by Shae Mills
Chelan smiled. “Well, as you can see, I am a fighter. I still exist, and through it all, I have fared quite well.”
Stose nodded. “Do you mind if I examine you?”
Chelan shook her head. “No. If it will set some minds at ease, then so be it.”
Stose sorted through his instruments while Chelan undressed. Then he watched as she lay down upon a fur. He moved to her with a small, handheld scanner. “Any problems?” he began.
Chelan shook her head.
Stose studied the readouts as the instrument passed over her. “Any change in your cycles?”
Chelan shook her head again.
Stose continued to move the instrument over her. “Any problems with appetite, vision, illnesses, or anything else you can think of?”
“No.”
Stose eyed her. “Seems your hair met an abrupt end.”
Chelan gave him a small smile. “Yes. I am afraid my hair has fared worse than the rest of me. However, it will grow back.”
Stose nodded. Then he carefully examined her powder white skin, his touch gentle as he searched her flesh. But when he turned her hands over, he faltered. He looked at the faint scars that travelled up her arms, and his wide eyes met hers. “Oh, my Lady.”
Chelan snatched her arms away. “It is okay, Stose. It was long ago.”
Stose was momentarily speechless. “You have suffered so,” he whispered remorsefully.
“We all have, Stose. And what was wrong has been righted. I am fine.”
Stose took a moment to settle himself. Then he showed her some tubes for blood collection. Silently, he set about extracting the samples from her for testing. He placed them in a portable analyzer and stared at the readouts. Then he spoke quietly. “All looks well here, but I will check these more thoroughly back at the Palace. If there are any problems, I will return. You may dress now.”
Chelan grabbed her tunic and slipped it over her head, instantly thankful that he did not want to examine her more closely. She did not know if he would be able to tell she had had a second child, and at all costs, she did not want that secret revealed. Obviously, the men of the new Empire knew of her pledge to Dar and the union they had ultimately formed, but just how much Dar had revealed to Korba in the Empire’s final hours, she did not know. It was possible he taken their deception to his grave, and if so, that was where she wanted it to remain. And even if Korba knew all, it was possible that Stose did not, and she did not want to open that can of worms with anyone else. She settled back down beside him.
Stose looked over her suede-clad body and smiled. “Did you make that?”
“Yes, and many others. It helps to keep me happily occupied.”
Stose peered at her skeptically from under his brows and then began packing away the blood samples, once again receding into uneasy silence.
Chelan quietly watched him, her stomach turning. “Is… is he well?”
Stose stopped and looked to her. “I told you, his wounds are—”
“That is not what I meant, and you know it.”
The doctor hesitated. “He has the Empire in order. He has decided to hang up his weapons for now and rule from Iceanea, and so far, though it has only been a few months, all is well.”
Chelan nodded. Then she agonized over her next question. “What does he say about me being here?”
Stose paused again. “My conversations with his Lordship are private, my Lady. His innermost feelings that he chooses to confide in me are for my ears only.”
Chelan looked down. “He needs to move on.”
Stose smiled at her, his voice soft and low. “He will never take another, and you know it.”
Chelan’s fingers drew circles in the fur beneath her, her conversation with Dar seeping into her troubled thoughts. “The throne will eventually require an heir. He has always said that. I know one can come from anywhere. But his bloodline…” She hesitated. “His bloodline eclipses all; his genetics are flawless. The heir should come from him, tutored by his hand.”
Stose nodded. “I agree. The throne will have an heir but raised by his hand only. He will take no other.”
Chelan looked away. “That is silly. He has centuries to live,” she whispered. “I have moved on.”
Stose’s face fell. “I know,” he whispered despondently. “He says that it is good that you have recovered and found a new life. He is glad you have at last found peace. He is genuinely happy for you.”
Chelan felt her throat constrict. “That is wonderful,” she whispered to the air. “I am pleased that he respects and accepts my decision.”
Stose hesitated again. “Just remember, you alone have made this choice. He simply abides by it.”
Chelan’s heart faltered, but she regrouped quickly. “You can tell him that I am fine and that I am happy that he is well. Maybe someday we will meet again.”
Stose was very quiet. He went to speak but then thought better of it. Taking some time to gather his tumultuous feelings, he finally found the nerve to look back at her. He could tell by the stiffness of her muscles and the poorly hidden anguish in her eyes that she was struggling with surfacing feelings. “If you should ever wish to visit, my Lady, he would welcome it.”
Chelan nodded almost imperceptibly. “Where does he stay?”
“In the little blue room off the workout area. Zane has offered to gut the personal chambers for him, but he has no interest in that. He will not even enter that area. I think the blue room suits and soothes him.”
Chelan bit her lip, trying desperately to tamp down a rising tide of perturbation. Her thoughts twisted around the information. “Zane made it too,” she whispered. Then she furrowed her brow. “That is the only room Talon did not enter.”
Stose watched her for a while. “Does the Southerner treat you well?”
Chelan’s head snapped up. “Yes,” she blurted out. “Very well. I could ask for no more.” Then, with much relief, she watched as Braedon entered the cavern. Chelan rose to her feet gracefully and approached him, hugging him affectionately.
Stose eyed the renegade, his upper body now bare, his lower body clad in leather like Chelan’s. Though Korba had struck a truce and liberated the South, Stose still saw them as alien and inferior. He tried to remind himself that Braedon had been picked long ago by Korba to care for Chelan in the event that she sought refuge in the caverns, but watching her cling to him still caused his stomach to wrench. She was an Empress, and her rightful mate was in the Palace, wasting away.
The doctor rose, his ethical standards overriding his gut reaction to the Southerner. He had held back from Chelan that Korba was not at all well. The Emperor had sacrificed years of his life, in horrendous conditions, to retrieve Iceanea, at the expense of nearly everything the galaxy once offered. And he had done it for her. Now, with her lost to him, day by day, his heart was dying, and so was he. Korba did indeed rule from the Palace, for he was too ill to do anything else. Zane and Lethiason did a lot of the work, picking up the slack whenever necessary.
But Stose set his jaw firm. Korba had ordered his silence. If Chelan was to return to Korba, it was to be out of love and desire, not pity.
Stose finally nodded to them. “I know you have a lot of supplies to transfer here and unpack. I will take my leave now.”
Braedon spoke. “You are welcome to stay, my good man. I am sure my Lady would enjoy the company.”
Stose nodded. “Another time, maybe. I have many things to take care of back at the Palace.”
Chelan smiled. “Thank you for coming. You are indeed welcome here any time.”
Stose gathered his things. “I will see myself out and call for my ride, which should be lingering somewhere nearby. If there are any problems, my Lady, I will get back to you soon. But I predict none—everything appears well.”
Chelan released Braedon just long enough to kiss Stose’s cheek. “Good-bye.”
“Good-bye, Chelan.” He nodded to Braedon and then disappeared into the tunnel.
&n
bsp; Chapter 27
The next morning, Chelan rose slowly. Braedon was gone, but that was nothing unusual. She stripped away the fur that covered her. Then she clutched at her head—a headache was dulling her senses. Gathering herself together, she slithered into the pool and attempted to soak away whatever gnawed at her. Then she turned toward a noise and watched as Braedon packed in the last of the transport cylinders from the connecting corridor.
She hiked herself out of the water and quickly wrapped herself in her shroud. Then she looked at the pile of metallic objects, and her eyes widened. “Wow! Just like Christmas.”
Braedon cocked his head at her. “Just like what?”
Chelan grinned. “Never mind. Let’s open them.”
Braedon started while Chelan slipped into a tunic and joined him. “Thermal blankets,” he commented.
Chelan nodded. “I guess that will take some pressure off the Batex.”
Braedon pulled out some lighting orbs and let them drift along using their antigravity mechanisms. “With these, you can now explore more of the caverns with me.”
Chelan grabbed one of the little lights, set it at eye level, and released it. There it remained, bobbing subtly in response to small air currents. To her, it looked like sunlight floating in rhyme to some rhythmic and unwritten music.
Braedon smiled and shook his head at her. Her eyes shone. Obviously, the commonplace appliance was still a novelty to her, and it made him happy to see her beauty aglow.
As the day progressed, Chelan began to wonder if they would need a larger cavern. Everything from simple cooking utensils to sophisticated spelunking equipment abounded. Braedon also unpacked numerous lazguns, knives, spare uniforms, shrouds, and much, much more.
Chelan sorted through some exercise equipment and then stopped. “Oh,” she moaned.
“What is wrong?”
Chelan frowned. “We forgot to place an order before this shipment arrived.”
Braedon laughed. “For what, Chelan? The whole damn Palace is here!”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “The wood, the liqueur—”
“I know,” he interrupted. “The wieners, the marshmallows…” And they both laughed.
She looked back at her work. “Oh well, maybe next time.”
“I could surface and send a message.”
“No. It is okay. There is no sense bothering people. Besides, I can still tell ghost stories without the additional frills.”
Braedon nodded and then proceeded to one of the smaller cylinders. He picked it up and handed it to her. “Here, try this one. It has a palm lock.”
Chelan looked at him with surprise and then at the pod. Tentatively, she offered her palm to it, and it snapped open. She jumped. “Ugh… I will never get used to these things.”
He laughed and then crouched down beside her.
Chelan peered in and reached for the top object, drawing out a large bottle of her favorite blue liqueur.
Braedon’s eyes met hers. “Well, wish number one fulfilled.”
Chelan gently laid the bottle down. She reached in again. This time, she drew out a small, drawstring bag made of the most gorgeous shimmering pink material she had ever seen. It felt like satin, and she held it almost gingerly.
Braedon nodded at it. “Yours?”
Chelan shook her head. “I have never seen it before.” And she began to ease open the tie. Inside she found a beautiful opalescent comb and a matching brush. They were accompanied by a small mirror and a glistening blue cleansing bar. Chelan felt her heart thud. Then she pulled out some hair ties and tiny beads of perfume. She looked down at all the finery before her, almost afraid to touch it.
Braedon was very still, knowing exactly where it had all come from and just who had lovingly packed it for her.
Chelan finally moved, gently placing everything back into the elegant pink bag. Then she reached into the cylinder again, her hands surrounding two small bottles. Chelan stared at the little white pills, and her head sagged.
Braedon put an arm around her shoulders. “What are those?”
Chelan was silent for a long time, and then she leaned into him. “They are painkillers and muscle contractors for my periods. The Warlords always brought them to me.”
Braedon hugged her tighter and kissed the top of her head. In the past four months together, he had been both shocked and distressed by the frequency and the intensity of her cycles. And though his heart was twisting, he was relieved that she had just been released from her womanly torment.
Chelan put the pills down, her headache worsening with a vengeance. “I think I need more sleep,” she whispered.
Braedon glanced into the container. “One more thing here, my Lady.”
Chelan pushed away from him almost wearily and reached in. Then she retracted her hand as though it had been bitten. Braedon recoiled in response to her sudden motion. He watched in confusion as she sprang to her feet and hurried away. He peered into the container and then reached for the final item, a beautiful pink gown. He held it up in awe—the elegant lace, the glittering sequins: all like nothing he had ever seen before.
He looked over at Chelan. She squatted by the pool, hugging herself tightly. Braedon folded the gown and returned it to the capsule. Then he moved to her and surrounded her with his arms. Chelan collapsed against him, and as he held her, he felt another piece of his heart being chipped away.
After a long silence, Chelan spoke. “He kept it all these years.”
“He held it to his heart, my Lady, when he could not hold you.”
Chelan worked as hard as she could to keep herself together for Braedon’s sake—it was all so unfair to him. Then, suddenly, she smiled. “Well, I think it is time that we put all this paraphernalia away. Right now, our little home is becoming a bit cluttered.”
Braedon watched as she returned to the capsule and stuffed everything back into it except for the little pills. Then she set about the task of rearranging the rest of the supplies. Braedon finally joined in, and they worked in silence for a long time. Finally, Braedon gathered the empty pods and stacked them near the connecting corridor.
When all was neat and tidy, Chelan bounced one of the light orbs in her hands. She looked at him with delight, excitement in her voice. “Let’s go into some of the deeper caverns today. Please.”
Braedon smiled. How could he refuse her?
*****
The next few weeks went by quickly. Chelan’s thirst for spelunking through portions of the hundreds of kilometers of caverns was insatiable. But Braedon’s enthusiasm was waning. Each day began early with a quick breakfast eaten, a lunch packed, and a new direction chosen. Each afternoon while he checked instruments, she napped to make it through the long Iceanean day. Then, just before dusk, they would head back for dinner and spend the evening analyzing the data they had collected.
On this night, Chelan dumped her pack and tore off her soiled shroud. She smiled at him. “I am bushed. I think I will wait until morning to bathe.” And she collapsed onto her furs.
Braedon squatted down beside her, his arms resting on his knees. He studied her. Within an instant, she was asleep. This was not unlike all the days that had gone before. Since her first brush with the past and Korba through the capsules, she had kept herself totally distracted from dawn till dusk. Even their quiet times together, infused with gentle touches and sometimes soft kisses, had ceased. Braedon slouched, his head hung. Things were not going well, and he had a lot to think about.
*****
Chelan awoke at first light and stretched. She looked over at Braedon while he sat mixing some concentrate. She smiled. “So, are you ready to go?”
Braedon stopped. “I thought you were going to bathe first.”
Chelan blinked at the pool and then looked at her scruffy hair in the reflection. “I guess I should.” And she began peeling off her uniform. Then she shuffled over and splashed into the water.
Braedon finished mixing the drinks and knelt down by the pool.
He watched while she washed. Then he retrieved a clean shroud. He held it up to her as she climbed out.
“Thank you,” she whispered. She gathered it about her and went to turn away, but Braedon held her firmly. She looked up into his solemn eyes. “What is it?”
“I want to make love to you.”
Chelan’s jaw dropped.
Braedon’s fingers brushed over her petal-soft cheek. “We have been here for months, sharing all, enjoying one another. I want to move our relationship forward. We lie together at night, embracing for warmth and comfort, but now I want more.”
Chelan was rooted to the spot. She had no idea what to say. Before Talon wrenched her from the caverns so long ago, she had thought she could come to eventually accept Braedon in every way. But it was not to be. And while she had felt stirrings in his presence over their recent months together, she could no longer imagine ever acting on them. But she knew not why. Talon’s brutal death tumbled into her thoughts, and she winced. Was she still mourning for him? Then Korba’s image rose up before her, nearly knocking the wind from her lungs. “I… I am not sure I am ready.”
Braedon continued to stroke her. “We will take it slowly. We can stop if you are not comfortable with it. I really want this, Chelan. I really want you, all of you.”
Chelan was feeling so many emotions at once, she was overwhelmed. “I… I know waiting has been hard. I have had so many things to process.”
“And now?”
“I am still not sure…”
Braedon leaned forward and kissed her deeply and passionately. Then he withdrew and looked into her wide eyes expectantly.
Chelan felt disembodied, completely unable to form a coherent thought. Here was his desire plainly spelled out on the heels of Stose’s visit, the old Empire come back to crush everything she was striving for. All she had to do was say yes to the man holding her, to share all with him, to commit to him one hundred percent—mind, body, and soul—and the old Empire would vanish. Or would it? “But today we have such a long distance to go,” she blurted out lamely.
