But that wasn’t the cousin Bastien remembered from his childhood. While they hadn’t been close, the Jullien he recalled had always tried to stay low and in the shadows. Off everyone’s radar. True to Aros’s words, his studious and portly Andarion cousin had been sullen and quiet. Extremely reserved, and at times rude. Bastien had assumed it came mostly from the language barrier and Jullien’s frustration with their strange “foreign” customs, which were seldom explained to him until after he’d unknowingly violated them and he was mortified and ridiculed when his father or another relative made a grand show of publicly correcting him for it.
It was why Bastien had attempted to learn Andarion. That had given him a whole new appreciation for Jullien’s intellect. God knew, Andarion was one screwed-up language. Hard to pronounce and harder still to comprehend if you weren’t born to it.
Their grandfather had been even more critical and cold toward the boy. Mostly because he couldn’t stand the Andarions, and he’d been infuriated that his grandson and future heir was one of their dreaded breed. Furious at Aros, he’d taken his rage out on Jullien. Every time Jullien came to visit, Quinlan had gone to war on both Aros and Jullien, making both their lives hell until Jullien was returned to Andaria.
Now Bastien shook his head in sympathy as he watched his cousin searching through files.
Yeah, Julie knew an entirely different Triosan grandfather than the doting old man who’d bounced Bastien and his siblings on his knee. And that made him saddest of all. As with his uncle, Bastien had a hard time reconciling how his grandfather could be so kind to him and so hard on Jullien, who’d never deserved such harsh treatment. It’d really screwed with him as a kid to see those different sides of his family.
Made him extremely suspicious of people in general.
Sadly, not suspicious enough. If he’d been a bit more, he might have seen Barnabas’s treachery coming before it was too late. But in all the attacks that had come right before his uncle’s coup, he’d never once suspected Barnabas.
Or Jackson.
That level of treachery and maliciousness had been beyond his experience or comprehension.
Jullien scooted the chair back from the desk for Thrāix to lean in. “This is it. But it’s not really helpful. Venik has a secured base that’s unknown to The Tavali outside of his Nation. He had it built for my cousin as a precaution should something happen to him, so that Malys wouldn’t be able to kill Nyran or Parisa in a jealous rage. I will lay odds that’s where my grandmother is.”
Thrāix studied the schematic. “That’s so deeply in their territory … and Phrixian. We go near that, they’ll know.”
Jullien raked a frustrated hand through his hair. “We’ve got to do something. I can’t let them kill my family. She’s not going to stop trying for my mother’s throat.”
The woman with him rubbed his shoulder. “At least your immediate family is safe from them.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“You know…” Bastien moved forward to access another database of old smuggler routes he’d once used. “There are some ancient trading wormholes that aren’t in use anymore in that sector. They don’t really appear on most maps.” He showed it to Jullien. “I stumbled across this one back when I went through a teenage phase we won’t talk about.”
Jullien snorted. “I remember that phase.”
“We’re not talking about it.”’Cause basically, he was lucky he hadn’t gone to prison for some of the stunts he’d pulled. It was, however, how he ended up in the military against his mother’s protests. His father had insisted on it to keep him out of trouble.
And out of prison.
Bastien pointed to one of the routes that paralleled the station’s orbit. “That would drop you in, clear of their surveillance.”
Jullien nodded as he studied the map. “Mind if I take a copy?”
“It’s all yours.”
He quickly downloaded it. “Th?ky.”
Bastien’s eyes widened at his use of the Kirovarian term for thanks. It’d been way too long since he’d spoken his own language. Even with that Andarion accent, it was a welcomed treat. “Glad I could help.”
Jullien jerked his head toward the door. “Want to see about that shower?”
Sadly, he got an actual hard-on at the thought of being clean again from the use of a real shower, with hot running water. “You know I do.”
“We can also drop you somewhere else. Really, I don’t mind.”
How he wished, but Bastien shook his head. “As much as I would, I better stay put. This place plays havoc with League tracking equipment and most electronics. Not sure why Aksel’s shit works. But this is the safest place I’ve found to bed down. While it’s not much, it gives me peace of mind at night. I know I don’t have to tell you what that’s worth.”
Having been on the run from a League warrant himself, Jullien was the one person who would fully understand the nightmare that was Bastien’s life.
Thrāix glanced around Bastien’s run-down home. “You want me to make the place a little more hospitable?”
Bastien frowned at the offer, not sure what he meant by it. “How do you mean?”
“I have some skills that can clean this place up and make it more solid and habitable … if you want.”