Immersed: Interplanetary League, Book 2

by Liz Craven

  “Do not concern yourself with the alarm. Going forward, I will personally contact you when I send notices to family heads.” The Malkia sounded brisk and businesslike, but Thane knew she was embarrassed by her failure to watch over a new tribe member.

  “Thank you. I would appreciate that.”

  Ilexa sounded subdued, but not insulted. Of course, she didn’t fully understand their culture. Perhaps bringing her immediately into the tribe hadn’t been a wise decision. It galled him to admit the IMEP delegates might have had a legitimate complaint.

  He doubted Ilexa grasped the honor the Malkia bestowed upon her, effectively raising her to an honorary position of tribal elder. If the hunch of her shoulders was any indication, she didn’t seem to realize the entire situation had changed.

  The Malkia’s failure to properly adopt Ilexa into the tribe negated Ilexa’s responsibility for Borys’s death. The responsibility belonged to the Malkia…and himself. He should have made certain that Ilexa integrated seamlessly into the tribe. Instead, he’d been so focused on sending her home, then on keeping her for himself, that he’d failed to actually watch over her.

  He’d broken his word, something he’d never done before. Talon had relied on his vow that he would watch over Ilexa. Guilt swamped him, and the foreign need to apologize welled up. He swallowed it and clenched his fist to stop himself from reaching for her.

  “Did he have children?”

  The soft question hit Thane in the gut like a sucker punch. If she believed she’d left children fatherless, he knew she’d never recover.

  “No.” The Malkia’s reply sent a flood of relief through Thane.

  They passed through several hallways before reaching an area dominated by young married clan members. The Malkia paused at a door, and Thane moved to offer Ilexa his support.

  As he stepped to her side, Ilexa changed before his eyes. It was as though someone flipped a switch. In a blink, she’d gone from a drawn, miserable waif to a confident, if somber, woman. She stood resolved before the door and a surge of pride went through him at the backbone she displayed.

  The door swung open on the first knock to reveal a moderately pretty woman in a drab beige dress. She had her brown hair swept up in a severe style. She wore no makeup or jewelry. If he’d passed her in a hall or on a street, he’d never have seen her.

  The woman gaped at the Malkia standing at her door and immediately panicked. She began smoothing imaginary wrinkles on her skirt with one hand while patting her already neat coiffure with the other.

  “Malkia, I’m honored by your visit. Would you like to come in? I’ve just chilled fresh figila juice.” The woman stepped aside and opened the door wide.

  Thane allowed the women to precede him into the small home. He swept the main living area with an appraising eye. Though it was small, he’d never seen a more immaculate room.

  “Drea, may we sit?” the Malkia asked.

  “Of course.” The young wife plastered a nervous smile on her face. “Would you care for a bite? Dinner isn’t ready, but I have a lovely afternoon cake.”

  The Malkia sat on the loveseat, pulling the young woman down beside her. Using the gentlest voice Thane had ever heard issued from her throat, the Malkia said, “Drea, I’m sorry. There is no easy way to say this. Borys is dead. He fell from the east parapet. He didn’t suffer.”

  “What?” the young woman breathed.

  “He died defending his tribe,” the Malkia continued. She clasped the widow’s hands in her own. “We will remember and honor his memory.”

  “He’s dead?”

  “I’m truly sorry.”

  Drea jerked her hands from the Malkia’s grip and grabbed the older woman’s forearms. Thane tensed, ready to intervene.

  “He’s dead? Really dead? You saw the body?” Her voice shot up several octaves on the last question.

  “I’ve seen the body. There is no question. Borys is dead.” The Malkia spoke with a quiet firmness that brooked no argument.

  Drea dropped her hold on the Malkia and fell back against the cushions. Thane was shocked to hear her heartfelt, “Thank the Deity.”

  ***

  Ilexa ignored her stunned companions as years of training kicked in. She knelt beside the young widow, took her hand and pushed her sleeve up past her elbow.

  Mottled bruises covered her forearm in various stages of healing. One in the obvious shape of a man’s hand was just beginning to purple.

  It took Drea a moment to realize she’d been exposed. When it registered, she tried to extract herself from Ilexa’s grip, while pushing her sleeve back down. Ilexa held tight, not allowing the woman to cover the obvious signs of abuse.

  “How long?” Ilexa kept her gaze steady, not dropping her eyes from Drea’s.

  The widow began to tremble. “Three years.”

  “He can’t hurt you anymore.” Ilexa kept her voice soft.

  “Why didn’t you come to me? Report this to your family head?” The Malkia’s outrage sounded like an accusation, and Drea flinched.

  Ilexa caught the Malkia’s eye and shook her head. The divinely chosen leader of the Hakimu glared at her, but fell silent. Drea still tugged at Ilexa’s grip, so she allowed the woman to pull free. Rising, Ilexa said, “Let’s go to the medical ward.”

  Drea shook her head with vigorous denial. “No. I’m fine. I don’t need medical treatment.”

  She ignored the protest and grabbed the recalcitrant woman’s hand, hauling her to her feet. “You need to have those bruises tended and be checked out.”

  Drea shook her head. “I never see a doctor.”

  I’ll bet you don’t. Ilexa struggled to contain her fury.

  “I’ll not force you to medical right now if you consent to the healer’s examining you. If she says it can wait, I’ll let you make an appointment at your convenience in the next few days. But if the healer says you go, you go,” the Malkia proclaimed as she stood.

  “Thank you, Malkia. I’ll abide by the healer’s decision.”

  Either way, the young woman would see a doctor. Ilexa admired the Malkia’s handling of the situation. She gave the abused widow the illusion of control without risking her health. Still, Ilexa wished the Malkia had found another way to do it. Exhaustion pulled at her, and she wanted to crawl into a hole and sleep for a week.

  Instead, she called her healing sight and examined Drea. The extensive damage brought tears to her unfocused gaze. Every inch of skin hidden by clothing showed trauma. Bruises on top of bruises, swollen muscles and torn ligaments. The skeletal system showed numerous breaks and fractures that hadn’t received treatment, leaving them misaligned. Even her internal organs had scar damage. The Dunia god had protected this woman. No other explanation existed for why she still lived. The internal bleeding she had suffered should have killed her many times over.

  Ilexa pulled herself back to consciousness. She closed a gentle hand on the widow’s upper arm, prepared to catch her. “You need to go to medical.”

  “Why?” It should have been a demand, but Drea’s voice came out as a plea. “I’m fine.”

  “I believe the baby would benefit from a full exam.”

  Drea stumbled in shock and would have fallen if not for Ilexa’s steady hold. “I’m pregnant?”

  “You are. Your child appears healthy, but with the damage to your system, I believe a full workup would be best.”

  “I’m pregnant,” Drea whispered, tears flowing unchecked.

  Ilexa’s heart plummeted to splash in her stomach. Did Drea blame the child for its father’s sins? Didn’t she understand the baby was innocent?

  Drea began to laugh. Her hands dropped to cover her abdomen in a protective gesture. “I’m pregnant,” she shouted, joy blooming across her face beneath the tears that streamed rivers. “He beat the other two babies from my womb. They were part of me and too weak to deserve to live as his heirs.”

  Thane growled in rage, and Ilexa found herself wishing the bastard hadn’t died. She wanted t
o hand him over Thane. No doubt the enraged warrior behind her would have made Borys suffer the agonies of all the hells before dispatching him to them permanently.

  “I’m pregnant,” Drea repeated. “And he can’t hurt my baby.”

  Ilexa heard the lingering question in Drea’s statement. Apparently the Malkia heard it, too. She took Drea’s hand. “No, he can’t. No one can. I’m putting you and this child under my care.”

  “Malkia, that is too generous,” Drea breathed, her eyes wide.

  Ilexa sensed the magnitude of the Malkia’s declaration, but didn’t understand it. More cultural ignorance on her part. Hopefully, this time it wouldn’t result in a war.

  “Let’s get you to medical.” The Malkia began urging a stunned Drea towards the door.

  Ilexa rubbed her aching temples for a moment. Forcing her legs to move, she followed. As long as they were heading to medical, she should look in on Zavian. Enough time hadn’t passed for her to do another treatment, but she could at least work on shoring up his body’s defenses.

  Mired in exhaustion, stress and worry, she missed the concerned look on Thane’s normally impassive face.

  Chapter Seven

  Two days later, Ilexa stood on the same precipice where she’d first seen Creary. This time, Creary arrived with an entourage…and in a transport.

  Quatres had explained that Creary walked the ridiculous distance from the approaching army to the cliff top in accordance with the planet’s traditions. She was learning many of Dunia’s traditions predated even the written word and the planet clung to its traditions with a tenacity she found impressive, if somewhat ridiculous—such as the Quixivon one that called upon Creary to ingest sacred herbs to open his mind to the Dunian god before approaching the Hakimu. She’d already sent a batch of palava tea leaves to a N’yotan lab for study.

  Creary leapt from the transport with agility impressive for a man his size. He turned and helped the dainty figure beside him down, before striding towards Ilexa. The woman he’d aided scrambled to keep up with him.

  Ilexa extended the baby she held to his father. Creary ignored the offering, wrapping his meaty arms around her and lifting her off the ground, Zavian squashed between them. When he released her, Ilexa struggled to pull air into her lungs.

  Seeing the Hakimu warriors around her tense, she plastered a smile on her face. The woman finally caught up with Creary. Raw hope shone on her face. “Is that him?”

  “Healer Ilexa, may I present my wife, Rhyna.”

  Petite didn’t do the woman justice. She barely came to Ilexa’s chest and was so slender she probably had to jump around in the rain to get wet. Luminous blue eyes stared at Ilexa from a pixie face. The incongruity of the tiny beauty wed to the extremely large and homely Creary caused her thought processes to arrest. The logistics of them conceiving Zavian…

  She managed to hide the shudder that picture brought. Recalling Rhyna’s question, she offered her the assurance the mother needed. “It’s him.”

  Rhyna accepted the swaddled bundle with a worried frown. “He’s not moving.”

  “He’s asleep.” Ilexa could taste the young mother’s fear. “The Falcha is gone. I promise.”

  “I told her I gave him a bottle.” Pride resonated from Creary. “She doesn’t believe me. She’s afraid to hope.”

  Ilexa pried the baby from his mother’s arms. With care, she tilted the baby backwards until he was inclined with his feet slightly more elevated than his head. Righting him, she repeated the maneuver twice before Zavian opened his eyes.

  Rhyna burst into tears when Ilexa placed the squirming baby in her arms. Answering tears tracked down Ilexa’s cheeks, and she thanked Havilla for blessing her with the skill to heal the child.

  “Whatever I can do for you. Whatever is in my power to give you, it’s yours,” Rhyna vowed, soliciting gasps from the Quixivon and Hakimu alike.

  Creary tensed, but did not contradict his wife.

  The feeling she’d missed something was becoming commonplace. Once this contract was over, she was going to have a few choice words with the IMEP directors.

  More than a few.

  She settled for saying, “You can give me your word that you and Zavian’s doctors will follow these instructions to the letter.”

  Creary took the data pad from her hand, while his wife gave her word.

  The Malkia moved to Ilexa’s side. “You could also attend a celebration we will host in honor of the new alliance between the Quixivon and Hakimu.”

  “The honor is ours.” Creary slung an arm around his wife and child.

  “Wonderful. The celebration shall begin the night of the new moon.”

  “We look forward to seeing you then,” Creary replied, without taking his eyes off his wife cradling their yawning baby boy.

  “My salutations to your father.”

  “I offer thanks on his behalf, Malkia. We will see you next week.” Creary raised his eyes to Ilexa. “Thank you, healer.”

  “My pleasure.”

  To Ilexa’s surprise, the entire Quixivon delegation, including Creary and Rhyna, bowed. Not to the Malkia, but to her.

  Ilexa froze like a gundar in the light. She had no idea how to respond. How on all the worlds did Lia handle obeisance? Her mind raced as she tried to figure out how to respond to such ceremony.

  The Quixivon straightened as one and moved regally to the waiting transport. Until Rhyna broke rank and ran back to Ilexa.

  “May we bring Zavian for you to check on? Make sure he’s progressing like he should?” Rhyna pleaded.

  Ceremony be damned. Ilexa hugged the much smaller woman. “I’ll check on Zavian any time you like.”

  “Thank you.” Rhyna turned, not quite in time to hide the renewed tears in her eyes.

  The Hakimu watched until the transport became a speck in the sky. Rhys raised a fist and the warriors dispersed without a word, leaving Thane, Rhys, Ilexa and the Malkia alone.

  Ilexa mopped her cheeks with the back of her hand, feeling vaguely ashamed of her emotional response before the stoic tribe members.

  The Malkia checked her timepiece. “Thane, escort the healer to communications for her conference.”

  “What¾?” Ilexa began, but the Malkia and Rhys walked off. Thane tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, but Ilexa dug in her heels, demanding, “What conference?”

  “The Damaia scheduled a call with you.”

  “Why would Lia call the Malkia to schedule a call with me?”

  “If I had to guess, I’d say it was because you have ignored all their attempts to contact you.”

  “I have returned every attempt at communication Talon has made.”

  “And yet you have failed to actually speak to him.”

  Ilexa shrugged. “My brother is first minister of my world. He is constantly in meetings.”

  “Perhaps you should have tried returning his call in the evenings. When he was at home rather than calling his office.”

  Apparently, he’d been checking up on her. She glared at Thane on principal. “I take it my whole family is waiting to ambush me via subspace.” Images of her five older brothers—assuming Bastian wasn’t offworld—glaring at her over a viewscreen made her grimace.

  Thane shrugged.

  Did that mean yes or no? Trying to distract herself from the upcoming confrontation—and from the feel of thick muscle under her hand—Ilexa asked, “Will the Quixivon Malkia be attending?”

  Thane peered down at her with suspicion. “What?”

  “The celebration,” she prodded. “Will the Quixivon Malkia be attending?”

  “They don’t have one.”

  “One what?”

  “Malkia.”

  “They don’t have a Malkia?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes?”

  Thane didn’t respond.

  Ilexa huffed out an exasperated breath. “Yes they do or yes they don’t?”

  “The Quixivon do not have a Malkia.”

&nbs
p; “Then who leads them?” Ilexa asked as they made their way up the ramp to the administration offices.

  “The chief.”

  Ilexa stopped walking. Thane dragged her a few steps before halting. He looked down at her with raised eyebrows.

  “You know, Thane. If you string a few words together, throw in a noun and verb, you actually create a sentence. String a few sentences together, and you are able to share an entire thought. String a few thoughts together, and voila, you are actually communicating.”

  She thought she saw his lips twitch. “The Quixivon have a hereditary tribal leadership. Liken leads them. Creary will one day replace him, and eventually Zavian will replace Creary.”

  Ilexa patted his upper arm with her free hand. “There. Was that so hard?”

  “May we continue?” He did not respond to her taunt, but she’d swear he’d been amused.

  They began walking. “Are the Hakimu the only ones with a Malkia?”

  “All the worlds of the Central Alliance worship the same God, but there are variations in theology among tribes. The Deity has blessed two other tribes with a Malkia.”

  “I’d like to meet them.”

  “A Malkia never leaves the safety of her tribe.”

  “Oh.”

  They walked the rest of the way in silence as Ilexa digested the information.

  A young soldier vibrating with nerves awaited them outside the communications office. “The Damaia herself has called twice. I assured her you were on the way.”

  Ilexa nodded her thanks. She wondered if Lia’s station or her beauty had the young man rattled. She’d bet the latter.

  Thane opened the door. Ilexa dropped his arm and preceded him into the large communications room. She glanced at the chronometer on the wall. She quickly calculated the time difference. Late morning meant early evening in the N’yotan capitol.

  The com panel in the center of the large conference table chimed. Thane closed the door and quickly crossed to answer the call.

  Lady Ophelia, Damaia of N’yota, appeared larger-than-life on the viewscreen. Wild, fiery curls cascaded past her shoulders to the top of her extended stomach. Pregnancy made the already beautiful woman ravishing. Her starburst blue-gold eyes were luminous against a glowing rose-and-cream complexion.