He should never have doubted her. If she had told him he could belch fire like a dragon, he ought to have believed her. Believed in her.
Loved her.
“So I take it those burns on her had nothing to do with your rather pyrotechnic entrance?”
Rush smiled grimly and didn’t bother to look up at his commander.
“Unless you mean they prompted me to make said entrance, then no.”
Bronse let it go from there. For the time being. He pulled Ravenna close and kept her hands prisoner in one of his, pressing them to his chest to keep them from absently wandering over his body.
Slowly, as everyone watched, Ophelia’s Chosen power did what it did best. Ambrea’s damaged, dead skin fell away, revealing beneath it something raw and pink and healing. It took the better part of twenty minutes, but eventually there wasn’t an inch of blistered skin left on her body. She wasn’t perfectly healed; her whole body was still raw and pink with advanced healing and the promise of scar-free perfection in the future. Ophelia didn’t take her all the way to that perfection, though, and when she saw Rush ready to protest her sitting back with her task seemingly undone, she held up a hand.
“Jet and I, with modern medicine and Ambrea’s own healing abilities, can do the rest, Ender. Sometimes it’s best to let nature have a part in the way things are done. When we try to fight it or do an end run around it, the result is not always positive.”
Rush knew that better than anyone, he supposed. All these years of fighting what he was had only made things worse for him. Now it seemed that relaxing and letting this thing inside him work itself out was the best answer.
“Fair enough,” he said.
“Come. Bring her to the bath. We’ll clean all this off her, bandage her up, and give her something for her remaining pain so she can rest.”
“So let’s have this conversation,” Bronse said softly as he stepped into Ambrea’s recovery bay. Rush was sitting beside her bed, his chair turned to face the empress, his eyes trained on her, watching every breath she took, making sure there was no sign of pain, and hoping for the moment when she would finally open her eyes again.
Rush didn’t need to prevaricate any more than Bronse did, so he shrugged.
“I’m a mutated freak from Tari planet who can erupt into a ball of fire at will. What’s to discuss?”
They both knew it wouldn’t be that easy, but Rush needed to be blasé about it. He couldn’t even make himself look at Bronse as they talked. Part of him dreaded the censure and horror that could follow; part of him knew he should feel guilty for not being forthcoming about all of this when he’d had a chance.
“Why didn’t you come out about this when the Chosen Ones showed up?” Bronse wanted to know. “Surely then you could see we would handle it well.”
“Yeah. You probably would have. Maybe even the IM would have in spite of the fact that, for all I know, I could be a weapon of mass destruction.” Now he looked at Bronse, wanting to see how that understanding registered on his commander. The other man didn’t even blink. “Look,” said Rush, “the last time I showed someone what I could do, they gathered a mob, tied me to a stake, dumped an industrial amount of jet fuel on me, and torched it.” He shrugged again. “They were so busy stabbing me in the back in spite of a lifetime of knowing me that it never occurred to them that setting me on fire was a stupid way to go about it.”
“Not a shining example of intelligence, no. So what does douse you? Water?”
Rush knew Bronse was asking him that probably because he couldn’t help himself. As a soldier he always wanted to know how to defeat everything in the room with him, just in case. But as the corner of Bronse’s lips lifted in a mysterious little smile, Rush realized it was more than that. Bronse wanted to know if Rush would trust him enough to give him the information.
“Seems like. Maybe the equivalent of four or five stun guns. But that’s more of a ‘get my attention’ rather than a defeat.”
“You know, I feel sorry for you,” Bronse said quietly, his attention briefly turning to the bed.
“Why?” Rush demanded, everything in him bristling at the idea of his commander taking pity on him because he was a warped-out mutation. That might be even worse than betraying him.
“Because Justice is going to kill you when she finds out. All these years? Man, she’s going to kill you.”
Rush grimaced as he relaxed again. He had to stop doing that. He had to stop expecting the worst from the friends of today because of the actions of the friends of yesterday.
“Let me worry about Jus and my life expectancy. I just want to know where I stand in the IM.”
Bronse chuckled softly and tried to cover it with a cough when Rush shot him a dirty look. Then, as always, Commander Chapel was blunt with him.
“Ender, I have a feeling that your days in the IM are numbered. Or am I mistaken in thinking your heart lies in the heart of Allay?” He nodded his head at Ambrea.
“I …” It was one thing to realize it for himself and quite another to say anything that might put things irrevocably in motion. “What I feel could very well be irrelevant in this case, Commander. She is the sweetheart empress of a country that despises everything I am. More so once reports of what I’ve done begin to circulate. Bad enough a Tarian, but a Tarian freak? And she’ll want children one day. Heirs. Her people won’t want my backwater blood in them, and I won’t want to pass on this crazy curse of mine.”
“I think her people will have to accept anything she wants them to accept. Especially when their only other option is the brother of the worst tyrant in the history of the planet Ulrike. And nothing says this is a dominant gene. Even if it were, it could be a handy tool to have when trying to run a country.” Bronse suddenly shrugged off the notion. “But perhaps you ought to worry about other things first. Like who just tried to kill your empress.”
“Someone needs to fetch that robe and have it tested. I want to know exactly what it was,” Rush said darkly.
“Justice is on her way here with it as we speak. Jet can start to run tests immediately.”
“Did you—?”
“Not my place,” Bronse said with a shrug. “It has always been your place. And I don’t hold it against you for keeping quiet. I just wish you’d been able to trust your team a little more.”
Rush nodded solemnly. “Yeah. So do I.”
Justice burst into the bay with her impeccable sense of timing. She was out of breath, having run all the way up from the landing bay. She carried a bag in one hand, which was protected by her black uniform glove.
“What in the name of the great gorked-up spirits just happened over there?” she demanded breathlessly. “The whole place is up in arms saying the empress is dead and that Ender blew her all the way to Ebbany! Do you have any idea how hard it was to get hold of this thing?” She shook the bag, which no doubt held the remains of the robe. “Her uncle declared the place a crime scene and is putting the country under martial law as we speak! That means the IM is no longer welcome, since the heir we were protecting is—hey, that’s her, isn’t it?” she said, ending her rush of words with the softly surprised question and a finger pointing at Ambrea.
“Yeah, that’s her,” Rush affirmed.
“Oh. Well, then, why are they saying she’s dead? I mean—sure, she doesn’t look so hot, but—”
“Jus,” Rush began with a sigh, “I think you might want to pull up a chair.”
“I want to know how you did it,” Balkin said with a chuckle. “Even I believed that Tarian was loyal to her. And he never struck me as the suicide bomber type. What did you pay him? What did you promise him?” Balkin’s smile faded as he began to think about it. “What did you give him, Eirie?”
“Oh, please,” she laughed at him, “I don’t flatter myself to think my pussy would tempt a man into throwing his life away for me. Not with his full knowledge, in any event. And anyway, I had nothing to do with the Tarian or the bomb that went off. My methods are somewh
at more subtle.” She drifted across the room to him, her smile sweetly seductive as she touched him for what felt like the first time in ages. “This time I can honestly swear to you I had nothing to do with it. In fact, I had thought it rang more of your way of dealing with things.” She leaned against him. “Violent. Bloody. Deliciously definitive.” She kissed his lips with each word, the last one snapping his control of himself and forcing him to grab hold of her and kiss her until she was wildly breathless. It was nice to see her impassioned. Nice to see her stirred and rustled up out of her constant placidity.
“I wish I could take the credit. Especially since it seems to make you so fiery. But I can’t. It was probably some wild unknown faction we know nothing about. Perhaps someone didn’t take too kindly to her rapidly sweeping changes and the idea of their ruler taking advice from a savage. Whatever the reason,” he practically purred against her mouth, “she’s dead and this time she won’t magically reappear with the IM at her back. And do you know what that means, my pretty love?”
“That I am going to be empress!”
“Indeed you are!” He laughed when she cried out with glee, shaking away her constantly coolly dignified veneer for a moment of dancing with delight in his arms, her light body spinning between his hands. “And screw a proper mourning. They hardly knew the bitch. I say it’s crowns for us both by week’s end.”
That made her stop her spinning dance, her body smoothing up against his seductively, her hands running deep into his hair.
“Say it clearly, Balkin Tsu Allay. You will wed me before the week is out?”
“Before the day is done tomorrow, Eirie Vas Allay.”
“Eirie Vas Allay,” she repeated softly. “Vas Allay!” She threw back her head and laughed with pure exultation. “Eirie Vas Allay!”
Ambrea opened her eyes with a sudden blink. She coughed, her dry throat catching when she drew in a painful breath. Then Rush was there, cradling her close, pressing a cup to her lips, already knowing what she needed before she could even work up a way to give it voice. She swallowed the cool, creamy liquid, Rush forcing her to take it slow by tipping the cup in increments. He waited until she reached to push the cup away, indicating she had had her fill for the moment.
“It’s biotinate,” he explained of the beverage as he put the cup aside. “Jet says you should drink as much as possible. It helps in cell regeneration.”
Shock had robbed her memory of a lot of the particulars, but she recalled instantly what had happened.
“It wasn’t you,” she said to him, her first desire to make it clear to him she knew he hadn’t been the one to burn her. “I couldn’t understand … it didn’t make sense. I’m sorry I accused you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said sharply. “Whatever slight you imagine I might be feeling, you’re wrong. And the only thing you ought to be worried about here is yourself, your health, and how to recover from this.”
She sat up in the diagnosis bed, pushing against him when he blocked her from moving further.
“Rush, you’re wrong,” she insisted as she resisted him. “I have all of Allay to worry about.” She saw the expression that crossed his features and latched on to it instantly. “What? What is it?”
“Apparently they think you’re dead,” he said quietly, his knuckles reaching up to sweep her hair back against her temple. “We weren’t sure we should announce otherwise while you were still vulnerable. But it’s just me, you, Jet, and Ophelia here. Lasher and Justice are standing guard. Everything you eat, drink, and touch will go through us first. Your robe was poisoned, but I guess you figured that out. It was dusted with some kind of alkali. If you’d gone underwater, you would have set off a chemical reaction and probably destroyed your flesh completely. Only the inside of the robe was treated, so it was very clear that it was meant to burn only the wearer. I was trying to remember who brought it to you.”
“Suna,” she said softly. Her eyes widened. “Oh, Rush, no. A thousand other people maybe, but not Suna.”
“I have to question her just the same,” he warned her.
“Fairly,” she demanded of him. “No wild, unfounded accusations. You will bring me proof it was her doing or I won’t hear anything against her.” Then, suddenly, she deflated, going weak in his arms, all of her weight falling against his chest. “If it was Suna, I don’t think I could bear it.”
“You can,” he said softly into her hair. “I’ve never seen anyone with your strength. Whatever the outcome, whatever your enemies throw in your path, you will survive. And soon others will see that too. But between now and then lies a great deal of time and danger. And I … well, you should rest. There’s time later to talk.”
“On the contrary,” she said, tears welling in her eyes and using the quick touch of her fingertips to sweep away evidence of her weaker emotions. She let determination stiffen her spine once again. “Time is at a halt and I cannot afford to rest.” She pushed him away and threw her legs over the side of the bed. She seemed to falter as she did so, clearly overwhelmed by the pain and trauma of what her body had endured.
“Madam,” he said sternly, “you aren’t fit to move around.”
“And you’ve never continued to work in spite of an injury?” She knew as well as he did that they had both seen him do exactly that only a short time ago.
“This is significantly different,” he insisted, automatically helping to steady her as she slid off the edge of the diagnosis bed and tried to gain her feet. Ambrea couldn’t help but smile. He was more than strong enough to bully her back into bed if he wanted to. But despite his genuinely worried protests, he was as aware as she that every second she spent outside the court of Allay was hard-earned ground she would lose.
More important, she would lose crucial evidence. Although they had the robe to identify and track the chemicals that had been used, it was witnesses and the trail of people invariably left behind that would really lead to the identification of her betrayers.
Yet, without a single shred of evidence, Ambrea knew without a doubt where this was going to lead. There was only one person who stood to gain with any significance from her death.
“Can I take these off?” she asked impatiently as she tugged at her bandages. She was bound like a mummy from wrists to knees. It made it difficult to move and each movement tugged on the material and made it hurt.
“Ophelia!” Rush bellowed, startling her. She blinked at him in confusion for a moment, but when a delicate-featured girl in a medical uniform popped around the open corner of the bay, she realized that this was the person he had been calling for. She looked barely old enough to be in uniform at all, never mind that of a trained, skilled medic, so Ambrea’s expression was dubious as the young woman approached her.
“You need to be at rest,” the girl named Ophelia said sternly as she walked up to Ambrea with a frown marring her very pretty features. She was as blond as Rush was, only her hair hung in hundreds of thin braids, each woven with fragile ceramic beads that looked hand-painted. Ambrea found herself wondering where she got so many of them. Everything seemed to be done via technology these days, and simple arts like this were long lost in favor of technological precision.
“I need to run my country,” Ambrea argued once she realized that the girl would be a hindrance rather than a help. Ambrea wished she had time to tease Rush for calling in the small girl to act the bully he couldn’t seem to bring himself to play—big bad soldier that he was. “Either help me or I will cut these things off myself.”
“No.” Ophelia sighed and rolled her eyes. “No need to do that.” She reached into a nearby drawer and searched for a tool of some sort, all the while muttering to herself about “type A” personalities and if she wanted to practice “real” medicine she would have to find another job. Ophelia found what she was looking for and turned back to Ambrea. She looked sternly at the empress, effectively making Ambrea feel like an unruly child, although she was certain she had never been any such thing. “I’m only
taking away what is necessary to allow you to move freely. The rest must stay in place to prevent any troublesome infections. It is imperative”—here she looked hard at Rush—“absolutely imperative that there is no further trauma. If there is you must return to me immediately. But I promise you, if you show up here again, I will tie your ass to the bed until I think it’s reasonably safe to leave you to your own devices. I would be doing so now, except apparently it would cause some kind of interstellar incident.”
“Thanks, Phee,” Rush said with a grin as he bent to buss her roughly against her temple and pat her heavily on the head, as if she were his ten-year-old kid sister instead of a well-trained colleague. Ophelia elbowed him off, but she was grinning widely.
Ambrea leaned back against the bed and blinked a bit dumbly at the sight of him interacting with the young woman. She had seen only a marginalized version of Rush, she realized then. Despite all of his secrets and his unwillingness to trust anyone with them, it became clear to her that it hadn’t interfered with his ability to make warm connections with others around him. Taken as a whole, he was very much connected to his IM world, and as more than just a skilled soldier. These people were his real family. Sisters and brothers, mother and father figures—everything he had always wanted or needed, albeit on his terms.
How naïve of her to think she had something to offer him that he couldn’t find anywhere else. The only thing she had been able to give him was nothing he had freely or willingly given back. Had he not been shot at, accidentally revealing his deepest secret to her, their acquaintance would have ended the moment she had stepped onto IM territory. And outside of that secret and all the threads between them that connected back to it, what else did they really share?
As soon as Ophelia cut away the last restriction to her movement, Ambrea quickly pushed away from them, moving across the bay and trying to give herself a moment to regain control of a wildly unexplainable surge of emotion. She blinked in rapid succession, fighting the sting of tears in her eyes. Why did this upset her so much? She had known from the beginning that she was merely borrowing him from his world so he could help her in hers. And she clearly had far more complex things to worry about. Her future was nothing to be envied, nothing to tempt a man of action. Sure, there was danger now, but that would eventually ease and then all there would be was the tedium of political life. For her that was fine; for her it was a matter of destiny and responsibility. It would be everything she could ever want.
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