The Traitor's Bride_A sci fi romance

by Alix Nichols

In a blink.

  “Ladies, I apologize for my disheveled appearance,” he said. “Been hiking the past five days. Keeping clean and tidy was a challenge.”

  Prioress Eckme waved dismissively. “Oh, please.”

  “I promise I’ll wash, comb my hair and discipline my beard at the first opportunity.”

  “I like your beard,” Etana blurted.

  There was tenderness in Areg’s eyes when he glanced at her.

  She pointed to his legs. “You’re limping.”

  “Not to worry. The wound is clean and it’s healing.”

  Nodding, Etana reached for his ouroboros around her neck. “I promised you’d have it back.”

  Prioress Eckme gave Areg a commlet and three fat wads of drinars.

  “You need to give the commlet a half hour in the sun every day so it doesn’t die,” she said. “But if it runs out of energy and turns off, it’ll need a much longer time in the sun to wake up again.”

  Areg inspected the device. “How long?”

  “Hours.”

  “Should I expect it to turn off every night?”

  “I was told it shouldn’t, unless you use it all evening,” the vestal said. “Try to send your transmissions during the day.”

  “They are older, secondhand models,” Leehash said. “But they were the only ones currently available on the black market.”

  Rhori showed Areg some functions he’d just mastered.

  “I wish we had these toys during the war,” Areg said before pushing the money toward Prioress Eckme. “I can’t.”

  “Don’t be silly.” She shoved the wads in the pocket of his jacket. “I’m a vestal now, remember? I’ll never be able to spend all the rent from my family’s royal lands, even with everything I give to charity.”

  Leehash laid out the rest of the contents of the backpack, which included a change of clothing, a towel, soap, hairbrush and scissors, a flask, and a sack filled with cured meat and plum bars.

  Areg eyed everything appreciatively as the group sat in a circle around the stash. “Much better than the supplies we received during the war.”

  Leehash grinned, visibly pleased.

  “Lord Sebi, what happened after we left you in that cottage?” Rhori asked.

  Areg gave them a summary account of that night and the rest of his week.

  “I know Duko!” Rhori said. “He’s a funny guy.”

  When Areg got to the part where he was apprehended by two soldiers, Etana found herself transfixed with fear.

  He made it, she reminded herself. He made it.

  Rhori stared at Areg. “How on Hente did you get out of that bind?”

  “As they marched me to Iltaqa, I got thinking—vain as I am—about the legacy I was leaving behind. So, I asked my escort if they believed I was a traitor.”

  “And?”

  “They hesitated to answer my question at first, and then the sergeant said he didn’t. He said he knew several men who’d served under me during the war, and those men swore I’d never betray my people.”

  Rhori leaned forward. “And then?”

  “The private said the whole ‘treason for money’ plot never made any sense to him, seeing how rich my family had been, and that I was the only surviving heir.”

  Prioress Eckme grinned. “They let you go.”

  “They did, after some dithering. Even returned my blaster.” Areg smiled. “I had to backtrack. That’s why I got here so late. But, luckily, you lingered.”

  Leehash checked his watch and gave the vestal a meaningful look.

  She nodded to him, before turning to Areg. “Please ping me after you’ve met with Timm Itkis, so I know it went well.”

  “Will do.”

  She turned to Etana and Rhori. “Are you coming with us or hanging around a little longer?”

  “We’ll go with you,” Rhori said. “It would be a shame to miss the chance of sneaking back before daybreak.”

  Everyone stood up.

  Etana gave Rhori a hug and dashed to Areg. “I’ll stay.”

  20

  Only two days.

  She’d better savor every moment, Etana told herself as she and Areg took one of the many trails winding around Mount Crog’s bald cap.

  “You’ve lost your mind,” Rhori kept saying throughout the intense negotiation that had followed Etana’s announcement.

  Etana didn’t disagree. She just shrugged and kept her arms folded across her chest.

  Two chaste days with Areg was the outcome of that negotiation. She’d go straight to the Gokk House after that.

  If anyone asked about her trip, she’d gone on a pilgrimage to the Temple of the Lake to pray for Mayka’s recovery. Etana, Rhori, and their parents had made that pilgrimage many times in the past, individually and together, and everyone knew that. Hopefully, the story wouldn’t sound too farfetched.

  Trained for all contingencies, Areg had mentioned the double risk of him being recognized and of Ultek checking on Etana in the next forty-eight hours.

  Etana’s response had been, “Two days with you, or I stay in this clearing and meditate until I rot. Unless I’m eaten by a bearwolf first.”

  The adverse contingencies had been duly ignored.

  Just before dawn, they descended the trail running down the other side of Mount Crog. A quick toilet in the creek, and they headed straight for Auntie’s Attic—the continuously open inn in the burg of Cherry Hill.

  That was where Timm Itkis offered to meet with Areg, according to Atipoly.

  “I wish I knew what he looked like,” Areg said to Etana as they sat down at a table near the door. “Has Rhori described him to you?”

  Etana shook her head.

  “Then we must hope he shows up or recognizes me despite all the extra hair on my head and face.” Areg waved to the waitress before turning to Etana. “Hungry?”

  “No, thank you.”

  They ordered a strong kawa for Areg and a honeyed tea for Etana.

  The place was unlike any tavern she’d been to. Filled with drunken men in mangy clothes and women with breasts spilling out of their vulgar dresses, it smelled foul and looked even worse. Etana’s tea tasted so bad she wondered if it had been made with piss.

  Raised in a poor but clean-living family and working in one of the grandest houses in Eia, Etana wasn’t used to such things. Come to think of it, this inn was the most squalid place she’d seen in her whole life.

  And yet, sitting on a squeaky bench amid the filth and grime, Etana’s heart sang.

  She felt giddy and inexplicably carefree.

  If it hadn’t been so out of keeping with their circumstances, she would’ve concluded she was happy.

  “I don’t understand why Timm wanted to meet here and not outdoors.” Areg looked around the inn. “Too many people.” He gave her an apologetic look. “And definitely not a place for a lady.”

  She wasn’t a lady by any measure. Even being called a dame—the technically correct title—felt weird. When she went to the market without her maid uniform, Etana would always check if there was another woman near her before responding to a vendor who called her dame.

  Her family called her Etti. Everyone else, including everyone in the Gokk House, called her Etana. And that was as deferential as a laundry maid could expect.

  She put her glass down. “Remember what you said about noble blood?”

  Areg furrowed his brow.

  “You said it didn’t mean much to you.” Etana gave him a sidelong look. “Is that true?”

  His face brightened. “Absolutely. I’d say more—it shouldn’t mean much to anyone.”

  “How so?”

  “Two weeks ago, you found a loophole in Eia’s laws that none of my noble-born, learned friends had seen.”

  She blushed, ridiculously pleased with his praise.

  “And then a week later,” he continued, “you showed how strong the Ra was in your blood by transfixing thousands of people.”

  The heat in Etana’s cheeks reach
ed her ears, setting them on fire.

  “And my blood?” Areg shrugged. “For all I know the Sebis are noble because one of our forefathers knew how to please Queen Glendra III.”

  Etana giggled. “Why Queen Glendra III in particular?”

  “Because she was… erm, voracious.” He gave her a wink. “She rewarded her most talented lovers by giving them titles and lands.”

  Her eyes crinkled with mirth. “Are you saying that the first Lord Sebi was a very talented lover?”

  He gave her a lopsided smile that made her want to remove all her clothes right there. It struck Etana that Areg was feeling as elated as she was. Gone was the constant crease between his eyebrows and the sadness that tinted his eyes. He looked carefree, happy to be alive, happy to be with her.

  He was flirting with her, for Aheya’s sake.

  Etana squinted at him. “Um… Are you saying the lovemaking talent runs in the Sebi blood?”

  “As we just established, I don’t believe the Sebi blood is special,” Areg said. “So no, I’m not saying that.”

  “Right.” She was unable to hide the disappointment in her voice.

  “My talents are mine and mine alone. I don’t owe them to my ancestors. I owe them to years of training and arduous practice.”

  “Training?” She bunched her brows, confused. “Arduous practice?”

  “I was referring to my marksmanship.”

  “Oh.”

  His lips twitched as he struggled not to laugh. “Why? What were you imagining, Dame Tidryn?”

  She bit her lower lip.

  He shifted his hand on the table so that their fingers touched. “I wonder if Timm Itkis—provided he shows up—would be able to get me a pair of patience knickers.”

  She gave him a toothy, gleeful smile.

  He stared at her mouth. “I’m definitely going to need them tonight.”

  The next moment, he shut his eyes and pressed a hot kiss to the hollow of her palm.

  “Clever,” a cheerful male voice came from above.

  Etana jumped, and Areg reached for the blaster in his waistband.

  A well-dressed, rather good-looking man in his early thirties sat down across from them and cocked his head. “Unless… you were making out for real.”

  The man studied them for a moment, glanced at Areg’s empty cup and Etana’s untouched one, then beckoned to the waitress. “Three kawas, Lanna, sweetheart.”

  The waitress batted her lashes at him. “I just roasted some.”

  “I can smell it, underneath the other odors.”

  As the waitress sashayed to the bar, the man eyed her derriere with undisguised appreciation.

  Etana stared at his face, not sure what to make of him.

  “Lanna’s kawa is much better than her tea.”

  She followed his gaze to her tea cup.

  “Where are my manners!” He rolled his eyes skyward and brow-and-bowed. “Timm Itkis, the champion of the persecuted who can pay up front.”

  Areg returned the greeting but didn’t state his name. Etana followed his cue.

  “You should keep the beard,” Timm said to Areg after Lanna brought their kawas. “It’s thick enough to hide the shape of your chin and jaw. Besides, the guy on Sir Callum Oka’s ID has one.”

  “May I see it?” Areg asked.

  “In a moment.” He turned to Etana. “I also have an ID for Dame Oka, Sir Oka’s young wife.”

  Her eyes lighting up, Etana turned to Areg.

  He shook his head. “You’re going back tomorrow night.”

  “Are you sure it’s a good idea?” Timm asked.

  Frowning, Areg turned to Timm. “We don’t think she’s under suspicion at this point.”

  “I don’t think she is, judging by the wanted posters. Still, you should take it, just in case.” He fished a book out of his suitcase and placed it on the table. “Have a look.”

  Areg opened the cover.

  Clipped to the first page, there were two very authentic-looking identification cards. One of them, with a portrait of a bearded male that looked a lot like Areg, was for a Sir Callum Oka, member of the merchant guild, born in the town of Stukk in the Frontier Zone.

  The second card sported a portrait of a young proficient woman that Etana could easily pass for if she’d been dressed and coiffed like a merchant’s wife. The name on the card was Dame Henni Oka, born Henni Karrigge in Stukk, Frontier Zone.

  “The cards are paid for,” Timm said.

  Areg frowned. “By who?”

  “A secret admirer of yours from the LOR. Ring any bells?”

  Areg shook his head. “Over the years, I’ve met a bunch of LOR people—ambassadors, officials, staffers, enforcers… But I wouldn’t call any of them an admirer. Or a friend, for that matter.”

  “You might be more popular than you think.” Timm emptied his kawa cup. “Anyway, if you have cash to spare, I have two sets of clothes, one for you and one for your lady friend, and a suitcase.”

  Areg rubbed his chin.

  “A hundred dinars for the lot,” Timm said.

  Areg nodded once before turning to Etana. “Just in case.”

  “You’re going to need a commlet, too.” Timm scrunched his face apologetically. “Problem is, I’ve run dry and am still waiting for a delivery from Dromula.”

  “Somebody got me a commlet,” Areg said.

  “Excellent! Do you know how to use it?”

  Areg nodded.

  Timm fished a notebook and a pencil out of his pocket and held them out for Areg. “Your number.”

  Areg wrote it down.

  Timm scribbled two multidigit numbers in the margins of the book. “The one with a T next to it is mine, the other one is Keiron Yaggar’s private line.”

  “Colonel Yaggar? The head of the LOR Enforcers?” Areg narrowed his eyes. “Is he my secret admirer?”

  Timm grinned. “You’re too quick-witted for a military man. Ever consider a bootlegger’s career?”

  Areg snorted in response.

  “Your loss.” Shrugging, Timm closed the book, shoved it into his suitcase, and pushed the suitcase toward Areg under the table.

  Areg pushed a wad in the opposite direction.

  To Etana’s delight, he didn’t ask if Timm had any patience knickers for sale.

  “You’re doing the smart thing,” Timm said. “The cops, soldiers, and bounty hunters are all searching for a scruffy-looking single male—not for a well-groomed, decently dressed merchant couple touring the Cherry Hill region on their honeymoon.”

  “She’s going back,” Areg said. “It’s too risky for her to stick around too long.”

  Timm picked up his kawa. “The police canvassed the town two days ago, so you can hang out here for a short while.”

  “I’ll keep moving from place to place,” Areg said.

  “That’s the smart thing to do. But, sooner or later, you must get out.”

  “What do you mean?” Etana asked.

  Timm turned to her. “The fake papers and the new clothes will help, but if he stays on Hente, he’ll end up getting caught.”

  “If you believe the Council of Seven will authorize an exfiltration,” Areg said, “you’re deluded. If they were ever going to do it, they would’ve given the green light during my imprisonment or when the beheading was announced.”

  “You may be right, but still, do ping Yaggar in a week or so.” Timm stood. “The colonel’s hands are tied at present, but I’m under the impression he’s working on it.”

  Areg and Etana stood, too.

  “Thank you for your help,” Etana said.

  Areg bowed. “I’m in your debt.”

  “Nonsense.” Timm waved dismissively. “I got paid, remember?”

  He turned to leave, then looked back and winked. “If you were looking for a place to grab a nice breakfast, take a bath, change into new clothes, and”—his lips quirked—“carry on with what I interrupted, look for the Cherry Blossoms Inn across the bridge. Discretion and clea
nliness guaranteed.”

  With that, he blew a kiss to Lanna and sauntered out.

  21

  Areg resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder as they crossed the spacious lobby of the Cherry Blossoms Inn.

  It was a very different kind of establishment from Auntie’s Attic. Hushed tones, tasteful carpets underfoot, polished wood, and marble surfaces all conveyed that the Cherry Blossoms Inn was the place in town where a discerning and moneyed traveler should stop for the night.

  The front desk clerk hurried forward to greet them. “Should I send the valet outside for your luggage?”

  “It’s just this,” Areg said, pointing to his backpack and the small suitcase. “Dame Oka plans to refresh her wardrobe during our honeymoon.”

  “What a marvelous idea!” The clerk gave them a wink and rushed to the counter. “I apologize for the inconvenience, but I need to see your identification before checking you in. Police Chief Ultek’s orders.”

  Areg placed the cards on the counter. “Of course.”

  “Excellent, excellent.”

  Visibly relieved, he glanced at their cards, then at their faces. Not a muscle had twitched on his face, not the slightest hint of recognition flashed in his eyes.

  Areg exhaled slowly and glanced at Etana.

  She glowed with an infectious joy.

  “How long would you be staying?” the clerk asked, returning their ID cards.

  Areg shoved them in the inside pocket of his jacket. “Only one night.”

  One chaste night. Well, maybe semi-chaste. Goddess help him, it was going to be hard spending an entire night with Etana and not making her completely and irrevocably his, canceled marriage be damned.

  If he’d had better odds of survival, he might’ve given in to his lust for her and claimed her delicious body tonight. Because he knew he’d marry her again, properly, as soon as a half-decent opportunity came along. But as things stood, Areg was the most hunted man in Eia. It was incumbent upon him not to ruin this remarkable young woman—the woman he couldn’t help falling for—in case he soon found himself too dead to marry her.

  “I recommend the honeymoon suite,” the clerk said. “It was redone recently and still smells of paint a little, so it’s half-price—cheaper than our regular rooms.”