Special Deceptions (The Coursodon Dimension Book 5)

by M. L. Ryan

  “My sisters couldn’t fly on a plane after a certain point in their pregnancies. Is it like that?”

  “No, not at all. The developing fetus isn’t capable of transformation. Yterixa cannot bend at any time while pregnant, or the infant will be lost. You can imagine how difficult this can become if thywipiz is severe.”

  I took a moment to let it sink in. “So what happens? You just feel like crap for nine months?” I imagined it like having morning sickness that didn’t stop; you’d hate every minute, but there wasn’t much to do about it.

  “For some. But for others, their bodies’ rebel and change form spontaneously, with disastrous consequences.”

  “That’s horrible.” And kind of an important point to divulge early on in my training. Not that I worried about getting knocked up; I was diligent with my birth control. But Hewlyxnathin didn’t know that. I could have transformed any number of potential babies into nothingness. I decided not to make a big deal about it—no harm, no foul—but I wondered if there were any other important details of Yterixa-hood that had slipped his mind.

  We sat together in silence until Hewlyxnathin broke the lull. “As much as you may believe it is pointless, I think we should continue to try bringing out another form.” I was about to object, but he raised his hand to stop me. “I promise I won’t let you overdo. I’ll even give you a few days off; it will give you time to recuperate and me to craft a fresh supply of Gypmiz. Chances are excellent that you will ultimately be successful.”

  I didn’t share his optimism. I wasn’t even certain if I wanted to pursue another form. Sure, if I added something awesome to my repertoire, I’d be on board, but my previous, alternative incarnation was freaky. However, I said I’d explore it, and I’d see this through.

  We arranged to meet up in three days. He took off for the marqizobaz, and I returned to the palace to prepare for Pixie. I decided the best way to do so was a nice, hot soak in my suite’s humungous, jetted tub coupled with some margaritas. Between the bath salts and the tequila, I was clean and relaxed in no time. I still had an hour before dealing with my PA, so I decided to grab some lunch.

  I found the correct dining room—would it be so difficult to provide a map and a meal schedule for uninitiated guests?—before the buffet shut down. Given the time, I expected to be alone, but at the end of the long table sat Tjryxina.

  She looked pretty good, all things considered. Her coppery hair was clean and styled, which was a whole hell of a lot more than I could have mustered if my husband had recently been murdered. Xina glanced up and offered a weedy, “Hello.” Now that I thought about it, I hadn’t seen her since the last funeral, and even then, our interactions had been limited to a few perfunctory condolences. In truth, I didn’t know her well at all. The few times I’d been around her, she seemed down to earth and friendly—quite the opposite of Kyzal—and now I felt like a shit for not making more of an effort to find out if she was okay. Once I filled up my plate, I asked if I could join her.

  “Of course,” she said, looking away almost immediately. “I thought everyone had already eaten.”

  I winced internally. She probably wanted to be alone, and here I was wedging in next to her. “If you’d rather I didn’t, I understand.”

  “No, it is fine. I’m just not very good company.” She glanced up. “Besides, people have a tendency to be uncomfortable around me, and that was before we knew the truth about Kyzal’s death. I can’t really blame them; I wouldn’t know what to say to me, either.”

  I nodded, adding a sympathetic smile. “I haven’t been around much. How are you doing?” The question seemed lame, but it was the best I could come up with.

  Xina fidgeted with her napkin, still concentrating on her mostly untouched food. “As well as can be expected, I guess. It’s a lot to process.”

  I placed my hand on her shoulder. That’s what you’re supposed to do when someone needs comfort, right? “I know, but Alex and Sebastian are doing everything they can to figure out who did this and why.”

  Her face tensed for a moment, as though the mere mention of the investigation reminded her of her husband’s non-accidental death, but she recovered quickly. “I am so grateful the Xyzok are looking into it. Is there anything to report?”

  “Not really.” I wished I could give her better news, but even if there was more than the whole lot of nothing we currently possessed, it wasn’t my place to share it with her. Besides, she had enough on her plate already. Speaking of which, mine was still untouched, and I didn’t want to keep Pixie waiting. Not that I minded being a little late, but it made no sense to tick off the guy who was in charge of scheduling my image rehabilitation tour.

  As it turned out, Xina excused herself. “Let me give you a piece of advice,” she said as she rose to leave. “Being married to the future king is not easy. You should think long and hard about taking on the responsibility. Please keep me up to date on the investigation,” she added. “I feel so out of the loop these days, and I plan to move out of the palace soon. Too many memories here.”

  She practically ran out the door.

  “Poor Xina,” I said aloud. Her admonition about my new role kind of hit home, but I hoped her problems had more to do with Kyzal’s personality than the position itself. Alex and I would work everything out. I hoped.

  After scarfing down my lunch, I steeled myself for what was coming next. All in all, compared to the apparent rift with Alex, dealing with his mother, accepting his sister and Ulut were an item, and interacting with Xina, the rest of the day had to be an improvement.

  Pixie had already compiled a list of a few dates—preapproved by Ryxjat, no doubt—for Alex and me to mingle with the people. The supposed impromptu exhibitions to demonstrate our continued commitment to one another were so intricately planned, there were time slots devoted entirely to “convivial waving.” As opposed to the hostile ones I’d have launched at the crowds had the proper description not been spelled out for me.

  I still didn’t want to be on display, but I couldn’t think of a way to get out of it. I boosted my wavering resolve by reminding myself the occasions were scheduled times when Alex and I would be together. His current workload being consistently inconsistent, the four or five events were probably the only instances I could be certain I’d see him.

  I handed back the itinerary. “This seems fine,” I affirmed, trying to sound happier than I actually felt.

  “Excellent. I’ll have another copy sent up for your reference, and I will advise Myrjix of the wardrobe requirements.” He paused and added, “I will have her pick out two or three outfits per event so you can decide which you prefer.”

  That was new. When I was going to be in public, Pixie picked out my clothes. I didn’t always wear them—mostly to spite the little pest—but he’d never given me a choice at the outset. “Uh, thanks. I appreciate that.”

  “You are quite welcome.”

  It was said with such honest conviction that I couldn’t help but believe him. Experience, however, made me suspicious. “What gives, Pixie? You’re never this amiable.”

  He glanced down. “As punishment for my failures in Jjestri, I was relegated to duties considered demeaning even in my first years as Ryxjat’s underling. That I am here could only mean one thing—you vouched for me. I appreciate whatever you did to improve my status.”

  I was tempted to tell him he was the lesser of two evils, but I held my tongue. Sort of. “Better the devil you know,” I offered with a shrug.

  “I understand, and will endeavor to be less…”

  “Stuffy and irritating?”

  Pixie mirrored my teasing grin. “Yes, but I’ve been all those things for a very long time. Don’t expect miracles.” As he headed for the door, he added, “Don’t forget to wear Dyzopga; the people will expect to see it.”

  *****

  Our first death march, as I had taken to calling these things, was the next day. To ease me in slowly, all that was required was for Alex and me to show up
at a popular market and check out the merchandise, all while gazing adoringly at one another. If we actually purchased something, all the better. Pixie would tip off the press that we were there, and they’d witness and publicize what a damn cute couple we made.

  Due to conflicting schedules—Alex’s included conferring with various civic groups while mine consisted of waiting around until he was finished—I hadn’t had a chance ask him if strutting us around was, security-wise, a good idea. I finally got my chance on the way to our destination, the oldest bakery in Alenquai, one that specialized in chocolate confections. Gold star for the site selection; if Pixie picked a clothing store, I’d have to fake interest in both the merchandise and sociability, and I wasn’t that good of an actress.

  “I had the same concerns, carisa,” Alex admitted when I voiced my fears. “But we’ve doubled the usual number of guards that normally accompany me on an outing. Plus, there are undercover Xyzok interspersed among the shoppers.” He squeezed my hand. “We should be well protected.”

  “I’m not worried about me,” I said, savoring his touch. It seemed like a while since we shared such a companionable moment. I inhaled deeply and smiled when the scent of Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey greeted me.

  “There’s no need to be concerned for my safety, either. I doubt whoever killed Kyzal would chose a public setting if they also intended me harm.”

  I raised a skeptical brow. “Then why all the extra security?”

  “I may be dubious, but I am not careless. I would rather be drawn and quartered than be paraded around like a show dog. It’s bad enough I must endure this, but to have you forced into it as well makes my blood boil.”

  “It could be worse,” I assured.

  His eyes narrowed. “How?”

  “My mother could be here.”

  “Or mine,” he said, laughing.

  23

  Everything went off without a hitch. We came, we smiled, we sampled a chocolate-covered thingy that looked like a strawberry but tasted like a peach. We waved convivially at the gawking crowd, providing excellent views of my ridiculously colossal engagement ring—which, I believed when illuminated by direct sunlight could be seen from space—and were done in fifteen minutes.

  From my perspective, the weirdest part was the press’s involvement. Instead of photographers jostling for position, yelling for us to “look here,” with cameras poised for the best shot, a group of people mostly indistinguishable from everyone else stood by, quietly staring. They had no need for equipment; their memories were magically projected into holographic images. How these transferred to the printed page was a mystery, to me, anyway. Bottom line, no one tried to kill us and we didn’t have to try as hard as I feared to look like we were a happy couple.

  Unfortunately, those few minutes and the trips there and back constituted the only together time for the day. With no Yterixa training scheduled, and no sign of Sebastian, I went for a run—under the watchful eyes of my personal security contingent—then spent the rest of the afternoon engaged in more studious endeavors.

  The History of Coursodon, Volume One, was a massive tome, written entirely in Courso, and was on my Rexa-provided reading list. Rather than expand my knowledge base, the damn book was too much for both my fledgling language skills and desire not to be bored senseless. After only thirty minutes, I’d had enough, hoped the other twelve volumes were more interesting, and switched to a paranormal romance I’d brought from home. The best part? I could prop my Kindle inside the more scholarly treatise, and none would be the wiser.

  Myrjix interrupted just after the sun set, reminding me that dinner would be served in an hour. I had planned to eat in my suite, but decided since I fudged on the required reading assignment, not showing up for dinner might push me too far into the guilt-zone. Not being a fashion hound, I had trouble figuring out what to wear to a purported casual, family supper that was, in fact, fancier than almost anything I’d ever been to. Life in the palace. It never got old.

  While I dressed, I asked my attendant what she knew about Hewlyxnathin’s bombshell about no shifting while pregnant.

  “My mother didn’t talk about it, but my father told me they lost their first child when she changed form. She hadn’t meant to, but she couldn’t stop it, either. With my brothers and me, she worried constantly, but it only happened that one time.”

  “Like having a person growing inside you wasn’t worrisome enough,” I lamented.

  Myrjix nodded. “No kidding. Enough can go wrong under normal circumstances; it must have been hard on her. Kind of a lousy consequence of being able to change form. On the other hand, I recall a Yterixa classmate of mine mention with a monthly shift, she never had to worry about contraception.”

  I supposed that was one way to look at it; built-in, free birth control. Still, it seemed kind of irresponsible and not particularly motherly. “What did your classmate change into, a long-tailed skink?” Myrjix seemed puzzled, so I described how mama skinks would eat their own eggs rather than let a predator get to them.

  “No,” she answered with a grin. “She turns into a Brifolo.” When I looked puzzled, she added, “They are an extremely promiscuous species of primate. They sometimes have sex as a way of greeting one another.”

  That’ll teach me for being so quick to judge, I supposed. Hard to criticize when you morphed into a sex-crazed floosy.

  *****

  Dinner was as expected: multi-coursed, staid, and proper. Do these people ever have a simple meal? Even worse, the table was, again, Alex-less. I hadn’t had dinner with him for over a week. Sebastian and Xina were also missing; not that I expected her after our awkward lunch, but I’d hoped Sebastian would attend so there’d be someone with whom I could make snarky comments under my breath. I might have been able to accomplish the same sarcastic reverie with Tannis had she not been seated across from me and remained oblivious to all conversation. No doubt mooning over Ulut.

  Rexa did manage to compliment me on my matinee at the market, if saying, “I was informed nothing untoward occurred,” could be considered praise. I was, however, thrilled she didn’t fix me with her patented, disapproving stare, not even once. Wyx, as was his custom, remained gracious, but he was mourning, too, and he wasn’t his usual happy-go-lucky self. That was what I got for letting guilt guide my choice of dining options. I could have been alone, eating a nice, healthy salad. Instead, here I sat, nibbling on high-calorie entrees surrounded by grief-stricken people, one of whom I was pretty sure didn’t hold me in high regard, no matter what others said. At least the dessert was chocolate.

  By the time I excused myself from the table, all I wanted to do was go home. Not the fancy suite upstairs, but my newly remodeled guesthouse where I could hang out with Rachel and my Yterixa-drawn animal posse and be ignored by my cat. I missed doing what I wanted, when I wanted. I missed cereal for dinner. I missed the desert. Mostly, I missed Alex. Sure, I saw Crown Prince Aldegrexynthor periodically, but that wasn’t the same. If the somber meal wasn’t enough of a downer, now I was truly depressed.

  Remarkably, I found his majesty in our bedroom. It wasn’t even nine o’clock, but he was on his side, asleep atop the embroidered duvet. Fully dressed, he hadn’t even taken off his shoes. I grabbed the thick blanket arranged artfully across the end of the mattress and draped it over him. Light from the bathroom spilled out through the half-closed door, but it provided enough illumination to see he was mouth-open, trickle-of-drool, completely out.

  I wasn’t particularly tired, but I removed my palace-approved attire in favor of something more comfortable. My drawers were filled with elegant—and conventionally alluring—sleepwear, but Alex maintained I looked sexiest in nothing more than a simple, long T-shirt. His fondness for loose cotton didn’t make sense to me; I thought guys preferred low-cut, silky, see-through numbers. But, since that was what he liked, I put on one of his, even if the chances of him seeing me in it seemed slim. Carefully, I slid under the blanket and pressed myself against him. Hi
s rhythmic breathing relaxed me, and the scent of bananas, sugar, and chocolate lulled me to sleep.

  When I awoke the next morning, we were in the same position. I snuggled closer, brushing a kiss against his shoulder. Almost immediately, he rolled onto his back and regarded me through half-closed eyes. “Hi. What time is it?”

  Given that my face was now buried in his neck, and the clock was behind me, I couldn’t say for sure. Based solely on the filtered, pinkish hues glinting along the edges of the drapes, I made a guess. “Uh, I think it’s around six-thirty?”

  “Doprix nix,” he groaned, shooting off the bed. “I’m supposed to meet with the special envoy from Zylexai at seven.”

  “Won’t he wait?” I challenged, greedily eyeing the prominent tenting of his pants just below his beltline. His early morning wood may have just been a normal response to waking up, but I chose to believe doing so next to me was the cause.

  He stopped unbuttoning his cuffs and let his cornflower blue eyes settle on the curve of my derriere. Shaking his head as if to clear the vision, he said, “I wish, but I’ve postponed this three times already and he’s leaving this morning.” With another wistful gaze, he added, “I’ll see you later at the ribbon-cutting ceremony.” With that, he turned and escaped into the bathroom.

  Sure, like that would be an acceptable substitute, a very public event commemorating a new public library versus wild, crazed thigh thumping. Seconds later, I heard the shower. “You better leave me some cold water,” I protested, knowing full well he couldn’t hear me.

  Instead of the shower, I decided to form-bend and hunt a nice, fresh rabbit for breakfast. The outing didn’t entirely ramp down my sexual frustration, but it assuaged it enough that I didn’t have to subject myself to the icy spray or ask Myrjix if she knew of a place to buy a vibrator. Concentrating on the upcoming PR appearance exorcised any lingering lust.