Page 70 of Alien Prince's Fated Mate

I caught the subtle signals passing between family heads - eye contact, tiny nods, shoulders straightening. These weren’t just craft workers anymore. This was an army forming before my eyes.

“We’ll need supplies.” Serra’s practical tone cut through rising whispers. “Medicine. Weapons. Places to hide anyone who gets caught.”

“The Lehtla compound has hidden rooms.” Markus touched his daughter’s shoulder. “And enough warriors to make the guards think twice about searching too closely.”

“My leather workers can outfit everyone.” Old Man Grell spoke for the first time, voice rusty with disuse. “Dark clothes, sturdy boots. Nothing to draw attention.”

The planning spiraled outward, each family adding their specialty to the whole.

My warrior’s instincts approved of their efficiency, even as my Valti bristled at involving so many unknowns. But I’d learned to trust Niam’s judgment. These were her people, in their own way. They’d suffered under the same oppression that had nearly broken her.

“Three days.” Mila’s voice cut through the planning. “We need everything in place by then. The Temple’s choosing ceremony...”

“No.” Maya’s hands knotted in her apron. “Not again. Not this time.”

The room hummed with agreement. I watched Serra gather her thoughts, seeing the command presence that had kept this tannery running despite everything the Temple had stolen from her.

“Sarah, spread word through your chandler’s network. Maya, coordinate with the brewers. Get your people in position. Markus...”

“My warriors will be ready.” His scarred hand rested on Denna’s shoulder. “Just point us at the target.”

The families dispersed in careful groups, acting as if it were just another business day. Only Serra's inner circle remained - the twins flanking their mother, Markus and his wife conferring in low voices, Maya studying building plans with fierce concentration.

“Will it be enough?” Niam’s whisper carried only to my enhanced hearing.

I grasped her hand, hidden in the folds of our rough clothing. “It will have to be.”

“The Wicks will spread word tonight.” Maya checked the angle of the sun through high windows. “By morning, every family in Eight Ring will know their part.”

“Not the full plan.” Serra cautioned. “Just enough to be ready when the signal comes.”

“And the signal?” Markus asked.

Mila smiled. “Trust me. You’ll know it when you see it.”

The planning continued as afternoon faded toward evening. I memorized each detail, marking potential weak points and backup routes. We could only afford one attempt at this. If we failed...

No. Failure meant watching Niam dragged back to that hell. My Valti snarled at the mere thought.

We would not fail.

The twins slipped away first, returning to their work in the yard. Then Maya, heading for her chandlery with messages hidden in her basket. Markus and his wife left separately, taking different paths back to Fifth Ring.

“Rest while you can.” Serra touched Mila’s cheek. “There’s a hidden room below the second vat. It’s tight, but dry.”

“Thank you.” Niam’s gratitude encompassed more than just shelter.

The hidden room proved larger than expected, though the chemical smell remained strong. Rough pallets lined one wall, with sealed containers of water and dried food stacked nearby.

“Mother plans for everything.” Mila’s smile held pride and old pain.

“Rest.” I guided Niam to the nearest pallet. “I’ll take first watch.”

She started to protest, then subsided. The strain of the past hours showed in the shadows beneath her eyes.

“Your own family...” I spoke softly. “Do you want to try finding them? Sending messages through the craft networks?”

Pain flashed across her face. “I don’t even remember what ring I came from. The Temple took everything - memories, name, identity. There’s no one left to find.”

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