Dark Star Rising

by Bennett R. Coles

  “Allow me to introduce my dear friend, Ms. Amelia Virtue.”

  Her real rank of petty officer wouldn’t serve her well in this snooty crowd, Liam had warned her earlier. Since she had no title they’d agreed it best just to keep her background mysterious.

  Brightlake swept up her free hand and kissed it, barely meeting her eye.

  “Welcome, Ms. Virtue.”

  And with that, the encounter was over. Amelia felt Liam guiding her forward to the older couple. The family resemblance to Lord Brightlake was obvious, and she guessed that she was about to meet the real lord and lady of this household. Before Liam could speak, though, the woman reached out to take his hands.

  “Liam, what a pleasure. Welcome back, my child.”

  “My lady,” he responded quickly, dropping Amelia’s hand in surprise. “Your hospitality has always been a fond memory for me.”

  The woman was smiling, but Amelia could see a glistening in her dark green eyes. She stared at Liam with a strange fondness that stretched into a long moment as she held his hands. Her skin was surprisingly pale, suggesting a heritage far out in the Halo, but Amelia was most fascinated by her hair—a waterfall of deep red curls, swept up at the sides but cascading back down around her shoulders.

  Amelia broke her stare and glanced at the gentleman she assumed was the lord of the manor, watching as his expression darkened.

  “Lord Blackwood,” he said suddenly, “welcome back to Brightlake.”

  Liam gently extricated himself from the lady and bowed. After a moment Amelia remembered to curtsey.

  “My Lord Brightlake,” Liam said, “it’s a pleasure to return to your beautiful home.”

  “And is this Lady Blackwood?” Lord Brightlake asked—rather bluntly, Amelia thought.

  “This is my dear friend,” Liam said, his hand pressing protectively against her back. “Ms. Amelia Virtue.”

  Both lord and lady regarded Amelia for a moment before Lady Brightlake brushed back a stray curl of her fiery hair and grasped Amelia’s hands.

  “Please enjoy your evening here, Ms. Virtue.”

  “Thank you, my lady,” Amelia said automatically.

  Then Liam guided her forward again and they passed through a hallway toward another open space.

  “Are receiving lines always like that?” she whispered.

  “They can be a roll of the dice,” he admitted. “Depending on how much the hosts have had to drink.”

  “I gather they know you well . . .”

  “I knew their son, whom we met first, and their daughter, when I was younger.” Liam grinned down at her. “Perhaps the lord and lady are remembering my youthful exuberance.”

  “Yeah . . . what’s the tragedy surrounding their daughter?”

  “Well,” Liam paused, still leading her forward down the hallway. “It’s a sad story, certainly.”

  Amelia was about to query further, but all thoughts of past intrigues were forgotten as they stepped into the ballroom. Her jaw dropped, and she actually stopped in midstride.

  The ballroom was the largest enclosed space she’d ever seen. Delicate stone pillars towered up to a fan-vaulted ceiling, and between the pillars magnificent glass windows created a transparent wall through which she suddenly saw the reason for this estate’s name. Manicured green lawns stretched down to the shore of a lake so smooth that only the faintest of ripples made the reflected stars dance and sparkle. The lake was small enough that she could see to the far shore, and jagged, rocky peaks ringed the water like a bowl of stardust.

  Amelia tried to speak, but nothing more than a faint gasp escaped her lips as she stared outward. Finally, she felt a finger press against her chin, and she looked up in wonder at Liam.

  “I didn’t know such a beautiful place existed in the whole galaxy.”

  He nodded, his eyes strangely distant. Then he focused anew on her, the affection in his eyes warming her heart. He leaned in and kissed her, swiftly but firmly, then took her hand and led her forward to the curving stone steps that led down to the main floor of the ballroom.

  “What is it with these blasted steps,” she said with a grin, forcing her eyes down from the beauty around her to ensure she didn’t embarrass herself.

  Long tables were set up along the opposite wall from the view, coverings hiding what she assumed was food. A servant approached them with a tray of glasses, and she gladly accepted one, recognizing the golden color and bubbles of champagne.

  “I’m going to need a few of these,” she said, toasting Liam, “if you want to get me out dancing.”

  “Then I’ll keep them coming,” he replied.

  Swift and Templegrey were nearby, she noticed, in polite conversation with another couple. Riverton was engaged in a discussion with a civilian gentleman near the food tables. Dozens of other guests moved about, clusters of conversations ebbing and flowing. Most people favored the edges of the ballroom, leaving the central dance floor mostly empty.

  “So what now?” she asked. “Do we . . . mingle?”

  “First we drink a bit more, and let the other guests get settled in. We stay close to the captain and ensure she doesn’t get bogged down. The servants will keep the drinks coming—making small talk with strangers is much easier when everyone is tipsy.”

  “Ava doesn’t seem to have a problem.” Amelia admired Templegrey’s ability to engage with anyone, from any background, with a smooth sincerity that could win over even the most jaded sailor. It served her well as the ship’s doctor—sailors were actually more inclined to follow her advice—but no doubt it was a skill she’d honed at events just like this one. Already a cluster was forming around her and Swift, and the propulsion officer was doing little more than sip at his drink.

  “I think she’s drawing extra attention with her new Imperial gown,” Liam opined.

  “It’s gorgeous,” Amelia agreed.

  “But it’s more than that. She and the captain each spent a fortune to have those gowns made. See how the colors blend into each other so subtly, and how they mirror the colors of Swift’s uniform? The Imperial gown was first created for a princess who insisted on serving in the Navy but hated having to wear our standard dress uniform to balls. So she created her own version.”

  “As princesses do, I suppose.”

  “Yes. But they’re optional for female officers—the first time I met the captain she was wearing a uniform almost identical to mine—and only the wealthiest of noble officers take on the expense.” He glanced down at her in emphasis. “Both Lady Riverton and Lady Templegrey are making a statement here by wearing Imperial gowns, that they are not to be dismissed lightly.”

  “They make a statement simply by the outfit they wear?”

  “Of course. Nobles rarely communicate with words—we have an entire language embedded in our expressions, in where we choose to show up, in whom we choose to speak to, and yes, in our outfits.”

  Amelia thought back to her years in the taverns and the nightly insults and arguments hurled between tables.

  “So if you don’t like someone you don’t say it with words?”

  “Never. Or at least not unless you want to offer the gravest insult imaginable.”

  “How about me getting drunk and punching someone in the face? That’s not using words.”

  “It would send a very strong statement, darling.”

  She burst out laughing and drained her glass. “Get me another one of these, would you?”

  Liam gestured for a servant to approach. He downed his own glass and traded for two more.

  “It’s one of the things I adore about you, Amelia,” he said. “You always speak your mind. It’s refreshing after so many years of courtly scheming and doublespeak. I could quite honestly leave all this nonsense behind.”

  “Is that why the captain’s so tight-lipped and unreadable? Because she’s trained in your noble ways?”

  “Yes. And she’s trained as a diplomat.”

  “But why is Ava so sincere? Is she breaking p
rotocol?”

  “She isn’t sincere,” Liam said flatly. “It’s her chosen persona. As an unmarried noblewoman, she only has a few choices. Most noblewomen like her affect an aloof, icy persona that makes them mysterious and keeps most suitors at a distance. Ava, thankfully, has chosen the opposite persona and charms everyone she meets. It makes her much more pleasant to have aboard ship.”

  Amelia turned her attention to her shipmate in the gorgeous Imperial gown, practically surrounded by men and women who seemed to hang on her every word. She loved having Ava in the wardroom, loved her bubbly personality. Was it all just a well-practiced noble pretense?

  “I have a lot to learn,” she decided.

  “No you don’t,” Liam said as he slipped an arm around her waist. “They have a lot to learn from you.”

  As more guests filtered into the ballroom and empty space became rarer, Amelia and Liam moved closer to Riverton, watching as she casually edged herself closer to her contact, an elderly noblewoman who sat serenely at the edge of the room.

  “Why doesn’t the captain just walk up and talk to her?” Amelia whispered.

  “It would be too obvious,” Liam replied. “Lady Riverton has to give the appearance of moving through the room without intent or priority.”

  As more guests closed in, Amelia wrapped her hand around Liam’s arm as they glided through spontaneous conversation clusters that came and went. Liam slipped into his own persona, charming everyone with a quick wit and ready compliments. Amelia noticed that as soon as she was introduced as “Ms. Virtue” she was mostly ignored, and listening to the mindless conversations she soon began to appreciate that. How Liam was able to maintain such a vapid level of engagement was beyond her. As long as the drinks kept coming, though, she was fine.

  The younger Lord Brightlake was also moving through the crowd, Amelia noticed, and after a few minutes she realized that he was vectoring for Riverton. The captain was only a single cluster away from her contact.

  “Liam,” she whispered, pulling him down, “the captain needs cover.”

  Liam glanced up, his gaze assessing what Amelia could only think of as the “tactical” situation, then he leaned in.

  “Whisper to me again,” he muttered, “but more forcefully.”

  “We have to move,” she practically hissed.

  His face melted into the most patronizing smile she’d ever seen, and he raised his eyes to glance apologetically at the lords around them. He patted her arm indulgently, then pulled her gently forward.

  “Excuse us, my lords,” he offered, even tossing an eye-roll that she saw the lords around her reflect back.

  It would have been humiliating, if it wasn’t all a complete act.

  “Stars,” she muttered to him as they cleared to a few paces of open space, hugging his arm, “you can be a dandy when you try.”

  “Thank you, darling.”

  The younger Brightlake was just extricating himself from a cluster of guests, eyes on Riverton, when Liam and Amelia stepped into his way.

  “My lord,” Liam announced, “it’s so good to be in your beautiful home again. Thank you so much for having us.”

  Brightlake couldn’t ignore such a public compliment, Amelia supposed, and he stopped in his tracks to stare at Liam. But the hostly smile was quick to appear and he again clasped Liam’s forearm as he had in the receiving line.

  “It really has been too long, Liam,” he said. “If only we could get the boats out on the lake this evening, eh?”

  Liam patted Brightlake’s arm. “Do you still have the strength for a race? I’m not sure the years have been as kind to me.”

  Amelia joined the round of laughter, watching as Riverton took the final steps and curtseyed before the elderly lady. The seated noblewoman dismissed her entourage as Riverton leaned in.

  “I’d offer a tour through the gardens,” Brightlake said, “but the chill is still in the air.”

  Amelia didn’t recall it being cold outside, but Liam nodded in apparent understanding. “I do fondly remember the maze in our youth—shame it was taken away.”

  “Quite,” Brightlake said, voice suddenly husky. He and Liam looked at each other in silence for a long moment, then his expression lit up. “But if we can’t escape to the boathouse like in the old days, perhaps we could arrange for a hunting trip?”

  Liam responded with a joke about someone Amelia had never heard of. The two men droned on, the chatter about this season and that region going completely over her head. Then Lord Brightlake made a comment about not being able to secure the latest rifles, and Amelia sensed Liam stiffen beside her. The conversation continued in an easy back and forth, but she noticed that both men were suddenly serious. The topic never wavered from hunting, including fond reminiscences of hunting trips they’d done in their youth, but Lord Brightlake’s expression hardened. He eventually stepped back, his face melting into a perfect smile. He wished them a good evening and departed.

  Liam sipped thoughtfully at his drink.

  “What just happened?” she demanded.

  “Hmm?”

  “Don’t play dumb with me, Lord Blackwood. I didn’t understand a word of that, but even I can tell you had an entire conversation underneath what was said.”

  “Well . . .” he said thoughtfully, “the first part of the conversation was about Lord Brightlake’s late sister. I expressed my sympathy again at the family’s loss, and he suggested that I not mention it to his father.”

  “His sister died?” Even in her own ears, the bluntness of her words was like a wrecking ball smashing through the doublespeak.

  Liam’s lips pursed in sudden emotion, his gaze at her almost a glare.

  “Yes, Lady Zara perished in a solar storm. It was many years ago, but I fear it still weighs heavily on her family.”

  There was something more that he wasn’t saying, she could tell, and part of her knew just to drop it. But the words flew from her lips anyway.

  “And all that talk of hunting? Are you and Lord Brightlake planning to hunt down that solar storm?”

  “Not at all.” He smiled sadly. “The rest of the conversation was on a different topic. Lord Brightlake asked me for money. I declined.”

  “For money?” She looked around at their stunning environment. “This isn’t enough?”

  “This isn’t money, Amelia.” His eyes cast around the cavernous room, at the line of food and drink, at the lake outside. “This is expense.”

  She frowned at that. Obviously this all cost money to maintain, but surely that was just part of being a noble. They swam in money, didn’t they?

  “You said no,” she commented.

  “I did. For starters there’s no way I, or my entire family, have the sort of cash they no doubt need, and . . .” He frowned, considering his next words carefully. “Even if I did, I’m not so inclined to help them.”

  “Why not? I thought you were old friends.”

  “Things are rarely as they seem in this world, darling.”

  “Do tell.”

  He stared at her, considering. Then, finally, he sighed.

  “There was once talk that Lady Zara and I might be wed. Obviously it didn’t happen, but my relationship to the Brightlake family is . . . complex.”

  “Why didn’t you marry her?”

  He didn’t meet her eye, obviously composing himself.

  Shut up, Amelia, she told herself firmly.

  He glanced over to where Riverton was still sitting with her contact, then tilted his head as music swelled in the room. “A discussion for another time, please. I promised you a dance, and the dancing is about to begin.”

  She looked toward the center of the ballroom and saw men and women lining up across from each other. Suddenly wishing she’d had a few more drinks, she took his hand.

  “Can we watch the first one?” she asked.

  “Certainly. This is a group dance, anyway. Let’s wait until they announce one for couples.”

  A distinct edge was forming
between the crowd of onlookers and the open dance floor. Amelia spotted Templegrey in the line and noticed Swift, carrying a plate crowded with bite-sized delicacies and ambling over to join them in the crowd.

  “Not dancing with your date?” she asked him.

  “Like I said, I’m just here for the food.” He offered the plate to Amelia.

  She glanced around, noting that no one else nearby was eating. But the smells were making her stomach growl, and she grabbed a thick cracker covered in some dark paste. She took a tiny bite, savoring the exquisite taste of the mystery topping.

  “Good, isn’t it?” Swift said, helping himself to another selection. “You should try these ones.”

  Amelia popped the rest of the cracker into her mouth and took one of the recommended tidbits from Swift’s side of the plate. It might have been some kind of fish?

  “What is it?” she asked as she chewed.

  “I don’t know. But it’s tasty, and I haven’t thrown up yet.”

  “Good enough for me,” she laughed, slipping the whole thing into her mouth. It had a rich, silky texture, and was definitely fishy.

  Out on the dance floor, the overture ended and the dance officially began. Amelia focused on Templegrey, watching how she moved through the steps, from partner to partner in a smooth choreography.

  “Stars, Ava’s elegant,” she muttered to Swift. “I’m sure she’s the most popular woman here.”

  “She does her best,” Swift agreed, “but that yellow hair doesn’t help.”

  Amelia thought Ava had beautiful hair but glancing around she suddenly realized that she couldn’t spot another blonde anywhere in the room.

  “Do they not have blondes in Cornucopia?”

  “Probably,” he answered, “but any noblewoman would dye it dark. Ava likely doesn’t because she’s aboard ship most of the time. None of us care, but in this crowd it marks her as Halo even more than her pale skin.”

  “Is being from the Halo bad?”

  Swift shrugged. “It’s farther from Homeworld, and that apparently means something to these folks. At least Lady Brightlake’s red hair adds a different color to the room—I’m sure that makes it acceptable.”