by Kate Donovan
“Oh . . .” She grimaced again. “I barely remember anything, except . . . did Rem Stone win a bunch of medals?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Here, Zia. Have some water.” The doctor pressed a cup into her hand. “Just a few sips to start.”
She gulped greedily. “My throat’s so parched. How long was I unconscious?”
“Almost an hour,” Fuller said. “Just a reaction to the calmative. Nothing to worry about.”
“So says you,” she muttered. “I’m mortified. Plus, I ruined Cadet Stone’s big day. I feel just awful about that. He must hate me even more now.”
“Why should he? You made him look like a hero,” her uncle drawled.
The disapproval in his tone surprised her. “How? By fainting?”
Jared reached for the controller on her nightstand. “Let’s let the vid do the talking, shall we?”
The far wall of her room lit up with an image of the stage that had been built for the medal ceremony. After a sweeping shot of the cadets—all of whom were on their feet—the focus turned to Rem Stone. He was shaking hands with the dean, then he turned toward Zia, who stood in the background.
And to Zia’s mortification, she watched herself faint dead away—right into Rem Stone’s waiting arms.
“Oh no.”
“We knew he had excellent reflexes, but still, that was impressive,” the doctor joked.
Zia groaned as Rem gallantly scooped her up and carried her off the stage. He was strong and capable, his expression stoic. The audience watched in silence until he and Zia had disappeared into a reception tent that had been set up next to the stage.
“Ugh, what a disaster. Did he get his third medal?”
Her uncle shrugged. “That was the last thing on our minds, frankly. But we can ask him. He’s right downstairs.”
“What?”
The doctor gave a nervous laugh. “He insisted on staying until we were sure you were all right. For some reason, he’s convinced he contributed to the stress of the event for you. He feels responsible.”
“Or so he says,” her uncle interrupted. “My guess is he’s just trying to exploit this situation for as much publicity as possible. He knows that picture of you in his arms—Quito and Stone together again—will be plastered on every vid screen on Earth. Instant rehabilitation of the family name.”
“He didn’t need rehabilitation from us,” Zia protested. “He just won all three medals, remember? If anything, my presence soured that for him. And he probably worries that you—or the public—will hold my fainting against him.” She paused for a deep breath. “Someone should tell him I’m fine so he can meet up with his friends and celebrate. And if he didn’t get the third medal, make sure he does. Right away. Okay?”
“Doc, will you go?” her uncle asked. “Give Stone the good news and send him on his way. I’d like a few minutes alone with my niece.”
Uh-oh . . . Zia groaned. “Dr. Fuller, do I need to stay in bed?”
“You can get up if you’re careful. Don’t rush it.”
“Great.” She turned to her uncle. “I’ll just change into something more comfortable and meet you in the Atrium. Okay?”
Jared hesitated, then nodded. “If you start feeling wobbly, use the intercom and I’ll send someone to help you.”
“Thanks.”
He stared at her for a moment, then surprised her by giving her another, warmer hug. “You scared me to death, you know.”
“I did?”
He nodded. “You didn’t want to take that drug, but I forced it on you. When you collapsed, all I could think was—well, it’s my job to keep you safe. Not put you in danger.”
She felt her cheeks redden. “I’m fine.”
“Thank God. I wouldn’t have forgiven myself if you weren’t. I know we’re not close—not like we should be. But I do love you, Zia. I hope you know that.”
“Wow.” Her eyes flooded with tears that were as unexpected as her uncle’s passionate outburst. He was always so formal. Even when he displayed affection, it always seemed forced and unnatural. But this . . .
This seemed so genuine.
“I love you too,” she told him, wiping her eyes and laughing at them both. “Good thing too, right? Because you’re all I have, and vice versa. So get married and have some kids, will you? We clearly need a bigger family.”
The president grinned. “I’ll see what I can do. Take your time getting ready now. I’ll be waiting for you in the Atrium.”
* * * *
As soon as she was alone, Zia slid out of bed, anxious to shed her rumpled pink outfit in exchange for some cozy fleece. Discovering quickly that she was still lightheaded, she opted to sit for a few moments in the rocking chair her uncle had just vacated, where she took a deep breath to steady herself.
“What a day.”
Reaching for the vid controller on her nightstand, she replayed the evidence. There she was, looking like the quintessential foghead. Then she became a literal foghead by passing out. If only she had been wearing a business suit, or even a long, elegant dress. Instead, when Cadet Stone caught her, it looked like a scene out of a romantic adventure story.
Apologizing silently to Rem for ruining his big moment, she rewound the vid a bit more, anxious to confirm that the rest of the ceremony had seemed dignified and proper, at least on her part. When she reached the part where she was placing the second ribbon around his neck, she groaned again. Her gaze was locked with his, and no antagonism or subtext was visible. She almost wished it were. Instead, the whole thing looked romantic again.
And in that moment, she knew her uncle had been mistaken. It wasn’t the picture of her in Rem’s arms that would be plastered all over vid walls tomorrow morning.
It was this one. This artistic shot of a dashing young soldier and a sparkling-eyed, moist-lipped ingénue. It would have been stunning even if the two players had been nobodies. But the fact that they were a Stone and a Quito was the political equivalent of Montague and Capulet. Except instead of a private balcony scene, these two were putting on a public spectacle.
“Cripes,” she murmured unhappily.
It was so ironic. The very drug that was supposed to ensure she’d do nothing to ruin the propriety of the medal ceremony had ended up making her faint right into the arms of the handsome recipient.
Nice work, ZeeZee, she rebuked herself as she rewound the vid, this time all the way to the beginning. Then she settled back in her chair. So much for your promise to Grandpa. Because if anyone on Earth was still wondering how much of a foul-up you are, you definitely cleared away any doubt today.
* * * *
Vowing as she had done a thousand times to start behaving herself—or at least to stop dishonoring the family name—Zia pulled a comb through her freshly shampooed curls, then dressed herself in a stretchy black warm-up suit. It was soft and faded from dozens of washings, but it was her favorite comfort wear, and since she was safe from the prying eyes of the vid press, she paired it with some pink slippers, then padded down the hall to the staircase that would lead to the main living area of the Hacienda.
She had kept her uncle waiting longer than necessary, but only because she had been watching and rewatching the vid of the medal ceremony, aghast yet mesmerized over what had happened. She no longer blamed her uncle for being upset. The whole thing had been completely inappropriate.
Yet despite her embarrassment over the day’s events, she was also tired and hungry, and couldn’t wait to get her etiquette lecture out of the way so she could curl up on the sofa in the media room, where the cook would bring her something scrumptious to eat and she could watch or listen to something that took her a million miles away from politics.
She was so lulled by the thought she didn’t even see Rem Stone until he stepped in front of her in the main hall, blocking her path. “Zia?”
“Oh!” She backed away, startled and disoriented. “Where did you come from?”
“I was in the receivin
g room. I saw you coming down the stairs. Sorry.” He stepped close again, his blue eyes vibrant with concern. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Thanks. Nice catch,” she added ruefully.
He seemed confused for a second, then he flushed and gave her an apologetic smile. “Just instinct. I hope I didn’t make it worse.”
“No, not at all.”
He cleared his throat. “I’ve been kicking myself for the things I said to you during the ceremony. It was a lousy way to act, especially when you were trying so hard to be—well, to treat me like any other soldier.”
“Despite the Stone-Quito feud?” She smiled. “The truth is, it’s not that big a deal to me. It is to you—that’s understandable. And my uncle’s rabid on the issue. But to me, you’re just a guy who can shoot and pilot and something else really, really well. What was it? The third medal, I mean?”
“Navigation.”
“Oh, right. Congratulations.” She grimaced. “They still gave it to you, didn’t they?”
“Yeah.” He pulled a blue-and-red-striped ribbon from his jacket pocket, dangling the gold decoration in front of her. “I didn’t see this one coming. Or the marksmanship one either. I was so focused on the piloting medal—”
“Did the dean award it to you?”
Rem laughed. “He shoved it in my hand, if that’s what you mean. He definitely doesn’t have your finesse.” Licking his lips, he added with sincerity, “You did great, you know. When the doctor told me you took a calmative, I couldn’t believe it. You always seem so full of yourself. Self-assured, I mean. I felt like a creep for adding to your stress, when you were just trying to do a good job. I’m really sorry, Zia.”
She knew she was blushing as she reminded him, “It was your big day, not mine. If anyone should apologize, it’s me.” When he started to protest, she stuck out her hand, palm up, and said, “Come on, let’s finish this right.”
“Pardon?”
“You deserve more than just having that shoved at you. So let me do the honors. One last time.”
Rem stared for a moment, then handed the ribbon to her. “It would be an honor, you know.”
“Because I’m Quito’s granddaughter?” She rolled her eyes, then reached up to place the loop over his head. “Your country is proud of you, Cadet Stone. You’ll do great things for us, I’m sure.”
“Zia!” Her uncle’s voice roared from behind her. “What’s the meaning of this?”
She turned to face Jared and was touched when Rem stepped between them, as though he feared she was about to be injured.
“It’s my fault, sir,” he explained in a strong, almost strident voice. “I took her by surprise when she was walking down the hall.”
“I wanted to award him his last medal. Without fainting this time,” Zia said, trying to break the tension. “Then I was going to come and see you. For our talk.”
“Good.” Her uncle leveled a glare at Rem. “Can you find your way out? Or should I call a guard to assist you?”
“Uncle J!” Zia shook her head. “He’s my guest—”
“That’s okay, I need to get going,” Rem interrupted her. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. And obviously, you are.”
“No, I’m not. I’m mortified for the second time today. Since my uncle won’t apologize, I’ll do it for him.”
“No, allow me,” the president insisted. Then he turned to Rem and said quietly, “It’s no secret that you harbor animosity toward my family and my administration. But that’s no reason for me to be rude, and I apologize.”
“Not necessary,” Rem muttered.
“You’re a talented young man with a bright future. I hope you choose the right path. The path of your grandfather. That will be the true test of your greatness.”
“The path of my grandfather? As opposed to the path of my father?” Rem said, his voice a growl.
“The path of a hero,” Jared agreed. “Not that of a traitor—”
“Uncle J!” Zia wailed. “What are you doing? There’s no need to—well, to dredge all that up.”
“All that? Like it’s the truth?” Rem demanded. “Did it ever occur to you that my father was framed?”
Zia stared. “Framed by who? My mother saw the whole thing with her own eyes—” She stopped herself, distracted by the sight of an entourage approaching from the far end of the hall.
It was Ambassador Humber, one of her favorite dignitaries. He had represented their distant ally Malara for as long as she could remember, and he never ceased to impress her with his regal attitude, his six-foot-seven fur-covered body, and his huge ape-like head. She had only met a dozen or so Malarans in her lifetime, and they all projected an animalistic confidence. Their race had helped Daniel Quito save Earth, and Earth adored them for that. But the Malarans’ warrior nature didn’t seem to allow for any signs of gentleness or affection.
Except for Humber, who managed to exude both qualities.
“I didn’t know the ambassador was here for the ceremony,” she said, smiling with delight.
“What?” Her uncle turned and then snapped to attention. “I didn’t know either. Looks official, doesn’t it?”
That was an understatement. Humber was in full uniform and surrounded by four huge guards, all dressed in similar attire—black tunics paired with black leather pants and vests.
Once again, Zia noted that Rem stepped between her and the newcomers, although this time, she suspected it was from curiosity rather than a desire to protect her.
“Have you met Ambassador Humber?” she whispered to him.
“No. I’ve only seen him from a distance.”
“He’s wonderful.” She waved a hand in greeting. “Humber! This is a great surprise.”
Her uncle nodded emphatically. “It’s good to see you, old friend. Unexpected, but good nonetheless.”
The tall, furry mammal approached quickly. “I am glad to see that our little Zia is healthy. We heard reports of a collapse. Apparently, they were exaggerated.”
“I didn’t collapse, I swooned, because the cadets were so handsome,” Zia explained with a laugh. Then she stepped up to Humber and gave him a hug. “It’s been so long, Ambassador.”
“Too long,” he agreed. “You have grown from child to woman. Are you sure you are well?”
“Absolutely.” She sent Rem an encouraging smile. “Let me introduce our most promising new warrior. His name is Rem Stone. Does it ring a bell at all?”
“Stone?” Humber offered his huge hand to Rem. “I have only seen the vids, but I definitely note the resemblance to your ancestors. My father negotiated the compact with your grandfather in the early days of our alliance.”
“I’ve read the stories in my grandfather’s journal,” Rem told him, his voice hoarse with admiration. “We can never repay Malara for the assistance you gave us against the Alluvans.”
Humber’s brow arched. Then he turned to the president and said, “If Earth really wishes to repay Malara, the opportunity is at hand. That is the reason I have come here today.”
Zia gasped. “You need our help? Why? You’re so much more advanced—but never mind that! We’ll do anything you need. All you have to do is ask. Right, Uncle J?”
Jared cleared his throat. “Our alliance is invaluable, obviously. And our debt is great. If we’re able to help, we will.” He gave Zia a look that warned her not to say anything more. Then he suggested, “Perhaps it’s best if the ambassador and I spoke in private. Zia? You should rest. And I’m sure Cadet Stone has celebrations to attend.”
“Actually . . .” Humber gave Zia a rueful smile. “I believe the granddaughter of Quito the Great should be present for this particular discussion.”
Wow. Humber is usually so mellow. Almost boring, she told herself, enjoying the rush of mystery and suspense. This must be huge. What a day! First Rem Stone, now this.
She gave Rem a hopeful smile. “Cadet Stone? Would you like to join us?”
“Zia . . .” Her uncle shook his hea
d in warning.
But she ignored him, explaining to Humber, “As I said, Cadet Stone is our most promising new warrior. And like you said, his grandfather negotiated our alliance with Malara. It seems logical for him to be part of this discussion, doesn’t it?”
Humber hesitated, and she sensed he was recalling the story of Rem’s father’s betrayal. Before she could insist that Rem needed to be judged on his own worth, without the baggage of history to weigh him down, Humber saved her the trouble by agreeing with a slight but respectful bow. “If you wish it, Zia, then I agree. Cadet Stone, will you join us?”
“Thank you, sir,” Rem said. “And thanks, Zia.”
She nodded, ignoring her uncle, whom she knew was livid over this little coup. But she didn’t really care. As much as she pretended to be oblivious, she wasn’t an idiot. She knew his power came in large part through her.
He had been president for less than three years. With any luck, he would prove his worth, and one day the people would accept him for what he was—a patriot who lived to serve them. But until then, he owed his position and success to Zia, and for once, she was going to take full advantage of it.
* * * *
They settled in the Atrium Office—a majestic room that had served as the official seat of presidential power since the time of Daniel Quito. Zia and her uncle sat side by side on the sofa, while Rem and Humber chose matching armchairs. Zia had intended her invitation for Rem as a courtesy, to make up for all the insults and embarrassments the day had caused him. But as he sat there, looking thoughtful and professional, she realized he fit in much better than she did.
His grandfather really would be proud, she decided wistfully. And maybe yours would too. Maybe you’ve finally done something right. Even though Mom would probably roll over in her grave if she knew you were within spitting distance of Aengus Stone’s son. But Rem isn’t anything like his father. If he were, you wouldn’t have such a good feeling about him, right?
