?” she asked. She wished she spoke English better, with more nuance.
    Garlin gave her a chill stare.
    “Of course he is,” the Bard said. “He used to be my regent. He is also my cousin, the son of my mother’s sister.”
    That puzzled Roca. Her node defined “regent” as someone who raised a child sovereign and performed his duties until the child reached adulthood. Yet Brad claimed this man wasn’t a king.
    She considered Garlin. “You guardian for Bard?”
    He turned forward, guiding his mount across the plains.
    “Garlin, you are rude to our guest.” The Bard sounded annoyed.
    The older man answered in their language. Roca had a feeling he better understood the trouble they had created for themselves by taking her. She wondered if Garlin had sensed that moment of mental recognition between the Bard and herself back at the port.
    Aside from her family, the Ruby Dynasty, Roca knew of no one else with a mental signature as strong as this Bard. Such powerful psions were rare almost to extinction. Scientists had yet to determine why incubating them in vitro almost always failed. The more powerful the psion, the higher the fatality rate. But her people desperately needed Ruby psions. Only an analysis of this man’s DNA would verify if he had the full set of Ruby genes, but certainly he had many. He might be a vital resource to the Imperialate, their most valuable find in decades. How she dealt with this situation could have far-reaching effects, particularly if he was a leader among his people.
    This Bard was an enigma, one possibly dangerous to her. She needed to understand him, to compare him with her family, the only other psions with such power. She thought of her father, Jarac. The Imperator. As the hereditary leader of Imperial Space Command, he led the Skolian military forces. A stoic and kind man, he had an immensely powerful mind, but he lacked the finesse to detect subtleties in moods and thoughts. The Bard had less strength, but his mind felt robust, healthy, strapping, with a youthful quality and perhaps more finesse than Jarac.
    Roca’s mother, Lahaylia, the Ruby Pharaoh, had plenty of subtlety—and also an edge. Where Jarac was temperate, Lahaylia was fierce. Jarac relaxed now and then, but Lahaylia never rested. She loved her family deeply, without compromise or condition. A direct descendant of the ancient Ruby queens, she had founded the Skolian Imperialate. In contrast, the Bard seemed to have little sense of his power. It was instinctual with him.
    Roca’s sister, Dehya, had enough finesse for ten people. She had inherited their mother’s dark hair and exotic eyes, but not her ferocity. Dehya was a thinker, lost in equations, a genius at the webs. As the older child, Dehya was first in line for the Ruby Throne, but Roca had always suspected her sister would have rather become a math professor. Dehya was too different from the Bard to compare the two.
    There was Kurj, Roca’s son. He and his grandfather Jarac were both huge and metallic