“Don’t worry.”
“The both of you are very brave.” The Achinoi woman headed away from their table and disappeared behind a swinging door at the back of the restaurant.
“The ship, yes?”
“Yes, the ship.” She sighed. The earlier interruption had killed her momentum, but she still had to make herself ask. “I need to be on that ship, and I was thinking—”
“That maybe I could bring a guest with me?” His eyes gleamed. His tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Be so smug with me.”
“Sorry, I will have to get permission from the ambassador. I believe he will say yes, but—”
“But?”
“But he may want something you won’t like giving.”
“Huh?” She frowned. Fear and curiosity warred in her heart. Curiosity won as it always did. She wouldn’t be what she was if it didn’t.
“He will want details about us.” He leaned back in his seat.
“Details?” Her mind connected the dots. She laughed loud enough it bounced off the walls. “He won’t want to cop a feel or anything? Just hear about it?”
“You are my mate, Cygni. It would be improper to ask you to do anything!”
She could tell he was really angry. The petals of his nose vibrated in a certain way when he was.
“I’m sorry, really. I’m sorry. I was just joking.” Mostly, she thought.
“Always joking. Solan women!”
“I’m sorry,” she said in somber tones. The Nyangari ambassador’s voyeuristic desire was amusing as hell, but she didn’t want that amusement to hurt her mate.
He shook his head.
“I will ask if you forgive me for not telling you about the delegation.”
“Done.”
The Achinoi woman returned from the back. In one hand she held a ceramic sphere encrusted with what appeared to be black and red moss, in the other she held a plate of greenish meat that smelled as bad as it looked—klut.
“What is this?” He asked when she set the meal before him.
“What you ordered.”
“I mean—”
Cygni took the plate of rotten meat from the Achinoi and pushed it over to Shkur.
“I’m not hungry,” she said.
He looked up.
“Thank you.”
“Just ask the ambassador and we’re even.” She winked.
Chapter Sixteen
Queen Gaia Luxury Liner, Matre’s Glory System
41:1:12 CST (J2400:3073)
Luxury liners were strange beasts among space vessels. Crafted from self-sealing ceramic-metal polymer on the outside like any other ship, within the vessel wood, ivory, gold and glass replaced aluminum and plastic. Priceless works of art decorated the corridors within the massive passenger rings and kept company with fountains, statues, and gardens. Their chambers were designed for opulence, defying the conventional wisdom about conservation of resources in space. These were the only space craft with vaulted ceilings and curved picture windows ten meters wide that showed the eternal night sky rotating slowly beyond. Every effort in the construction of these monstrous craft was made to conceal the fact that its passengers were hurtling through space in a fragile can strapped to a massive anti-matter reactor that, if anything went wrong, could atomize them all in nanoseconds.
The Queen Gaia was a double torus model liner with a long needle-like fuselage threading the two spinning rings. The structural supports connecting the tori to the engineering and piloting compartments in the central structure made the ship look like it was a gilded dragonfly caught in a spider’s web.
Cylus’ hands framed his face as he gazed across the table at the sea of guests in the ship’s grand galley. They were arranged in islands, seated around white-clothed tables adorned with candles and porcelain plates. Dressed in their gaudy finery, they looked like posed dolls holding their glasses in the air, awaiting word from his boisterous uncle to release them into the decadent orgy of food, alcohol, and verbal posturing that they so richly craved. None of them were here for him, of that he was certain. The only reasons they showed up at all were either to avoid insulting Baron Revenant, or to exhibit the latest fashions to each other.
Much to his dismay, Sophi joined in their false pageantry. As they were in space, she didn’t wear her customary cloak, but donned a mahogany-brown form fitting dress with a high collar. It was gilded in swirling embroidery sewn with silver thread, and had diamonds woven into the cloth to appear like she was wearing a curtain of stars. Her hair was braided into a thick rope draped over one shoulder from the back, and she wore a black rose with white stamen above her ear. That last touch puzzled Cylus, but she refused to fill him in before they departed for the spaceport.
“At least try to look a bit more interested in the proceedings, Cy. Your bride to be is carrying you for now, but sooner or later people are going to notice your misery,” Sophi whispered in his left ear.
She’d been insufferable since this whole party was announced nine days ago. He tried everything, but she refused to budge on letting him out of attending his own engagement party. The “show” as she called their deception, was all-important, and this was part of it. Having to attend this farce removed any joy he still had from Praetor Graves’ visit to his tower. It was still a line of hope for him, the path to closure and vengeance, but Sophi had seen to it that enough fresh stress was dumped on top of him that he barely felt his former elation now.
He snorted and shifted to his right where Pasqualina sat. She could not be more in her element. Her green eyes were bright and alive like the forests of his home world in the summer sun. She wore an evening gown made of purple silk with broad red stripes in descending diagonals. Thousands of tiny pearls were sewn into the fabric, and every time she moved they produced a sound like rain. Her tightly curled hair was draped about her pale shoulders, adorned with gold and ivory beads, and a flower identical to the one Sophi was wearing that Pasqualina was equally cryptic about. Her face was flushed and her nostrils flared in a way that seemed almost obscene in such a public setting. She took every opportunity to tilt her left hand so that the engagement ring, with its absurdly large diamond, glittered in the light.
He didn’t put it on her hand himself, though Pasqualina told whomever would listen some elaborate story about how he had. Doing it himself seemed all too real, so he had Ben do it back at the tower. Pasqualina had turned her nose up as though smelling something distasteful, but hadn’t complained verbally.
“She’s in her element, I’m not in mine,” Cylus whispered back.
“Pretend,” Sophi snapped.
“I don’t even know these people.” He gestured towards the guest tables.
“Pretend.” He could feel Sophi’s glare on his skin.
He sighed.
“What troubles you darling?” Pasqualina said.
The words raked down his back. “Darling” was what she started calling him since the ring was put on her finger—he wondered if it was some kind of revenge for having Ben do it. She still hadn’t dropped the pleasant facade, but he knew that any moment the old, mean, selfish Pasqualina would come out. He hoped she was waiting for their marriage to be finalized, a moment that would never come.
The joke would be on her.
“Nothing, I’m just fatigued.” He wanted to ask her how he couldn’t be troubled by what was going on, but the words would be wasted. A false engagement, estranged from his family’s friends, and finding no comfort from the one person here who was supposed to be on his side, it was a wonder he wasn’t screaming his head off.
The corners of her mouth tugged upwards. “Just a little longer, darling. My father will return soon, and then we can get through this and retire to our state room.”
She touched him gently. It felt like he’d plunged his hand into a bucket of ice. It took an act of will to let her fingers stay on his.
H
er eyes flickered between his. “Tough it out, darling.”
“Of course,” he muttered.
“Sound advice,” Sophi whispered.
“I don’t need both of you telling me. Once was quite enough, Sophi.” He ran a finger from his free hand around the rim of his water glass.
The guests were yanked to their feet by the strings of obligation when the hall door opened. He reluctantly joined them with Sophi and Pasqualina following his lead. Heads turned towards the entrance where the bulbous form of Baron Olivaar marched in with a grin on his multi-chinned face. He paused just inside the doorway and turned as a woman in a lacy green dress followed him in.
She shared soft and refined features with Pasqualina, but her hair was razor-straight and so blonde it appeared white. Her eyes and the lines of her face were so hard it was difficult to look at her without discomfort. The resemblance to her cousin, Zalor, made the hairs stand erect on the back of Cylus’ neck. Her eyes were like needles and she pierced him with them the moment she entered the room.
“The Baron Hagus Olivaar, and the Baroness Helena Revenant-Olivaar,” a servant announced from behind his uncle.
She briefly inclined her head and pushed past the mass of her bloated husband, forcing him to trail in her wake. Cylus caught sight of a second woman entering the room behind her and his heart leapt up into his throat. He nearly rose from his seat but Sophi’s hand was suddenly on his thigh.
“The Baroness Brudah Altair,” the servant said.
She walked in wrapped in shimmering gold sequins and a platinum necklace so thick he wondered how she kept her long head so high in the air above it. Pearl tipped rods held all but a few strands of hair in a tight bun behind her head. She looked like a woman steeling herself for an ordeal despite her toothy smile.
“She’s here?” he whispered. His thoughts came in a cascade. She was in on the plot to kill his parents. Praetor Graves may be getting the proof of the murder right now, but having Brudah on this ship, stuck here for days as they toured the system, presented him with the opportunity to question her himself. His stomach buzzed with the idea.
“Shush, Cy, contain yourself. You’re going to be way too busy to do what you’re thinking. Any gesture towards Baroness Altair might reveal what we plan,” Sophi transmitted.
He glanced at Pasqualina. The girl was still basking in the spectacle of the formal dinner. She looked like she really believed this was all for her. Cylus wondered how she could be so ignorant.
“The Baron Zalor Revenant,” the servant said.
He turned his eyes back to the arched doorway. His enemy entered dressed in a white suit with a golden cape trailing behind him as though he was some kind of emperor from ages past. His brown eyes swept the room and seemed to catch on Cylus, though a moment later he realized that the illusion was due to standing between the two women Zalor was actually looking at. A sneer appeared on Baron Revenant’s face and he tore his eyes from the ladies as one would pull out a splinter. He walked in with wide strides, quickly outpacing Brudah, and brought himself to the center of the guests beneath the starry glass dome.
“Honored guests, thank you for coming to Baron Keltan and Heiress Olivaar’s engagement party.” Baron Revenant spread his arms out as he spoke. The sneer was already gone, replaced by a broad, magnanimous smile.
Cylus sat down at the table and abruptly his vision was blocked by a swath of black and silver.
“Look how you’ve grown.” Baroness Olivaar reached for his cheek with her long black nails.
He leaned back and banged his head against the back of his chair. He stared at her fingers, their hook-like nails hovered in the air where his face had been. “Aunt Helena.”
“A pleasure to see you again. It’s been so long, Cylus. I was pleasantly surprised to hear the news that you’ve come back across the line,” his step-aunt said.
“Cylus is smart enough to realize those vile Cronuses are finished mother.” Pasqualina squeezed his hand beneath the table. Another shiver crawled down his back.
Her mother gave her a sharp look. Pasqualina withered and let go of his hand.
“Take care of my daughter, Cylus. She means the world to me.” His aunt gave him a reptilian smile, then moved to sit on Pasqualina’s other side.
Pasqualina stared at her lap, her former mirthful expression replaced by pure misery. Her mother seemed entirely oblivious to her, smiling while watching Zalor give his welcome speech.
Baron Olivaar sat down beside his wife, just as oblivious as she was to his daughter’s melancholy. He kept his eyes on Zalor throughout the speech, never once even glancing to the side. Cylus began to wonder what kind of household Pasqualina had grown up in. Was her arrogance just an act to cover up for some deep insecurity? Knowing his uncle as he did, that was a possibility. Her mother was Zalor’s cousin, and had a reputation worthy of the family. Cylus’ father had once told him she had a heart colder than the void. It seemed she treated her daughter no differently than she did everyone else; and perhaps worse.
Applause crackled in the air. Cylus looked at the crowd and realized Zalor was pointing at him with an open palm. He smiled sheepishly and took a quick bow. Pasqualina jumped to her feet and curtseyed. Apparently, this was the correct gesture as Zalor smiled and continued speaking.
Cylus glanced at Sophi and in the process spotted Brudah a few chairs down. His heart jumped in his chest. So close, and yet he knew that if he asked her here his chances of getting anything other than a brush off were next to nothing. There was no way she’d admit to a treasonous conspiracy in public, but maybe if he got her alone and appealed to her humanity, she might take pity on him. Then he would know for certain if Zalor was responsible for his parents’ death or not. It was possible she even knew about Yoji’s murder, perhaps she would admit as much while she was explaining about his parents. It seemed like a long shot, but it was folly to waste the opportunity to have his certainty now. When Nero got back with the physical proof he’d have everything he would need to bring Zalor down.
A gentle sounding waltz began to play while servants placed food before the guests.
“Stop it,” Sophi whispered.
“Stop what?” He responded in kind.
“Stop staring at Baroness Altair. You’re being too obvious. Someone will see.” She swept the immediate vicinity with her ice blue eyes.
He snorted, but knew she was right. He forced his gaze back out at the crowd and occupied himself by trying to find at least one familiar face, but it wasn’t long before his thoughts returned to the questions he would ask Brudah when he got her alone. Did she know about his parents’ murder? Did she know Zalor was going to kill Yoji? Why didn’t she do anything? What is Siren—
Sophi’s hand tensed on his thigh. She turned to him and leaned in. “Cylus, look at Zalor.”
He looked over at his enemy. The man was working the crowd, walking from table to table schmoozing with his supporters and sycophants. “What about him?”
“Notice anything missing?” She asked.
Cylus looked at him again. His hair was gelled to perfection, his suit impeccably clean, and his ridiculous looking cape was starched to ensure it did not move in any way that would appear awkward or unbecoming. His veneer of slick perfection was unblemished.
Cylus shrugged. “No, he looks perfectly pompous to me.”
Sophi beckoned him closer. “Qismat isn’t here.”
He looked up, alarm stiffening the muscles of his back. She was right. Zalor hadn’t been seen in public without his little obscene pet in years. This was the first time since the war began that it wasn’t hovering around him.
“Where the hell is it?” he asked, looking behind his chair. He half expected to find the little monster poised to stab him in the back and tear out his heart.
“I don’t know.” Sophi frowned.
After the ceremony the guests set about satisfying their appetites for food and conversation. A few of them came by to congratulate him and Pasqualina, w
ho had by then recovered her pleasant facade, or to thank him for seeing reason and correcting his father’s folly. Each comment was endured with as much of a smile as he could muster. He might have been more offended if he were paying attention to them, but his thoughts flittered between getting Brudah alone and where Zalor’s infamous bodyguard might be. It had to be up to something, which meant the same about Zalor, but what?
The dancing began when the tables were cleared. Members of the Barony paired off while the music shifted from a polite background tune to a more intrusive waltz. Cylus rose to his feet, intent on leaving when he felt his hand grabbed and tugged. Pasqualina rose beside him with a mischievous smile on her face.
“May I have this dance sweet prince?” She blinked her big green eyes at him.
He sighed. “All right.”
He felt Sophi pat his buttocks as he headed for the dance floor with his fiancée. He wished she didn’t have to tease him, it was hard enough pretending to be interested in Pasqualina. At least the music was something he was familiar with, and could dance to without humiliating himself.
“You’ve barely said two words to me since this began,” Pasqualina said once they had hands on hips and shoulders.
“I’m sorry. I’ve been distracted. Business stuff,” he said feeling her ample cleavage pressing into his chest.
“I understand. Whatever it is you can share it with me. I won’t tell.”
He doubted that was true. He assumed from the moment she got out of the air-car at his tower that every word he said to her made it back to his enemies.
They glided between pairs of Solans, Cleebians, and Relaen stepping in time to the music. A grouping of Nyangari stood by one of the chamber’s large windows following him and Pasqualina with their beady eyes. Nyangari were a sentient species resembling stocky hairless humanoids with snouts, protruding lower jaws and fleshy pouches hanging half way down their chests. All three present were dressed in their black and red military finery, indicating they were delegates from the Nyangari Protectorate and not barons themselves. Their presence was puzzling as he couldn’t imagine why the Protectorate, only a loose ally of the Confederation, had bothered to show up to his engagement party.
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