The Consort (Tellaran Series)

by Ariel MacArran

  “Where we should really go is Winter Carnival on Xeltan,” Kyndan said as they walked and ate. “They have some of the best street food in the quadrant there. The Xeltani create a whole city from ice and snow right at the base of the Hupan Mountains. It’s amazing—real shops and working restaurants made of snow. You can even stay in the inns they carve, if you don’t mind sleeping on a bed as comfortable as only a big block of ice can be.”

  Alari stopped eating. “Xeltan?”

  “One of the Tellaran worlds. On the farthest side of Tellaran space from the Empire, actually.”

  Alari blinked up at him.

  “What?” he asked. “You don’t like snow?”

  “I have never left Az-kye, Kyndan.”

  “Well, yeah.” He gave a short laugh. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t ever leave. I mean, especially now.”

  Leave the homeworld? Alari regarded him wide-eyed, her heart hammering.

  “Of course,” he said stiffly after a long moment. “Maybe you don’t have any interest in seeing Tellaran worlds.”

  “Oh, no,” she breathed. “I would love to see the city made of snow.”

  His brow furrowed. “I’ll take you if you want to go. It’s in a few months.”

  Alari’s gaze was drawn to the distant spires of the Imperial Palace. “I do not know if the empress will give me leave to do such.”

  “All due respect to Her Imperial Majesty,” Kyndan began a little sharply, “you’re married to a Tellaran citizen now. She’ll have to let you go.”

  For a moment Alari imagined herself exploring worlds she had only heard whispers of. Tellarans were known throughout the Empire to be brutes, barbarians with no sense of culture or civility, but Kyndan had shown her more kindness, more warmth, in a few short hours than she had ever known from—

  A whole city made of ice! What other sights, what other wonders, might those distant worlds hold?

  “Perhaps.” She wet her lips. “Perhaps you are right.”

  He gave a nod. “It’s settled then. Next Winter Carnival on Xeltan.”

  Alari hesitated then she, too, gave a nod. “Xeltan.”

  They joined the crowd to watch one of the performances depicting Ren’thar and Lashima’s courtship. The tenors sang out Ren’thar’s praise of the goddess, while the divine pair was acted out by two masked performers.

  Alari nipped her lip to keep from giggling at Kyndan’s shocked expression when the performer playing the god bared his impressive erection as he and the woman representing Lashima reenacted the gods’ first coupling.

  “That was very, uh, interesting,” Kyndan got out when the performance ended to enthusiastic applause.

  She looked up at him, genuinely curious. “Tellarans are not so open with love play then?”

  “Well, I’ve certainly seen some raunchy—I’m in the Fleet, after all,” he muttered. “But they just—I mean, right in front of everyone!” He passed his hand over his eyes. “I’m not sure you could get away with it on Nima, and that’s saying something.”

  “I thought the timing superbly done,” she commented. “Ren’thar and Lashima were both very well acted.”

  “Yeah, that wasn’t acting!”

  “You did look quite scandalized.” Her mouth twitched. “Especially at the conclusion.”

  His glance darted her way.

  “Ah. It is because I was with you.”

  “You’re a princess,” he grumbled. “I’m trying to be a gentleman.”

  “So gentlemen do not relish the sexual pleasures?” she asked, inwardly astonished by her own audacity. She was usually not so bold and never so flirtatious but it was a thrill to see him so startled—so interested—by her daring. “I think they do not have much to recommend them, then.”

  His mouth was curved up a bit, his lips working as if he intended a rejoinder but his mind could not form one.

  She tilted her head. “Perhaps you should reconsider being such a gentleman, Kyndan.”

  Heat flashed in his blue eyes and his glance went to her mouth for an instant.

  Then he wrenched his gaze away and nodded toward another of the temporary stages. “That one’s just starting. Looks like we can still get a good spot.”

  This performance was no less explicit than the last and the performers astonishingly limber. Alari couldn’t help her smile at how Kyndan kept shifting his weight.

  “Is the whole festival like this?” he asked in an aggravated whisper, his face reddened to the hairline.

  “I do not know how the pairing of Ren’thar and Lashima is usually celebrated in the city,” Alari admitted. She craned her neck to see. “But I should think not. There should be performances of their early courtship the farther we go from Lashima’s temple.”

  “Yeah, let’s try that,” he agreed hastily and with one final wide-eyed look at the stage indicated she precede him out of the crowd.

  They took their time, pausing to watch the tumblers, weaving their way toward the outer edges of the celebration. Kyndan looked relieved that this area was devoted to recounting Ren’thar’s many gifts to his lady goddess: how he bargained with Azis, goddess of the rainbow, to fill the worlds with color to please his lady’s eye and how he himself wove the cloak of stars to place upon her shoulders.

  Kyndan was careful of her, shielding her when the crowd was dense, keeping himself between her and the rowdy ones who had consumed too much drink.

  At a stand near the temple of Meithea he purchased quen’dila pastries for them. These Alari had sampled before, and their sweet, nutty flavor was a favorite of hers. He hadn’t complained about his leg being sore but spying a few empty benches in the grove beside the temple, she suggested they go there to eat.

  With so many drawn to the center of the temple district and the entertainments there, this small grove had little of interest to offer. Its location farther back from the main thoroughfare and the little wall blocking it from the street made the little park an island of quiet.

  Kyndan indicated the bench. “Princesses first.”

  “Tellarans had a king once,” she said as he settled beside her. She knew that much of them at least. “Do they have princesses still?”

  Kyndan laughed. “No princesses, not for about five hundred years or so. There was an attempt once to restore the monarchy. They even had a new king. It’s a pretty good ghost story actually.”

  Many operas, and the legends they were based upon, featured restless shades but she was surprised to hear the Tellarans had such tales too. “Tell me this story.”

  “Well, a couple hundred years back when the republic triumphed the king escaped but before he vanished from Tellaran space he paused long enough, of course, to vow revenge. His ghost is always lurking about, ready to seize an unsuspecting vessel at the border to carry him back to claim his lost throne. There’s any number of holodramas about it. You know—intrepid crew ignores the locals’ warnings and enters forbidden space, the ship’s engines go out, one by one the crew vanish,” Kyndan said a with mock theatric timbre. “The last brave ensign defeats the evil royal specter at the cost of his own life. Months later the ship is found adrift at the edge of the badlands, with no survivors and a mysteriously damaged log . . .”

  Alari’s brow creased. “Badlands?”

  “That’s what Tellarans call the area between your space and ours.”

  “We call it ‘Ren’thar’s sword.’”

  “His blade at the ready to fight the enemies of the Az-kye?” he said with a raised eyebrow.

  She offered a smile. “To defend us.”

  “Well, those ion fronts might be hard to navigate but apparently, that’s exactly the kind of inhospitable environment angry spirits prefer. On my first tour, the commander—Hiren, that was his name—he was superstitious as hell. Anyway, middle of the night shift and he thinks he hears—”

  Alari startled as the man came upon them and immediately Kyndan was on his feet, moving to shield her.

  It took a moment for Alari tak
e in the dirty white smock, realize what it represented.

  Clanless.

  She had never been so close to one of them; they were not permitted on the palace grounds. None were ever allowed to be in her vicinity at all, if it could be helped. She had seen only a handful in her lifetime on the rare occasions she had been given leave to enter the city proper and they not were cleared from her sight.

  This man was as tall as Kyndan—the height of a warrior—but was far thinner than any should be. His face was drawn, his dark eyes held the lackluster look of hopelessness before he lowered them.

  “Forgive my offense,” he mumbled. “I sought only to avoid the crowd—”

  “There’s nothing to forgive,” Kyndan said, the tension in his posture easing. He jerked his chin at the man. “What’s your name?”

  The man flinched, his head drooping further. “I have none.”

  “The hell you don’t,” Kyndan replied, his voice low and angry.

  The man did not raise his eyes and after a moment, Kyndan spoke again, his voice gentler this time. “What did it used to be?”

  Alari did not think the man would answer but finally very, very softly he said, “Utar.”

  “Utar,” Kyndan repeated. “What’s your clan, Utar?”

  The man swallowed, his eyes on the ground.

  “What was your clan, Utar?” Kyndan asked.

  “Az’shu,” he murmured and in that whisper was such longing that Alari’s throat tightened. “Utar of the Az’shu.”

  She recognized the clan name. The clan leader, Helia of the Az’shu, was powerful in the Council for Trade.

  “Are you hungry, Utar?” Kyndan asked. “Stupid question, of course you are. Here,” he said and held out his pastry. After a moment Alari gave hers to Kyndan too. Kyndan gave her a grateful look then offered both to the man. “Take them.”

  The man sent a guarded glance at Kyndan then dropped his eyes again.

  “They’re yours,” Kyndan assured. “It’s not a trick. I won’t take them away at the last moment or throw them in the dirt.” He extended them further. “Take them.”

  After a moment the man hesitantly reached out, the scars on his arm showing white.

  A disgraced warrior then. His dark hair was roughly chopped, only a few inches longer than Kyndan’s, but warriors wore theirs long. Someone had decided to humiliate him further by cutting his hair off.

  The man held the pastries gingerly in his dirty hands, his mouth working then he inclined his head in thanks.

  “Who owns you now?”

  The man shook his head and Alari frowned. He had not even been sold but cast out into the streets to starve? His crime must have been grave indeed for Helia to do so.

  “Do you know where the Az’anti clanhouse is?” Kyndan asked.

  The man’s brow furrowed but he gave a spare nod.

  “I want you to go there now,” Kyndan said. “Tell the guards that the clan leader’s brother, Kyndan Maere, sent you to her. Tell Kinara—that’s her name—that I said to take you in.” He put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “I promise you’ll be treated well at the Az’anti clanhouse, Utar.”

  The former warrior sent Kyndan a quick glance, his brow knitted. For an instant hesitant hope showed in his eyes and then he bowed again.

  The man wolfed down one of the pastries before he’d gone a half-dozen paces.

  Kyndan watched him go, his face taut.

  “You were very kind to him,” Alari said.

  “I was him,” he said bitterly. “A few months ago it was me walking barefoot with bleeding feet and an empty belly, getting my supper yanked away by Az-kye who thought it was funny. They brought me planetside in a festering cage and I spent the good part of a year confined to the Az’quen clanhouse grounds.” His lip curled. “The Az’quen clan, my owners. I didn’t even speak Az-kye then. Most of the time I didn’t know what the hell they were telling me to do. ’Course I learned the coarse words quick; they’re the ones I’d hear right before the blow landed.”

  His face was clouded with anger and pain. “You don’t know what it’s like. You feel like a bug getting crushed and there’s nothing you can do. You just have to take it because there’s no getting away and fighting makes it worse—”

  Her gaze met his then and Kyndan broke off, his expression stricken.

  “I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. “I didn’t—Look, just tell me to shut up when I’m saying something stupid like that.”

  “You have every right to your anger, Kyndan.” She closed her eyes briefly. “To hate those that caused you such suffering.”

  “Did you ever tell anyone, Alari?” he asked quietly. “Tell anyone what he did?”

  Her throat tightened and for a long moment she searched his face, half in shadow, half lit by the lanterns of the festival beyond.

  “Our courtship had come to the time when we were to be left to ourselves at night,” she began finally, her voice low, reluctant. “The first few times when my attendants withdrew he was respectful, mannerly, gentle, but I did not grow to care for him as a mate should. I sought the advice of High Priestess Celara. I even spoke to one of my mother’s advisors of it. Both strongly counseled me to wait, that my feelings might change. But one morning I followed my heart and told Jazan I did not want to be bound to him, did not wish to be his mate. He was disappointed, yet I thought him agreeable to the break. But that night—he—” Her nails bit into the skin of her palm as she clenched her fist. “I could scarcely believe it had happened! As soon as he—I ran from him and locked myself in the bathing chamber till my maids came the next morning. I went to her Imperial Majesty and knelt before her, begging to be released from the betrothal.” Her lip trembled. “The empress said that as heiress there were things that I must bear. That to rule I must accept I could not have things always as I liked them. She ordered the marriage to go forward.”

  “Gods, Alari.” His face was ragged. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I hated him,” she whispered tightly. “Perhaps the hate is still there but I cannot feel it now. To see him yesterday—I felt such horror at it. And such relief to know him dead. For the first time, in so very long, I felt safe.” She met his gaze. “And you? Do you still hate the Az-kye, Kyndan?”

  His face turned toward the celebrants strolling beneath the cheerfully colored lanterns. The warriors with their black animal skin clothes and swords, their ladies brightly dressed as exotic birds, the merchants, the beggars, the men and women of the companion life offering their sexual favors for sale; the street children, barefooted in their tattered clothing, enjoying the openhandedness of the festival patrons, their faces sticky with quen’dila candy.

  “I wake up sometimes, shaking so hard I feel sick and I can’t—” he said finally, his voice low and rough. “It was so godsdamned hard to come back here. I didn’t want to. I didn’t even know if I could without—without—”

  His eyes were unseeing, haunted. She touched his arm and his gaze focused on her.

  “If you had not returned to Az-kye, had you not fought for me, I would be Jazan’s mate now.”

  His face was tight. “I know.”

  “Thank you for claiming me today.” Tears stung her eyes. “I would have been clanless too, had you not come for me.”

  “No.” His eyes flashed blue fire and his hands came up to clasp her shoulders. “It never would have been you, Alari!”

  His fevered glance went over her face and he pulled her against him bending his head toward her. She could feel the rise and fall of his quickened breath, how his heart pounded under her palm. Kyndan’s mouth poised a hairsbreadth from hers, his body trembling. In a rush of nervousness and excitement and courage Alari lifted her mouth toward his—

  He let her go and she stumbled a bit at the sudden release.

  Had she done something wrong? If Tellaran men were so bashful perhaps their women were equally demure. Had she been too forward?

  He was avoiding her gaze now and her body suddenly went col
d.

  Kyndan knew what had been done to her.

  Was that it? Her heart hammered with hurt. Did knowing what Jazan had done so disgust him that he could not even kiss her?

  “Listen, I—” Kyndan took another step back. “Come on. I’ll get you another one of those pastries.”

  Kyndan climbed out as soon as the litter stopped at the Az’anti estate and offered his hand to Alari. Kinara’s house too was strung with lanterns for the festival and they were still lit. It was late in the evening but the sounds of celebration in the city could still be heard.

  “Are you certain the clan leader will not mind?” Alari leaned forward in her seat, looking anxiously at the clanhouse. “That I have come to visit unannounced?”

  “You’re family,” Kyndan reminded. “You don’t have to be announced. Besides it’s this or back to the palace.” He looked pointedly at her dress. “You probably aren’t going to want to head back there wearing that anyway.”

  “No,” Alari agreed quickly.

  Kyndan took her hand. “Come on. Even if we don’t wind up staying, your other dress is inside, remember?”

  Reluctantly she stepped down and stood with her hands clasped before her as Kyndan paid the litter bearers.

  “It’s all right,” he assured when she turned worried eyes to him. He touched her back to draw her along with him. “Really.”

  The guards tensed at his approach, clearly not recognizing him in the Az-kye clothing.

  Kyndan raised his hand to them in greeting. “Is Kinara here?”

  Their stances eased at the sound of his voice but they regarded his clothing, and Alari, with unquestioned curiosity.

  One of the warriors gave him a nod. “The Ti’antah is within.”

  “’Kay, thanks!” Kyndan returned as he and Alari crossed the courtyard to the clanhouse.

  One of the little housemaids opened the door. She looked about thirteen, her clothes plain but neat, her braided hair worn up. Kyndan didn’t recognize her but the clanhouse required a large staff to run and there were always servants coming and going between his sister’s holdings.

  “Do you wish to speak to the head of housekeeping, you must go around to the back door and ask at the kitchens,” the girl said primly, plainly mistaking him for the merchant he was dressed like and ready to shut the door in his face.