by Cheree Alsop
The screen went dark.
“That’s treason,” Nova said.
She stared at the space where Briofe’s face had been. Her heart thundered in her chest. What had happened to Lord Tempran? And what did her cousin mean about an alliance? The fact that the SevenWolf was being targeted alarmed her. If they couldn’t go home, what would they do?
“Should I tell the others?” Junquit asked.
Nova shook her head. “We need to focus on rescuing McKy. Everything else hinges on us getting him back to Evia. Only then can we reclaim the seat.”
Junquit voiced Nova’s worse fear. “What if we can’t free McKy?”
She closed her eyes and replied, “Then we’re without a system and we’ve lost everything my father worked his whole life for.” She opened her eyes again and met the pilot’s gaze. “I won’t give up our home. I promise you that. I will stay focused and do everything in my power to get us all back to our families. You have my word on it.”
She told herself the same thing when they landed on the planet Macindant in the Tarnash Star System. She had avoided Kovak the best she could on the way there, though it hadn’t been hard because Kaj and the others had kept him plenty busy learning what a noble escort’s job was when it came to the Countess of the Loreandian System. She felt more herself in the formal burnished copper colored evening gown than she had in weeks. She knew the dark green sash set off her eyes perfectly, and it felt right to wear dancing slippers once more instead of the clodstompers that were standard issue with the spacesuits.
So why was it she felt so nervous when her eyes lit on the gladiator who awaited her at the bottom of the ramp?
All across the landing pad, ladies in elegant dresses were being escorted by dashing males in tailored suits and dress robes. She had expected to see Kovak look out of place and uncomfortable in the attire that was required of him. Instead, he looked completely at ease in a black suit with a dark green cravat, dress shoes that had been polished until they shone, and a dark green waist sash.
His hair was down. It was the first time she had seen it loose of its normal pirate’s tail. The dark strands hung almost to his shoulders and were set off by his short-trimmed mustache and beard. Though she wasn’t sure how the other members of royal society would feel about his long hair that was quite out of style, she secretly was glad he hadn’t cut it.
He bowed at just the perfect depth to show deference to her countess lineage compared to his fake status as an up and coming lord.
“Lady Ardis, it is a pleasure to accompany you this evening.”
He kissed her gloved hand, then looked up at her with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that made her heart skip a beat.
“Shall we accomplish your clandestine task beneath the noses of the nobles who even now are wondering at the beauty of the woman in the dress made of sunlight and whose hair rivals the darkness of the ebony night?”
She stared at him without either the ability to withdraw her hand from his grasp or to come up with something to say that would make light of his unexpected compliments.
He took pity on her and grinned as he released her hand. “All I can say is that I am grateful to be the poor excuse for the escort she deserves. When they ask, which they shall, I’ll tell them I rescued you from a dozen space pirates. No, I shall say I swept in and disarmed your ship’s dark matter reactor before you were blown to pieces. No. I will regale them with tales of a countess held hostage by a jealous lord on a distant planet and rescued her just before the scandal would have ruined her.”
Nova tried to look appalled, but she couldn’t help laughing. “You wouldn’t.”
He winked and held out his arm. “Care to try me?”
She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Why not.”
He laughed at that and the sound lifted her heart. “The words every lowly suitor is dying to hear.”
She elbowed him in the ribs and he winced dramatically. “Stop that or someone will overhear.”
He chuckled. “Let them. Considering the last few nights, anything they believed would far less scandalous than the truth.”
She knew he was joking, but his words hit far too close to home. She turned her head away and felt him grow somber as they walked. A part of her wished for him to keep her laughing and distract her from the seriousness of their situation, but she knew she needed to be one hundred percent focused on the task at hand.
They joined the ranks of dozens of couples flocking toward the Favreau Citadel. Kovak was quiet as she greeted the couples around them. He merely nodded at the introductions and kissed the backs of the women’s fingers and then kept silent as was appropriate for one of his rank beneath hers. Though several expressed interest in his status, his silence and short answers quickly turned them away.
“I’m sorry this is so boring,” Nova whispered.
He pulled his arm a bit closer to draw her near. “Perhaps I would be more useful if I knew who we were trying to find,” he whispered in a neutral tone.
Nova fanned herself with the invitation card and took two more steps up the giant staircase the lords and ladies spanned. She switched hands for a moment as though her arm was fatigued and used the action to pull closer to Kovak.
She whispered, “I don’t know what he looks like, but his name is Lord Baccus. Without him, this whole thing is a bust.”
“If I knew more of the plan, I would be of greater use,” Kovak suggested. There was the slightest frustration to his tone.
She ignored it and said, “One step at a time. It’s going to take ages to get up this staircase.”
She felt Kovak’s eyes on her for the space of several steps, then he said, “Fine. I am just a bodyguard, a gladiator for hire. Tell me where to stand and I shall be a statue unless someone spills Kandian wine upon your dress; a finger as punishment would suffice for a warning, don’t you agree? Though if they are a lush, they may find it difficult to hold their glass by the end of the night.”
Nova thought for the briefest second that he was being serious, but she schooled her face to be expressionless before she glanced at him. He watched her, his own expression unreadable. It was then that she realized he was testing her. Two could play at that game.
“I’ve always felt toes were a better punishment. Strong foundation and all that. Perhaps a square shoe would come into style next year if too many of them become careless with their goblets?”
One of his eyebrows rose. A smile slid slowly across his face. She felt a brush of relief at the return to his joking self. Though it was also a front, it was the one she recognized and enjoyed the most.
“Toes are savage.”
She smiled back. “Fingers are more noticeable.”
“I’m trying to create a statement,” he pointed out.
“And I am trying to lessen my dancing competition,” she replied. She held out her card to the guard at the door. “Here you are.”
The man’s eyes widened at her name. He pressed the button of the intercom next to him and announced into the room beyond, “The Countess Lady Nova Ardis Loreander of the Loreandian System and her escort, Lord Covington Gladicus the Third of the Sundaris System.”
Kovak let out a sound of dismay at the title and it was all Nova could do to keep from bursting out laughing. They stepped onto the dais above the stairs. All of the men and women below paused what they were doing, be it dancing, conversing, or dining on Lord Favreau’s imported fare, and turned to look up at her as was her due. She had long been used to the respect owed to a count or countess of her noble bloodline.
She thought it might catch Kovak off-guard, but he handled it in stride. She was beginning to wonder just how big of a champion he had been in the gladiatorial ring. She had heard of the way the Imperious were treated. Banners, keychains, posters, signed full-sized cutouts and even locks of their hair had been available for purchase when she went to the Bacarian System with her father. People dressed like the gladiators and even tattooed their skin with th
e gladiators’ likenesses. Hearing that Kovak had almost made it to the top meant the same applied to him.
Was it possible that one of the royalty might recognize him? Fear pushed against her as they walked sedately down the stairs. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and chided herself for her concern. He looked nothing like the dirty ruffian they had purchased from Roan Seven. Shaving alone had changed his appearance; Lady Winden had been concerned about that. Nova preferred the short tailored beard he wore now to his clean-shaven cheeks. She could almost bet it had been Kaj’s idea for him to grow out his scruff to hide the scars on his cheeks. If she mentioned it to Kovak, would he keep it that way? And why did she care so much?
When she set her foot on the ballroom floor, the lords and ladies around them came forward. Nova was swept up in the questions and flattery she expected while Kovak looked on with an expression of patience and calm. It settled her nerves to see him so at ease in the crush. What had she expected? To be honest with herself, she had expected him to be prickly and unsure of himself, and maybe to stab someone. It wasn’t fair of her to project such things on him, but truth be told, she hadn’t thought any of the evening through besides finding Lord Baccus.
That point hit home when the orchestra struck up their first cord.
A middle-aged man Nova had known most of her life came forward and held out a hand with a low bow. “Countess Loreander, may I have this dance?”
She curtsied and accepted his hand. “Of course, Lord Favreau. I am honored.”
He smiled at her. “It is I who am honored.” He glanced at Kovak. “Might I suggest….”
His words died away when Kovak bowed low. “Sir, I shall ask your fair wife for a turn about the floor if I may be so bold.”
Lord Favreau smiled and gave an appreciative nod. “I was just about to ask you to do so. Thank you. She does so hate sitting any dance out.”
“I shall do my best to keep her entertained,” Kovak promised.
Nova caught herself staring at the gladiator’s smooth manner. He shot her a wink she doubted anyone else saw before he turned away to find Lady Favreau. She closed her mouth and allowed Lord Favreau to escort her onto the floor. Before she knew it, Kovak had joined her with the Lord’s voluptuous wife. She giggled at something Kovak said. He smiled in return with just the right amount of teasing to make the woman laugh. A faint rise of jealousy blossomed in Nova’s chest; she shoved it away and chided herself for being foolish.
The orchestra took up the strains of the first waltz, and the dance began.
Nova let out a breath of relief at the sight of Kovak dancing across the floor in perfect step to the music. Lady Favreau showed no sign of guessing that the gladiator had learned the steps in only a few days. He bowed at the appropriate times, spun her gracefully, and caught her with gentlemanly ease that made her look as light of foot as he. She could see the fighter in his steps, the perfected balance, the alertness, and the way he was ready for Lady Favreau’s next move no matter where she decided to turn. Nova’s respect for the Smiren grew.
“Distracted are we?” Lord Favreau noted.
Nova blushed. “I apologize, my Lord. I was only hoping—”
“Hoping my wife doesn’t break his toes so that you would be deprived of your half with him, right Countess?” The older man’s eyes twinkled merrily.
Nova felt her blush growing deeper. “No, Lord Favreau. I just—”
“Come now,” he chided. “I’ve seen plenty of young couples who can’t keep their eyes off each other. Even now, when I turn you away, he watches you with the same protective passion that brought me and my lady together decades ago.” He chuckled. “You may not see it now, but we were quite the lookers, Laisa and I.”
A laugh of surprise escaped Nova. At that moment, Lady Favreau and Kovak danced past. She caught the Smiren’s eye and he gave her a deep, unguarded smile before turning in time to the song. Nova’s heart warmed as nothing had ever made it do.
“I believe you,” she said to Lord Favreau. “Why, I can still see it.”
That made him grin. “Oh, come now, Countess. You do know how to flatter an old man.”
The music changed in tempo, giving the two measures of warning for the changing of the couples.
“Thank you for the lovely dance, Lord Favreau.”
“It was my pleasure, Countess,” he replied with a bow. “I hope to catch you for another dance later.”
“I am more than happy to oblige,” Nova replied.
Kovak spun Lady Favreau to her husband and swept Nova up in one smooth motion. She found herself carried away by his quick footing and laughed at the pleased grin on his face.
“Sorry,” she said. “I can’t help it.”
“Don’t stop laughing,” he replied with a warmer smile. “It’s the most beautiful thing I have heard in years.”
He spun her away before she could reply. Two turns, a clap, and a bow later, they were back in each other’s arms. Nova had no idea what to say.
“How’s my footing?” Kovak asked, filling in the silence. “I missed a step or two on that dervish back there, but I don’t think the Lady noticed.”
“She was too busy admiring you,” Nova said.
Kovak’s eyebrows rose. They both turned away and then back, then he asked, “Is that what you’re doing, too?”
Nova’s mouth fell open. She wanted to say something sarcastic, but the dance called for them to take a turn around Lord and Lady Favreau, and then wait while the other couple did the same. It was a minute before they were dancing alone again.
“Am I admiring you?” she said.
“You are admiring me,” Kovak replied.
Nova’s eyes widened. “No, you asked—”
The song ended on a high, happy strain. Kovak dipped her down, then whispered in her ear, “I know, but I like seeing you flustered.”
He raised her back up with his roguish smile and then stepped away and bowed again. “Thank you for the dance, Countess. We really must do it again sometime, but I see your date card is full.”
One of the usual benefits of being the Countess at a ball was that the gentlemen had the opportunity of filling her date card before she arrived. It had been handed to her as she made her way down the stairs. She glanced at the fancy booklet that hung around her wrist and realized that he was right. There were no more dances left for the devilish gladiator.
“Pity,” he said with a wink. “Perhaps we’ll find a more magical time for a dance later.”
He glanced to the right and his smile changed. Nova felt a strange regret for the way his smile left his dark eyes. To anyone else, he would still look like the charmer, but to her, his expression was plaster now, a façade, a smiling mask to hide his true self from those around him. She wondered if gladiators were taught such a thing or if he had learned it himself out of self-preservation. Her heart went out to the man who put on an act for the rest of the world in order to keep his true feelings from getting him destroyed.
Chapter Eleven
KOVE
“Time for cigars and Eccian brandy,” Lord Favreau announced after dinner.
A thrill of nerves ran through me even though Kaj had warned that the men would retire to the library and leave the women to their sitting room. Dancing was one thing. The steps were similar enough to fighting as Jashu Blu had predicted that I picked them up with ease; on the other hand, casual conversation regarding lordly matters wasn’t something even the stern butler could teach me. He had hoped that I could get through it either by keeping silent or sticking to topics I knew, but I doubted any of the lords cared about how to maintain the sharpness of a blade or the exact angle required for maximum lethality when stabbing upward beneath the ribs.
A servant walked around with goblets of the green iced drinks while Lord Favreau and the others chose places to sit and talk within the surprisingly warm, open library. Others perused the books along the extensive shelves and enjoyed a cigar or two. I made it a point not to sta
y in one place too long. Fortunately, several of the gentlemen chose to drift around the room like a faelan gathering nectar from one beautiful flower to the next. It was easy to glean the topic of conversation this way before delving in fully.
“I do have to say that the new Blavarian bylaws have made the import of pash silk nearly impossible. By the time you’ve obtained the proper permits and paid the taxes, you’re better off trading with the outliers,” one gray-haired man was saying to a pointed-eared Canoid.
The Canoid nodded solemnly in return. “I’ve found that it pays to add a little extra meteor dust to the transaction. If you pad the right pockets, you can skip the permits altogether.”
“Really?” the first man exclaimed. “You don’t say! Who is your contact?”
I found my attention stolen away by the animated talking of a man with long yellow hair whose stripes on his skin told of either Vexian or Fyrstine ancestry.
“So I said to her, lady, if you don’t accept my marks, I’m going to have to report you to the Tributaires.”
“What did she do?” another man asked.
Everyone leaned forward to hear the punchline.
The Fyrstine, clear now due to the man’s matching yellow tongue, grinned. “She was going to argue, but then I told her about my title and she said, ‘Anything for you, my Lord.’”
He burst into laughter and the other men followed. I forced a half-chuckle before my attention was caught by a pair of raised voices.
Earlier, the individuals had been busy discussing the terraforming rights of a newly opened planet in the Navarian Star System. But with the amount of brandy both had imbibed, the conversation had become heated during my tour of the other groups.
“I don’t agree. If the planet has oxygen and has already been proven to grow maroon Verian beans, what’s the problem?” a young man with dark gray skin asked. He folded his arms and glared at the man across from him, his yellow eyes begging for a fight.
