by Delia Roan
“I-it’s okay,” Jenna said. “You didn’t know.”
The holding cell had an old-fashioned door rather than a forcefield. Yaldir unlocked it with a heavy key, and the door opened with a begrudging groan.
“It is not the best of accommodations,” Yaldir said with a wry smile, “but I hear there is a marked lack of vermin.”
Jenna peered into the cell, then turned back to Yaldir. “Thank you.”
“You should not thank me,” he replied. “I take no pride in performing this task.”
“No,” Jenna clarified, “thank you for… for always treating me kindly. You didn’t have to try and protect me from the Sykorians. Or from the servants.”
Yaldir studied her for a moment. “I am being kind to you because you are my friend’s Avowed. I do not know what has occurred between you and Kovos, but I have been an honor guard long enough to know when someone has honor. You are lying — which is dishonorable, yes — but I believe you lack the dearth of heart to be an assassin.”
Jenna clamped her lips together.
“Ah, I do not understand. I suspect I shall never understand matters of the heart. I must take my leave now, Lady Jenna. I must speak with Kovos. The festival events continue tonight.”
“Wait! Before you go,” Jenna said, “Can you… Can you do me a favor?”
“If it is within my means.”
“Can… Can you say… sorry to Arthon and Dovena? And… and… can you give my thanks to Cyndrae? And Lithyon?”
Yaldir bowed deeply. “I shall do so.”
As he left, the guard gestured toward the door. Her voice was firm, but not unkind. “In you go, my lady.”
Jenna stepped into the cell. The door shut behind her with a clank. She took in the narrow bed, the hole in the floor in the corner, and the lack of windows. A stool sat against the wall. It wobbled when she nudged it with her toe.
Silence wrapped itself around Jenna. All she could hear was her own frantic breathing as the panic closed down on her lungs like a trap. No, in the far distance, she could hear the Sykorians. They were talking about her. About what they wanted to do to her.
She had to block them out. Distract herself. She tucked her fingers into her armpits, and huffed, watching her breath plume out. Even with Yaldir’s cape pulled tight around her body, she was cold.
It took five steps to walk from the door to her new bed, and then another five steps to return. Jenna ping-ponged around the room, trying to stay warm. The ache in her fingers couldn’t compare to the one in her chest. With every step, her misery grew.
She’d lied.
She’d stared Kovos in the eye, and lied.
No, worse yet, she’d told the truth. The vial was hers. It was meant for Kovos. She missed her sister. She was homesick. She hated that it took Lithyon sneaking her out to see any part of Cadam.
True, true, and oh, so very true!
Another five steps, and Jenna swung around to face the door once more. She’d not been dishonest. Yet, by omission, she’d let Kovos fill in the gaps. Back on Earth, her director had always asked the cast to let the audience use their brains, to see what lay hidden and unsaid. Spelling it out made them doubt. If the audience came to their own conclusions, then they would believe.
Oh, how Kovos had believed!
Her face crumpled at the memory of his pain. She’d forced herself to look away, so she couldn’t be swayed. She chewed on a nail, and picked up her pace.
Once Jenna knew Arthon wouldn’t die, her thoughts had raced. She could use the accident to her advantage. Kovos wouldn’t have to die. If Mel’s mysterious kidnappers believed Jenna had tried to administer the poison, maybe they would free Mel. Maybe Mel would get to go home. Jenna would happily rot in this cell for the rest of her life, if it meant two of the people she loved the most might benefit.
It was a stupid plan, but maybe, just maybe, she’d given Mel a chance at life. Maybe Kovos would learn to watch his back, and avoid future assassination attempts.
It’s the maybes that’ll kill ya.
Her shins touched the edge of the functional cot, and she collapsed onto it, curling into the fetal position. She stared at the wall, painted a nondescript gray. Everything in the room was gray. The padded mattress was just a darker shade of gray than the walls, and the stool was the color of a rock. The lights were recessed in the walls, and they cast a pallid blue glow over the room.
As her breathing slowed, Jenna spoke out in a hushed tone. “That’s all I want. Them to be safe. Please, please, let them be safe.”
She listened for an answer from the guard outside the door, telling her it would be okay, telling her to stop worrying, telling her to shut up. Anything was better than the endless silence. She heard the Sykorians cackling in their cells. She heard a snap as some Sykorian tried to break through the forcefield and was thrown back. They could try, but they would never escape.
Good, they deserve it. Let them rot.
Except, she was stuck in here, too. Rotting.
Good, I deserve it. Let me rot.
Jenna covered her face with her hands.
Be brave, she told herself. You’re doing it for Mel. You’re doing it for Kovos.
She couldn’t stop the sobs. She buried her face in her pillow, terrified that the Sykorians might hear her. From her past, she knew they took pleasure in pain. It would only fuel their cruelty. She knew that.
And she knew that this time, Kovos wouldn’t be here to protect her from them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
KOVOS
With Dovena visiting Arthon, the organization of the final festival events fell on Kovos’s shoulders. At any other time, he might have balked at taking on extra work, but today, the finicky details which had consumed his mother’s days were a welcome distraction.
Unfortunately, the palace staff did not feel the same. His mother’s official butler, Plohrir, shot sideways glances at Kovos. He was tall and gaunt, and his skeletal hands twisted around each other as he barked orders at the servants. They milled around the banquet hall like frantic ants, trying to obey the whims of their new slave driver.
“Move those tables from this wall to the far wall,” Kovos ordered. “I want the food there, not here.”
The head butler winced. “Is that wise, my lord? The delegates enter from that side of the hall. If visitors are seeking sustenance, they will block the door for others...” His voice faded at the fury in Kovos’s eyes. He bowed deeply. “At once, my lord.”
He scurried off, barking orders and waving his thin hands.
Kovos glowered after him, arms crossed.
“That wasn’t wise,” Yaldir murmured to his friend. “The man knows his work. He has a point.”
“This is my party, Yaldir.” Kovos said, studying a tray of polished cutlery. “This event reflects upon me. If I want the bloody tables along that wall, they bloody well will go along that wall.”
“Your mother has already arranged the details. Your appearance here is just a formality.”
Kovos spun on his heel to face Yaldir. He glowered down at his friend. “A mere formality?” he growled. “No, this is my palace. I rule here. Do I make myself clear?”
Yaldir stepped back, extended both his arms, and bowed deeply in a style that had gone out of fashion by the time Kovos’s grandfather had been an infant. “Of course, my esteemed lord. Your word is law. Your will, absolute. Your every whim becomes mandate.” His words were flowery, but there was a sting of mockery to his tone of voice.
Embarrassment grew in Kovos’s throat, but the words stalled in his maw. He knew he was being difficult. He couldn’t help it. Kovos was not used to feeling helpless. He turned away from Yaldir, still lowered in his bow.
If I keep busy, maybe tomorrow would arrive sooner.
His eyes locked on a hired worker, who idled beside a stack of chairs. “You!” Kovos snapped. “Get back to work!”
The worker jerked upright and dove
for the chairs. He yanked at the chair at the top of the stack, and when it stuck, he shot a wide-eyed glance in Kovos’s direction. At the thunder in Kovos’s eyes, he doubled his efforts. The chair popped off and he stumbled back, straight into a pair of servants carrying a pile of crockery. Dishes tumbled to the ground with a resounding crash.
“What are you doing?” Kovos roared. “Be careful, man!”
“I’m sorry, my lord! I’m sorry!” The worker dove for the broken dishes, and winced as a shard sliced open his thumb. Blood poured down his hand in a stream and splattered on the marble floor.
“Is it bad?” Kovos stepped forward, but the worker flinched back.
“I am fine, my lord,” he said, bowing. He clutched the injured hand close to his body. “Merely a scratch.”
“I don’t think so. Get that man to a doctor,” Kovos ordered.
The worker scurried away, escorted by another servant. They both shot fearful glances back at Kovos, and the pang in Kovos’s heart grew. At this rate, he would undo all the goodwill he’d fostered over the course of his rule.
Everyone hates me.
By tomorrow, what would that matter? His reason for living hated him, so nothing else mattered.
Above all, I hate myself.
A messenger approached and bowed. “Lord Kovos. The florist and her assistants have arrived.”
“Excellent,” Kovos said. He needed to focus on the task at hand. “Send her in.”
Shortly, a chic Ennoi woman clad in a bright tunic led a team of assistants into the room. They pulled five large containers on antigrav flatbeds. A motor attached to each box hummed, and Kovos assumed they were keeping the flowers within fresh. Kovos directed her to the areas which required decorating, and watched as her well-trained assistants hauled the boxes.
“Kovos!”
He turned. Lithyon strode across the hall. Her gown billowed around her legs, revealing heavily jeweled boots. She threw her arms around his neck, and kissed Kovos on both cheeks.
“I heard about Arthon,” she said. “How is he?”
“The doctors say he will make a full recovery. Mother is visiting with him.”
“Dovena worries so about her boys,” Lithyon said.
“We give her plenty to worry about.”
“Maybe I will drop by the hospital.” Lithyon smiled and tapped her chin.
“He would be grateful for a distraction, I’m sure,” Kovos said, thinking of the last conversation he had with his brother. Maybe a visit from Lithyon will stop him from moping.
“Tomorrow, of course,” she added. “Tonight we must focus on the Alignment!” She looked around the room, then frowned. “It’s coming together well, but why are the tables right beside the door? It’ll hinder traffic.”
Beside Kovos, Yaldir snorted, then turned the sound into a cough.
Kovos ground his jaws together. “I was about to address that. Plohrir!” he bellowed, making the man jump. “Move those tables back to this wall! They’re blocking the entrance!”
To his credit, Plohrir didn’t rip out his hair, but merely sighed under his breath. “At once, Lord Kovos.”
Lithyon narrowed her eyes. “You seem tense, Kovos.”
“Anyone would be after nearly losing their brother,” Kovos said.
She stepped closer, and dropped her voice. “Is it true? That he was… poisoned?” At Kovos’s grim nod, she bit her lip. “Rumor has it that it was Jenna. Is that why she’s not here?”
Kovos wanted to drop to his knees and scream. Lithyon always had an ear to the ground. However, she wouldn’t be the only one who noticed Jenna’s absence. They announced their pairing to the world, and when Jenna did not show for tonight’s festivities, tongues would wag.
Kovos rushed to change the topic. “What of the logs? Did you have a chance to check them for any sign of the Sykorians traveling through the Relays?”
“I did. I scanned through them myself. I found nothing. The Sykorians did not use the Relays.”
“Yet, they got here somehow,” Kovos said.
Any reply Lithyon would have made was interrupted by the florist’s voice floating across the room as she chastised one of her workers. “No, no! If you handle them roughly, they will fade! Move aside, you cumbersome lummox!”
Kovos turned in time to see her push open one of the doors of the containers. A hiss of air escaped. The door swung open, revealing rows and rows of moonsong. Kovos froze as their heady scent filled the air, reminding him of her. Of the night they spent together in the garden.
“No!” Kovos lurched forward. The florist looked up in surprise at his approach. “What is the meaning of this?”
The woman blinked. “This?” she asked, tentatively.
“Are these the flowers for tonight?”
“Yes, Lord Kovos.” The florist shrank back. “Your… your mother ordered them. Is there a problem?”
“Yes,” Kovos said, trying to push back the memories of Jenna’s skin, of her smile, of the curve of her neck. “Take them away and bring new flowers. A different flower.”
“D-different flowers?” The florist gaped. “That… that would be impossible, my lord.”
Yaldir stepped forward. “Kovos, there are but a few hours until the Alignment. We don’t have time to replace them.”
Kovos rubbed his face with his hands. Yaldir was right, of course. But all night long, the scent would drive him insane, a reminder of the woman he’d shut out of his life, but not out of his heart.
“Fine. They can stay.” He stormed away. Lithyon caught him by the arm as he passed her.
“Kovos?” Her face was pinched with concern.
“Is there something you need, Lithyon?” Kovos couldn’t keep the irritation from his voice.
Lithyon tipped her chin upwards, and met his eye. “Well, I’m not sure if I want any favors from you tonight.”
“No games, Lithyon. Speak.”
“I planned a private party, aboard the Cadam Relay. Nothing fancy. A few select guests. A chance to view the Alignment and to witness the reopening of the Relay. With Dovena and Arthon at the hospital, you might be alone tonight. I thought you could join me.”
As if on cue, another container opened, and the scent of moonsong grew stronger. Kovos closed his eyes. He opened them again when all he could see was Jenna’s smile, the curve of her shoulders, the sadness in her eyes.
I have to escape those accursed flowers.
“Yes,” he blurted. “I would be honored to join you tonight, Lithyon.”
Lithyon seemed taken aback, but then she smiled. “Thank you, Kovos! Your attendance will mean a great deal! I will leave a shuttle at the dock for your convenience.” With a wave, she left.
“That would be unwise,” murmured Yaldir. “Your place is here, Kovos. It would be an insult to the rest of the Council if you vanished tonight, especially when you are the host.”
“Don’t you ever tire of your own nagging voice, Yaldir?”
“No. It is part of my job description. You know this to be a bad idea, Kovos. You should spend tonight with your family. They need you.” Yaldir stepped forward, and placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You need them.”
Kovos shrugged off his hand. “What I need,” he said, his voice cold, “is for you to mind your own business.”
Yaldir’s jaw tightened. “Be sensible. You will be stuck up there in Lithyon’s ship, surrounded by her sycophants.”
“If I want to spend tonight with people I can’t stand, that is my prerogative.” Kovos clenched his fists at his sides.
“Kovos-” Yaldir raised a hand, in a gesture of peace.
“Don’t use that tone of voice when you address me. I will remind you that you are my honor guard, not my nursemaid.”
“As your honor guard, I must tell you this choice is a foolish one.”
“Very well, nursemaid. You can stay here tonight. I won’t be needing you.”
As he
strode away, even over the clatter of tables being moved, Kovos heard Yaldir’s voice calling him every name in the book.
But the worst names were the ones he called himself.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
JENNA
A clang echoed through her cell. Jenna sat up as the door swung open. To her surprise, it wasn’t a guard, or, as she secretly feared, a Sykorian, but Dovena. The Ennoi woman stood in the doorway, taking in the walls and Jenna’s bed. Jenna stood and brushed down her gown.
As much as Dovena had welcomed Jenna, she’d always felt like she wouldn’t want to cross the Ennoi queen. She has a way of dissecting a person, Jenna thought, like she can see right through into the softest bits of their heart. The terrifying part was she would use the knowledge she found there to protect those she loved.
Jenna fidgeted with a seam on her gown while she waited for Dovena to finish her examination of the room.
“Well,” Dovena said, “it’s certainly bleak and lacking in charm.”
Jenna kept her mouth shut.
“Are they being gentle with you? Keeping you fed?”
“Yes,” Jenna replied. She paused. “How’s Arthon doing?”
“Better,” Dovena replied. “To be honest, when I left he was flirting with the doctor. He can’t be feeling that poorly. May I sit?”
Dovena perched on the edge of the stool. After a moment, Jenna sank down onto the bed again. To her relief, the door remained open. She could see the female guard who had escorted her down standing against the wall, but she kept her face averted.
For a moment, the only sound was Jenna’s shoes shuffling against the floor. Just as Jenna was about to blurt out something, anything, to break the tension, Dovena spoke.
“Please excuse an old woman’s candor. I don’t understand what is happening between you and Kovos. Do you care to comment?”
Heat flooded Jenna’s face. Mutely, she shook her head.
“I see,” Dovena continued. “Whatever the issue is, it will be resolved.”
“You sound so sure.”
“You are Avowed. There is no force in nature, save death, that could keep you apart.” Dovena leaned back. “You’re meant to be together.”
