Somehow through fate or Lashima’s blessing or plain dumb luck he’d stumbled into the life of this astonishing, precious creature. This gifted, beautiful princess who radiated joy just to hold his hand and look at a painting.
And she was his. His to care for, to protect, and he was so grateful that tears stung his eyes.
Her inky lashes fluttered like the wings of gossamerflies and then Alari looked at him with her dark, velvety eyes.
And she smiled back.
Breathing in the sweet fragrance of the blooming tashi tree she sat beneath in the Az’anti garden, Alari accepted the teacup from Kinara’s maid. “I have requested an audience with her Imperial Majesty tomorrow to ask her blessing to leave Az-kye space.”
“What will you do if she says no?” Kinara asked with a quick glance at Kyndan where he sat at Alari’s side.
“I hope she will not,” Alari said honestly. “But I will go no matter what her answer.”
“Wow.” Kinara waved the jaha fan to cool herself. “Then I hope she gives her blessing.”
“I hope she takes it well,” Kyndan said. “With the Dauntless due to break orbit in less than two days it doesn’t leave a lot of time for her to come to terms with Alari leaving.”
“If she does not consent then it is not likely I will be permitted to speak to Saria before I go. She will return to the Imperial homeworld tomorrow. I was hoping,” Alari continued tentatively, “that I might entrust a letter to the Az’anti for her.”
What she asked placed them at great risk of the empress’ displeasure. Though tradition counted Kinara an Az-kye, it was common knowledge that Kyndan was her brother. Alari’s mating to him, and their choosing to reside here instead of the palace, already put the Az’anti clan in an awkward position.
“Of course,” Kinara said even as Aidar inclined his head.
Her throat tightened at how neither even hesitated. “Thank you.”
“So, Nima, huh?” Kinara asked, smiling. “You know, Apovia is renowned for its artists. You should think about going to school there.”
“You ruined my surprise,” Kyndan grumbled good-naturedly then looked at Alari. “I have accommodations reserved for us in Galt-Apovia and made an appointment for you to tour the Sulun Institute. I thought you might want to consider that school too.”
“Oh,” Alari murmured then smiled widely at him. “Oh, that would be wonderful!”
“Don’t decide till you’ve seen Nima,” Kinara warned, holding up a palm.
“Have you been there, my mate?” Aidar asked.
“Father took us a couple times,” Kinara said. “It’s a paradise—white sand, waterfalls, rainforests.” She nodded at Alari’s yellow gown. “What’s very casual on Az-kye is formal wear on Nima. For day, most Niman women wear less than what you’d consider a skimpy nightgown and a pair of sandals that they kick off half the time.”
“They go barefooted?” Alari asked. Only the very poorest of the Az-kye and the slaves did that. “They wish to?”
“You’ve never done that?” Kyndan asked. “Kicked off your shoes and run barefoot through the grass?”
Alari raised her eyebrows. “Have you?”
Kyndan gave her a sly smile and knelt at her feet. She gave a startled yelp of amusement when he caught her by the ankle and pulled the slipper from her foot.
He put her foot down on the soft grass and had the next one off in an instant. He stood, handing her cup over to the wide-eyed maid, Sella, and caught Alari’s hands to pull her to her feet.
“Come on,” he urged with a grin and gently tugged, pulling her along to walk on the lawn.
“I did not think it to be so soft,” Alari said surprised, delighting in the feel of the grass between her toes, the sunlight on her feet. “And warm.”
Suddenly he caught her hand, his other hand at her waist, and spun her around, then stepped and swayed, leading her in the Tellaran style of dancing.
Laughing, caught by Kyndan’s smile and sky eyes, the grass beneath her feet and the sun on her face as they danced, Alari did not notice anything wrong at all until the Lady of the Az’anti stood.
Kyndan stopped short. Alari followed his tense gaze and her mouth parted. The Imperial messenger crossed the garden, his eyes on her.
Kyndan let her go as the man stopped before her, his black armor and helmet gleamed darkly in the sunlight.
“Imperial Daughter Alari!”
Alari’s stomach clenched. Her mother’s majordomo, Jelara, should have sent a note to instruct her when to present herself tomorrow, not an Imperial messenger.
“I am Imperial Daughter Alari.”
“The empress commands your presence.”
“I do accept this summons and will come with all honor,” Alari replied, the ritual words sounding strangled. “When am I to attend upon Her Imperial Majesty?”
“A litter awaits you,” the messenger said.
Alari blinked. “You mean now?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Alari’s hand went to the skirt of her pale yellow gown. “I will change—”
“Our empress commands your presence immediately, Your Highness,” the messenger said sharply.
Alari quickly put her feet into her slippers and, behind her, she heard Kyndan address Kinara.
“Get ahold of Nisara,” he whispered tightly. “Tell her to get back to the Dauntless and be ready to contact the Tellaran Council.”
His government was light years away, it was madness to set his one ship against the might of the Empire’s forces, her mother might even command he not live long enough to leave the planet’s surface—
“Her Imperial Majesty has not summoned you, Kyndan,” Alari said quickly, meeting his gaze. “Perhaps it is best you remain here and await my return.”
Kyndan’s jaw hardened. “Oh, no fracking way. I’m coming with you, Alari.”
Alari looked at the messenger. “My mate . . .?”
The messenger sent a spare glance his way and gave a nod. “We must leave, Your Highness.”
Kyndan climbed into the litter beside her. One of his hands held hers and the other came to rest on the blaster he wore at his hip.
Her unbound hair and yellow gown garnered scandalized stares from the black clad courtiers and servants as she and Kyndan hurried through the palace halls. Two servants of the empress had met them upon their arrival on the palace grounds, their pace quick and tense.
Instead of being taken to the throne room, the servants led them to the floor above, to another of her mother’s official but less formal reception rooms. One of the servants opened the door for her, the other preceded them inside.
“The Princess Alari,” the servant announced. “Imperial mate, Commander Kyndan Maere.”
Inside were a few of the more powerful clan leaders. Alari saw Pellena of the Trade Council and Mezera, Leader of the Council for War and other Council leaders as well.
She recognized High Priestess Celara and Sechon the Elder, standing beside the throne but for an instant she did not know the figure slumped in it.
Alari’s mouth parted. “Imperial Majesty?”
The empress raised her head and Alari drew her breath sharply at her wan face, her drawn mouth.
She took a step toward the throne. “Mother?”
Mezera, the War Council leader, regarded her gravely. “The elder and I have been keeping the empress’ illness secret for some time. But her health has worsened so that we can no longer conceal it, First Daughter.”
Alari froze. “First—?” Her heart sped up. “What of Saria?”
Her glance swept the room going from her mother to the Imperial advisors, the healers and clan leaders, blinking at their taut mouths and pallid complexions.
In Kyndan’s face she saw shock collapse into grim understanding.
“What of Saria?” she asked again. “Where is my sister?” Alari’s gaze darted from one stiff face to another and her voice rose. “Where is my sister?”
“The princes
s’ vessel never arrived at Az-litha,” the War Leader said. “Ships were sent in search of the Ty’har but when they arrived Princess Saria’s ship was . . .” Mezera dropped her eyes, her voice tight. “There were no survivors.”
“No.” Alari shook her head again. “No. You are wrong. You are lying!”
“Alari.” Kyndan caught her hand gently, his hand cupping her face to look into her eyes and in his face she saw the truth. He gathered her against him and her arms went around his waist, too stunned for tears.
“What happened?” Kyndan asked.
“We received a distress signal from the Ty’har stating their location at the edge of Ren’thar’s sword. Assistance was sent—”
“How the hell did they wind up that close to the Badlands?” Kyndan interrupted the War Leader sharply. “That’s light years from Az-litha.”
“It appears that the Ty’har suffered a navigation malfunction,” Mezera continued. “Before assistance could reach them the ship was hit by an ionic front. When the rescue ship arrived—”
“A malfunction? On the princess’ flagship?” Kyndan echoed, disbelieving. “You don’t think it might have been sabotage? That someone did this on purpose?”
“We do not know what happened to the Ty’har, the investigation into its destruction is just beginning.” Mezera’s shoulders sagged. “As is our grieving. The loss of Princess Saria is a terrible blow—for all of us.”
The empress met her gaze, her face drawn with pain and grief. “As Mezera says, I am ill. The healers have not been able to help me and,” her mouth trembled, “now with Saria . . .”
She reached out to Alari. Kyndan’s embrace tightened comfortingly for an instant then he let her go. Alari hurried to close the space between them, to take her mother’s hand in her own, shocked at how weak her mother had become.
“Alari.” The empress’ eyes were sunken and shadowed but they were steady. “I name you Regent.”
“Regent?” Alari shook her head quickly. “No! I am not ready to—”
“We are none of us ready, Daughter. But you are prepared. Your whole life has been in preparation of this moment.”
Sechon stepped forward imploringly. “First Daughter—Imperial Regent—the Empire, your people need you. Your mother is . . .” The elder trailed off, her eyes pained. “There is no other choice. The Az-kye must have a ruler. You must take the throne.”
Frantically she sought Kyndan’s gaze only to find his face closed and set.
She swallowed hard. There would be no parties or friends or dancing at the Rusco ball now. She would never see the Tellaran worlds, apprentice as an artist, choose their home . . .
Alari closed her eyes for a moment against the bitter shattering of her dreams then forced a nod.
Sechon let her breath out in relief and bowed low. “A blessed and long rule, Imperial Regent.”
“Imperial Regent,” echoed the advisors, the healers, the Council leaders as they bowed.
Kyndan held her gaze for a moment, his blue eyes stormy.
“Imperial Regent,” Kyndan said hoarsely.
Her vision blurred with tears as he, too, bowed to her.
The palace was draped in white as the Empire began its month-long period of mourning for First Imperial Daughter Saria.
The next day Alari, dressed in pure snowy white, oversaw the rites for Saria at the temple of Meithea, making offerings to the goddess of the Underworld to guide her sister kindly. Kyndan stood at her side, proud and handsome in his blue and white Tellaran uniform, and she did not think that she could have remained upright without his strength beside her. No one spoke to her directly of it but Alari knew the courtiers whispered over his attire although, like the black-clad warriors, Kyndan too wore an armband of white in honor of Saria.
The empress had become so infirm her white-draped litter had to be carried into the temple and Azara reclined throughout the rites. It was doubtful her mother would ever recover enough to resume her place as ruler and the court, possibly the whole Empire, knew it.
The three days since Alari had become regent had been filled with meetings with her advisors, petitions to hear, decisions to make. Her grief would not excuse her. Kyndan accompanied her everywhere, a source of strength at her side at all times.
He rose with her before dawn and despite the scandalized glances of her maids remained as they dressed her. As regent her mourning court dress sometimes required fourteen layers of white silk, the last being heavily beaded. Her face, including her mouth, neck, and hands too were brushed with white makeup and a single finger-wide red line of face paint split her lower lip. They outlined her eyes in black and the area below her eyes from lower lid to mid cheekbone were rouged. Her dark hair was twisted up, ready for the crown.
“Leave us,” Alari said before her maid, Tilanna, could place the cornet of regent on her head.
Her reflection was ghostly, frightening in its severity, and she remembered all too well when her mother appeared thus after the death of her father.
Now it is I who am the image of mourning.
“Why do they do that?” Kyndan asked quietly, meeting her eyes in the mirror’s reflection. “Make you up like that?”
“The white is to show how the shock has altered me. The rouge to show my eyes reddened with weeping.”
“And the red line on your lip?” he asked, glancing at her mouth.
“That by my own bite I will draw the blood of any who would harm me and mine. I must look fearsome, intimidating, vicious with grief as I take the throne.” Hesitantly she sought his gaze. “Do you find me ugly?”
He gave a rueful smile. “I find you astonishing. I’m embarrassed to admit how much I’d like to pull those nine thousand layers right back off you and see you spread wide for me.”
In all of this he was her comfort and her strength and she craved his touch, the feel of him hot and hard inside her. “I too wish for it.” She glanced at her reflection dispiritedly. “But like this you cannot even kiss me.”
“Well, I can’t just wreck an hour of their hard work.”
Her breath caught as he clasped her around the waist and lifted her effortlessly onto the bed. He gave her a hot smile as he flung her skirts up and slid her underwear down. He gently urged her legs open further and his eyes softened as they rested on her center.
“But you know,” he murmured and leaned down to bring his mouth against the inside of her thigh. Her eyes fell shut as she arched toward him, already aching. His tongue trailed toward her center and his voice grew hoarse. “I have an idea that won’t mess up your makeup . . .”
Alari sat upon the Az-kye throne, empress in all but name, clasping her fan in her lap as the petitioners squabbled.
“The Council for Trade has caused chaos in the markets,” Telyn, Leader of the Council for Food, said heatedly. “Merchants everywhere are crying out to Your Majesty for justice! The Council for Trade’s grab for power should alarm you as much it does us!”
Benne, the Trade Council Leader, countered, “Your alarm only stems from seeing your greed thwarted.”
“You speak to me of greed?” Telyn cried. “When your Council has grabbed power for itself at the behest of a grasping, opportunistic Tel—”
At Alari’s side, Kyndan tensed. Telyn broke off, clearly realizing she was delivering a challenge-worthy insult to one born the Imperial Consort’s sister.
“Newcomer,” she finished then addressed Alari again. “We ask that the dispensation to the Council for Food be increased again.”
“Imperial Regent,” Benne countered, “prices offered by Trade and Food are comparable.”
“But the profits are not! You levy fees for the landing and departure of all cargo shuttles but you do not impose those same fees on vessels owned by your own members—or on vessels owned by those whom you favor!” Telyn’s face flushed red with anger. “In the few short months since Kinara of the Az’anti seized power for the Trade Council, their members have lined their pockets and built a network
of lackeys throughout Az-kye space! There are those that say that Your Majesty no longer cares for traditional Az-kye ways.” Telyn threw a narrow glance at Kyndan, standing beside her, clad still in his Tellaran uniform. “You may find your rule the weaker for it.”
Kyndan took a half step forward. “Is that supposed to be a threat?”
Telyn met his glare. “A terrifying prediction of what will come if the Imperial Regent does not now exercise her power wisely.” Telyn looked at Alari. “This is your opportunity to reaffirm your adherence to the old ways, to restore the balance between the Councils!”
Sechon held up her hand. “If I may, Imperial Regent?”
“You are hardly objective in this matter, Elder!” Telyn scoffed.
“It is well known that though I relinquished the mantle of clan leader when I joined the Council of Elders, my daughter Helia also sits on the Council for Trade,” Sechon said mildly. “But my vow was to administer to the Empire and to offer guidance that would reflect the highest good of all Her Imperial Majesty’s subjects, despite former clan loyalties. The . . .” The elder glanced at Kyndan, “achievements of Kinara of the Az’anti are well known. While I applaud such resourcefulness, I regard a few of the Council’s policies as reflective of an unbecoming self-interest in those sworn to serve the Az-kye.”
Benne stepped toward Sechon. “How can you possibly—”
Alari flicked her fan and that one small gesture was enough to silence them all.
“The request for further dispensation is denied,” she said, forcing strength into her voice. “But all cargo vessels will pay equal fees, no matter their owner or the friendship they have garnered. Any vessel not paying export and import fees will be seized.”
Telyn’s face lit with triumph, Benne’s dark eyes flashed with displeasure, and then they bowed.
“Mezera, Leader for the Council for War—” the majordomo, Jelara, began.
The Consort (Tellaran Series) Page 14
