Survive

by Vera Nazarian

  “Imperial Lady Gwen,” Kateb says with a courtly nod of greeting. “My apologies, there was no opportunity to do this sooner, but permit me to introduce my wife, Yeraz Nuletat.”

  “I am so glad to meet you at last, Imperial Lady Gwen. Thank you for working so well with my Kateb in the Games—my gratitude to you is boundless, and it is yours, always,” Yeraz tells me, stepping closer yet, and giving me a similar courtly nod. Up-close she is lovely, with softly expressive eyes full of kindness, and I can see why Kateb is so much in love.

  “So great to meet you at last. I’ve heard so much about you,” I say warmly, then simply reach out and give her a hug.

  I don’t think Yeraz expected this of me. Now her already luminous expression lights up even more.

  “Hey, Lark!” Brie is back, suddenly inserting herself in the middle of our friendly contact, pushing past the Nuletats with only a brusque “Sorry, Inventor and Inventor-babe. . . .”

  “What?” I say, annoyed at her rudeness.

  Brie gives me a mocking look. “So, yeah . . . I’m about to head out, and Sangre is chomping at the bit to be out of here, so just wanted to let you know we’re going—”

  I glance around momentarily and see that Logan is way, way behind her, close to the door, watching us with a typical cool, guarded look that he usually exhibits in public—or at least has been, ever since we arrived in Atlantis. Meeting my gaze, he gives me a polite nod.

  “What’s he doing here anyway?” I blurt, my curiosity getting the best of me. “Is he still supervising you? I thought that you’re officially free and out of Correctional? Or is that still being arranged?”

  “Oh, I’m free as a bird.” Brie snorts and glances back at Logan and gives him a lingering look, then turns back to me. “He’s here because I told him to be here. You see, for the next three Atlantean months, Mr. Sangria-on-Ice has to do whatever I tell him to do. It’s one of my official Champion wishes. . . . Ah, such sweet, sweet revenge.”

  “Oh, no. . . .” I open my mouth, at a loss for words. And then I mumble, “How awful.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m torturing him far less than he tortured me.”

  “What? He tortured you?” My mouth falls open again.

  Brie laughs. “Only with his endless yakking interrogation. No pliers or tooth-pulling involved. Some sensory deprivation, then sensory assault, and crappy food. . . . But mostly a whole lot of words, words, words.”

  She pauses, taking in a deep breath, and just for a moment I see her expression flicker with hidden intensity, then a semblance of casual sarcasm returns. “So now, Lark, I’m giving him a little taste of his own medicine. I talk and talk at him, and make him do stupid crap for me—run errands and pick things up, and drive me places. He even gets to serve me food, if I order him to do it. Every day for three months he has to show up at my own apartment in the morning and can only leave at night when I let him. I’m thinking I’ll make him sleep on the floor outside my bedroom like a dog, starting tomorrow.”

  I frown. “Brie, no, you can’t! You don’t mean that. Please don’t do that to him, please—”

  “He deserves far worse.”

  “Oh, come on!” Now I’m agitated, glancing back at Logan again, then back at Brie. “You can’t treat him like that. You know what he did was nothing personal. It was his job to interrogate you. I’m not justifying anything, but you were locked up for a reason, and he was your handler. . . . If you do this, you know he’s never going to forgive you. And he’s never going to forget that kind of thing—”

  “Oh, I’m counting on it.” Brie raises one brow mockingly, then says, “See you around, Princess. I promise, your ex-loverboy will be just fine—in three months. Call me, ciao!” And she shapes her lips into a smooch, then turns around and pushes her way back to the door. “Bye, Kokayi and Kokayi-Mamai!” she yells, just before disappearing, with Logan ahead of her, through the narrow exit.

  “What a beyotch,” Dawn says, shaking her head, while Kateb and Yeraz observe the whole thing with curiosity. “But at least she’s your beyotch. Sort of. Go, Team Lark.”

  A few minutes later, I say goodbye to Kokayi and the others, promising to keep in touch, and exchanging contact information. “As soon as I am able to confirm the protocol of how it works, I’ll invite you all to the Imperial Wedding,” I say to them. “Will get to see you then!”

  “Oh, amrevet, you’ll get to see us—and we’ll see you, and each other—much sooner than that,” Kokayi tells me with a lighthearted chuckle. “The Champions of the Games get invited to so many public events as a group that in the next few weeks we’re going to be sick of each other’s company.”

  “Woe to us. Such are the interminable burdens of being a Champion,” Rurim Kiv says with a straight face.

  “So, why did you do it? What’s your story anyway?” Kokayi says, with an exaggerated coquettish glance at Rurim, lowering his gilded eyelashes.

  “Eventually you will find out,” Rurim replies. “But not today.” And with a mocking nod to all of us he heads for the door.

  On that note, it’s our time to head out too.

  Outside, the street party is still going. However, I notice that the godateti are now filled with the locals and are being dismantled into pieces before our eyes. Kids and adults scavenge for fallen iretar on the ground, while more people grab the remaining stuff in the baskets on top of the platforms, then the baskets themselves.

  Everything is disappearing, and it’s a wonder our hover vehicles are not taken apart.

  Anu grumbles, then makes a scary deep roar to shoo away several urchins caught trying to pry open the secure car doors. He guffaws crudely, watching them scamper away.

  We get in the cars, and Laronda gives Anu a look of disgust as she takes the seat next to me . . . which happens to be directly behind Anu’s seat. She begins drumming her fingers against his headrest—which he pointedly ignores. Meanwhile, Tuar is once again in the front, and Dawn gets to sit alone on the seat behind us, yawning tiredly.

  “Let’s go home,” I say, yawning also, because it’s catching, and it’s been a long afternoon.

  Anu lifts us off, rising past the low buildings and the wild tangle of ropes, leaving Sky Tangle City far behind.

  When we arrive at the Imperial Palace, I discover that Aeson has been waiting for me anxiously, hardly able to concentrate on his work. He stands up as soon as I enter the room, ignoring my companions, and focuses on me with a tense look. “Ah, you’re finally back. How was it?”

  “I’m okay, everything was fine!” I hurry to reassure him, then tell him what happened.

  When I’m finished, Aeson looks up at Tuar with approval, then glances at Anu. “Well done,” he says. “I am pleased with how you handled her protective detail.”

  “Thank you, My Imperial Lord.” Tuar nods curtly.

  “As of now, you may consider your position secure, Momet.” Aeson adds. “Return tomorrow. You are being officially added to the security rotation schedule.”

  With a pleased expression and another nod, this time to both of us, Tuar Momet leaves for the day.

  “We should be going too,” Laronda says to me with a pat on my arm. “I need to return that shuttle before they give me demerits.”

  “Super fun afternoon,” Dawn says. “Thanks for inviting us. I admit, I had tons of fun.”

  “Let’s do it again.” I smile at my friends. “This time, without a Parade. And with a little less drama.”

  “Yeah, we don’t need no stinking Parade to go out on the town,” Laronda says.

  Over at his desk, Anu makes an incomprehensible grumbling sound, so that Gennio looks at him with a frown.

  “What?” Laronda throws a narrowed glance at Anu.

  “Nothing,” Anu replies. “Wasn’t talking to you.”

  “Then stop making swamp creature noises.”

  And on that note—while Anu stares at her with his mouth stuck open somewhere between a sneer and a retort—Laronda heads for the door, wit
h Dawn closely following her, giving me one final amused eyeroll.

  Aeson watches all of us with a curious, also amused expression.

  Later that evening, Aeson and I enjoy a leisurely niktos meal with just the two of us. It’s filled with rambling conversation about Kokayi and his mother, the others, Champion wishes in general, and what poverty I’ve seen in Themisera. We also talk about what’s been happening in my absence—namely, the incorporeal moon situation and the ongoing investigation of the strange “ships” discovered on its surface.

  According to Aeson, the nature of those ship-like objects is still inconclusive and being investigated by the SPC, so no real news there. Similarly, not a peep from his Imperial Father on the subject of the broadcasting ancient ark-ship. It’s almost as if the Imperator has resigned himself to that continuing situation in the face of a potentially greater problem, the mysterious moon.

  And then, out of the blue, Aeson tells me that we’ve been scheduled to do several official media interviews as a couple.

  “Okay. . . . When?” I ask, curling up against his chest as we relax on the sofa.

  “Tomorrow, unfortunately.” Aeson lets go of me with one hand to check his wrist comm. “We have Hel-Ra in the morning at ninth hour of Ra, followed by Grail Games Daily with Tiago at first hour of Khe, then Winning the Grail with Buhaat Hippeis at fifth hour of Khe. Then, at eighth hour of Khe, they’ve squeezed in all the minor feeds—six networks and ten different shows—into a single evening event, basically a small press conference where they’re allowed to ask us only one question each.”

  “All on the same day?” I shudder. “Were you going to tell me about any of this earlier?”

  “Palace scheduling finalized it only now. They like to structure these things as closely together as possible to minimize the Imperial time spent on media nonsense,” he says, returning his hand to play against my cheek, then stroking my throat, and sending sweet currents of energy throughout me.

  “I hate Palace scheduling,” I mumble, leaning into his touch. “Whatever Palace scheduling is. . . .”

  He chuckles.

  “Evil, evil Palace scheduling,” I continue.

  “At least it’s all going to be held here, and not at their various studios across town,” he says. “You can thank Palace scheduling for that, too.”

  “Okay, in that case, I love Palace scheduling.” I giggle.

  And then it occurs to me—with all these media events, what am I supposed to say? What’s the protocol for that kind of thing? Will they mostly ask questions about the two of us as the Imperial Couple, or about the Games, or both?

  “Ah, im amrevu . . . at this point it doesn’t matter how you reply. Just be yourself,” Aeson whispers just above my ear, inhaling deeply, apparently engrossed in the scent of my hair.

  Easy for him to say while he sniffs me like a bouquet of roses.

  But I smile and try to clear my mind of whatever will happen tomorrow.

  The next morning is Green Ghost Moon 6. I wake up around seventh hour, in my own bedroom, then discover that while I slept someone had gone through my closet and laid out a selection of elegant formal outfits and matching accessories. I assume it was my personal maid Aranit, who finally figured out my avoidance techniques, and decided to beat me at my own game.

  I capitulate to the mystery closet shopper’s will and choose one of the outfits and everything that goes with it. Indeed, as soon as I’ve showered and put on the flowing pants and multi-layered top in shades of deep red and crimson, embroidered with fine threads of gold, Aranit arrives—typically silent, but with a more accommodating expression than I’ve seen from her before.

  Giving me a solemn but impeccable curtsey, she goes to work on my hair and makeup. She puts up my hair in an elegant twisted top-knot, and gives me dramatic dark eyes and black cherry lips. The finishing touch is a pair of long chandelier earrings that catch the light with sharp faceted crystals and cascade to my shoulders.

  “Should I sprinkle gold dust on your hair and skin, My Imperial Lady?” Aranit asks at the very end.

  For a moment, as I consider it, I get a weird out-of-the-body sensation of looking down at myself from above and wondering, who am I, and what have I become?

  But the existential moment of crisis goes away.

  And since today is media interviews day, I let her.

  Chapter 29

  The first interview is with the Helios-Ra Imperial Poseidon Network. At the designated time, surrounded by Imperial guards (with the addition of Tuar, who looks sharp in his new uniform), Aeson and I exit the Imperial Crown Prince’s Quarters, and take the elevators to a lower level of the Palace.

  “You look amazing,” Aeson leans in and whispers to me as we walk. I glance up and see the force of his gaze consuming me, just before he looks away and the usual mask of composure takes over his expression—it’s the confident Imperial face he puts on in public.

  “You like?” I whisper back teasingly. In reply I feel his large hand cover mine, squeezing my fingers with sensual strength.

  I smile secretly to myself, because the man walking at my side looks smoking-hot-amazing himself. Aeson is dressed for business, in a perfectly cut metallic-grey jacket and black pants, sleek and formal enough for Court. But his hair, loose and unrestrained, sweeps over his shoulders and back like liquid gold, adding a touch of casual elegance.

  We arrive at our designated area. Here, a large chamber has been set up to accommodate the media, with a special interview “nook,” consisting of a formal but comfortable loveseat-sized sofa for the Imperial Bride and Groom, and a chair for the interviewer, all against the background of a golden sunburst tapestry that works both as the Kassiopei Dynasty symbol and the Hel-Ra Network logo.

  This fake “living room” section is elevated on a platform and artfully illuminated from all directions. Below, and all around it is special effects equipment, with bustling light and sound techs and the rest of the network crew getting ready for us.

  As soon as Aeson and I walk in, one of the techs engages a small 3D printing unit that releases a hive of nano-cameras into the air. I can actually see them—tiny motes of “dust” that get sprayed into the air from a micro-nozzle that resembles an aerosol container, but come out like embers from a flame, or a festive fireworks sparkler. For that one brief moment they are visible as a stream, just before they dissipate all over the room, and start swirling like fiery snowflakes. That’s when the camera tech enters the code to manipulate their programming and start the micro-feeds from each of their microscopically different vantage points.

  “My Imperial Lord and Lady.” A tall and handsome, middle-aged man with shoulder-length gilded hair and kohl-lined eyes, approaches us, and gives an impeccable courtly nod. He wears a stylish but businesslike outfit consisting of a Low Court-style robe over a white shirt, the kind that I’ve seen commentators and news anchor hosts often wear on the various talk shows.

  I recognize Oalla’s father, Desher Keigeri.

  “Ter Desher,” Aeson says. “We are ready for you.”

  Ter, I recall, is the term of address for citizens and untitled nobility, and for nobility that withholds their title status by choice or for business purposes—or simply a general, respectful greeting for men.

  “Excellent! Much appreciated,” Desher says, glancing from Aeson to me. I notice his friendly blue eyes are the same as his daughter Oalla’s. “If you would please take your seats up here—” He points to the platform seating area—“I’ll be right behind you, in just a moment. I will have your questions ready for you to review before we begin.”

  I follow Aeson up the three stairs to the top of the platform. We sit down next to each other on the tall-backed, elegant loveseat upholstered in dark olive velvet fabric—all of it designed specifically to frame us in the best contrasting light possible. Indeed, my deep red top and Aeson’s silvery-grey jacket are offset nicely by the rich fabric background. Meanwhile, directly behind and above us, the golden Hel-Ra logo
blazes sun-like under the powerful studio lighting.

  Down on the floor level below us, the media crew continues working, techs changing the positions of spotlights and floodlights and their angles for maximum effect, even as the nano-cams continue to swirl all around. A makeup artist comes up to Desher Keigeri and gives his face a last-minute powder and paint application. Another crew person runs up the platform and clips tiny voice amplifier buttons on our clothing, while someone else hands Aeson and me a batch of small cue cards with our questions inscribed in both Atlanteo and English.

  I stare at the cards in my hands, anxiously reading what’s on them. And then I take a deep breath, and turn to Aeson who observes me reassuringly.

  “These are not too bad,” I say. “I think we can manage.”

  Aeson smiles lightly. “Yes, this is Hel-Ra, a Kassiopei-friendly network, so it’s to be expected. The questions were all vetted by us in advance.”

  I nod.

  “All right, we go live in two daydreams!” Desher Keigeri announces just then from below, then mounts the platform and sits down in the interviewer chair across from us.

  A few more quick adjustments of stage lights on his face and ours, and then a countdown in heartbeats, “Three—two—one!”

  A tone chimes, and a recorded music track starts playing—familiar by now, as I recognize the Hel-Ra Network theme, somewhat grandiose in effect, with an urgent drumbeat undertone, and wind instruments for added drama.

  The interview feed begins.

  “Nefero eos, I am your host, Desher Keigeri, and welcome to the HRIPN special early feature.” Desher begins speaking in a comfortable tone, his pleasant voice rising with amplified energy. “Today I have the great pleasure and honor to have with me the Imperial Crown Prince, Imperial Lord Aeson Kassiopei, and his radiant Bride, the Imperial Lady Gwen Lark. We are speaking with them live this morning, coming to you directly from the Imperial Palace complex in Poseidon. There are so many topics we’d love to discuss with Atlantida’s favorite young Imperial Couple, including some great questions that many of you, our viewers, have sent in and are eager to hear the exclusive answers—”