Dark Star Rising

by Bennett R. Coles

  “How dare you . . .”

  “So is this why Ava’s here, on this ship? To test for suitability?”

  “Enough!”

  His voice was deafening in the cabin. He sat ramrod straight, one hand gripping the edge of the bunk as the other looked ready to crush the wooden box.

  Finally, he stood, barely even looking at her.

  “Get out of my cabin,” he said simply.

  Amelia closed her eyes to stop the tears. She blinked them away as she rose from the chair and headed for the door, her heart pounding. Her stomach churned as she stepped out into the passageway, and she fought the urge to vomit right there on the deck. She managed to get to the ladder and descend toward her own cabin.

  Why did she say that? How had this entire situation gotten so quickly out of control? What was wrong with her?

  “Darling,” a familiar female voice said behind her, “is everything all right?”

  She spun around and saw Templegrey just emerging from sickbay. She was wearing her duty uniform, her hair tucked neatly up in an efficient style that no doubt made her job easier. But also somehow looked fabulous as it showed off her elegant neck.

  “No,” Amelia said, stepping forward. “Everything is not all right, darling.”

  An arched eyebrow was Templegrey’s only visible reaction to the spat salutation, but she stepped back into sickbay and motioned for Amelia to follow.

  “Let’s talk about it, then, Petty Officer Virtue.”

  Amelia followed her through, shutting the door behind her. Sickbay was deserted, the six bunks empty of patients and none of the medical assistants around. Templegrey moved to the center of the room, casting an assessing eye over Amelia.

  “You look very upset,” she said carefully. “Do you want to tell me why?”

  They were just all so polite, these nobles, Amelia thought, trying to keep her anger going but unable to find the strength. They were all trained from birth to deal with people like her, and she didn’t stand a chance in their world.

  “I guess,” she said finally, “that I just want to be heard. Maybe I can’t stop the process of arranged noble marriages from rolling forward, but I don’t like it at all.”

  Templegrey’s expression furrowed. “I don’t like it, either. But why is this so vexing to you?”

  “If you and Liam are going to be married off, just tell me now. And I’ll be on my way.”

  “What?” Templegrey’s shocked voice rang through sickbay. She stared at Amelia for a long moment. “I’m not marrying Liam. Where did you get that idea?”

  “I don’t know how your rituals work, but I see how you can’t keep your hands off him, and how you flirt with him. I could see it in how you danced together at the Brightlakes’, and who knows what happened last night?”

  Templegrey folded her arms, her expression revealing neither the defensiveness nor the aggression Amelia expected. Instead, she looked truly perplexed.

  “I danced with him,” she said eventually, “because you wouldn’t. I looked like I was enjoying it because that’s how one dances. As for last night, we both spent our entire time talking to drunken toffs and floozies to gain information about Dark Star’s activities. Quite frankly, I would have enjoyed some dancing, and I asked Liam several times, but he refused.”

  “He refused to dance?”

  “Yes, told me he was spoken for. So we kept up our dreary work of chitchat. It was exhausting and I was glad to get to my bunk.” She pointed toward her workstation. “I’ve been writing my report this morning, if you want to review it.”

  Liam hadn’t danced with Ava, Amelia realized, entirely because she’d asked him not to. Her heart at once soared at the thought and sank as she realized just how much trouble she’d caused.

  “I’m a fool,” she said, tears welling up anew as she stepped forward and grasped Templegrey in a hug. “I’m so sorry.”

  The doctor’s arms wrapped around her, holding her close for a long moment. “What did you think happened?”

  Amelia stepped back, wiping her eyes. “I thought you two were becoming an item. And then I thought that maybe you were being arranged to marry each other.”

  “I see,” Templegrey said, allowing a small smile. “I can assure you that the Blackwood family is neither wealthy enough nor prestigious enough for my family to bother with. And I personally have no interest in Subcommander Blackwood romantically.”

  “Really? But all the flirting . . .”

  “A game we nobles play as part of the courtly dance,” Templegrey said, folding her arms and looking directly at Amelia. “Let me offer you another assurance. If ever I was intent on breaking up your relationship with Liam, he’d be the one left out in the cold.”

  Amelia didn’t quite catch the meaning for a second. Until she recognized the way Templegrey was looking at her—it was the way men looked at her.

  “Oh . . . I didn’t know.”

  “I guess I enjoy flirting with you, too,” she said with an elegant shrug. “But I mean nothing by it and if you knew my preferences you might have felt awkward. Trust me, you and Liam can both rest easy in your relationship.”

  “But you’ll marry a man someday, won’t you?” Amelia cursed herself inwardly as soon as the words blurted forth.

  “Yes,” Templegrey sighed, “for dynastic reasons. With luck my family will choose a nice gentleman who prefers the company of gentlemen.”

  Amelia just wanted to melt away in a puddle of shame. In the space of twenty minutes she’d managed to insult two of the finest people she’d ever met and make a fool of herself.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said. Then added, “I suck.”

  Templegrey laughed, but she didn’t move in with her typical hand to Amelia’s arm. She stayed back, her arms crossed.

  “Most of us would say something more pompous like, ‘Oh, what poor judgment I have displayed.’ . . . You have a much better way with words.”

  A laugh escaped Amelia’s lips, a release of emotion that was quickly replaced by a new feeling of nausea. Because Lady Templegrey was hardly the most injured party this morning.

  “I have to head up top,” she said, turning toward the door. “And perhaps display some better judgment this time.”

  She flew up the ladders once again, but whereas her heart had burned on her last ascent, now it constricted in a vise. She reached the quarterdeck, padding aft to the cabin door on the port side. She paused for a moment, catching her breath, then knocked. At the sound of Liam’s voice, she turned the latch and opened the door slowly.

  He looked up from his chair, his expression descending into a neutral mask.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “May I please come in?”

  He’d resumed his seated position with his feet up on the desk, and the wooden box was once again in his lap. He set it aside and rose to his feet.

  “Of course.” He shifted the chair for her and sat back on his bunk.

  She sat immediately, leaning forward and clasping her hands together.

  “Liam,” she began, not even giving him a chance to speak, “I’m so sorry for what I said. For everything I said. I’ve been unfair, and I know that everything I accused you of was unfounded. Can you please forgive me?”

  He looked back at her in silence for a long moment but feeling returned to his expression.

  “You are a tempest, Amelia,” he said, “and I don’t always know how to react.”

  “That makes two of us,” she said. “I want to be with you . . . but your world of nobility still confuses me. I thought it would be wonderful to go to a grand ball, but I feel like we’ve had nothing but trouble since.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I guess because I worry that I don’t speak the right way, and I can’t dance the right way, and I can’t do doublespeak the right way . . .”

  “Those are your best qualities. Please don’t ever lose them.”

  She looked up from her hands and saw the affection in his eyes once again.


  “And I say careless, thoughtless things sometimes.”

  “I forgive you,” he said, reaching out both hands to take hers. “I can see how Lady Templegrey might be intimidating, but I swear to you there is nothing going on between us and there never will be. She’s a valuable member of my crew, but nothing more.”

  “I know.”

  He released her and reached for the wooden box. “But you asked me a fair question about arranged marriages.”

  “You don’t need to explain anything,” she said quickly.

  “No, I think I do. It makes sense that you would be worried about us, and the possibility of me being stolen away for dynastic reasons.”

  Sudden fear at the thought clutched her heart. “Is that diamond star a betrothal gift?”

  He held it between them, the broach sparkling warmly in the lamplight. When he didn’t answer her question right away, she looked up sharply. His expression was clouded with sadness.

  “No,” he answered. “But it might have been.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This gift just arrived from Lady Brightlake, the older woman you met, whose husband was killed in front of us. She is now the dowager, watching helplessly as her son oversees the dismantling of their estate to Silverhawk.”

  “She seemed to think very highly of you when we met.”

  “She didn’t always, but I think I remind her of happier times. Which is why she sent me this.”

  “It looks like a star reflecting off their lake.”

  “Yes, and it belonged to their daughter, Lady Zara.”

  “Oh.” Amelia’s heart sank. The ghost from Liam’s past was here for good, apparently.

  “Were you and Zara arranged to be married?”

  “No,” he said flatly, still staring down.

  She started in surprise.

  Then he slowly straightened and looked up at her. “Zara and I were in love, and we wanted to marry . . . but dynasty was considered more important than the feelings of a pair of silly youths, and the Brightlakes arranged for her to marry into one of the inner houses, to one Lord Fairfield. The Brightlakes built a powerful alliance, increased their wealth, and gained new status. And doomed their daughter to a life of noble servitude to a wretch of a man—a man who would make Silverhawk look like the paragon of honor.”

  “I can see why you all talked about her as a tragic figure. I guess arranged marriages are usually less wretched?”

  “No, wretched marriages are all too common. But this one’s tragic for what happened later, when she and her husband were sailing back from a visit to Cornucopia and their ship was destroyed in a storm. All lives were lost.” He sighed. “In his letter to me, telling me of the news, her brother admitted that Zara had begged her father to release her from the marriage, to save her from her husband’s depredations. But he refused and sent her back. He killed her—had the storm not taken her life, the arranged marriage would have taken her soul.”

  Liam looked down at the star again.

  “This was her broach, given to her as a child by her parents. It was left behind by accident before that final voyage. I get the feeling Zara’s mother has kept it close ever since. In her letter”—he flicked at a parchment on his desk—“she said that since it can’t stay with her family I was the best person to have it.”

  “A noble gesture,” Amelia whispered.

  “Just fifteen years too late,” Liam snapped.

  He closed his eyes, his expression softening, and when he opened them again his eyes were filled with affection.

  “I tell you all this, just to try and explain why I have no time for arranged marriages. I’ve told my own family that if they ever try to force me into one, I’ll exile myself. And if they were to hunt me down, I’d kill myself. I will marry whenever—and whomever—I choose.”

  Amelia took the box gently from his hands and placed it on the desk. Perhaps it was time to exorcise this ghost.

  “I understand now why you never told me about this.” She sighed. “I hope that fifteen years is enough for your heart to mend.”

  “My heart had turned to stone,” he admitted, before taking her hands anew. “Until a certain young quartermaster came into my life. A fearless, vivacious, beautiful, and kind woman who taught me how to fall in love again.”

  “You forgot jealous and tempestuous,” she said with a sheepish grin, moving closer to him.

  “They match my obtuseness and smug superiority,” he countered. “Nobody’s perfect.”

  Before she could reply his lips pressed against hers, and any further discussion was forgotten.

  Chapter 8

  Sometimes it was hard to play the loyal cargo master to Liam’s foppish merchant captain, Amelia thought as she walked at his side down the promenade of Windfall Station. All she wanted to do was hold his hand, but even such a simple gesture would betray their long-cultivated personas as civilian merchants.

  “Do you think,” she said suddenly, “that when we develop our next set of secret identities, we could do something that lets me kiss you in public?”

  “Oh,” he said with a raised eyebrow. “That suggests some interesting possibilities . . . a sly seductress, perhaps?”

  She scoffed and gave him a long look up and down.

  “I was thinking I could be an outlander chieftain, with you looming at my side . . . in a loincloth.”

  “What?”

  She couldn’t contain her laughter, both at the image in her mind and the genuinely shocked expression on his face. She tried to fight it down to a giggle.

  “Please be serious,” he said with a sigh. “I need to grill Mr. Long pretty hard today.”

  “Yes, milord.”

  His face melted into a noble sneer and he nodded to her.

  It was all part of the game they played, and as the familiar façade of the Cup of Plenty came into view she suppressed a new smile. All this cloak and dagger was rather fun.

  “Do you want me to order some more coffee for the ship, milord?” she asked him.

  “Morale definitely improved when you brought back the previous batch,” he mused. “Maybe double the portion this time, if they can spare it.”

  “I’ll be their favorite Human, for sure.”

  “I think you’ll always be Matthew Long’s favorite Human,” he said.

  She cast him a withering glance. “Jealous, milord?”

  “Terribly.” His humor faded into sincerity. “But thank you for putting up with him—he’s useful to us.”

  “I know. Just treat me to a private dinner at our next port visit to make it up to me.”

  “Let’s hope he has some more odd cargos for you to track down. Just a few more and I think we’ll be able to triangulate our target.”

  “I’ll stop in on my new friend Mary again. Tell her about the failed Storm Wind rescue, and that I’m still hiding out in Sophia’s Fancy. Then try to get some real info out of her.”

  “Agreed.” Liam paused, casting a casual glance around the busy street. “Let her know that Sophia’s Fancy is loading up something valuable and recommend another pirate strike. It’s probably time to retire this identity, so we’ll be free to fight any pirates openly. We need to speed things up: pressure’s on now that Silverhawk has entered the game.”

  “Yes, milord.”

  The patio had a scattering of patrons, perhaps a few less than normal considering the bustling street just beyond the café’s gates. Amelia didn’t spot any familiar faces, but the population of Windfall was big enough and transient enough that she wasn’t surprised. Anonymity was their greatest ally in this game, and hardly a glance shifted among the patio patrons as she and Liam strode through. Everyone was just going about their business.

  The sweet calm of the café interior was like an old friend and Amelia savored a deep breath as she scanned the long tables and arranged pastries at the far end. But she sensed Liam slow beside her, and she took another look around. Their contact, Matthew Long, was seated in his regular s
pot to the left. But otherwise there were no patrons.

  “Quiet today,” she commented quietly. “I mean, even more than usual.”

  “Maybe they upped the prices,” Liam replied.

  Long struggled from his chair as they approached.

  “Good day, Mr. Long,” Liam said. “I hope the day sees you well.”

  “Well enough.” Long stared at Amelia with unusual intensity as she went to sit down next to Liam. “Forgive me, my lord, but our discussion today would be best kept between just the two of us.”

  Amelia paused, glancing at Liam. He considered for a moment, then gave an elaborate shrug.

  “Give us a few moments, would you, Amelia?” His tone was light, but the sharp look in his eyes told her that his tension level had just risen.

  “Of course, milord,” she said casually, moving to stand clear.

  Habit steered her toward the table of pastries, and out of the corner of her eye she spotted the unmistakable form of Bella emerging from the kitchen. The Theropod strode over in her lowered walking stance, then lifted her head as she reached Amelia.

  “Welcome back, Amelia,” her translator said over her growls, “it is nice to see you again.”

  “Hi, Bella.” It took a moment for her to register exactly what she’d heard. “Your translator has learned my name!”

  “I had to train it a bit,” she said with a soft bark. “It still struggles with your version of my name. It needs to hear it a few more times.”

  Amelia leaned in toward the device hanging from the S-curved neck. “Bella, Bella, Bella, Bella, Bella . . .”

  A tiny clawed hand shooed her away amid another bark. Amelia straightened and saw Bella’s nose pointed right at her, both of the Theropod’s vertically slit eyes focused on her.

  “You are a very nice person,” she said, adjusting her translator so the volume dropped. “You have been kind to us.”

  “I’m happy to do so.”

  “And so I wish to be kind to you.” Bella’s head moved forward as her neck straightened. “There are bad people looking for your captain. It is not safe here for you.”

  “Do you know why?”