by Wren, M. K.
“No, I won’t—we’ll stop it somehow before it comes to that.”
“You’ll try, I know, but I can’t believe it would go this far if there were any way the Phoenix could stop it.”
He stared bleakly into the white glare of the icecap. “We’ve tried everything short of assassination.”
“And the Phoenix balks at that?”
“Yes. We’ve never resorted to that and never will for both pragmatic and ethical reasons.” He paused, then, “The Phoenix balks at it.”
“And you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Alex, look at me.”
Her sharp tone brought his head around abruptly. Her eyes were fixed on him uncompromisingly.
“You are a member of the Phoenix and one of its leaders; you hope to be its representative in the Concord one day. If assassination is unacceptable to the Phoenix, then it must also be unacceptable to you, or you betray your cause. And if you betray the Phoenix, you betray Rich and, in a sense, me. You’ll make a mockery of everything you’ve sacrificed and all the grief I’ve suffered. You can’t do that; you couldn’t live with it. Nor could I.”
Alexand thought of Ben Venturi, who would find it so hard to accept his decision to come into Adrien’s life again, to make her a part of his life. He could only wish that Ben could hear this and see the determination in her eyes.
He touched her hair, warm with the sun. “Karlis is safe from me. You have my word.”
She nodded, then, “Trust me, please; trust me to find a way to keep myself free if you can’t stop this marriage. And even if I must go through with the wedding, I promise you this, Alexand: Karlis will never have me as his bride.”
He stared at her numbly. If the wedding took place, how could she possibly keep herself free, how could she avoid surrendering herself to Karlis without risking death?
“Alex . . .” For a moment he saw fear in her eyes, and he wasn’t prepared for that. He took her in his arms, feeling the tension in her body slowly relax. Her need for reassurance was paradoxically comforting, perhaps because she seemed to find reassurance in him; he had so little to offer her.
He kissed her forehead, whispering her name, then his lips moved along the velvet curve of her cheek to her mouth, and perhaps they were both at a vulnerable point. He closed his eyes against an unexpected vertigo.
Finally, it was Adrien who made an end of it, kept it from becoming a beginning. She rested her head on his shoulder with a long sigh.
“We’ll talk of it no more. I won’t waste this miraculous time thinking of the Selasids, and especially not Karlis. If he knew, he’d be fairly gloating.”
Alexand laughed. “I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, even if he isn’t aware of it.”
Three days. A miracle, indeed; and a Rightness.
5.
The only sound in the room was the music on the speakers, the languid Auguste Andante Sinfonia. Alexand stood in one of the glassed bays in his bedroom, looking out at the stark landscape he’d learned to see as beautiful through the eyes of Adrien Eliseer. In the twilight, the crescent of Pollux shed a blue light on the icefields under a sky spangled with unwavering stars. Alpha Centauri B was out of his line of sight, but its light etched the crests of the hills to the south.
Adrien was with Lile Perralt now, and the doctor’s illness must now be regarded as an undeniable fact. Still, he insisted it was only indigestion, and Alexand understood that. Ben would take him off active duty immediately if he knew about it. Perhaps it was an error not to warn Ben, but that was Perralt’s decision.
Alexand looked down at his watch and closed his eyes.
Eight hours. Three days had dwindled to eight hours.
And it was time for the call. He went to the bed where his suitcase lay open and took out the microwave transceiver, then returned to the alcove, and as he set the frequency, wondered where he’d be when he made the next call.
On his first attempt, he got a no-answer signal. He frowned at that, then reset the frequency. This time the answer came after only one buzz.
“Radek on line.”
“Erica, how’s the weather?”
A warm laugh, poignantly distant, but immeasurably welcome; he hadn’t talked to her since he left Fina.
“I’m clear, Alex. Oh, it’s good to hear your voice. How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine, Erica; recovered. What about Ben? I got a no-answer signal when I tried to call him.”
There was a brief hesitation that alerted him. “He’s all right, but he’s in Leda now.”
He despised the limitations of audio transmission; he wanted to see her face, to find the source of that hesitation.
“On SSB business?”
“No, Phoenix business. Or loyal opposition business. It’s Val Severin. She disappeared sometime in the early hours of this morning.”
The minor cadences of the Andante marked the time as he stared out into the pied, chill, blue-hued landscape.
“Disappeared? What—didn’t Ben have her under surveillance?”
“Of course, but once she went to her apartment for the night, he had to depend on monitors; his agents couldn’t stand around the halls without attracting attention. Unfortunately, the monitors tell us nothing. She slipped out very quietly sometime after midnight and went straight to the MT room. We didn’t find out until this morning that she had herself transed to one of our permanent terminals in Leda; the Hender’s apartment. She told them she was on a special assignment, and that’s the last anyone has seen of her.”
Anger coalesced within him. and like the recurrence of a chronic pain after a period of cessation, it seemed all the harder to bear.
“Erica, if Predis—”
“Whatever happened, I don’t think he had anything to do with it. Ben slipped a monitor past him today, and he’s as frantic as we are to find her. He thinks we’ve hidden her away, and that worries him since she knows a little too much for his peace of mind.”
Alex paused, his initial relief shading to anxiety. “Then she left on her own initiative? Why, Erica? And where would she go?”
“I don’t know. She talked privately with Rob Hendrick yesterday evening; the first time since the poisoning incident. We couldn’t monitor that conversation, but I can guess what happened. As for where she’d go, I have no idea. She isn’t with any of the members in Leda. Ben’s checking all her friends and relatives from her pre-Phoenix days and watching the Conpol and SSB arrest rosters.” Her long sigh was clearly audible. “It was probably a panic reaction, and her only thought was to get away from Fina and Rob. It’s anybody’s guess where she might end up. The Outside, most likely.”
He frowned at that. There was no need to remind Erica of Val’s chances of survival in the Outside.
“Erica, I’m . . . sorry.”
“So am I, but we haven’t given up hope yet, and Ben will find her if it’s humanly possible.”
“I know, but keep me informed.”
“I will. But what about you? Are you leaving for Helen today?”
“Early in the morning, Helen ST. That’s in eight hours. I’m taking Perralt’s aircar; it’s an Eliseer ’car with House Physician in large letters over the House crest. That will get me through the city locks with no questions asked, and it has an autonav system. I’ll arrive in Helen during the morning work-shift change, then I can send the ’car back to the retreat on automatic return.”
“Thank the God for Dr. Perralt. I’ve been grateful he was in the House of Eliseer more than once, but never more than now. Your contacts in Helen are set up again?”
“Yes. Ben has Vandyne primed and waiting for me.”
There was a long pause, and he almost expected her next question, casual, yet still guarded.
“How did Lady Adrien react to f
inding you alive?”
He laughed softly. “With extraordinary equanimity.”
“I suppose it was . . . quite a shock for her.”
An understatement, and Erica knew it. Alexand understood her cautious tone, but he found words coming hard.
“Yes, but she seems impervious to shock.”
“Alex, has she changed?”
“Some things seem immune to change.”
A quiet laugh. “I’m glad you finally recognized that. I wish I could talk to you. I mean, face to face.”
“So do I. Perhaps we can—soon.”
“I hope so, and maybe it’s the mother hen in me, but I’m glad about Adrien for your sake. I hope it doesn’t make more grief for you, and it could. Still, I’m glad.”
For a moment he could find no words, except, “You’re extraordinary, Erica.” Then he added, “I didn’t discuss this with Ben or explain my change of plans in Leda. He didn’t seem . . . interested in discussing it.”
“Yes, I know. Alex, it . . . it doesn’t make sense to him, you know. I mean, you and Adrien. He’s never allowed himself personal involvements of that sort. But give him some time.”
“All right, Erica. Has Ben had any news about Andreas since yesterday?”
“No, and in this case no news is good news, to a point. There’s still no hint of a trial or execution yet.”
“What about Predis?”
“He’s busy making up lost ground. You shook him badly with the FO assembly.”
“He hasn’t made any moves against you or Ben?”
“Not yet. He’s even let up on the gossip campaigns while he’s working at his recovery.”
“I guess that means your bargain is still in force.” He paused, knowing there was nothing more to be said, but reluctant to give up even this tenuous contact. “Tell Ben everything’s under control here, and I’ll report tomorrow at about the same time.”
“I’ll tell him. Alex, be careful, please. Ben hasn’t a franchise on worrying, you know.”
“There’s enough to go around. Erica, I’m . . . glad we had a chance to talk.”
“So am I. Now, get some rest.”
“All right, Doctor Radek. Good night.”
Her voice seemed to fade away. “Good night. Alex.”
6.
Her eyes were accustomed to the darkness, and the milky blue light of Pollux seemed bright. Her bare feet sank into the warm, silencing carpet, and the fabric of her robe was too gossamer to make a sound even as her movement set it fluttering against her body.
And yet he was awake. Perhaps he hadn’t slept at all. Adrien hadn’t even attempted sleep; she’d been waiting in the private darkness of her room counting minutes. And calculating days.
It would be close; tomorrow or the next day would be better, but he’d be gone.
Her shadow fell across his face. She knew he was awake, but he hadn’t moved, nor had the slow rhythm of his breathing changed. She realized she should speak, should identify this intruder in the room, but no words came.
He lay with his head turned away from her, the covers thrown back, cleanly naked and outwardly relaxed, and she smiled to herself.
A beautiful creature this was, long-boned, tawny-skinned. Lithe as a cat; a leopard; radiating that same contained animal energy, a hoarded power to be expended with effortless efficiency and unaware grace. The weeks at the Cliff had left their mark in a stringent leanness, but that only seemed to refine the grace.
And what would the Lady Galia say to such thoughts?
Adrien felt the tears burning in her eyes. The Lady Galia would be shocked. To regard a young man as an object of beauty and grace? It bordered on sensuality, and in her mind that translated immorality. Only second-class Elite thought in sensual terms, and they, like Lady Galia, would reduce the essence of this vital creature to what they found between his thighs.
But the true measures of grace lay in the rigors of years, the terrible strictures of discipline and experience, that formed those subtle contours of flesh and muscle and bone. And the true meaning of sensuality was of the senses, and the senses were rooted in the mind.
The medallion gleamed with every breath. The wolf was uppermost, the lamb toward his heart.
A male child it must be; his name would be Richard.
She watched the glint of the medallion, feeling paradoxically alone, even knowing he was awake and wondering whose shadow was cast across his face.
Alexand, how far does your courage and faith go?
She wouldn’t test it by telling him the full scope of her intentions, the sum of her calculation of days, the sum of her hope. Even then, she wondered if he might not turn her away out of fear for her.
He moved, only the turning of his head toward her, yet she was startled.
“Adrien?”
“Yes, Alexand.”
He sat up, his eyes fixed anxiously on her face.
“Adrien, what’s wrong?”
I’m afraid, she thought; afraid to find out you love me too much or too little, afraid you won’t give me what I must have to deny anyone else a claim on me.
“Nothing’s wrong, love. Nothing.”
She sat down beside him, watching him relax against the headboard, his eyes still fixed on her face. She could read the quickening pulse beat in his throat, and wondered if she would have to put it into words, or if she could. The silence stretched on, and finally he looked down at her hand.
The ring was on her left hand.
His eyes flashed up to hers, the question waiting there, but he didn’t speak or even move; nothing but the faint cadences of breath through his parted lips.
“Alexand, don’t you understand?”
Still a hesitation, then he reached out and pushed her hair back over her shoulder, but he didn’t touch her skin.
“Yes,” he said softly. “Yes, I understand.”
But he was still afraid.
She waited as the silence expanded, reading the thoughts behind his eyes, hooded, strangely dark. He’d made a pledge that he wouldn’t try to confine her to the safe tower of passivity, and he meant to keep it, but it wasn’t so easy to put aside his fear.
He would understand that it wasn’t impulse or simple need that brought her here tonight. She was here because she’d promised him she’d never be a bride to Karlis Selasis, and this was part of the means to that end.
But he would also understand the potential repercussions if the Selasid marriage couldn’t be stopped, if Karlis found his bride had lost her treasured virginity somewhere between Leda and the wedding. It was this danger that constrained him; he wouldn’t believe she’d take the risks inherent in the sum of her purpose. This danger was enough in itself, and in asking him to be a party to something that would make her so vulnerable, she asked much of his courage.
But he’d made a pledge.
The smile that shadowed his lips was poignantly sad.
“The Rule of Priority. Calculations. Even in this, little one?”
“Yes. Even in this.”
Still he didn’t move for some time. Then a hint of irony came into his smile. He leaned toward her until his mouth was nearly touching hers, her face cupped in his hands.
“I could almost muster a little pity,” he said, laughter hidden in every word. “Pity poor Karlis, losing his bride to Lord Alexand, nearly five years dead.”
Bravado, those words and that laughter. She went into his arms, laughing because she was so close to tears. An act of faith; a gift of love.
“Devious Selaneen.” Still the undercurrent of laughter in his voice. “Where’s the steel in you? Where do you hide it?”
There was no steel in her now. She pressed her cheek into the comfortable curved juncture of his neck and shoulder and silently asked t
o be something less than steel for once in her life, and for a time he only held her, recognizing her need for simple comfort.
But gradually, by the nuances of his voice, the gentle, evocative pressures of his hands and lips, he shifted the focus of her need. She acquiesced to that subtle manipulation, savoring and sifting sensations, recognizing and welcoming it. Her eyes were closed, shutting out everything but Alexand. Her flesh recorded his every movement, every breath and heartbeat; recorded the pause as he unfastened her robe and pushed it back over her shoulders, making that small act gently ceremonious.
She let the robe slip from her arms to the floor, watching him now, again aware of that unconscious, contained grace, studying the contours of muscle and bone under her fingers as her hands moved up his arms and across his shoulders. She knew he found grace in her, too; she was intensely cognizant of her own body as he apprehended it; she wanted to stretch herself, pulling every muscle tight, making long, taut curves.
But now his mouth pressed to hers, his arms closed around her, and her breath caught, then came in short, shallow respirations, echoed in the sound of his ragged breath.
It asked strength, a kiss so unequivocal; one that made a beginning, that wasn’t subject to the restraints that had always bound them. Her mouth was open to his, a vertiginous, suffocating darkness closing in on her. She thought she was falling, but he was only pulling her down into the bed with him, an unexpected shock in the feel of his body against the length of hers. And he was laughing, a soft, warm sound, a sound she would remember, she knew that even now, and part of the laughter was her own.
Take joy in me, love, and in my body, the vessel for all I am, for all I feel and think, for all my love and hope.
For a time she could still laugh, giving herself up to learning mental and physical states for which she had no verbal vocabulary, and Alexand yielded himself to a similar revelation in the sensations she elicited in him. An energy exchange that fed on itself.