The Games are Forever!
It’s one thing to Qualify and Compete…
Now she must Win.
Gwen Lark, nerd, geek, and awkward smart girl, is among the lucky ones. She’s one of several million teenage refugees to escape the extinction-level asteroid barreling towards Earth and reach the ancient colony planet of Atlantis.
But Atlantis is a strange new world with higher gravity and a blazing white sun, where nothing is as expected. The new arrivals from Earth will now belong to the majority class of non-citizens who face a lifetime of hard work and limited rights.
To make matters worse, Gwen’s rare and powerful talent, her Logos voice, is viewed as a potential weapon to be exploited by the Imperator, as well as a threat to the Kassiopei Imperial Dynasty and its uncompromising control over the people of Atlantis.
A last-minute heartbreak prior to arrival turns to joy, when Gwen receives a declaration of love from an unexpected source. The Wedding date is set, but before she can be joined with her true love, she is forced to compete in the brutal and deadly Games of the Atlantis Grail to save herself, her family, friends, and everything she cares about. Once again, her intelligence, quick thinking skills, resilience, and creativity are challenged to the breaking point.
The Games are monumental, intricate, lethal . . . and the Games are Forever.
This time Gwen must fight and figure her way through the most difficult and sophisticated contest she has ever faced. Terrifying Ordeals and impossible Challenges, ruthless skilled Competitors, vicious secret assassins, and dubious teammates she must work with but cannot trust, are just the beginning. . . .
Meanwhile, as the Games rage, the fate of two worlds is at stake as a new alien threat looms over Earth and Atlantis.
But Gwen Lark has a secret weapon of her own. It’s not her Logos voice and its untapped power to control orichalcum technology and perpetuate change.
It is Gwen herself.
WIN is the third book in The Atlantis Grail series.
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COPYRIGHT PAGE
This book is a work of fiction. All characters, names, locations, and events portrayed in this book are fictional or used in an imaginary manner to entertain, and any resemblance to any real people, situations, or incidents is purely coincidental.
WIN
(The Atlantis Grail, Book Three)
Vera Nazarian
Copyright © 2017 by Vera Nazarian
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this work may be reproduced, distributed, stored on any media, shared, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical or any other method, without the prior written permission of the copyright holder and publisher.
Cover Design Copyright © 2015 by James, GoOnWrite.com
Electronic Edition
July 12, 2017
A Publication of
Norilana Books
P. O. Box 209
Highgate Center, VT 05459-0209
http://www.norilana.com/
United States of America
WIN
The Atlantis Grail
Book Three
Vera Nazarian
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Other Books by Vera Nazarian
About the Author
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
June, 2048.
Today is the most impossible day of my life.
Today I plummeted from orbit in an alien transport shuttle, landed in the private airfield of the Imperial Palace in Poseidon, and took my first steps upon the surface of the planet Atlantis—while carrying bags made too heavy by the excessive gravity, wearing wraparound sunglasses against the merciless glare of Hel, the white sun, and awkwardly hiding tears caused by a devastated heart.
And then, in just a few hours, a crazy whirlwind of unbelievable events took place, for which I have no words.
Culminating in all this . . . whatever this is, happening right now.
Aeson Kassiopei, the Imperial Crown Prince of Atlantis, has just done the unthinkable—after cruelly brushing me off only this morning in the shuttle, he now singled me out from the Palace crowd, grabbed me by the hand, dragged me up the red path toward the Throne, and announced me as his Imperial Consort and Bride.
And then he kissed me in front of his Father the Imperator and all the Imperial Court.
Right now, I am in shock.
I am standing next to Aeson before the Imperial Throne.
Okay, what just happened?
I am holding his hand—or he is holding mine—and I am shaking with a perfectly insane combination of euphoria, joy, triumph, confusion, terror, and absolute blazing anger.
I still feel the sting of his impossible kiss on my sweetly bruised lips. . . .
Raw pulses of desire still move in waves throughout my body, concentric circles of wild energy slowly receding outward with every heartbeat. . . .
And my ice-cold fingers are enclosed in his warm, powerful ones. His large palm covers my trembling hand with steady strength, clasping me tight. From it, sweet heat is spreading. . . .
Oh, no, I am so damn furious at him! I am a
lso relieved and confused and stunned, and infernally happy, all at the same time!
What has he done? He chose me!
This is the most surreal moment of my existence. I am still unable to grasp what just happened to me—to him and me—and whether I’ve just hallucinated everything.
Is this just a bizarre dream?
No, it’s real . . . it must be.
Indeed, the reality of other sound around me is registering at last, slipping in past my euphoria. The Imperial Court of Atlantida is humming like a beehive in turmoil. . . .
From all directions I can hear it, the loud whispers . . . people shifting in place as they stand . . . turbulent movement as heads turn, draw closer to each other to speak with discretion . . . nervous looks exchanged, general confusion moving through the Atlantean ranks in clamoring waves. . . .
This tumult in the crowd around us, on both sides of the red path where we stand, is echoing my own internal state.
What has he done?
As though Aeson Kassiopei senses my crazed mix of emotions, he now squeezes my hand meaningfully. At the same time, he again pulls me with him, and together we take another step closer to the dais, approaching the Imperial Throne.
Approaching the Imperator, his Father.
I glance sideways in that moment, and see Aeson’s inflamed gaze, as he turns in the same moment to look at me. His eyes are fierce, desperate, filled with wild emotion, imploring and overwhelming me at the same time. . . .
Meanwhile, his hold on my hand is so tight that once again it is starting to be painful—as though he is unable to let go.
In the next instant, Aeson turns to face his Father.
Precisely then, the Imperator speaks for the first time. His dark low voice strikes the great chamber, sending echoes rebounding.
“So this is your Choice. An Earth female of no distinction and no bloodline.”
Romhutat Kassiopei, the Archaeon Imperator of Atlantida, speaks in a strange, neutral tone, with only a minor inflection of disdain, but the words come down like hammer blows, and the Court falls deathly silent at the sound of it.
I forget to breathe.
In his magnificent attire of dark scarlet and gold, the Imperator is a god frozen to stone. . . . His Imperial Crown of Atlantida resembles a pharaoh’s war crown headdress called a Khepresh, only of scarlet cloth, not Egyptian blue, with a band of gold from which the Uraeus cobra serpent rises from his forehead. He is vaguely middle-aged, darkly handsome, with impassive angular features. No movement, no physical reaction. From his elevated Throne he merely looks at his son and at me with the devastating stare of an ancient dragon.
“Yes,” Aeson replies in an unflinching loud voice. “She is my Choice and I have made my Claim.”
There is a long pause during which I can hear my heartbeat pound wildly in my temples.
Then the Imperator looks specifically at me.
How do I know this? Considering how emotionally messed up I am at the moment, I don’t possess the strength to look directly into his eyes, nor do I think it’s a good idea to do so. But I can feel the terrible weight of his gaze—familiar somehow, almost tangible, reminiscent of the intense manner in which his son occasionally looks at me, but only during the moments of our most fierce conflict.
The Imperator is examining me, evaluating me, dissecting me, I realize. And he is making my skin crawl. . . .
I stand, frozen with awe, expecting him to address me at any moment. But it does not happen. Instead, there is only more excruciating silence, and the Imperial gaze bearing down upon me. . . .
“Very well,” the Imperator says at last, in the voice of a serpent, dismissing me with a blink. The full burden of his gaze is now trained upon his son. “The Imperial Consort and Bride has been Chosen and is Acknowledged before My Court.”
Wow, okay. . . . I did not see that coming.
Where is his displeasure, his reluctance, his wrath?
It must all be there, seething underneath the infernal composure. . . . But it is all held under such perfect control, hidden by subtle impenetrable layers of disdain and mockery and nearly absolute power.
The Imperator is toying with us. . . .
Aeson Kassiopei squeezes my fingers again, then inclines his head slightly, bowing before the Throne. I respond to his nudge with only a tiny delay of a millisecond, and bow my head also, following his lead.
“Come, My Son and your Bride, you may approach and take your Seat at my side.”
Immediately I experience a deer-in-the-headlights moment of terror—after all, Consul Denu only taught me what to do in case the Imperator singles me out from the crowd in Low Court, not what to do if I am suddenly made the Imperial Consort and told to ascend the dais and actually sit on one of the Imperial Seats next to him.
But again, Aeson Kassiopei helps me by guiding me after him, tugging my hand discreetly as he takes the five stair steps with careless practiced ease and then sits down in the lesser-backed gold chair directly on the right of the Imperator, and positions me to occupy the first backless bench seat to his own right.
I walk up the dais on legs that nearly buckle from under me, and not so much sit down as collapse on the golden cushioned bench next to Aeson.
Next to my Bridegroom, a crazy thought comes to me, striking me with its full insanity.
I am a Bride. . . . WTF! I am his Bride. . . .
The next instant I once more feel Aeson’s hand over mine. It covers me with its warm fierce strength, and he does not move it away as we sit.
From the bizarre vantage point of where I am now—raised up several feet above floor level over the Court, illuminated from on high by spotlights of golden radiance, with my back against the magnificent golden sunburst relief on the wall—I stare at the vast chamber before me, its expanse filled with a multitude of the highest Atlantean nobility. . . .
And they stare back at me. Their faces reflect various degrees of amazement, disapproval, wonder, disdain, and above all, curiosity.
Suddenly I feel like an elegant zoo specimen on display before a very alien and discriminating world. . . .
Then I think, out of the blue, Oh wow—Mom and Dad! What if they saw me now? And what about Gracie, Gordie . . . George? Oh, this is surreal!
I blink, and my stunned gaze inadvertently rests upon the closest people in the crowd—the section of High Court that is the crème de la crème of Atlantean high society.
Here I see grand golden wigs, intricate headdresses, enough priceless jewelry to fill a treasury, expensive fabrics and precious metals, exquisite makeup and cosmetic enhancements. I also see men and women who wear gold filigree skull caps and robes of gold and white—members of the Poseidon Imperial Executive Council, as I recall, from Consul Denu’s earlier commentary.
And then, with a sudden pang of nerves in my gut, I notice Lady Tiri—she’s in the very front row, the now-familiar perfect beauty dressed in the glorious golden outfit. I recognize her immediately, the layers of ethereal fabric surrounding her elegant figure, her flowing metallic hair, and her devastating green-honey-hazel eyes, which now bore into me with absolute vicious hatred.
Lady Tiri stands glaring at me with barely repressed fury, and her loveliness is marred by the tension of her fine facial muscles, held barely in check. She does not bother to hide her reaction before the Court, and shows far less control over her emotions than any of the other gorgeous young women lined up on both sides of her—they also stare at me with various degrees of confusion and displeasure. While the other Atlantean girls merely examine me critically, she is sending me a killing look like a focused beam of light, intended to put me in my place.
I’ve just made a serious enemy, it occurs to me. And then I think about how many other enemies there might be in that crowd, in that moment, all watching me. . . . People whose intricate political plans I’ve ruined merely by being chosen by the Imperial Crown Prince.
Not to mention, there is the Imperator himself, sitting one Seat away.
<
br /> While all this chaos passes through my mind as I look out into the faces of the crowd, Aeson’s hand continues to cover mine with a steady warm presence, his touch anchoring me in the moment. I don’t dare move my hand, nor do I want to. Honestly, if it weren’t for his touch, I would be trembling uncontrollably. . . .
In that moment the Imperator speaks loudly, jolting me out of my senses.
“My Court of Atlantida! It appears, this is a night to celebrate. Tonight, My Son has Chosen at last his Imperial Consort and Bride—and all of you stand Witness to the occasion. Behold and Acknowledge!”
And while the echoes of his deep voice still ring throughout the chamber, the entire Assembly focuses their attention on me and slowly lowers their heads, bowing before the Throne.
But no, wait, this can’t be right. . . . They are bowing before me.
Dear God in Heaven!
I feel the gazes of thousands of eyes on me, pressing from all directions, so that suddenly I am short of breath and drowning, and I begin to tremble. . . .
Aeson squeezes my hand in that moment, again.
I continue to stare straight ahead, at the Court, and I don’t dare look away or turn my face to glance over to my left, toward Aeson. But somehow I know he is now looking at me, along with everyone else. Indeed, despite all those alien stares of strangers, I am aware of his intimate gaze upon me, and it’s like a beam of sunlight, warming me, steadying me. . . .
The Imperator remains silent, while the Court looks on, having bowed before me, and now waiting for whatever must come next.