“I understand, sir.”
“It also means that we need to choose warriors who are eager to find mates of their own.”
I nodded, my mind already racing through all of my personal contacts—everyone I had gone through officer training with, all the warriors I had been stationed with in my military career, even the males I had grown up with back on Khanav Prime.
“I need grooms who understand the importance of the Bride Lottery,” Vos emphasized.
“Yes, sir,” I said automatically.
“And toward that end, I want you to be one of the grooms in this extra-special Holiday Special.”
I froze, stunned into silence, which Vos mistook for surprise and delight at being chosen.
“I know. Isn’t it wonderful? You are going to be able to choose your very own mate. Well, from the approved candidates, of course.”
Vulk. Vulk, vulk, vulk.
Vulking Zagrodnian hells.
I did a little calculating in my head. According to my most recent intelligence, Deandra was due to be released from prison within the next Earther week.
There was no way Vos would agree to include her in his “Holiday Special.” She had been clear during her trial that she disapproved of the Bride Lottery. For this version of the Bride Games, Vos wanted brides who were eager to be mated.
I opened my mouth to say something but stopped. If I spoke out openly against this plan of his, Vos would simply replace me. That was how he worked.
No, I needed to stay where I was if I ever wanted a chance to make Deandra Casto my mate.
“Well?” Vos raised his eyebrows at me. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
No vulking way. “I think this is a grand plan, Vos. I’ll go get started immediately.”
Vos smiled proudly and stood. “I’m delighted to be able to help you find a bride of your own. Your work here has been exemplary. I can’t think of a better member of my staff to represent us in the Holiday Special.”
“Thank you, Sir.” I shook his hand human-style, and left his office, already plotting to get out of any attempt to mate me off to some random human female.
No matter which human he chose for me, none of them would be a match for my Deandra.
And no way in all the Zagrodnian hells would I mate with anyone but her.
Chapter Seven
Dee
Later the night of my meeting with Marjorie Kent, before lights out, I picked up the epaper she’d left behind, finally curious to see what kind of information Marjorie had given me.
I scrolled through the information. The first few pages were about the halfway house I had agreed to go to—lists of rules, schedules, and so on.
But then, almost buried between information about the rule against keeping candles in our rooms and a schedule of meals that would be offered in the communal kitchen, was an odd link that simply said Brides.
I clicked it, and the image on the epaper dissolved into a completely different article.
This one was about the growing human dissatisfaction with the Bride Alliance.
It had charts and studies and quotes from psychologists about the kind of damage that could be done to our collective psyche by a program like the Bride Lottery. I read through it, my confusion growing.
Was this why Marjorie had stared at me so intently? Was she trying to tell me something without using words?
There was no indication where the article might have been published, but when I scrolled back to the top, I realized there was a byline.
Roya Haji.
Roya. The same name as the woman who was going to pick me up to take me to the halfway house.
Dread settled in my stomach. Was I being roped into some kind of anti-Bride-Lottery group?
I won’t participate. I will never go to prison again.
When I finally walked out of the penitentiary a week later, a tall, slender woman with dark hair and wide-spaced brown eyes greeted me with a warm smile. “I’m Roya Haji,” she said, holding out her hands to take mine.
“Nice to meet you,” I mumbled.
Roya led me to a small black sedan, and I slid into the passenger seat.
Closing the car door behind her, Roya reached into her purse and pulled out a small black device with several controls. Tapping a code into it, she waved it around the car’s interior. After a few seconds, the screen flashed green.
Finding me watching her, she waved the device in my general direction. “It scans for bugs,” she explained. “We’re clean. We can talk freely in here.”
I opened my mouth to ask why she felt we needed a surveillance detector, but she held up a hand. “Wait until we get on the road. It’s even better when the car’s in motion—that way no one can point a strong microphone in our direction and pick up what we’re saying, either.”
That was a lot more paranoid than almost anyone I’d ever met had been—except possibly my father, of course.
If I thought I could afford it, I would get him one of those detector devices for Christmas.
Assuming he didn’t already have one. It had been a long while since I had bothered asking after the state of his electronic equipment.
Mostly because I didn’t want to know.
“There,” Roya said as we pulled away from the penitentiary and onto the nearest highway. “Now we can talk. I assume you got Marjorie’s message?”
“You mean the article about the resistance to the Bride Lottery?”
“Exactly. I wanted you to know that you are coming into a group
