“Now?” Mike wasn’t sure he was in the mood for any more conversation about the change in his plans, even with her.
Nodding, the princess’s guard said, “She regrets not having the chance to ask you to join her caravan before the emperor issued his decree.”
“All right, I’m not doing anything else at the moment. Lead on—?” Mike gestured toward the bustling corridor.
“Saium.” Making a quick bow, he took off at a rapid pace, taking Mike into a hallway he’d not been in before.
“Was she born blind?” Mike asked, curious about her disability.
“Not a good idea to ask too many questions in this cursed city.” As if invoking a good luck charm, his companion rubbed at the tattoo on his upper arm—a fierce bird of prey, outlined in green and black.
“I merely want to avoid causing her distress. Your loyalty to the lady does you great credit, but I don't like riding into a situation unprepared. I want to understand the background. I'd rather not have to ask her these questions, but I have my own orders, which take precedence over anything your emperor wants.” Mike tried to alleviate the confrontational tone they’d taken. “I have a niece who was born blind on my home planet,” he went on more softly.
“I’ve heard such things can be mended in the Sectors,” the guard said speculatively over his shoulder, as they progressed through the halls.
“Not always. In my niece's case, the nerves were undeveloped at birth. Nothing organic can be done, and first her parents, then she herself refused cyber-enhancement. But she’s a successful musician on several instruments. Can play anything she’s heard once, gives concerts all over our Sector.”
“My lady wasn’t born blind. She lost the use of her eyes at age ten,” the man told him. “In our world, it’s a disgrace not to be whole in body and in senses. Life has been hard for her. Of course, the empress was pleased to watch the daughter of her greatest rival left without a husband.”
Tired of mystery and doublespeak, Mike swung Saium to face him. “Wouldn't it be better for the princess if I had the full picture of what’s going on? I want to know what kind of trouble I’m supposed to be expecting, for her sake. It's not my planet—I’m not on anyone's side. My priorities are to get my job done and go home.”
Saium stared into Mike's eyes for a long moment, before checking both ways to make sure the hall was relatively deserted. He leaned close to Mike’s ear. “Fifteen years ago, Shalira and her brother went for a morning ride along the river alone, as was their custom. Apparently they were set upon by assassins in a well-planned ambush. The crown prince died on the spot. My lady—a mere child of ten at the time—was found unconscious nearby, with few visible wounds. Yet when she awakened days later, she’d lost her sight.”
Before the soldier could say anything more, Mike heard the sounds of women laughing. A group of people approached from the other end of the long corridor.
“The Empress Maralika,” Saium whispered. Backing up to the wall, he went to one knee, head bowed subserviently.
Mike scrutinized the women mincing in a colorful parade toward him. As he shifted into parade rest, strong perfume enveloped him in a nausea-inducing wave, several scents mixing in an unpleasant effect.
“Ah, the outworlder!” Maralika came to a stop directly in front of him, standing so close her orange and red skirts swirled against his legs like a silken net. He met her gaze. Appraising him from head to toe in an insultingly frank manner, she didn’t speak for a moment. “What a pity,” she sighed to the nearest lady-in-waiting. “So handsome, in an alien fashion. To be wasted when the mountain clans kill him, which they will.” Tilting her head, she smiled, gazing flirtatiously upward through spiky black lashes. Tapping him on the chest with her fan, she said, “Tell me, why weren’t you there to rescue me in the square yesterday? Surely the life of the empress is worth more than the continued existence of some useless, pitiful girl? After all, who would miss our little Princess of Shadows?” Using the fan, she forced him to raise his chin. “Plainly, I was the assassins’ target, and your gallantry would have been properly appreciated, I assure you.”
Taking the fan in his fist, he removed it from her grasp, lowering his chin to stare at her. “Your Majesty appeared to be well guarded and well served yesterday.” Polite on the surface, Mike’s voice had a hard edge. “I observed that more than one of your faithful soldiers died to save your life.” With a slight bow, he returned the fan to her.
His tone and his answer apparently displeasing her, she spun on her heel and swept down the corridor without another word, her companions following, whispering and giggling. One, more daring than the rest, peeked over her shoulder at Mike, dissolving into laughter as she skipped around the corner.
Sliding one hand up the wall to steady himself on his apparently bad knees, Saium got to his feet. “Not wise to insult the empress.”
“I might have missed something there, but I'd say she insulted me first.” Mike straightened his tunic and shrugged.
Saium studied him for a moment, then puffed his cheeks out and nodded. “Whatever my lady doesn’t tell you, outworlder, I give my word I will.” He walked in the opposite direction from the way the empress had gone and Mike hastened to catch up.
He had to be satisfied with the guardsman’s pledge because a minute later, Saium opened a hidden door and led Mike through a short corridor painted in a soothing pale green color. The ever-present Mahjundan cherindors were there, he noted with amusement, but here the predators were hidden among the pastel leaves of a fantasy jungle. Saium let Mike precede him through a door covered in a carved seashell motif, walking into an antechamber embellished with ocean scenes in pale, cool colors on the walls.
“Her Highness will be with you in a moment, Major. She asks that you be seated and wait.” Saium indicated a grouping of furniture that included a couch and two matching chairs.
Realizing he was relaxing under the influence of the soft, simple colors of the room, Mike sat as suggested. Who chose this restful color scheme? Couldn’t have been Shalira. Maybe her late mother? The garish, clashing colors and tapestries of battle scenes and monsters that crowded every available flat wall in the rest of the palace were absent here. Nor was there any heavy incense burning. The breeze brought the refreshing, light scent of flowering plants from the garden beyond a half-open door.
A faint whiff of the perfume from yesterday came to him, deliciously floral. Shalira came through the draperies across the room, dressed today in a simple lavender robe, edged in lapis with a thin ribbon of white lace at the hem. Her glorious black hair floated free, curling slightly, held from her face by a lapis-and-white ribbon edged in gold. Her only jewelry was the oval green and turquoise pendant. Pausing for a moment on the threshold to set a basket of cut flowers on a low table, she walked across the floor to him.
Startled, Mike rose, admiring her skill at creating the impression she could see her visitor. His niece at home employed the same techniques, keeping everything in fixed locations and knowing exactly the number of steps it took to move from one thing to the next, seemingly effortlessly. Wonder what the polite greeting is for a Mahjundan princess? Briefing didn’t cover the contingency. Deciding to go for polite if insipid, he said, “Your Highness appears well today.”
She extended her hands to him and he reached out to close his much larger, rougher hands over her soft ones. “Thank you for coming, Major,” she murmured in her low, musical voice as she drew him towards the pale green sofa by the window. Indicating he was to sit at one end, she curled up at the other. Kicking off a pair of high heeled sandals, she tucked her bare toes under the edge of her dress. “Would you care for a beverage? Iced rubyfruit drink, perhaps?”
He glanced at the silver tray carefully positioned on the low table beside her. Crackers and cheese were artfully arranged next to the juice pitcher and matching glasses. “Sounds refreshing, but whatever you’d like, your highness.”
She served them both, holding the glass with one f
inger tipped slightly over the edge to alert her when the proper level of liquid was poured. Despite having seen his niece manage the same task in a similar fashion, Mike was impressed. I bet Shalira had to learn these things the hard way, unlike Cheryl, who had the best therapists and teachers in Sector Ten.
Having gotten Mike to meet with her, the princess seemed unaccountably at a loss for how to begin. She sipped at her fruit drink and toyed with the hem of her gown and then her jewelry, rubbing her fingers over the whorls of the pendant in a slow circle. Mike tried to put her at ease. “I’m admiring your necklace, exquisite enamel work.”
Shalira nodded. “This was my mother’s before she died. I never take the necklace off, not even for a moment. I’ll wear it till I die.”
“Of course the sentimental value must be—”
“This is the symbol of Pavmiraia, my patron goddess,” Shalira said, holding the ornament away from her neck as far as the golden chain would allow. “And it’s a locket.” Fumbling for a moment, the princess depressed one portion of the decorative pattern and the case flicked open.
Mike leaned closer, expecting to see a portrait, perhaps of her mother, but the interior was empty, nothing but shiny polished gold reflecting the light.
Shalira laughed, the sound flat. “It’s the custom for women to hide their most cherished dream inside the locket of Pavmiraia, but I’ve had no hopes worthy of submitting to her, not since my brother died and I became blind.” She snapped the locket closed with decisive finality. “Symbolic, of course, but a nice idea.”
“The prime minister gave me a fine dagger this morning on behalf of your father, for the small service I was privileged to offer you yesterday. There’s similar enameling on the hilt.”
“It was the least he could do—the least—” Her voice trailed off. Taking another sip from the frosted glass, she held it to her temple for a moment, rolling the cool glass from side to side as if her head ached.
“Are you doing okay?” Mike asked, watching how she frowned. “Any after effects from yesterday?”
“I’m fine,” she said, sitting up straighter. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”
A little silence fell between them. Mike had the distinct impression the princess’s thoughts were elsewhere. Finally, she sighed. “At the presentation ceremony, did the minister ask if you’d be willing to ride in my caravan?”
“Ask? More of a threat.” Mike knew his frustration was showing. He sipped at the sweet drink. “Ride with you or have my own mission cancelled.”
“And you don’t sound pleased. I wish I could have made the request myself.” She nibbled on a cracker, brushing crumbs from her lap.
“Forgive me, Your Highness, but why do you want us to go with you?” He leaned forward. “I’m on an urgent mission. Your route causes me quite a delay, which I can't afford without good reason.”
“You’re searching in the mountains for a lost military ship, aren’t you? To give those who died the proper burial, set their spirits free?”
“Well, yes.” Mike was aware Command had used those terms to explain the request for access to this closed world. The Mahjundans, with their various beliefs about spirits, death, and proper conveyance to the afterlife, understood and had consented to a burial detail. Of course there’s another, more important strategic reason for me to delay my hard-earned retirement and accept this last mission. He wasn't about to explain the classified background to anyone, not even this beautiful, solemn woman whose proximity was definitely having an effect on him.
“But the dead have infinite patience, Major. Surely you can spare a few days for the living?” Leaning forward, she set her glass on the table, perilously close to the edge.
He shifted the glass to a safer location. “Your Highness—”
“You may call me Shalira, if you like.” Scooting slightly toward him, smiling, she raised her elegantly curved eyebrows. “One who has saved the life of a princess is entitled to the use of her name.”
“Thank you, I’m honored, Shalira, but—”
“Would you let the life you saved be lost so soon?” Tears shimmered in the depths of her unseeing brown eyes as she turned her face directly to him. Mike couldn't look away, even though he knew she wasn’t actually seeing him, or his reactions. He put his glass on the table too hard, cracking the base.
“There are those who don’t want me to reach my wedding. The palace rustles with rumors of plots, schemes in motion to take advantage of this final opportunity to kill me. Once I’m safe with my bridegroom-to-be, I’ll be beyond the schemers’ reach, but I have to get to him.” Shalira rubbed her elegant fingers across the pendant as if it were an amulet giving her strength. “I hope that if you ride with me, those who plan my murder will be afraid to proceed under the attention of outworlders.”
What do I say to this? He hadn’t anticipated an appeal along these dramatic lines. “Do you think the bomb yesterday was an attempt to assassinate you?”
“No, assuredly Maralika was the target.” Shalira shook her head. “The empress is pursuing a host of unpopular actions—forbidding the older forms of worship, tearing down temples, forcing the people to pay taxes to her new gods, consolidating power for herself and her son. My father is not a well man, Major. Everyone knows he doesn’t have long to live, and she plans to rule when he’s gone.”
“But there’s opposition to her?” Mike was aware there was. Planetary politics had been a prominent part of his briefing, but he was curious how much Shalira might add.
“Her son is the heir since my brother was murdered, but the throne of Mahjundar has often been claimed by bloodshed rather than by rule of law. I have to get away from here, before the emperor dies.” She laughed, the sound bitter. “Playing the Princess of Shadows won’t protect me after his death.”
“Princess of Shadows?” Nothing about that in our briefing. He remembered the empress had also used the term to refer to Shalira.
“It’s an old folktale about a girl of royal blood who hid from her enemies in the shadows of the palace walls, disguised as a beggar, until her true love rescued her.” Gesturing to her eyes, Shalira said, “It’s meant as an insult to me, since I can’t see, not even shadows, and I’ve lived the past fifteen years on the fringes of the court, out of the ‘sun.’ I’m tolerated, protected only because my mother was the emperor’s Favorite till she died. If I reach the safety of my bridegroom's people, then I’ll be safe, free of the empress’s plotting and hate. My mother’s clan is among his subjects.” Shalira blinked hard, and then her face crumpled as she wept.
Used to comforting younger sisters in distress, Mike didn't hesitate. Moving closer, he gathered her against his shoulder and let her sob without interruption for several minutes. Patting her back, he realized she was overwrought and genuinely fearful. Her apparently genuine distress pulled at his sympathies. When the wrenching sobs became small hiccups and sniffs, he reached for the lacy napkin beside the juice pitcher.
As he pushed the soft cloth into her hand, he said, “I don't know the rights and wrongs of the situation with your complicated family, but if you attach so much importance to having Johnny and me ride along for a few days, I guess I can stretch my mission schedule.” And what Johnny will say when I change our orders, I’m not going to think about. Dancing attendance—playing bodyguard—for a minor Mahjundan princess is not the way Command deploys first-tier military resources.
Wiping her eyes, she sat up, long lashes starred together from the tears. “You’ll ensure I get to my wedding alive?”
I’ve never seen such a beautiful woman before, nor one less aware of her own effect on me. Probably a good thing. He took her right hand in his. “Among my people, a bargain is sealed with a handshake. My word as an officer, I'll do my best to protect you while we ride together. Fair enough?”
She wrapped her fingers around his, clinging to his hand, bringing it to her soft cheek. “More than I’d dared to hope, Major.”
“The name is Mike.” He relea
sed the trembling fingers. “Is there anything else we should discuss? Anything you think I need to know?”
She reached for her glass, and Mike surreptitiously nudged it closer to her searching hand. “It's hard for me to talk about this.” Shalira took tiny sips of the rubyfruit juice, as if playing for time.
“If you'd rather not, I can ask Saium. Don't distress yourself.” Mike hated to see her so uncomfortable.
“Empress Maralika is sending me to my wedding with a handpicked escort of men loyal to her. The officer she put in command, Captain Vreely, is the man I’ve always believed was involved in my brother’s murder and the attack which left me blind. I’ve no actual memories of the events, only feelings and forebodings. Nightmares.” Shalira lowered her head for a minute, touching her eyelids with a delicate hand. “Any imperfection is abhorred in our society, you know. The failure of my eyes kept suitors from seeking my hand once I was of age.”
Mahjundan men are idiots—her eyes are the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. She’s one of the most gorgeous women I’ve ever met. Mike forced his thoughts away from the princess’s beauty, concentrating on the matter under discussion. “But this chieftain you’re going to marry knows you can't see?”
Shalira seemed troubled, wrinkling her brow and lowering her sightless eyes as she started worrying the fringe on the closest pillow, but all she said was, “A large dowry has been paid. He’ll keep me safe, and I’ll be happy living freely in the open forests, away from this hot, hateful city.”
Mike pondered the ramifications of what she’d shared, added to the quick overview Saium had given him in the hall. “So you've never actually met this guy?”
Bristling as if she heard unwarranted criticism in his tone, she said, “No. Why does it matter? Arranged marriages are the custom for the high-born on Mahjundar. It is how things are done.” She tilted her head, sculpted eyebrows drawn together in a frown.
“I see.” If it’s fine with her, it’s hardly my place to question the arrangement. Why do I care, anyway? But his mind had moved on to the topic of how well a palace-bred princess would fare in the wilderness with forest nomads. What is it with me and this woman? I just met her yesterday. She’s none of my concern.
Mission To Mahjundar (A Sectors SF Romance) Page 4
