The Commander's Captive

by Alix Nichols

  So, he forbade calls. Radio transceivers were too risky for the same reason. Even before Voqras’s arrival, even during the war, Jancel avoided using them unless there was no other alternative. Anyone could listen in.

  The comms restriction didn’t warm her heart toward him, even though she said she understood.

  As if that wasn’t enough, he had to spend a lot of time away from home on a massive barracks inspection scheduled and prepared by his aides. The few nights that he spent in his room, she joined him, taking care to inform him she was just too bored, or too horny, or both.

  He’d had his narrow bed replaced by a double. A much easier—and more discreet—solution would’ve been to move into the master bedroom. But Jancel couldn’t. He hadn’t set foot in there since Hawina passed.

  In his mind, the beautiful four-poster in the middle of it was forever associated with Hawina’s agony, painting its sheets and covers crimson. How could he have sex in the bed where his wife had bled to death?

  Considering all the tension between him and Nyssa and the limited time they spent together, they’d had a lot of sex. But they hadn’t done much talking. On one of his sleepless nights in the barracks, he began to envision the bitter possibility that she felt nothing for him. She wouldn’t be the first woman to lust after a man without liking him. And why would she like him?

  Despite saving Areg, he was still a jerk in her eyes. Still a filthy “bootlicker” who’d betrayed her family and remained loyal to Boggond. Still the enemy.

  The more he considered that possibility, the more it made sense to him. It explained her behavior, the way she was around him, the constant push and pull between them.

  Aheya help him, he hated that situation with all his heart. But there was nothing he could do to fix it.

  The one time they had managed a meaningful conversation was ten days ago.

  “Humor me,” she’d said climbing into his bed. “It’s important. I need to understand the why of it.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of you becoming the bad guy.”

  He stared at her.

  “Why don’t you mobilize the army and overthrow Boggond?” she asked.

  “It’s called a military coup.”

  She shrugged. “So? It would be for a good cause.”

  “I’m a soldier,” he said. “My responsibility is to protect the realm. I’d rather resign than stage a coup.”

  “Why don’t you resign?”

  “Believe me, I’ve thought about it.” He hesitated before adding, “But in the current context, it would endanger the army and Eia’s capacity to defend itself.”

  “Have you considered the possibility that the next commander may be a worthy man?” She squinted at him. “A better man than you?”

  He smirked. “You don’t need to remind me how badly you think of me.”

  “So?” She cocked her head. “What if the guy who gets your job is actually a good man?”

  “He won’t be.”

  She furrowed her brow.

  “That guy will be Police Chief Ultek. He’s really keen.”

  “What does Boggond say to that?”

  “That the job is Ultek’s if I resign.”

  “But you won’t.”

  “How can I? With peace so fragile, how can I put the army in Ultek’s hands?” He shook his head. “I can’t do that. He’ll have to get creative to eject me and take my place.”

  “Which he is in his sick way. He’ll get rid of you soon enough.”

  “Kitten, you overestimate him.” His lips curved into a crooked smile. “And you underestimate me.”

  A defeated look flashed in her eyes.

  His heart clenched, and he almost admitted to her the other reason he refused to step down as commander of the army. If he did, if he became a regular civilian. He’d no longer be able to protect her from Ultek.

  With Iyatt’s help, he’d been working on a contingency plan, but that plan involved a great deal of uncertainty, and an even greater deal of risk. And potential health hazards. On top of being dangerous, that plan wasn’t even doable as things stood. It might never become doable. Which meant there was no point telling her about it.

  She stretched out on the bed, turned her face to the wall, and hiked her nightshirt up to her waist.

  With a feather-light touch, he stroked her bare bottom. “Nyssa, darling, we don’t have to do it tonight. If you don’t want—”

  “Oh, but I do,” she said. “I ache for you inside me.”

  His hand pressed down into her delicious flesh.

  Moaning in response, she spread her knees. “And I despise myself for it.”

  18

  Propped up against pillows with a sheet covering his truncated legs, Areg surveyed the people around him: Jancel’s friend Iyatt Martenn, Aynu and her steward Leehash, Rhori, Atipoly and Duko, Lady Marye Atiz, and Hente’s number one go-to guy, Timm Itkis—whose impressive range of services now apparently included smuggling people off the planet.

  Jancel had been right. Even though they arrived at different times, letting all of them come here on the same day was dumb.

  But Iyatt had insisted it had to be done before Areg left for LORSS. And Jancel trusted Iyatt.

  After Voqras’s arrival and Areg and Etana’s “killing,” the Association’s spirit had been broken. The spirit of anyone brave enough to resist the realm’s transformation into a lawless autocracy had been broken. Boggond’s gang was convinced the Endorsement Vote was as good as won, so they violated the people’s freedoms more often and more shamelessly than before.

  Judge Mahabmet did what Boggond told him to do.

  Superior Dienoma had ordered all the vestals to shun anything remotely political and preach Aheya’s word in a way that didn’t cause any controversy.

  The Iltaqa Gazette still published its fiery pieces, but bets were on throughout Eia as to how soon and in what manner Achlins Ghaw was going to be eliminated.

  Even Jancel was beginning to doubt if digging in his heels was the right thing. While Areg could perfectly understand Jancel’s convictions about a soldier’s duty and role in society, it was getting difficult for the commander to justify his position.

  Areg suspected Grumpy Pants had something to do with his increasingly mutinous spirit. Perhaps more than something. The relationship between his sister and his friend was bound to get complicated, given their circumstances. But the tension between them was too hot and too visceral to be chalked up to their political disagreements alone. Areg had wondered what was really going on between the pair until he saw the way they looked at each other on Nyssa’s second visit. Then he recalled her teenage crush.

  He quit wondering and asked Jancel if Nyssa had become his lover.

  Jancel hung his head.

  “I can’t protect her,” Areg said with an acrid edge in his voice. “From you or anyone else.”

  Jancel’s eyes glinted. “You don’t need to. I will.”

  Areg’s surveyed him. What choice did he have but to trust Jancel’s word?

  Rhori patted Areg’s shoulder, returning him to the present moment. “You have no idea how good it is to see you alive!”

  “And recovering,” Aynu added.

  Blinking to focus his attention, Areg smiled at them.

  Everyone in the room was nodding.

  Duko leaned forward. “With you back from the dead—again—everything seems possible. The tables can be turned.”

  “We’ll move mountains if you tell us to,” Atipoly said. “We’ll do the impossible for you.”

  Aynu touched the ouroboros on her neck. “You must be Aheya’s chosen one to survive everything you’ve survived.”

  Um… no, I’m not. He’d never believed he was “the chosen one” or any of the other lofty names they called him. His uncommon destiny had been due to a combination of high birth, enlightened upbringing, youthful recklessness, and Etana’s unwavering resolve to keep pulling him from the brink. But, most of all, guilt.

&
nbsp; What had really driven him over the last two and a half years was an acute sense of guilt because nine men had died saving him. All he’d done ever since was to make amends.

  “You look skeptical,” Marye said with a smile.

  He shook his head. “I’m not Aheya’s chosen one.”

  “No, you aren’t.” Duko winked. “People call you ‘the Liberator’ these days.”

  “I’m with Duko,” Atipoly said. “Areg is no messiah. He’s the Liberator.”

  Areg tried to hide his frustration. They were missing the point, all of them.

  Duko balled his hands into fists. “If you go out there and start calling for folks throughout the realm to march to Orogate and storm Boggond’s residence, they will.”

  Among the general nodding and cheering, Timm raised his hand. “If he goes ‘out there,’ he’ll be arrested, tortured, and killed. Again. But this time they’ll make sure they finally get it right.”

  The cheering faded away.

  “He’s isn’t wrong,” Iyatt said.

  Rhori’s face clouded. “It would kill Etana.”

  “Timm is right, and we’re being selfish.” Aynu’s gaze bored into Areg’s.

  “How safe is this bunker?” Leehash asked Iyatt.

  “Safe enough, for now,” Iyatt said. “But if Areg chooses to stay on Hente, we’ll need to transfer him to… someplace else, sooner or later.”

  Someplace where? Areg wondered. With the police ranks swelling daily and three hive cyborgs around, was there anywhere in the Habitable Area left to hide?

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you about Geru!” Rhori clapped his hand to his forehead. “Remember when he pinged you that night in the cave? How he said he’d do anything to save Etana?”

  Areg nodded.

  “Well, he did just that,” Rhori said. “He traded your life for hers.”

  “What do you mean?” Marye asked, color draining from her face.

  Rhori told them about the paired commlets.

  “What happened to Geru’s commlet?” Iyatt knitted his brows. “I’m almost sure that Voqras doesn’t have the tech to intercept commlet exchanges, but if Geru’s device is still twinned with Areg’s…”

  “He destroyed it when he realized what he’d done,” Rhori said.

  Timm raised his hand, smiling, “I just received a new batch. Latest models. Longer battery life, encrypted communications, so totally safe to use. I’ll give you a discount, if you place your orders now and pay up front.”

  Leehash chuckled. “Funny how everyone who can afford it buys a commlet these days, even though those toys are supposed to be illicit tech.”

  “People want them so much they don’t care if they get caught,” Marye said.

  She smiled, but her smile looked like she’d slapped it on her face in a hurry while her eyes betrayed inner turmoil.

  Areg remembered what Etana had said about the special friendship between Geru and Marye.

  Iyatt shrugged. “It’s because cops look the other way. They don’t feel comfortable sanctioning people for the unlawful ownership of a device they themselves own just as unlawfully.”

  Areg turned to Marye. “I don’t blame Geru for what he’s done.”

  “You’d blame him if you and Etana were dead because of his poor judgment.” Rhori’s mouth thinned. “I, for one, do.”

  “As do I,” Iyatt said under his breath before turning away to compose himself.

  Areg’s heart went to him. The poor fellow couldn’t talk about his beloved in public, couldn’t give an outlet to his grief, mourn Unie, even say her name out loud.

  May Aheya help him.

  Rhori’s face softened a little. “I do regret what I said to Geru, though. It was rage talking.”

  “What did you say to him?” Marye asked quietly. Too quietly.

  “He showed up in my workshop… He…” Rhori rubbed the back of his neck. “He was in a state… I told him he should go kill himself.”

  Marye’s eyelids fluttered and she swayed.

  Rhori caught her before she fell down. “Lady Atiz, are you all right?”

  Opening her eyes, she steadied herself. “I’m fine. It’s too stuffy here. Will you excuse me?”

  She darted out.

  “Has anyone heard from Geru lately?” Aynu asked, an unspoken suspicion in her voice.

  Atipoly frowned. “He stopped showing up at our meetings, but then we received his letter, so we didn’t worry overly much.”

  Leehash squinted. “What did the letter say?”

  “That he had to travel for his father’s business, so he’d be away for a while.” Duko glanced at Atipoly and at Rhori. “He’d included a big check.”

  Rhori ran his hands over his face.

  “Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Iyatt said. “Maybe he is traveling for business. Or praying with monks somewhere.”

  There was a brief silence before Iyatt spoke again. “What do you intend to do, Areg?”

  “You must stay and lead us,” Duko said.

  Areg drew the sheet to the side, exposing his stumps.

  Duko shrugged. “So what? Lippin and Rhori will make you a wheelchair like the one they made for Mayka.”

  “You’ll be able to move around on your own, unlike her,” Rhori said. “It’s huge. Trust me, she’d do anything to have that.”

  Timm leaned back in his chair. “Or you could take Yaggar’s offer and let me take you to LORSS.”

  Areg closed his eyes. It was tempting to stay and dedicate whatever time he had left to nurturing the anti-Boggond resistance. Except… Etana, the love of his life, was waiting for him at LORSS. He missed her. Sweet Aheya, how he missed her!

  “You’re a legend, Areg,” Duko said. “A series of your inspired talks like the ones you gave in support of Dreggo would do more for our cause than all of our leaflets and Ghaw’s articles combined.”

  Timm raised his hand again. “There’s a way for Areg to give those talks and get the hell out here at the same time.”

  Everyone squinted at him, confused.

  Timm chuckled. “Level-two tech, you barbarians. I can arrange it.” He winked before adding, “At a friendly price.”

  “You don’t have to decide right now, Areg,” Aynu said softly.

  He stared into his best friend’s warm eyes.

  And then the strangest thing happened. The weight he’d carried around for two and a half years suddenly lifted off his chest.

  I’ve given enough. I’ve atoned enough.

  He’d provided for the nine families long before Boggond took over the Sebi fortune. Again and again, Areg had charged ahead toward certain death, risking his life for others. Every time he miraculously survived. If there was a message from Aheya in that, it was that she wanted him to live. Etana wanted him to live.

  And he wanted to live, too. For Etana. With her.

  Deep in his heart, he knew he was now allowed to do that. He’d earned the privilege to be loved again.

  Was this how redemption felt?

  19

  Leaning over the small stove in the “potions” part of the kitchen, Nyssa stirred the mixture of beeswax and fragrant dokki oil in the pot.

  “Is this thick enough?” she asked Dame Heidd.

  The hag took a quick look. “Not yet. Keep stirring.”

  Incredible as it seemed, Nyssa had volunteered—again—to give the witch a hand with making the salve. Since the remedy was extremely effective and devoid of any side effects, every single Healers’ hospital and temple in Eia had placed an order with Dame Heidd.

  Now that the puss-pox epidemic was under control, she had started charging a small amount for her salves. The old woman kept her recipes in her head. For the life of her, she wouldn’t share them with anyone else, even with the cook, who was presently baking fresh bread at the other end of the kitchen.

  In theory, she hadn’t shared them with Nyssa, either.

  Except, letting her help with the preparation—a privilege no one in the household
had been granted before—was as good as sharing the recipe. Nyssa had seen all the ingredients and their proportions and observed the exact ways in which the hag combined them. If she felt so inclined, she could prepare Dame Heidd’s super-secret salves on her own, from start to finish.

  It struck her that for someone who considered her burdensome houseguest a spoiled brat and a nuisance, the old woman was showing her a huge amount of trust.

  Nyssa pouted. She didn’t need the hag’s trust. It wasn’t like she’d ever be part of the family. Jancel would never marry her. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t possibly marry a dead person. Not to mention that Nyssa didn’t want to marry him.

  She shook her head. No way.

  The only reason she’d volunteered to help was because she needed to do something with herself. And today, she needed to clear her mind before it went up in smoke with too many crazy ideas and wild scenarios.

  Nyssa Sebi Heidd. She froze. Where had that rubbish come from? Oh, she knew very well where.

  Her womb.

  The tiny little suspicion that had first sprouted in the back of her mind a few days ago had grown into a near-certainty. Her monthly bleeding was ten days late. It had never been so late before.

  Jancel had taken precautions, pulling out before spilling his seed when she was on her fertile days. But it looked like that hadn’t been enough.

  She should’ve listened to him and taken that horrible blue cosh tea. Alternatively, she shouldn’t have allowed vaginal sex until Jancel could get inhibitor pills or another level-two form of contraception. But she’d been too reckless, too wrapped up in her conflicted feelings for him, in their whole messed-up relationship…

  And then there was Areg. His recovery, his options, his much-deserved chance at happiness with Etana. Areg had left Hente three days ago.

  Jancel let Nyssa go to the bunker one more time to say goodbye to her brother. They’d kept their farewell jovial, focusing on his future. She told him not to worry—Jancel would take care of her. He told her he’d come back for her as soon as he could. Which could be never, Nyssa thought. Or too late.