Alsea Rising: The Seventh Star (Chronicles of Alsea Book 10)

by Fletcher DeLancey

  Andira landed on her knees and bounced up again, her intended pin foiled. “Well done,” she said, grinning as Ekatya scrambled to her feet.

  “You’re an ass,” Ekatya spat, torn between irritation and pride at the compliment.

  “So you’ve said. Don’t you want to teach me a lesson?” Andira swung at her, forcing her to block.

  One strike after another rained down, pushing Ekatya to her limits as she strove to defend without going on the offensive. It was an enormous handicap, made worse when her brain unhelpfully pointed out that this was the position Andira had been in all those cycles ago, defending against a murderous Ekatya while trying not to hurt her.

  The thought made her drop her guard. She caught herself immediately and raised her hands, but it was too late. Andira’s fist smashed into her jaw, sending her reeling.

  As the approving shouts rang off the walls, she dropped into a familiar mental space. She was on trial once again, defending herself against allies turned enemies.

  She was sick of it.

  Andira looked startled when Ekatya bore down on her, but rallied quickly enough to deflect the blow. Ekatya went with her momentum, smashing bodily into her and sending them both to the mat. She used the impact to drive an elbow into Andira’s stomach, but managed nothing else before a thigh between her legs launched her off balance. Rolling swiftly to her feet, she turned to find Andira upright as well, crouched in a ready position.

  The grin was obnoxious enough. The come and get me gesture was worse. Ekatya let out a frustrated growl and took a step forward before her training kicked in. No, she would not be goaded like a first-year cadet.

  They circled each other, feinting and testing defenses. Andira tried to trip her, but Ekatya saw it coming and hopped over the trap.

  The murmur of approval surprised her.

  “They’re not cheering me,” Andira said. “They’re cheering any good move.”

  She dismissed the obvious lie. But as their bout wore on, the evidence became harder to ignore. Then came the moment when she sent Andira to the mat with a well-placed kick to the back of the knee—and the warriors cheered.

  In the space of a heartbeat, her mental fog cleared.

  She was not the untrustworthy captain on trial for her tyree bond. Neither was she the outsider Gaian trying to fit where she didn’t belong.

  She had already passed her tests. She was a warrior, and this was the equivalent of an exhibition match.

  Andira beamed at her. “Welcome back! Care to take it up a notch?”

  “Sometimes I really do want to push you off the top of the waterfall,” Ekatya said, exasperated and full of affection. “One of these days, I will.”

  “I know.” Andira launched into a spin-kick that Ekatya barely managed to dodge. She didn’t expect the touchdown and instant reverse spin, having never seen that move performed so quickly. The second kick caught her in the chest and sent her flying, but she turned the landing into a reverse somersault and was on her feet to the sound of raucous cheers.

  “Nice try,” she called.

  “I suppose I’ll have to try something else.” Andira rushed her, then dropped at the last second and rolled into a ball, knocking Ekatya’s legs right out from under her.

  There was no easy recovery from that. She barely managed to get one knee up before Andira landed on top of her, setting off a flurry of moves and countermoves as Andira went for the pin and Ekatya did everything she could to prevent it.

  A twist of the hips and simultaneous knee jab finally put Andira off balance. With a rush of exhilaration, Ekatya rolled them around and smirked down at her. “I like you on the bottom.”

  “Don’t get used to it.”

  In the next second, she was airborne.

  She crashed to the mat on her side, with no idea of Andira’s location except that she wasn’t directly in front. Her forward roll was stopped instantly by a leg that hadn’t been there a second before.

  Rebounding onto her back, she saw Andira dropping. A frantic attempt to avert the pin ended when Andira landed astride her chest, knees trapping her arms. The bout was over.

  “Do you yield?”

  Ekatya looked up at her, captivated by the view. A few strands of blonde hair had escaped the braid to frame her narrow face, softening her appearance. She was breathing hard, her skin flushed with exertion and her light eyes blazing with joy.

  In that moment, Ekatya understood what she had denied Andira until now. Sparring was an escape for her, a culturally approved release valve. Sparring with someone she loved—well, she’d never had that option, had she?

  Impatiently, Andira pushed on her shoulders. “Do you yield?”

  The demanding tone sent a shiver down her spine, as did the realization of her physical response to their position.

  She slapped the mat twice, signaling her surrender to the room, and spoke in a low voice.

  “Only to you.”

  Andira’s pupils dilated as her breath caught. She stared at Ekatya with undisguised lust, then shook her head. “We’re discussing this later,” she promised, rolling back on her heels.

  “I’m counting on it.” Ekatya accepted her hand and rose to the sound of enthusiastic applause, with a few whistles tossed in.

  Her testers approached with wide smiles.

  “Not quite what we expected,” said the woman.

  “But highly entertaining,” the man added.

  Ekatya tugged down her shirt. “What’s my final score?”

  “Taking into account your physical disadvantage, the number of times you sent Lancer Tal to the mat, and the length of time you avoided the pin . . .” The woman held up her reader card.

  Andira took one look and whooped. “Yes!”

  Thirty-five points. They had deducted just half a point from the combat test. She had completed her challenge with a nearly perfect score.

  “Congratulations, warrior. Your performance does great honor to your sponsor.”

  “Yes, it does!” Andira held up both palms, laughing as Ekatya met them. “One warrior in five hundred gets a score like that! If Alsea didn’t already have plans for you, you’d be wading through the job offers with boots and a pole.”

  “We’ll leave you with your sponsor. Once you’ve showered, you can return to the lobby for your inscription ceremony.” The testers saluted her in unison, then turned and brought up both fists for Andira.

  “Come on.” Andira tugged her off the mat and toward the changing room.

  They showered separately, maintaining appearances for one more day. Ekatya wondered why they bothered when every warrior in a twenty-meter radius surely felt her desire.

  Then again, she reminded herself, that couldn’t be unusual. Andira was gorgeous, brilliant, and the most powerful warrior on the planet. Half the caste probably wanted to pounce on her.

  She turned her face into the water and grinned. Half the caste wanted to, but she was the only warrior who had the right.

  Clean and dry, they walked back to her locker, where Vellmar waited with Andira’s clothing and Dewar was opening a small medkit.

  “Get dressed,” Dewar ordered in the no-nonsense tone of all medics. “Then we’ll take care of that bruise.”

  Ekatya touched her jaw and winced. “I forgot about it.”

  “Not surprising; battle joy is an excellent analgesic. A pity it doesn’t last. Lancer?”

  “It’s not bad.” Andira stood still in all her naked glory, waiting patiently while Dewar rubbed salve into the red circle on her stomach.

  Ekatya paused in the act of fastening her trousers, her eyes riveted to the mark.

  “Oh, no.” Andira held up a finger. “Don’t you dare feel guilty. This was a good hit and probably earned you half a point. Another half for the takedown.”

  “But I was furious. I could have—”

  “You were not a threat,” Vellmar interrupted calmly. “We all felt your anger after Lancer Tal landed the strike to your jaw. We also felt your cont
rol.”

  “You never came anywhere near what you feared.” Andira reached out to rest a gentle finger on Ekatya’s jaw. “I’m sorry about this, though. I didn’t expect you to simply drop your guard. Please don’t let Elanor kill me.”

  The plaintive tone evaporated her dismay. “She might kill us both. At least Gramps will understand. Mostly.”

  “It’s the ‘mostly’ I’m afraid of,” Andira grumbled, reaching for her own trousers.

  Ekatya watched her dress while submitting to Dewar’s soothing ministrations. The ointment would dramatically reduce but not erase the bruise on her jaw, a limitation she secretly applauded. This mark was a badge of honor.

  Andira fastened her jacket, then unwound her braid and accepted a brush from Vellmar. In a few swift strokes, her hair gleamed once more.

  “Thank you,” Ekatya said when she offered the brush. “I didn’t think to bring one.”

  Her own tidying was less efficient, distracted as she was by the sight of Andira clipping her hair back into a professional style. Blindly, she held out the brush for Vellmar and only looked around when it was not taken from her grasp.

  Both Vellmar and Dewar stood a few steps away, arms crossed and matching smirks on their faces.

  “We thought we’d give you space,” Vellmar said.

  Dewar nodded. “Our blocks aren’t strong enough for that.”

  “If your blocks can’t handle a little sensual appreciation, I’ll have to rethink my security,” Andira said.

  “A little?” Dewar’s smirk grew.

  “Don’t embarrass her,” Andira warned, all playfulness gone.

  Before Ekatya could protest her lack of embarrassment—really, she’d had to give that up long ago—Vellmar closed the distance and spoke quietly.

  “It’s not the appreciation. It’s the partnership. You two move like bondmates. If you don’t want this to blow open before you can control the narrative, I’d advise you to focus more on the necessity and less on each other.”

  Ekatya watched Andira’s nod of acceptance and wondered how long it would be before Rahel spoke to her in that tone. Then she remembered the advice she had already received.

  “It doesn’t take long for them to turn on us, does it?” she asked.

  “Fahla, no. Give them a little acknowledgment and before you know it, they’re trying to run the show.”

  “But she’s right,” Ekatya added.

  “That’s what makes it so annoying.” Andira withdrew a folded stack of crimson cloth from the nearest locker and looked up at Vellmar with a raised brow. “I assume you have no objection to this?”

  Vellmar’s cheeks flushed a light pink. “No, Lancer.”

  “Good.” Turning to Ekatya, she shook out the cloth to reveal a full-length cape. “I loaned this to you twice before. Once for a day of mourning, once for a day of joy. As your sponsor—and a very proud one, given your score—tradition demands that I offer a gift upon your successful challenge.”

  Ekatya touched the thick cloth, remembering. “A memorial and a bonding ceremony. It was the same cape? You didn’t tell me.”

  “I also didn’t tell you how I managed to get a cape like this in your size on such short notice.” She indicated the rich embroidery taking up half the back. “Most formal capes use outlined caste shields. A fully embroidered shield takes ninedays to produce.”

  Silver metallic thread edged the black pentagon, giving it a three-dimensional appearance. The effect was enhanced by the crossed silver swords, so densely embroidered that they stood out in relief from the dark shield. Protected beneath their blades, five silver stars shone against the black, their glow enhanced by additional metallic threads radiating outward.

  Of course such fine artistry took ninedays to create. It was obvious, yet Ekatya hadn’t considered it at the time of her first loan—which, she realized with a start, was just three days after she crashed the Caphenon.

  Her fingers dropped from the material. “Stars and Shippers. Andira . . .”

  “My father gave it to me when I made Lead Guard. It is with great joy that I pass it to you now.”

  “Your father.” She blinked back tears, overcome by the magnitude of this gesture.

  “He would have loved you,” Andira said hoarsely. “He would have been as proud as I am.”

  No words could do justice to the pressure in her heart. Not for the first time, Ekatya was grateful that she didn’t need them.

  “This is—it’s so much more than a gift. It’s an heirloom. I’ll take good care of it, I swear. On my honor as a warrior,” she added, smiling at how easily those words came. “Perhaps someday I can pass it to one of your children.”

  Andira’s answering smile was brilliant. “My children will have Salomen’s genes. If any of them become warriors, they’ll probably outgrow this cape long before their Rite of Ascension.” She swung it around Ekatya’s shoulders, settling it in place with practiced hands. “The chain is a placeholder,” she said, closing the clasp. “You’ll want something more personal eventually. Or you can wear different chains for different events.”

  She stepped back, never taking her eyes from Ekatya’s as Vellmar shook out a second cape, draped it over her shoulders, and fastened the ornate clasp bearing the Seal of the Lancer. She seemed to stand taller, her expression closing off as she slipped into her public persona.

  “Ekatya Lucia Serrado,” she said formally, “allow me to escort you to your inscription ceremony.”

  “It would be my pleasure.” Ekatya fell into step beside her, keenly aware of the physical and emotional distance now lodged between them.

  One more day, she reminded herself, and touched the sides of her cape. Distance be damned, this gift said it all.

  She wore Andira’s love.

  47

  Admiral

  Tal stood on the floor of the packed Council chamber and watched a dream come true.

  It had been half a moon since their public announcement. She had left nothing to chance in her preparations, guaranteeing success in every way she and her communications advisor could think of—including giving full, unfronted access to the four senior Lead Templars. They had come from Whitesun, Redmoon, and Whitemoon to join Lanaril in a test of “the claimed double bonds,” as the Lead Templar of Whitesun initially termed them. His skepticism vanished when Tal and Salomen dropped their fronts.

  “This is indeed a case of dual tyree bonds, two divine and two normal,” he said at the end of the examination, “and therefore a gift from Fahla.”

  By the time of the announcement, Tal had the Lead Templars and all six caste Primes lined up in support. While a united front of both government and religious leaders knocked down most of the foreseeable objections, she took it one step further by inviting journalists from every major and several minor news outlets to the announcement. These, too, were given unfronted access.

  The resulting media storm had yet to die down. Some of the journalists described their experience as a religious epiphany, others as a philosophical conundrum to be resolved. None doubted what they had sensed. Alsea had never before been confronted with the visible reality of bonds that did not fit the cultural standard, but it was making up for that now. From every corner of the world, people were coming forward with their own stories. As long-held secrets were released and the debates continued, the spotlight moved away from Tal and her family. Though they had started the conversation, it was no longer about them. They were already an accepted fact.

  Now she waited while Ekatya walked the length of the Council chamber floor, her newly gifted cape swaying around her calves. Relieved of the need for subterfuge, released from her fear of being used as a weapon against Tal, she had blossomed in these last two ninedays.

  She was Alsea’s weapon now.

  Tal brushed a hand against her jacket pocket. The familiar shape hidden within reassured her that this was indeed real and not a daydream. Ekatya had given up her captain’s bars and offered her loyalty. Today, she was mak
ing it official.

  Salomen stood at Tal’s right hand, shining in her Bondlancer regalia, while Prime Warrior Ehron was on her left. Only Lhyn had no place in this ceremony, but she was certainly present: two vidcams hovered constantly near her seat in the guest gallery, transmitting her delighted reactions for all the world to see. Beside her, Nikolay and Elanor looked on with palpable pride.

  Ekatya came to a stop and brought a fist to her chest, saluting Ehron first. Then she turned to offer the same salute to Salomen—unnecessary according to caste protocol, but a gesture of respect that brought approving murmurs from the watching Councilors.

  Finally, she met Tal’s eyes before bowing her head and holding both fists to her sternum. “Lancer Tal. It’s an honor to be here.”

  “Well met, Captain Serrado,” Tal said. “And that is the last time I will use that rank for you. For the benefit of the historical record, do you confirm that you have accepted the post of Admiral of the Alsean Fleet?”

  “Yes, I have.”

  “Do you fully understand and accept the responsibilities inherent in this post?”

  “I do.”

  “Captain Serrado.” Salomen’s eyes crinkled in a welcome she could not hide. “As Bondlancer, I stand in representation of the people of Alsea. The Admiral of the Alsean Fleet has many duties, but the highest of all is to protect Alsea, her people, and the ideals for which we strive. Do you freely assume this duty?”

  “I do. With a joyous heart.”

  It was not the scripted answer, but Ekatya’s happiness made everyone in sensory range smile in response. Even Ehron needed a moment to look properly serious.

  “You will swear your oath to no individual, nor to a government, which may change in time,” he said. “You will swear to Alsea herself, for it is she you must protect. But you will report to both myself and Lancer Tal, as the two government representatives best positioned to aid in your duties and assess your progress in carrying them out. Do you acknowledge our authority and accept these conditions?”