Especially mine. He opened the side luggage compartment, then froze.
There was no warning. No sound, not a footstep, but suddenly he knew. The knowledge came screaming over him. Count from ten, he ordered himself. Ten, nine, eight . . . You’re fine. You’re fine. You’re fine.
And he turned to face the rigid glare of General Madousin.
Chapter Fourteen
CHRISTMAS
AERIN FOUND HERSELF LOOKING OUT THE PASSENGER doorway into the deepest pair of blue eyes she had ever seen.
“Leave it to my brother,” said the owner of the eyes, “to make a lady wait.” A smooth, pale hand opened itself in front of her chest in a gesture of expectation.
And she took it. Within a moment she found herself swept forward, lifted close against the dark fabric of an air force jacket, and set down softly upon the ground. It happened so fast she did not even have a chance to cringe.
The tall young man standing before her laughed at her shocked expression. He tucked a lock of blond hair behind his ear and lifted his strong jaw. “Paul Madousin,” he introduced himself. “And you are?”
Heat spread its way up her cheeks as she answered, “Aerin Renning.”
“A pleasure to meet you.” Paul took a slow step back. “I’m sure my father will agree.” He cradled her arm just below the elbow and guided her around the tail of the plane.
His father?
She almost tripped as she saw the older version of the young man she had just met. The eyes were the same blue, the skin the same pale shade, the jawline just as strong. His stance emanated strength, as did the chest sporting its row of polished medals. He was a full foot taller than his youngest son, and nearly five inches taller than the young man still guiding her arm.
“Aerin, this is my father, General Gregory Madousin.” Paul dropped his head in a gesture of respect toward the older man. “Father, this is Aerin Renning.”
The General’s hand twitched. Then his thumb hooked under his chin, and his finger stroked the side of his nose. When the hand came down, a smile spread across his face. Aerin had imagined Dane’s father as stern and strict. The smile belied that assumption. “Miss Renning?” He repeated her last name carefully.
“Y-yes, sir,” she stammered.
He offered her his arm. “It appears my youngest son has some sense after all. May I escort you to our land vehicle?”
Aerin broke the gaze, seeking out Dane. What did he think of his father’s surprise appearance? Her classmate slouched against the hood of the silver vehicle, his arms folded over his chest. He was watching his father, not her.
Unsure what else to do, she took the arm of the most powerful man in the universe and climbed into the vehicle with its tinted windows, two rows of facing seats, and a white curtain that separated the passenger space from the driver. Paul seated himself across from her, General Madousin at her side. Dane crawled in last, slamming the door.
She tried to catch his gaze, but he slumped in the seat opposite his father and fixed his eyes on the ceiling.
“I apologize if I showed a lack of grace at your reception, Miss Renning,” the general stated. “I’m certain I would have done better had I been aware of your coming.”
Aerin blushed. “I . . . I am sorry, sir,” she said. “Dane and I were under the impression you were still negotiating with the Trade Union. I hope my being here is not a problem.”
The older man smiled. “Nonsense, my dear. This family could only benefit from a female presence.” The general paused, then gave a wink and explained, “The negotiations were halted until the end of the holiday. Sometimes even the Trade Union is easier to communicate with than my youngest son.” The comment made her uncomfortable, but Dane did nothing to negate it. He continued staring at the ceiling.
“Tell us, Aerin,” Paul said, “what convinced you to spend your vacation here?”
The questions carried them along, Aerin finding herself without any choice but to answer. Dane did not once open his mouth. Annoyance grew within her at his sullen mood, but his brother and father made her feel so welcome that she was at ease in their presence by the time the vehicle pulled to a halt. Dane exited the vehicle without a glance in her direction, but Paul offered her his arm and whispered in her ear, “Welcome to our home, Miss Renning.”
She stared in shock. Marble walls stretched up before her: three, four, five stories high. Polished steel trim curled its way around dozens of windows as well as a set of double doors at the center of a huge, glass-enclosed patio. Silver wreaths circled the door knockers, and silver vines twined around columns every fifteen feet. Couldn’t Dane have mentioned that he lived in a mansion? No, perhaps not. Perhaps she would not have understood. Like with the falls.
A thin woman in a gray kerchief pulled open the doors, and Aerin stepped into the endless patio. Midnight-blue glass formed three distant walls, and an obsidian floor swirled with traces of silver and gold. It was like standing in empty space, as though someone had tried to remake it and almost succeeded.
A sudden softness brushed her cheek. From across the patio, Dane sent his brother a sharp glare. Paul ignored the look and winked at her, then pointed up at a strand of mistletoe. Embarrassment flooded her face as she realized the softness had been his lips upon her skin. Had she entered some alternate reality?
By the time she went to bed that night under a canopy of golden silk, she was certain of it. Her first walk through the house had been filled with one miracle after another: the pine logs burning off their scent in the fireplace, the fir tree dressed in a cascade of tinsel; the vanilla candles lining the piano, buffet, and wide dining room table. And Dane had said this was not a home. It was more magnificent than anything Aerin had ever imagined in her childhood fantasies.
Enticement woke her in the morning, the scent of warm muffins seeping under her covers and luring her to the breakfast table. Dane sat alone, mopping the crumbs from his plate. “Thought we’d fly to the Southern Rim today,” he said, wiping off his fingers on one of two thick coats hanging at the back of his chair.
Glad he was talking again, she retrieved a muffin from the basket and poured herself a full mug of hot chocolate before sitting down. “The Southern Rim?”
“It’s at the edge of an ocean. The storms there are spectacular this time of year.”
“Is it dangerous?”
He grinned. “Only slightly.”
A warm bite slid down Aerin’s throat. She had no desire to leave this place in exchange for danger. “When would we go?”
“Go where?” a slurred voice came from the doorway. Paul entered the room wearing nothing but a pair of pajama bottoms and fuzzy slippers. The muscles on his chest gleamed under the overhead light.
Aerin felt her mouth go dry. It took her several seconds to realize no one had answered the question. “The Southern Rim,” she blurted.
“Ah.” Paul eased into the empty chair and gave a meaningful glance at his brother. “That’s an all-day trip.”
“No kidding,” Dane replied.
“Is that a problem?” Aerin asked. She reached for the butter at the same time as his brother. Instead of pulling away, Paul captured her hand.
Porcelain thudded against wood on the opposite side of the table.
Blue eyes held her attention. “It’s just that our father will be disappointed to be deprived of your company,” said Paul, “as will I.” He turned her fingers over and kissed her palm.
Chair legs scraped across the polished floor.
She had not thought how it might appear, her taking Dane away from his family on his first day of vacation. “Maybe we should wait a few days,” she told the blue eyes, “rather than leaving so soon.”
“No!” Dane stood with such force the table vibrated, and chocolate spilled from her mug. Aerin rushed to sop up the liquid in her napkin, then cringed as the brown stain seeped into the fine cloth. She looked up apologetically.
Both brothers were eyeing each other: Paul seated in his chair, calm
face unreadable; Dane standing, shoulders tight, chest about to explode. She felt like a stranger from another dimension, coming upon an argument she did not have the skill to interpret. Then, without explanation, Dane grabbed the coats from his chair and stormed from the room.
Her gaze flew to Paul, who just shrugged a bare shoulder and opened the honey jar.
With a reluctant glance at the remaining chocolate, she snatched a muffin and ran after her classmate, catching up to him at the sliding-glass door to the patio. “What is the matter with you?” she demanded, feeling her patience thin. “Your brother and father have been nothing but polite to me. You would think I was their guest instead of yours.”
Dane braced his hands on the edges of the doorway and stared down at the obsidian floor. “I’m sorry, Aerin. I shouldn’t have put you in this position.”
“What position?” She could feel her exasperation building.
“In between.” He slipped his arms into one of the coats and strode out on the patio, leaving her more confused than she had been before.
Then he turned. “I’d like to take you to the Southern Rim today . . . if you don’t mind.”
What could she do? She could not mend the rift between him and his family. And it was becoming clear that any attempt to do so on her part would spoil her friendship with him. “What should I bring?” she asked.
“Yourself.” He tossed her the other coat. “And this.”
Aerin had never seen anything like the Southern Rim. White-crested waves shattered over pointed stone formations. Thick swaths of fog draped the distance, obliterating the horizon. Spray came up from below, and rain threatened from above. Water filled the world.
At least it seemed to from Aerin’s viewpoint behind the giant wall-length window of the visitors’ deck. Dane deposited her on a huge white cushion by the window and brought her a cup of steaming chocolate. “To make up for this morning.” He grinned.
She took a sip, her eyes widening as the sweet taste of caramel eased down her throat. He had remembered her request from the day before. She cocked her head and studied Dane as he settled down at her feet, his eyes watching the waves crash below. There was so much she had not known about him, back at school. His regard for beauty. His attention to detail.
And there was so much she still did not understand: his hostile behavior toward his brother and father, the intensity of his reaction when she had witnessed his mother’s name, his infatuation with the violent scene below.
“Doesn’t it frighten you?” Aerin asked as a fierce gust of spray hammered the window.
“That’s why I like it,” he said, his hand sliding close to hers. “The early explorers on Chivalry, they thought if they found the right material, they could make a ship to withstand her wild seas. They tried everything: steel, ironite, Maravan gold.”
She raised her eyebrows. Maravan gold was even stronger and more costly than ironite. “They failed?”
“Miserably,” he said, and pointed out at the giant stone formations, then toward the side of the room. “You see what those rocks can do to metal when it crashes against them at the speed of a Chivalian wind. That’s a remnant of a ship.”
She stared at the mangled hunk of metal threaded along the edge of the visitors’ deck. Gaping holes punctured the metal’s center, and long silver strands wrapped around the edges, bending back and forth on one another. She had thought the metal was a sculpture, perhaps an abstract version of the sea. There was nothing left of the battered shape to define it as a vessel. “And you find that fascinating?”
“Yes.”
She thought about all the times she had envied Dane his bravery. When he had argued the controversial side of a heated debate topic or climbed the scaffolding without a ladder. And yesterday, plummeting his plane over the edge of a cliff to soar through a tunnel of ice. There was something enviable about his total lack of fear. And disturbing.
She glanced again at the shredded metal that had once been a ship. “Why?” she asked. “Why is danger so appealing to you?”
He didn’t look at her, his gaze turning back to the window where the sky had opened up to a bolt of lightning. His hand closed over hers as she shuddered. “I’m not sure,” he whispered, “but sooner or later, those waves—they’ll defeat the rocks.”
The intimacy that had defined their journey disappeared immediately upon their return to the mansion. General Madousin, clearly upset that his son had chosen to spend the day away from home, had held up the evening meal, an act Aerin found hard to understand when Dane declined to speak a single word to his father. It fell to Paul to ease his father’s hurt feelings and keep the conversation going.
The same pattern filled the following days. Aerin and Dane would spend the daylight hours exploring the natural wonders of the planet. In the evenings, they would return to the mansion, where he would slip into silence.
A pattern that did not break until Christmas.
That morning Aerin arrived at the breakfast table to find a stunning emerald green necklace coiled on the center of her plate. General Madousin draped the extravagant gift around her neck and secured the catch. She saw Dane’s jaw tighten. Did he not want her to receive the gift?
In contrast, Paul swept her a deep bow.
She blushed with shame at having nothing to give in return, but the general ignored her apologies, then directed both her and his sons to the base chapel, where they attended a religious service and watched a special performance of singing, music, and candle lighting by local youth.
Upon the return to the house, the general suggested everyone retire to prepare for a formal dinner at two o’clock. Wondering how the others could require an hour to prepare for a meal, Aerin climbed the stairs to her bedroom slowly.
The sight that greeted her there caught her by complete surprise. A red velvet dress with golden trim hung from the bed’s canopy. She drew close, fingering the soft cloth. Embroidered in the lace along the neck were the figures of birds: doves and nightingales, each one unique. Never in her life had she touched anything half so fine.
Afraid the dress might not fit, Aerin tugged off her clothes and unhooked the gown. She slipped under the skirt, eased the neckline over her head, and slid her arms into the long sleeves. The soft fabric smoothed down over her skin without a wrinkle. Her mouth opened as she stepped in front of the mirror. The bodice fit perfectly, hugging her waist and chest, hiding the scars on her shoulder, and the skirt flowed long enough to cover her school boots.
The hour almost flew as she tried to make the rest of herself suitable for such a gown. She bathed, then dressed once again and seated herself at the vanity, struggling to do something with her long hair. Her fingers had no skill, and she finally gave up, settling for brushing out the strands until they hung down her back in simplicity.
Before she knew it, the hour hand on the clock pointed at the two. Gripping her skirt in each hand, Aerin eased down the stairs and made her way toward the dining room.
Her entrance met with stunned silence. Neither Dane nor General Madousin said a word. They both stared as if a foreign presence had entered the room. Dane’s face went pale, and his eyes glowed a deep, intense brown.
It was Paul who rescued her, leaping from his seat to offer his hand and escort her to her chair. “Very effective,” he whispered in her ear.
The lights had been dimmed, and every one of the vanilla candles in the room was lit. At the center of the formal dining table sat a huge roasted turkey, dripping with orange basting sauce, and bowls of creamed potatoes, fruit sauces, and salads were scattered across the lace tablecloth. Bread loaves covered by silver fabric rested in a basket, and a trio of serving maids stood in the corner, each waiting to refill any emptied glass or platter.
General Madousin bowed his head to give grace. Then the plates began to shuffle, and Paul, who sat on Aerin’s right, told her the names of rare dishes, offering his own advice on which to take. The table conversation began with talk about the performance at the c
hapel, then drifted into the topic of advanced schooling, and finally, to Aerin’s discomfort, settled upon her.
“How long have you attended Academy 7, Miss Renning?” the general asked.
“I started this year,” she replied, lifting a spoonful of tangy cherry sauce to her lips.
“And where were you before that?” The general took a sip of wine.
Her spoon wavered. It’s a natural question, she told herself. He has no reason to suspect I’m not a citizen. But this man, perhaps more than any other person, enforced the laws of the Alliance.
“I . . .” Aerin fell back on the story she had given Dane. “My father flew a trade ship, and I traveled with him until he died.”
“I see.” General Madousin’s voice held a strange note in it, measured but compelling. “And your father’s name?”
She found herself answering with honesty, though her voice shook. “Antony was his real name. Most people called him Tony.”
The wineglass hit the table.
“When did you say your father died?” This time the question came with abrupt speed.
Aerin felt her heart lurch. She had not said. She did not want to lie to this man. But she could not answer the questions that were bound to follow if she told him the truth. “R-recently.”
Dane rescued her, speaking to his father for the first time throughout the entire visit. “Perhaps we might leave that topic for a less-painful one.”
The older man gave his son a long look, as if weighing options. A slow nod signaled his choice. “Well, Dane, you could share your impressions of my alma mater instead.”
For an instant Aerin worried that her classmate might abandon the conversation, but he did not. Instead, a halting dialogue arose between father and youngest son.
“It’s a challenge,” said Dane.
“Glad to hear that hasn’t changed.” The general wiped his lips with his embroidered napkin. “And which part do you find the most challenging?”
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