Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina

By the time they returned to their suite, Dean had decided that the rest of the empire could survive without either of them until morning.

Boreas apparently agreed.

The massive dog was sprawled across the rug in front of the fireplace with all four legs pointing in different directions, occupying enough space that anyone attempting to reach the fire had to walk around him.

Dean had changed into soft trousers and one of Arion’s shirts, then claimed the deeper end of the sofa with a blanket over his legs.

Arion had managed approximately twelve minutes of peace before the secure communication panel chimed.

Dean looked at it.

”No.”

Arion looked up from where he had been removing his watch.

”It is intelligence.”

”They can be intelligent tomorrow.”

The panel chimed again.

Arion crossed the room.

Dean sighed dramatically and sank farther beneath the blanket.

”I thought you refused to engage with my temperament tonight.”

”I am not engaging with it.”

”You are actively ignoring it.”

”Yes.”

”Cruel.”

Arion opened the report.

Whatever amusement had remained in his expression disappeared within seconds.

Dean noticed immediately.

”What?”

Arion did not answer until he had read another page.

Then he turned the tablet slightly.

”We may have found Amaru.”

Dean sat upright.

That worked considerably better than any secretary threatening to drag him out of bed.

”Alive?”

”Possibly.”

Dean threw the blanket aside and crossed the room.

Arion enlarged the intelligence summary.

The investigation had started with the twelve neutral islands Eryx had identified as plausible locations. Four had been eliminated immediately because they lacked permanent medical infrastructure at the time of Amaru’s exile. Another three had no record of Draxilian vessels entering their territorial waters during the relevant year.

Two more had been eliminated through port registries.

That left three.

One stood out.

”Snake Island?” Dean read.

”That is the common name.”

”That sounds welcoming.”

”It is not.”

Arion opened the geographical file.

The island sat far enough from major shipping routes to discourage casual traffic and was largely mountainous, with steep coastal cliffs surrounding most of its shoreline. There were only two usable ports, one controlled by the local administration and another small private landing point on the opposite coast.

Much of the interior consisted of dense forest and broken limestone terrain.

Dean scanned downward.

Then stopped.

”Oh.”

Arion hummed.

Snake Island had earned its name from an endemic species of highly venomous snake that lived throughout the rocky interior. For most of the year, encounters were uncommon enough that the permanent population managed them with routine precautions.

For several weeks every year, that changed.

”Mating season,” Dean read.

”Apparently they migrate toward the central and southern sections in large numbers.”

”When?”

Arion scrolled.

Dean stared.

”Of course it is now.”

”Beginning in late December and continuing through February.”

Dean leaned against Arion’s shoulder. ”Who chooses an island full of venomous snakes as an exile location?”

”Someone who does not want the exile wandering away.”

That removed the humor quickly.

Dean looked at the map again.

The terrain alone would have made escape difficult.

During winter, large sections of the interior effectively became inaccessible without local guides, protective equipment, and antivenom.

It was an excellent prison precisely because it did not need walls everywhere.

”What made intelligence think Amaru is there?”

”A medical supply trail.”

That caught Dean’s attention.

Arion opened another section.

Eight years earlier, four months after Amaru officially disappeared from Draxilian records, a private Draxilian account had begun paying for medical deliveries to Snake Island.

Dean went very still.

”That is not proof.”

”No.”

”But it is unpleasantly specific.”

”Yes.”

The payments had eventually stopped.

The deliveries had not.

After the original account disappeared, the island administration itself had continued purchasing many of the same medications in smaller quantities.

”For one patient?” Dean asked.

”We do not know.”

”Population?”

”Less than nine thousand.”

”That does not help.”

”No.”

Dean scrolled through the report himself.

There was more.

A Draxilian physician had arrived on the island six days before the first medical order. He remained there for eleven months before returning to Draxil.

His name appeared elsewhere.

Dean recognized it.

”The clinics.”

Arion nodded.

The physician had worked under one of the surgeons associated with the underground gland-removal network funded during King Ashar’s reign.

Dean exhaled through his nose.

”So there is a very real possibility Ashar sent Amaru there, had his gland removed, left a physician long enough to make sure he survived, and then abandoned him.”

”It fits.”

”And nobody checked for eight years?”

”Why would they? Officially, Amaru was an ordinary alpha convicted of conspiracy and permanently exiled.”

Dean looked toward the fire.

Boreas had not moved at all.

”Any sign he is still alive now?”

”That is the weaker part.”

Arion opened the most recent intelligence.

Snake Island maintained strict privacy laws regarding permanent residents, particularly political exiles. Names were not publicly accessible, and the administration had rejected every indirect request for residency information.

But one of Alamina’s investigators had found something in shipping records.

Every six months, the island imported a particular suppressive medication in quantities too small for general medical use.

One patient’s supply.

The order had remained almost unchanged for seven years.

Dean read it twice.

”It could be someone else.”

”Yes.”

”But the timing begins after Amaru arrived.”

”If he arrived.”

Dean gave him a look.

Arion corrected himself.

”If the person was Amaru.”

The most recent shipment had arrived three weeks earlier.

Dean’s eyes remained on that date.

”Then whoever takes it is probably alive.”

”Probably.”

That was far more than they had possessed yesterday.

Dean moved back toward the sofa, but this time Arion followed with the tablet.

”What now?”

”We do not send anyone into the interior during snake mating season without preparation.”

Dean glanced at him. ”I was not going to suggest it.”

”You considered it.”

”I considered whether the snakes were actually as dangerous as the report claims.”

”They kill approximately twelve people a year.”

Dean paused.

”On an island of nine thousand?”

”Yes.”

”Fine. I respect the snakes.”

Arion sat beside him.

Dean immediately leaned into his side, and unfortunately for Arion, he opened his mouth too. ”Let’s go there.”