"One hundred, seventy-six, Princess," murmured a guard who stood just inside the doorway of the shuttle. King Cetus' household had disappeared into the shuttle and it was time to receive the slaves' tokens.

"Count them. Be sure no one is left out," reminded the princess quietly. "I have no wish to lose any of them because we won't be able to come back if any are left behind."

The guard dipped his head and Grastian went to stand inside, near an open doorway. As each slave passed the princess, he dropped his charm into her outstretched hand, a symbol of the change in ownership. Guards ushered each slave into the room beyond, the largest bay of the shuttle, where they expected to be given a different pendant of ownership after allowing the victor to record vital statistics.

When the last slave had given her pendant to the princess and was ushered into the holding area, the door was quickly shut, locking the slaves in. At the same time, the ramp was retracted and the shuttle prepared to lift off. Grastian was pleased with the apparent success of her mission but more exhausted than she thought possible from the match, both physically and emotionally.

Urged on by her guards, Princess Grastian went to have her hurts tended before going to change out of her torn, bloody, battle-stained clothing. In the medical bay, the princess suffered to having her wrist and abdomen stitched, her ankle tended. All the while, her gaze resting on another table, where the former master lay.

A bevy of medical personnel worked feverishly to close the wound in his shoulder and pump blood into his body so they could restart his heart. They'd cut away his shirt but Grastian could see a thin, silver chain around his neck. A pain went through Grastian's heart to see him so grievously wounded and fear twisted in her stomach for him.

Silently, Grastian prayed for him, begging God to spare his life and to heal him. As soon as her comparatively small wounds were dressed to the medic's satisfaction, Princess Grastian asked to be kept apprised of his condition before she left to change into her customary robes again, readying herself for the next part of her plan.

Underfoot, a slight rumble announced that the shuttle was leaving Styxe's atmosphere to meet the Canon where it hovered in orbit overhead. Pain shot through Grastian's ankle again despite the heavy brace. Her stomach throbbed where it had been sliced open.

In comparison, Grastian barely felt the wound on her wrist. On reflection, she was grateful to be alive at all. Fighting the need for rest, Grace forced herself to continue on with her plan.

By the time she'd changed clothes and accepted the energy drink offered by one of her guards, the shuttle had landed aboard the king's flagship. Beyond weary, Princess Grastian slowly debarked in order to join her parents and brothers so they could coordinate the next step of their efforts together.

As she walked down the gangplank, the princess was acutely aware of the medics behind her. She stepped aside silently so they could rush the wounded man toward the Canon's infirmary, watching their coordinated sprint.

Still inside the shuttle, the slaves would be huddled together fearfully, unsure of what was happening. They'd come aboard the roomy shuttle expecting to be given a different token to wear and sent back to their fields and settlements. Instead, they found themselves being removed entirely with no information about where they were going.

Princess Grastian remembered her first hovercraft ride as a slave and regretted not being able to explain things to them sooner, even though she knew that the lapse would be shortly rectified. Ignoring the pain in her ankle and stomach, Grastian forced herself to hurry. As soon as everything was ready, the former slaves were ushered out into a large storage area that had been hastily converted to a conference hall beforehand.

Princess Grastian was to address them, as her father had given her permission to take the lead at every step of her mission. Unable to fully marshal her thoughts for weariness, Grastian wished she'd delegated a little better, forgetting that she'd wanted to speak to everyone herself. Most of them knew her personally from her medical 'practice', more than they did either of her brothers.

The royal family entered through a door that led onto the platform that served as a stage. "I know you must all be confused," the princess told the huddled masses aloud in order to gain their attention, speaking the language of Styxe. When everyone had quieted, she began the speech she'd prepared and memorized.

"Seven years ago, someone plotted to remove King Cetus' and Queen Spica's children from the kingdom's royal line of ascension. The princess and twin princes were brought to Styxe and sold as slaves. We are, in fact, Princess Grastian, Prince Oberon and Prince Orion, though you knew us as Grace, Ben and Ryan.

"You provided for us, protected us, taught us to survive and you made us a part of you. Today, we plan to return the favor." The princess indicated a large screen behind her as she continued speaking. In response, a slide show of images began to play.

"The images you see behind me are footage of a planet in our realm, Regula III. Located on the outer reaches of the Regulus solar system, the landscape and climate are similar to what you were accustomed to on Styxe, but the soil is fertile and could become lush again, with sound management such as you practiced on Styxe.

"We have prepared homes there for you, where you will be free to own land, free to raise your families, free to fight back against slave traders. You have been taught to be warriors as well as laborers and we recognize that. It is why we chose this planet for you.

"There are pirates and smugglers that make Regula III a base of operations. They are, in large measure, the reason for this planet's wasted state. You will need to be on your guard against them. The people who live there now are not warriors as you are, as you taught my brothers and I to be, but those people eagerly await the day when you arrive to teach them how to defend themselves."

"Why?" spoke up a man from the crowd. "Why us? There are lots of people on Styxe who do what we do every day." The question broke Grastian's concentration. Her mind went blank and she hesitated, too tired to think logically.

"Because everyone deserves to make a home and have a family they can expect to keep and protect," answered Orion quickly from behind his sister. He stepped up to stand beside her as he peered into the crowd and smiled. "Because Jax, you all became our friends and we couldn't bear the idea of abandoning our friends in their distress, to live the rest of your lives in slavery while we returned to our life of wealth and ease."

Oberon stepped forward as well, seeming to have noticed that that his sister needed help. As he spoke, she realized that, in listening to her practice her speech so often, they had memorized it as well. Gratefully, she stepped back a little and let them give it. Oberon took over the speech for her, personalizing it with the force of his personality.

"The journey to your new home is a long one. It will take several days, so we have prepared rooms for everyone. If you could sort yourselves by families, we will be able to assign appropriate cabins- family rooms. Unmarried adults, please separate into one single group for assignment to the barracks- the ship's bunkhouse. Attendants will be coming around to assist you.

"Just as you provided for us so long ago, we will provide you with everything you need, both for the journey and when you reach Regula III. Kort, I didn't forget how you gave me your shirt that first day. Draz, you made us all shoes right away, remember? You let me help you cut the leather."

The prince paused until the older man nodded, his face slowly gaining a ghost of a smile. "You all provided for us when we first arrived on Styxe. Think of this as returning the favor."

Grastian offered her brothers a grateful glance before she eyed the crowd again; saw expressions that ranged from grief and shock to cautious relief. "I'm sorry we couldn't tell you sooner. Please believe me when I tell you I know exactly how you're feeling right now. I remember being in this position seven years ago when the master first brought us to his holdings and I wish we could have given you time to pack your things but this was the only way we could legally get you all off the planet without starting a war."

Draz, Raza's husband spoke up from the floor with a dry chuckle. "Who says we aren't packed?" he said aloud. "Don't you remember packing your things for the master's last duel?"

Raza agreed. "We all have our clothing, our canteens and our weapons. What else does any slave own?"

The three siblings nodded as a rumble of agreement rose from the former slaves. "We remember," assured Orion. "But there will be other things you need. They will be gifts, yours to keep."

"In the next few days," Oberon added, "you will each be seen by medics. Citizens of Regula III will be available to answer questions about your new home and discuss in depth the challenges you will face there in regards to agriculture, security and politics. They are eager to meet you and will probably have questions for you too, since Grace here has been telling them so much about you."

His brother grinned mischievously. "And certainly they will want to meet the ladies."

"Orion!" Grastian scolded, shocked by his lack of deportment.

"What?" he teased. "Everyone in the settlements always said their greatest need was marriageable young men . . ."

Caught up in the lighthearted moment he'd created, one of the young women whooped. "Bring them on then! I'm ready." A chorus of agreement came from men and women alike.

The man who'd spoken up first, spoke again. "Long live King Cetus! Long live Queen Spica, Princess Grace, Prince Oberon and Prince Orion!"

His cry was taken up by the others, who each said it once, then knelt where they were, paying homage to their new king. A swarm of the king's soldiers, having stripped off their armor, entered the throng as soon as the king had acknowledged their fealty and the crowd began to organize themselves.

The princess watched, noting that the translator she'd purchased went to stand with Raza's family and was received with joyful tears. Among the single adults, women far outnumbered the men. As women were indeed scarce on Regula III, the sight made Princess Grastian smile.

Playfully, she dug Oberon's side with one elbow and Orion's with the other. "Thanks, Ben; thanks, Ry." From either side of her, the brothers elbowed back, offering their brotherly support.

A medic arrived and stood at the edge of the stage as Grastian watched the crowd led away, family by family, to quarters below decks. "Princess, we have him awake for a short time," the medic told her quietly. Princess Grastian followed the medic, limping slowly from the room.

Inside the infirmary, the former master was stretched out, encased in a bed that had formed around his specific shape. It effectively immobilized and held him at an angle that was about half upright, half laying down. Grastian knew that the angle of the bed could be adjusted to make him lay flat or even partly upside down if the medics felt the need of it.

Tubes snaked out from his uninjured hand and disappeared into the base of the bed where the computerized controls and monitor were built in. Grastian noticed that, though he still had his own trousers and boots, his ruined shirt had been replaced by an infirmary gown. He was also wearing the silver chain but it disappeared under the neckline, obscuring any pendant.

"Princess Grastian?" he asked in her own tongue when he saw her. "Why am I still alive? A blood duel requires death to be valid." His voice was resigned, laced with sadness that warred with concern.

Grastian wondered if he'd wished to be dead and was dismayed to find himself still alive or if he worried that whoever was in charge would send someone to finish the job. She raised her brow in silent question, surprised that he spoke her language so fluently. "You understood our tongue?" she asked when he ignored her surprise.

His voice was flat. "I speak Drevanian, Your Highness. I only used Tike as an interpreter because my guests seemed to wish it and it would have been impolite otherwise."

Princess Grastian, remembering that her interpreter had been born in his household, nodded her understanding and filing the girl's name away for future reference. She was impressed by his show of grace despite the difficult circumstances. Still, she wondered if he expected to be killed in order to satisfy the brutal Styxean law.

"The duel was legal because I did stop your heart," she told him by way of explanation. "I'm sorry about your arm." A medic brought her a stool and she accepted it, grateful to be able to take her weight off her throbbing ankle.

"Why?"

"Why am I sorry about your arm?" she grinned, trying to tease him. "Because I only planned to spill enough of your blood to satisfy the sensors before I hit you with the stasis rod. As it is, I was off-balance, my footing was off and I cut too deep. I nearly took your arm off entirely."

She would have continued her explanation but he spoke up quickly when she paused. "No, I mean why any of this?" He closed his eyes. "I don't understand what I did to make you demand blood satisfaction. Why did you offer a challenge? Were you sent to kill me by my master?"

Knowing that temporary amnesia was a side effect of the stasis rod she'd used to save his life, the princess asked, "How much of the fight do you remember?"

"I remember you challenging me. I remember dinner and getting ready for the duel. I remember stepping into the ring but after that, nothing."

"Not everyone has a master," she began, referring to the old Styxean proverb. "Certainly, I don't beyond my royal father; so no, your master didn't send me to kill you; just the opposite, in fact. It was the only way I could think of to free the slaves and get you away from Styxe."

She touched his cheek in a show of silent encouragement, knowing he wouldn't feel her touch anywhere below his head. He opened his eyes. Grastian realized with some surprise that his dark eyes were a lighter brown than she'd remembered.

"You saved my brothers and me once when we needed help. You rescued us and protected us. I wanted to return the favor." He frowned again and blinked, clearly not recognizing her.

"We will have to put him back under soon, Your Highness," warned a medic from behind the princess as he studied the bed's monitor.

"I don't remember you." Frustration laced the wounded man's voice.

Grastian knew she didn't have time to explain everything, knew he probably wouldn't remember much of the conversation when he was allowed to wake up again anyway. She smiled gently. "You've lost a lot of blood and you're badly hurt. Get some sleep and I'll see you again in the morning."

After a short pause, the princess frowned. "I just realized; no one ever introduced us, so I don't even know your name."

"No one knows it," he told her. "My master doesn't care to know, my family is gone, slaves don't need to know and no one waited for me to introduce myself before your challenge."

Apparently, he remembered more than Grastian had anticipated. She flushed with embarrassment over her gaffe. How could she could have missed such a basic protocol in all the times she'd gone over the plans with her family?

"That was rude of me," she apologized immediately, eyeing his pale complexion with anxiety. He'd lost weight since she and the twins had escaped Styxe, she noticed, and there were lines under his eyes that spoke of sleeplessness. "I'm sorry I was so rude. It wasn't intentional." She paused, biting her lip but he didn't say anything. "You know my name, may I have yours?"

"My name is Reid, Your Highness," he whispered.

"Good night, Reid. It's nice to finally meet you," Grastian smiled.

"Good night, Princess Grastian. I wish I could say the same."

Reid closed his eyes again and Grastian could see the muscles in his jaw tense, the way it always had when he was working to hide his emotions. An alarm on the bed began to beep. The princess stepped back quietly as medics arrived to adjust the settings on Reid's bed in order to sedate him.

"My people . . ." Reid sighed as he lost consciousness, ". . . sorry."

Weariness overtook Grastian then. Despite all that remained for her to do, she returned to her cabin, made her excuses to her family by way of the shipboard communication system and stretched out, not bothering to undress. Her wrist and ankle throbbed; arm and leg muscles ached from the protracted fight.

The energy drink that her guards had given her had worn off, leaving her feeling even more exhausted than before she'd taken it and her stomach vaguely upset. Reid's sorrow flooded her thoughts, overwhelming Grastian. Too tired to cry, Grastian fell asleep before she could pray a single, coherent thought.