by Autumn Dawn
Her words had two meanings. He canted his head as he considered. This was important to her and their marriage was important to him. “Take your time, then, but I will wait for you before retiring. We'll share dinner here before I go."
A softer expression replaced her cool mask. “Sounds fair."
He turned so she couldn't see his rolling eyes. Women.
* * * *
True to her word, Vana spent long hours in the lab that week. Oddly enough, now that she wasn't so easy to access, distractions sought her out. Her boys constantly peeked in on her, devising the flimsiest excuses to check on her doings. It finally dawned on her that they missed her, and though they made no effort to hide their disapproval of her “weird occupation", she learned to tolerate their peering over her shoulder and their endless, distracting questions.
It was Dagon who gave her the first clue why they were so concerned.
"They wonder how you can become pregnant when you're not constantly by my side. They're anxious for their sister.” He'd propped his head on one hand and smirked at her.
Vana had rolled to her side and smacked his bare chest in mock irritation. It was hard to get too angry when they'd just spent an hour making sweet love. “Brats! They get this stuff from you, don't they?"
A satisfied growl rumbled from his chest as he caught her hand and pressed a soft kiss to her fingertips. The kiss turned into a nibble. “Are you certain you mind?” Dark lashes veiled his eyes as the blue began to heat.
"Um.” Reminded of his many talents, she decided not to argue the point. Perhaps the boys could find worse role models.
They weren't the only ones who treated her lab as a sort of drawing room, however. Courtiers sought her out there too, and women with issues. The would-be escapee, Clarissa, even thanked her for her new occupation by sending over a pair of jeans and a comfortable Earth style shirt. Word had it the girl was even ‘dating’ one of her tailors.
Not bad for a first shot at playing chief justice, Vana thought as she stroked the sleeve of her new rib knit t-shirt. Not bad at all.
In spite of those happy moments, she finally had to warn the guards at the door not to let anyone in until after lunch barring fire or flood, or she'd never get anything done. At least Dagon was considerate enough not to bug her until meal times. The man had a thoughtful streak, and she was learning to appreciate his subtle care.
It was with a great deal of satisfaction that she wrapped up her research two weeks later. Admiring the neat stack of printed pages, she reflected that she might not be impressing a board with the results, but she'd enjoyed the process. There was also the thrill of knowing she had better research than the chauvinistic medic who'd given her the implant.
Speaking of which....
Vana frowned and rubbed her arm, wondering if Dagon had been counting days. Maybe he was too distracted by the novelty of intimate pleasure. Maybe not. Either way, he hadn't said anything. Surely he would, if he had the slightest clue, wouldn't he? It wasn't the sort of thing he would ignore.
She wasn't sure how she felt about it yet. A daughter was a big responsibility in a life suddenly deluged with accountability. She was slowly beginning to understand just what being queen meant in political terms—many of Dagon's people thought to influence him through her. One day she might even need her own secretary to deal with appointments and such; it was either that or allow her life to become a revolving door. How would she shield a family from that? How would she keep her daughter from feeling hemmed in by the security that would be a constant presence in her life? More importantly, would her sons view a sister as someone to protect and an object of affection, or a commodity?
Shaking her head at her dismal thoughts, Vana slid her papers into a binder and gathered them up. Nine months was a long time to work on these things. She'd figure something out.
She was just about to leave when something caught her eye. There was a broken vial on the workbench, right next to her slides of dead virus. Heaven and earth couldn't have given her the clearance to work with live virus—she hadn't even bothered to ask. More importantly, though, she hadn't been working with a tube with that color cap.
Presentiment set in. She took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. One of the kids might have broken it and been too afraid to tell her, but why hadn't she heard it break? She couldn't believe it was an accident. Without looking, she reached for the com link switch on her wrist computer, then hugged the research folder tight. She might have a test subject sooner than expected.
* * * *
Dagon paced in the waiting room, Kynan by his side. His wife, though still healthy, was in quarantine, and he didn't dare break the seal yet.
Kynan had joined him in the waiting room, offering silent support as Vana spoke calmly on the view screen, ignoring the buzzing medics.
"Dagon, please trust me on this—my research is sound. We know I've got the virus, and thanks to your technology, we also know it's having a hard time adapting to my alien physiology. We've got a window here ... please go and get me some of that fruit."
Dagon glanced at the image of the Mother's Tree in the lower left hand side of the screen. Vana claimed it was an old folk remedy for infertility with scientific roots. He didn't have time to read her research, nor the calm to comprehend it. He knew the strength of his people's technology and how long their scientists had been researching a possible cure. They claimed to have promising leads.
He paced some more.
Gently, Vana said, “The virus is airborne, honey. Whoever sabotaged my lab probably has more. We need to protect the others, too. What have you got to lose by trying my cure?"
Unable to bear her steady gaze, he took a deep, shuddering breath. She didn't know that sometimes the virus was fatal to mother and child. They weren't going to tell her either, and risk her giving up hope.
"Please, Dagon.” Dignified, quietly hopeful, she watched him, unwilling to nag even now.
She didn't know what she asked.
Kynan looked at him and straightened. “I'll go. I'll find some volunteers. No!” He raised his hand, forestalling Dagon's words. “She needs you here, and someone has to direct the hunt for the virus. You can't do that if you're charging through the swamplands, hunting for something that might not even be in season.” He shot a quick look at Vana, as if sorry he'd said that.
She canted her head. “The bark and small twigs should have the same compounds in them as the fruit. Just be careful not to over-harvest—we'll probably need to go back for more."
Dagon swore. The swamps were deadly, full of huge snakes and predatory flora and fauna. It was the reason their people had left its borders generations ago—the cost in human life had been too high, and that was when they'd still had their swamp lore. In the present generation, it had all but died out.
"I will bring back the medicine,” Kynan said briskly, already on his feet. There was no fear in his countenance, only the determination of a leader born. If anyone could survive the mission, he could.
"Ten men,” Dagon said briskly. “There'll be more who wish to go, but forbid it. Too many and you'll stir the swamps too much, alerting Nikon in the bargain. We don't need him slowing the mission. We'll expect you in three days."
Kynan saluted and left. Dagon turned back to the view screen, the closest he could get to his wife without risking contaminating anyone else—assuming the virus was not already wide spread. “We'll find who did this,” he said quietly, still seething with anger and so much more. The death of a dream was painful ... the death of his wife would kill him.
Chapter 7
The news of the queen's illness sent a shockwave rippling through the city. Word of Kynan's mission acted like counter attack missiles, fragmenting the deadly fear into action men could take. So overwhelming was the volunteer response, Kynan had to resort to casting lots to avoid quarrels. Those left behind were in danger of despair, so Dagon organized fasts and prayer vigils for the queen and their women, placing every man with the traini
ng on a sweep for any signs of the virus, organizing quarantine for those unaffected. A hyper-alert guard rotation was stationed outside the women's quarters, and no one without specific authorization was allowed access to them.
To Kelsa's dismay, the quarantine included her.
"Kynan.... “she tried to argue as he escorted her to the harem
"No. I've made sure you have a view screen directly hooked up to our Tzara, but you aren't getting close to her room and you will be staying with the harem. I'm not taking chances.” He met her worried, stubborn gaze with implacable calm. “I'm not losing you."
Her face softened. “I know. What about you? These swamps are supposed to be dangerous."
He stopped and faced her, ignoring their protective escort as he took her hands in his. “I will come back. I'll send messages when I can. Have faith in me.” Solemn, calm, he kissed the backs of her hands, then dropped a light kiss on her lips. Almost he spoke, then he seemed to change his mind. “Go. Cheer your friend.” His mind already moving to his mission, he squeezed her hands and strode rapidly away.
Kelsa sighed as a piece of her heart broke off and traveled with him.
* * * *
"Checkmate."
Kelsa scowled at the holographic chessboard, glowering at Vana's smug face. “Is not. It's check, and you're a brat.” She hobbled her king around her pawn, the only thing still protecting his precious hide.
Vana raised her brows in mock haughtiness. “Might as well be. What are you going to do with a measly pawn? Let your king have some dignity—the poor guy's been chased around by a knight and a bishop for ten minutes."
Eyes narrowed, Kelsa shifted her king to counter Vana's move. “I don't hear any bonbon-challenged women singing yet.” She studied the board and blinked in surprise. A smirk of dazzling proportions curved her lips.
"What?” Vana eyed the board uneasily, then saw it. Against all odds, Kelsa's little duet had danced her into a checkmate. “Huh."
With an exaggerated sigh, Kelsa leaned back and draped her arms over the back of her chair. “You may now kiss the ground I walk on."
Laughing, Vana cleared the board. “In your dreams.” Pausing to sip her drink, she considered her friend. “So Kynan is rich."
Kelsa flushed. “I didn't even know until the harpies here started on about it."
"They're not that bad."
"You don't have to socialize with them. I feel kinda sorry for the wealthy guys out there—they have no idea what's in store for them. Now that they've gotten used to the idea of marrying and being waited on hand and foot for the rest of their lives, these women are rabid to find their own Daddy Big Bucks."
Vana snorted.
"Really. There are a couple of women fashioning harpoons as we speak."
"Lucky thing for Kynan he married you first, then.” The remark was far from casual, as was Vana's intent consideration.
Kelsa shifted her eyes to her own drink. “We didn't do the booth thing, Van."
"It's registered as a lawful marriage just the same. I saw the paperwork.” Silence stretched as Vana let that sink in before artfully changing the subject. “So, are you ready to be an honorary aunt?"
Blinking, for not even a hint of Vana's condition had been breezed about, Kelsa asked carefully, “In the hypothetical future?"
"In about eight months."
How to answer that without blowing her ‘light and happiness’ campaign? “I'd spoil her rotten,” she answered thickly, unable to hide her surge of emotion. She couldn't understand why Vana wasn't falling apart. The public thought their Tzara was putting on a brave face, but Kelsa knew it wasn't that. She really did believe her folk remedy was going to work.
With a steady expression that owed nothing to acting, Vana said quietly, “Have some faith in me, Kelsa. I did this for all of us."
Nodding in understanding, Kelsa took a deep breath and straightened her spine. “How about another game? Scrabble this time—I'm getting tired of chess."
* * * *
Kynan swore as he slashed through a tangle of vines with his machete. Two days, one dead man and thousands of trees later and they still hadn't found Vana's tree, much less an entire grove. The fruits were bright orange for pity's sake—they shouldn't be this hard to spot, but a heavy fog had settled over the swamps, making progress difficult. Combined with the deep humidity and voracious insect life, it made for miserable work.
Static crackled over his helmet. "Man down! Celgan stepped in a nest of water lizards. Medic is on the job."
Kynan grimaced. Water lizards had a mild but swift poison, certainly enough to take a grown man down and keep him there for the better part of a day. Those unlucky enough to be bitten while traveling alone could be half-eaten before they managed to crawl away. Another point went to the swamp—their numbers were down to eight.
Glowing insects began to stir with nightfall, lighting the swamps with their luminescent wings. The mists lightened and the triple moons glowed down, turning the vine draped trees into mysterious pillars of darkness. Weary, disheartened, the men pulled out to await the dawn on the edge of the swamps.
A red sunrise woke the swamp, brightening to a raucous carnival of bird song. Kynan kept his eyes fixed on the trees where the birds called their warning, his men instinctively following suit. They were not disappointed. Within minutes a group of three men in full body armor had walked out. They halted fifteen paces from Kynan's group, their hands at their sides, pointedly not reaching for their weapons.
Recognizing Nikon's battle armor, Kynan tilted his head and waited. This would be interesting.
"Greetings.” Nikon studied them. In the fiery blush of sunrise, his helmet reflected red. “Rather far from home, aren't you?"
Kynan kept his peace, waiting.
"I understand your queen has a sudden craving for fruit."
The implications of that statement were not lost on Kynan's group. Tersely, Kynan demanded, “Why are you here?"
Slowly, Nikon reached up and removed his helmet. It was the ultimate gesture of vulnerability, and an unmistakable pledge of truth. His blond hair was cropped short, and his green eyes were flat, grim, a perfect match for his stern features. “I may be your enemy, Kynan Kingsfriend, but I am the last man who would poison your women. Steal them, yes. Murder all hope of future generations, no. My men have collected fruit from the Mother Tree for you. I understand time is short? Accept them now, and I will collect on my debt later."
Kynan eyed him, wondering who his spies were. “You know who loosed the virus."
"No, but I know you've recently taken a wife. Aren't you eager to bring her medicine? Your time is short, Kynan.” It was a warning.
They needed the medicine. Now was not the time to hesitate, and though Dagon might want his head for it, his sovereign could sort it out later. Kynan had a feeling that Nikon had combed the swamp for at least ten miles and would guard every tree against interlopers. This time, Nikon had won. “Done. I'll tell Dagon to expect you."
He just hoped this costly fruit worked, or Dagon was going to bury him with it.
* * * *
Dagon spent more time on his knees in his grandfather's chapel than he cared to admit. The small chamber was built of unassuming gray blocks with a small amount of carving around the windows and block that served as an altar. There were no images in the room or glass in the windows, but the austere chamber held a majesty for all that. Generations of kings had knelt on the stone floor seeking guidance, wisdom and peace, and the walls had absorbed that golden outpouring, radiating an invisible aura of divine reassurance.
Odd how moments like that could make a man turn to the faith of his fathers, Dagon mused. He hadn't made a habit of coming here, privately believing that God had abandoned his generation. The threat of extinction hadn't made him bow, but the threat to his new family had humbled him in an instant.
Dagon looked up and contemplated the ceiling. It was hard for a man to admit he couldn't save the world. Ultimately, that hono
r rested in his wife's small hands, and in the forming hands of his daughter. Men might rule the world, but women created life, made it grow within them. Without the womb there was no kingdom to govern, and a king was as useless as the next man.
His knees creaked as he pushed away from the floor. Giving the altar one last nod of respect, he sought out his wife as he had every night since the quarantine, willing to face decontamination every time he left rather than let her sleep alone. In a week, perhaps, they would have the final verdict. Either the virus would have run its course or the Mother Tree would have done its job.
The waiting was killing him.
Kynan had brought back the fruit yesterday, along with news of Nikon's deal. Dagon had a fair idea of what he would ask, and he wasn't comfortable with providing it. Unfortunately, he had little choice. Honor demanded he give Nikon the same chance he'd given him.
Vana wasn't going to like it.
* * * *
"Bottoms up.” Vana couldn't suppress a grimace as she took a hearty sip of the Mother Tree's juice, shuddering as it went down. Astringent, with a bitter aftertaste, the liquid had the medics all excited and the women who had to drink it grouchy. It was killing the virus and all signs said that her tiny daughter was thriving on it, but it didn't make it taste any better.
Kelsa's image eyed her balefully from the view screen. “You couldn't have found a medicine that tasted any worse, could you?"
Vana raised her brows and took a deliberate sip, trying not to flinch at the taste. “I don't know, I think I'm actually getting used to it."
Pinching her nose, Kelsa waited a minute to kill her taste buds, then took a gulp. Shivering, she demanded nasally, “Couldn't the cooks add some sugar or something? I feel like I'm drinking straight vinegar—with alum."
Vana's mouth twitched in sympathy. “Sugar and cooking kills its active properties. The medics are trying to dehydrate it into pill form. Until then.... “She raised her brows in helpless resignation and downed the rest of her drink, grateful it only took a small glass to get the desired effects. On the bright side, the orange tonic had cured her morning sickness.