A Blue Star Rising

by Cecilia Randell

  “This is the same guy who left his people to follow you back to Karran, right? Seems like what he wants is you.”

  “Well, that’s not exactly what happened—”

  “Besides, so what if he does?” Elaina picked up her pace. “We’re almost there. You’ll love it. They really do have the best dakash. The ones with fruit and cream are the very, very best.”

  So what if he does? Elaina made it sound so simple. But weren’t these the same fears she’d had with Forrest, with Mo’ata? And wasn’t this the very kind of thing she’d returned to Karran to discover? So what if Levi ever decided he wanted something else? Did she want him now?

  Yes. She did. And why was she even arguing with herself about this? There was a kernel, a little seed of… disbelief. Because there was no way something as grand and strange and wonderful as finding her way into a universe of worlds full of adventure and then finding men to have those adventures with could have possibly happened to her. Five men to love and—

  Five. Love. Her own words came back to haunt her. I’d regret it if I didn’t even try.

  Just like that, she wanted to run back to the apartment. She wanted to see their faces, even though she’d left them there barely a half hour before.

  And she wanted to pull Levi into her room and lock the door. She didn’t want to wait for any more disasters to force her hand. That was like waiting for a funeral as an excuse to go see your family. Eventually it would be too late.

  “Here was are.” Elaina pulled Blue from her thoughts as she stopped in front of a slightly run-down food stall. They were on the edge of the apartment district, where housing and shops started to mix. Elaina stepped up to the open window, neatly trimmed in red, and said, “Two of the berry and cream, please.” Then she sent Duri a shy smile. “I mean three.” Then she handed over her own account card.

  “Oh, you didn’t have to—”

  “Consider it a thank-you for letting me intrude on your training this morning.”

  “You really are welcome to join any time.”

  The stall proprietor, a balding man with a round face and sour expression, handed over three cloth-wrapped bundles. “Bring the napkins back.”

  Blue took hers. Heat filtered through and seeped into cold fingers that had turned a faint violet. She flicked back a corner of the cloth to see golden pastry, and her mouth watered.

  “Eat it quick. They won’t stay warm long.” Elaina bit into hers, moaning slightly as a dollop of red and cream clung to the corner of her mouth.

  Blue copied her and let out a matching moan. It was like pastry-covered cheesecake. “I’m coming here every day,” she said around a mouthful of goodness. “I don’t care how fat I get. These are amazing.” She took another bite, and her eyes slid closed. She barely registered the hand on her arm, steering her from in front of the stall and to a less busy area at the side of the street.

  “Right?” Elaina was as oblivious. “And if I work out like I did this morning, I have the perfect excuse to indulge.”

  Duri stood over them both, an expression of mixed disapproval and amusement sending his lips wavering. Finally he smiled, shrugged, and bit into his own breakfast, though Blue noted he kept his attention on their surroundings.

  In minutes the confections were gone. They wiped their hands, turned in the napkins, and set off for the nearest public transit stop. Blue’s mind wandered back to thoughts of love and hesitation.

  She linked her arm through Elaina’s. “Tell me what you know of courting customs. And if you know of a place I can pick up something, um, sexy.”

  Chapter 22

  TREVON

  “Hello, Pike.” Trevon leaned against the plexi-counter and stared down at the little man behind it.

  “Lord Zeynar.” He busied himself straightening the already spotless display. “How-how can I help you?”

  Trevon pulled out a small, blue bottle of scent, the twin to the one he’d given Blue. “You can tell me where to get more of this.”

  Pike licked his lips and reached for the bottle, stopping just short of touching it. “May I?”

  Trevon waved his hand. He enjoyed the man’s nervousness, but he didn’t want him so scared that he wouldn’t talk. Pike was the seventh aromachist he’d visited in three days. He had high hopes that his search would end with him.

  When Blue had called them all together the other night, he’d dabbed on just a touch of the scent he’d had taken from Nya’s shop. It was a whim, one of the acts of impulse he frequently indulged in. When she’d consented to embrace him, however innocently, he’d been delighted. In a way, he wore her scent, and when she touched him, so did she.

  She’d commented on it. He grinned. At first he’d been distracted by being called dessert. He wouldn’t mind being her dessert. The others… they could be the meal. In fact, they already were. They could be the stuff that was good for her, kept her going, filled her belly. He’d be the indulgence at the end of the day, the thing she craved.

  Then it’d hit him. Nya hadn’t been saying “Follow the blue.” She’d been trying to say, “Follow the blue scent.” She’d told him when he first bought it—the item was new from Falass.

  She’d been trying to tell him where to find Miyari.

  But Falass was an entire world. He needed to know where on Falass she’d gotten the perfume or the ingredients for it. Which meant he needed to find someone who either recognized it or who had the same connections Nya did. He’d contemplated bringing in Eteru, who had majority share of the trade done from Falass, but he was not quite ready to do that. Though the man had not proven himself an enemy, he was not currently an ally either.

  Two of the other aromachists had recognized it but didn’t have any in stock and didn’t know where to get it. Three hadn’t seen it at all. The other had been a dead end as well, but because he was actually dead. Nothing quite as dramatic as being hit by a poison dart, though. No, according to the assistant who now ran the shop, the man had been in the south plains hunting for jalk root and ended up stampeded by a herd of pucho.

  It was a little too ridiculous to be believable, but his own sources had since confirmed it. The assistant hadn’t recognized the scent either but had directed him to Pike. Who “always knew how to get anything the customer needs.”

  Pike picked up the bottle in his small hands and pulled a clean white cloth from a cubby behind him. With a flick of his finger, he released the stopper and pulled the slender applicator from the top, allowing a drop to fall onto the cloth. Then he once more sealed the bottle and pushed it back toward Trevon before lifting the cloth to his nose.

  Trevon waited patiently. He could do that if the person he needed something from was cooperating.

  “Falass, I think.” Pike fixed deep gray eyes on Trevon, surprisingly direct after his earlier unease. “I may know more.”

  Ah, there it was. Trevon suppressed a smile and leaned in, invading Pike’s space. “You will want to play this game with more skill if you’re going to play with me.”

  “Of co—I’m not playing a game. I-I just know that the Families value a good deal.”

  “What we value is someone who can play the game.” Trevon pushed away from the counter and casually perused the wares displayed. There were more than scents here. In fact, Pike’s store boasted of anything a refined lady could want, a sort of one-stop shop. “I see you have miriski feathers.” He fingered a fan of the fiery feathers that was displayed against a black velvet cushion. “Bold to show them with such… abandon.”

  He let Pike stew as he contemplated a length of delicate blue lace.

  “I’m not sure you are as adept at the game as you think,” he said, returning to the counter. “Now, where do I get more of this scent? If I wanted to go direct to the source, of course.”

  Pike dropped his gaze. “Pinch.”

  Trevon raised a brow. “Pinch? That’s new. He doesn’t usually deal with Falassian goods.”

  Pike shrugged. “There were some new opportunities
. He took them.”

  “Where?”

  “Where is he?”

  “That too.”

  A bell chimed as a new customer entered. “I’ll be with you in just a moment, madam,” Pike called out. He looked like he wanted to bolt to her but knew better.

  The woman, followed closely by what was obviously hired muscle, waved a languid hand and wandered to where the miriski feather fan was on display.

  Pike cast anxious glances between the woman and Trevon, or more specifically, between the woman’s obvious finery and Trevon’s leather and piercings.

  “I’ll be out of here as soon as you finish telling me what I need to know.”

  “Pinch is easy. He’ll be at his bar.”

  “Of course.”

  “The other… It’s just rumors, mind, but a couple of Ministry agents went missing about a month ago from the southern jungles of Falass.”

  “My perfume first appeared before that.”

  “Which just means it was harder to smuggle in.”

  “Do you know where the agents were exactly?”

  “No.”

  “Fair enough.” Trevon could get the answer from Pinch easily enough. The man owed him more than one favor. Trevon tapped a finger against the plexi. “What is the scent? What is it made from?”

  “You expect an aromachist to give up his secrets?”

  “If this is a secret you own the answer to, yes.” He tapped the plexi again. A necklace in the case caught his attention—a single sapphire attached to a delicate silver chain. “I just need a name, or better, a location for where I can acquire it.”

  “My Lord, I can’t simply tell you—”

  Trevon pulled a small blade from his sleeve. At barely three inches long, it was easy to conceal and good for precision work. “Once more you show you are not as good at this game as you believe you are.” He spied a loose callus on his middle left finger and used the blade to cut the edge of skin away. Ah, better.

  Pike swallowed and shot a look at the woman and her bodyguard. Neither were paying the least attention to Trevon. Of course, the angle blocked them from seeing the blade. “Its scent is close to that of the plumar flower. It could be that there is another ingredient to obtain the additional sweetness, or it could be an entirely different bloom. I won’t know for sure unless I can analyze a sample.”

  Trevon twirled the blade, making patterns of reflected light dance in the man’s eyes. “And how long would it take for this analysis?”

  “I-I could have it to you by later this evening.”

  Trev tossed the blade, caught it, then tucked it away in its hidden sheath. “And that is how you play the game. Tell me, do you have earrings that would match that necklace?”

  Pike’s eyes narrowed, and he glanced down at the jewelry Trevon had indicated. A slow smile spread across his face. “I do, my lord. You are aware that these are Earth sapphires?”

  “And they are not cheap, I know.” He tsked. “Silly Earthlings, thinking diamonds are more rare.”

  Pike bobbed his head. “I will have them sent along with the analysis this evening.”

  “Good. Very good.” He pushed away from the counter. “I’ll have someone contact you with the address.” He nodded to the bottle of scent that remained sitting on the counter. “I expect most of that back.”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  Trevon met Prin on the street. “Make sure he knows how to contact me.”

  “Sir?”

  He scanned his guard’s pressed and precise uniform. “I think you’ll want to change before our next stop.”

  After they were safely ensconced in the transport, Trevon shot off a quick message to Mo’ata.

  I know the next place we need to look.

  I’m at Colci’s, Mo’ata sent back.

  Twenty minutes.

  Trevon sat back in his seat. Colci’s bar. He could guess exactly what Mo’ata was doing there.

  MO’ATA

  Sipping his foka, he scanned the bar, ignoring the man in the booth with him.

  Demil sighed, but held his words.

  “I know she is not ready,” Mo’ata finally said.

  “No, she is not.” Demil—Boss— agreed. Their voices were low, and the combined noise of low, heavy music and scattered conversations would cover most anything anyway.

  Jana and Scott had taken their not-so-subtle posts nearby. Midafternoon didn’t see many unauthorized visitors approaching the rear booth, but in many things, Demil did not take chances.

  “Felix has put in for a permanent transfer to my unit.”

  Mo’ata raised a brow. “Did he?”

  “His father won’t like it.”

  “General Audal.”

  “He told you?”

  “Not exactly. Our landlady recognized him.”

  Demil’s mouth tipped up into a rare grin. “That must have been an interesting encounter.”

  “Oh, it was. Blue got him to calm down eventually.”

  Demil’s hand tightened almost imperceptibly on his own mug.

  “No, she is not ready,” Mo’ata conceded. “But she is managing to hold her own.”

  “Because you coddle her.”

  “Maybe.” The clansman pulled out his comm. “But right about now she will be getting home to the apartment. And ten minutes after that, she’ll dive into the reports I left her. I nearly had to force today’s excursion on her. She works hard.”

  “She’s an idealist.”

  Mo’ata twisted to look fully at his mentor and friend. “Again, maybe. But I do not believe so. She… still sees the best in people, or tries to. But she doesn’t let it blind her.”

  Demil cocked an eyebrow.

  “She sees the best in us.”

  “Hmmm.”

  They sipped the foka. It was a good batch, the flavor rich and the texture thick but not too grainy.

  “Have we found anything on this Miyari yet?” Mo’ata asked.

  “No. Anything else from the Academy lead?”

  “No. I do not know whether it is because the girl was unable to get anything from Petyr before he fell into unconsciousness or because she decided to be uncooperative. You have someone on her?”

  “As much as we can. It’s a little hard to get an agent into the Academy.”

  “Dean Gravin?”

  Demil relaxed against the wood back of the booth. “That’s why I’ve asked you here. He wants whatever this is out of his Academy more than we do. And he was concerned by the apparent ties to Cularna and how many incidents have cropped up on Turamm. Per him, ‘nothing good ever comes when you mix heavy artillery, drugs, and psychics.’ I agree.”

  “He released the reports?”

  “In a manner. He cannot do it officially, but he has given me access to the discipline committee’s findings. I’ll pass the access codes to you before you go.”

  Mo’ata knew his mentor well and knew he had already looked at them. “Did they retrieve a sample? Is it the same substance? Are we on the correct track?”

  “It is and we are.” Demil blew out a breath. “Unfortunately, that track has come to an end. Until we can find a commonality with the victims or figure out where this new drug is coming from, we’re stuck.”

  Mo’ata borrowed a phrase from Blue. “We keep working the puzzle.”

  “Yes. But we are missing pieces. And I had hoped to catch this one early.”

  Mo’ata’s comm pinged. Trevon. “If you can hold off your next meeting for half an hour, I may have more for you.”

  “I can do that.”

  They sipped the rest of the foka in silence. Sometimes there just wasn’t anything to say.

  Mo’ata was more worried for Blue than he was for the investigation. There had been many investigations in his past, and there would be many more. He regretted the deaths, but he also knew he was doing everything he could.

  But Blue… she was going to work herself gray. He’d set up her schedule, but even he admitted it was grueling, especia
lly for someone not used to that way of life. And she wanted everything in place now. She fretted over Levi and Felix, the furniture in the apartment, and whether Beast was getting enough attention. She worried about the progress of her Common and bank accounts and clothes and earning her own way. She practically agonized over figuring out how to work the portals.

  It all made him want to lock her in a box and tell her she could only come out when she promised to be reasonable about her expectations for herself.

  Except he couldn’t do that because then she’d never speak to him.

  He sighed. His mother was right. Blue was hard work.

  She was also right that his shopa was worth it.

  A woman slid up to the bar and cast Demil an enticing glance. Demil inclined his head but didn’t beckon her over. A new group of mercenaries pushed through the front doors, and sunlight cut through the dim room. One let out a loud laugh as they crowded into a booth near the front. Waitresses glided among the tables, clad in nearly as much leather as the patrons—minus the armor, of course. Plexi and glass clinked, and something was roasting back in the kitchen.

  “Bring her around some time.”

  Demil’s words startled him. Not so much because they were sudden, but because the invitation was as much of an apology and concession as Demil would ever give.

  “I’ll do that. Maybe when she’s settled into the Academy a little more.”

  “That’s fine.” Demil signaled for two more fokas, and a waitress hurried over.

  The front doors swung open again. Trevon strode in, followed by Prin, and Mo’ata could have sworn he heard Jana groan.

  “Let them through.” Demil raised his voice just enough to be heard over the music.