Immersed: Interplanetary League, Book 2

by Liz Craven

  Karia feinted lunging at Ilexa. Ilexa didn’t move, didn’t flinch, didn’t drop a single book. She might not have any warrior training, but no one could call her a coward. Karia drew herself up to her full height and sneered at Ilexa. “A true Hakimu would never let a challenge go answered.”

  Ilexa raised her eyebrow, but held her tongue. Mainly because she could think of no clever reply. Fighting insulted the goddess of healing and negatively impacted the gift the goddess gave her children. Self-defense was allowed, but she’d provoked Karia. If the other woman attacked, she’d have to take it without any physical resistance.

  Karia glared at Ilexa. “Challenging you would be a waste of my skills. Stay away from Thane.”

  Shouldn’t you be telling Thane to stay away from me? Ilexa bit her tongue to prevent the barbed comment from escaping. The goddess had given her a reprieve, and she wouldn’t insult her patroness by taunting Karia further.

  Karia whirled on one foot and stomped away, muttering unflattering observations under her breath.

  Ilexa shifted the books to one arm, resting her chin on them for balance, and managed to get her door open. When it closed behind her, she dropped the books onto the dresser and began to tremble with her rising anger.

  It wasn’t the implication she was a weakling or self-appointed savior, but that she panted after Thane that made her livid. Sure, she found herself looking for him whenever he wasn’t around. Who could blame her? The man was gorgeous. And so what if she watched him when he was around? “Eye-candy” didn’t begin to describe his good looks. So what if she thought about him constantly…

  She smacked herself in the forehead. Dammit. She was panting after the man. Rubbing the aching spot she’d just created, Ilexa began to pace. When she’d awakened next to him after her nap just days before, she’d begun to weave some fantasies about him actually wanting her. Seeing her as a woman rather than Talon’s annoying little sister.

  Obviously, she hadn’t been as cool and sophisticated as she thought. Grimacing, she wondered if Thane had noticed her…crush. Embarrassment made her want to crawl under the bed, but she’d be damned before giving into such a cowardly action. She was caught between the overwhelming desire to hide and the unwillingness to give Karia the satisfaction.

  Beneath it all beat her greatest fear. What if Thane preferred Karia?

  ***

  Ilexa dressed for the celebration with care. She wore an emerald green, floor-length gown that made her skin gleam with an almost bronze hue. She darkened her eyelashes with light brown mascara that made her eyes appear huge and lent them a smoky cast. Light makeup finished her face.

  She left her hair down for the first time since arriving on Dunia. It hung past her waist and she knew the length and color would draw male eyes to her. At home, the color was considered unusual. On Dunia, it would be rare, if not unique.

  She stood as far back from the dresser mirror as possible trying to get the overall effect. The results brought a smile to her lips. Karia believed herself to be a goddess among the Hakimu. Ilexa intended to take her down. She might not have a chance against Karia the warrior, but she’d go head-to-head with Karia the woman any day.

  And this has nothing to do with Thane, her inner voice taunted.

  Ilexa grimaced, then squared her shoulders, determined to ignore the taunt.

  You spent two hours getting ready just to show Karia up. Nothing puts another woman in her place quite like a deep-conditioning hair masque.

  The trouble with an inner voice was the inability to plug ones ears and sing, la, la, la, la to drown it out.

  Ilexa glanced at the clock. The ball—the encomium—started in ten minutes. Her mother would kill her if she showed up on time for a formal social event. Teresa Dhakir had raised her daughter to make an entrance.

  She smoothed the front panel of her dress and sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to wrinkle her gown. Zavian had arrived with his parents and grandfather that morning. Liken and Creary had sequestered themselves in a private meeting with the Malkia, Rhys, Thane and other leading male members of the tribe. How a tribe led by a woman remained so patriarchal was beyond her.

  Rhyna on the other hand had hustled Zavian directly to Ilexa. The worried mother hadn’t even bothered going to medical. She’d pounded on Ilexa’s door with such fervor, Ilexa had raced to fling the door open with her toothbrush still in her mouth.

  After reassuring the worried mother that she’d thoroughly examine the baby—and spitting out the toothpaste—she’d escorted them to medical. Rhyna quickly proved impossible to work around. She peppered everyone with questions when she wasn’t hovering over the baby and interfering with the test Quatres was trying to run. Ilexa had barred the woman from the exam room the fourth time Rhyna had pulled her from the healing trance.

  An old hand at soothing frazzled parents, Ilexa had found Rhyna a challenge unlike any she’d encountered before.

  Overall, the baby appeared well, though he wasn’t progressing nearly as quickly as Ilexa would have liked. She wanted to suggest the baby stay longer than the celebration so she could encourage his healing, but refrained. She wondered if it might be possible to travel to Zavian for a few follow-up visits.

  She considered various ways to approach the Malkia about visiting the Quixivon until enough time had passed and then she made her way to the great hall. She hesitated at the top of the stairs, took a deep, cleansing breath and composed her expression. She intended to represent N’yota with as much grace and dignity as she could manage. And if she happened to upstage Karia, all the better.

  Tafari met her at the bottom of the stairs and swept a dramatic bow. Ilexa hid a smile and took the arm he offered. It seemed she had become the focus of a young crush.

  “You look ravishing.” Sincerity oozed from his pores. “My sister will be green with envy.”

  “Your sister?”

  “Karia.”

  “I didn’t realize the two of you were related.” Prophetess, the Hakimu remained secretive about family relations. She wondered if some cultural imperative drove them to keep such information quiet.

  At least now she understood where Karia’s sense of entitlement came from. As the Malkia’s granddaughter, she likely wielded a great deal of influence. It probably burned her buns that she wasn’t born the Malkine.

  “Did anyone explain the encomium to you?”

  A little frisson of alarm chased up her spine. “It’s a ball to welcome the Quixivon into the good graces of the Hakimu. Is there something I’m supposed to do, some ritual that will be performed?”

  Tafari laughed. “Don’t worry. All you have to do is dance and enjoy yourself.”

  “I can manage that.”

  “The Quixivon guests will be wearing armbands with their green and black tribal symbol on them. The Telonia and Chrylian tribes sent delegates to witness our behavior and ensure our intentions are honorable.”

  “To see that the gesture wasn’t a trick to ambush the Quixivon,” Ilexa guessed.

  “Exactly.” Tafari beamed at her as though she was an exceptionally bright child solving a complex math problem. “The Telonia are wearing blue arm bands, and the Chrylian are wearing yellow ones.”

  “So anyone without an armband is Hakimu?”

  Tafari nodded, but his eyes darted about, drawing Ilexa’s attention to several men bearing down on them. Her stomach fluttered nervously at the attention, even though she had intended to receive it.

  “Would you like to dance?” Tafari actually shouted the question in a nervous rush.

  “I’d love to.” Her tolerant smile turned to a grimace as Tafari stampeded over her feet in his rush to the dance floor.

  She stumbled and hobbled behind him. Tafari didn’t seem to notice her discomfort as he hauled her across the floor in perfunctory movements. Finally gaining her balance, she had to hide a smile as she watched the young man’s lips move, silently counting, “One, two, three, one, two, three…”

  The music
ended on a two, throwing Tafari off balance. Ilexa quickly stepped back to save her aching feet and dropped into the required curtsy.

  “Thank you for the dance,” she said to give Tafari time to recover himself.

  Before the smitten youth could reply, a hulking man with a yellow armband appeared before her, requesting the next dance. Seven dances—with seven different men—later and Ilexa desperately wanted something to drink. She was considering how to excuse herself from the next dance when Thane appeared before her.

  She could sense his anger. He elbowed the other man out of the way and announced, “This dance is mine.”

  Her thwarted dance partner grumbled and stalked off as the music started. Ilexa turned back to Thane, expecting him to take her waist. Instead, he stared at her, not moving, as couples drifted around them.

  Uncertain about his behavior, she chose to ignore it in favor of her more pressing need. “I need something to drink.”

  Thane grabbed her biceps and dragged her towards the refreshment table. She realized others perceived Thane’s anger and dangerous mood when they moved quickly out of his path.

  He snatched a cup of punch off the table, but didn’t so much as pause in dragging her out into the hallway. Ilexa’s quick reflexes saved her dress when she caught the cup he thrust at her. Drops sloshed over the rim and splashed harmlessly onto the stone floor.

  Her temper ignited, chasing away her bewilderment at his odd behavior. “What has gotten into you?”

  “Me?” he demanded. “What has gotten into you? Look at how you are dressed. Members of the Telonia, Chrylian and Quixivon tribes have almost come to blows over who gets to dance with you.”

  She sucked in an offended breath, focusing on his most important complaint. “What is wrong with my dress?”

  “If you are trying to start a riot, you picked the right dress.”

  Ilexa glanced down at herself. The bodice was low cut and a little snug, but that was necessary to hold up a strapless gown. The skirt flowed freely around her legs. Granted, it molded to them if she moved too fast, but compared to the dresses she’d seen on other women, her dress was downright conservative.

  Why was she making these arguments to herself? She liked the dress. “There is nothing wrong with this dress. Compared to what the other women are wearing, this dress has too much material to it.”

  “You are teasing men from different tribes, playing them against each other. Are you trying to start a conflict between tribes?”

  She gasped so hard, she almost choked. “I am doing no such thing. I’m just dancing. What is wrong with you?”

  “I’m trying to stop you from causing an incident—or making a fool out of yourself.”

  Ilexa clenched the cup she held so tight, her knuckles turned white. With effort, she restrained herself from dashing the contents into his face. She might be furious, but she refused to be a cliché. She placed the cup on a ledge between two candles and squared her shoulders. “I refuse to listen to this. I’m going to assume that you have had too much to drink. I’m going to return to the party.”

  Head held high, Ilexa stalked back to the dance floor seething. Thane tried to grab her arm, saying something about culture, but she wrenched free and hightailed it to a more populated area. Thane had too much pride to make a scene before the tribe. Besides, if they cared so much for cultural differences, they would have let her meet the counselor upon arrival.

  Swallowing her anger, she smiled sweetly up at a handsome warrior with a green armband and let him lead her out on the dance floor.

  An hour later, she was cursing herself for not drinking the punch when she’d had a chance. She could have taken a break and obtained a beverage, but she had no intention of giving Thane the satisfaction of seeing her leave the dance floor.

  A young man around her age with a skinny build and nervous manner approached her. He wore a yellow armband and a wobbly smile. “I’m Jakum. Would you do me the honor of the next dance?”

  While he had a gawky appearance, he had a voice that rivaled any professional announcer. Low, smooth and completely out of place in its outer wrapper. She returned his smile with a confident one of her own. “I would be delighted.”

  The Hakimu bandleader stepped forward and announced the next segment of dancing would be traditional Dunian reels and tribal dances.

  Ilexa grimaced. “I’m afraid I don’t know any of the dances that are about to begin.”

  Jakum’s expression fell. “I understand.”

  “However, I’m dying of thirst. Would it be too much trouble to escort me to the refreshments table?”

  Jakum’s face lit up like an ion trail behind a star cruiser. “I could use a drink myself.”

  The consummate gentleman, Jakum escorted her to a bench by the main entrance. With the party in full swing, no one loitered around the two large, open doors. While Jakum left her to retrieve drinks and snacks, Ilexa took the opportunity to study the intricate carvings in the wooden doors.

  Each door held half a carved tree, so that when closed, a whole tree formed the center of the artistic work. Above the tree, the night sky of Dunia revealed constellation groupings Ilexa found foreign. A sense of homesickness washed over her, leaving her feeling alone and dejected.

  Jakum returned, and Ilexa hid her emotions behind a serene expression. She accepted the cup with gratitude. Jakum settled beside her, placing a plate of finger foods between the two of them.

  He raised his cup. “To new alliances.”

  She smiled, clinking her cup against his. “To new alliances.”

  Ilexa drank the entire cup in one sip, enjoying the cool wetness sliding down her throat. It left an unpleasant aftertaste, but she chased it away with a puffy chocolate pastry.

  Jakum leaned back against the wall and selected a small finger sandwich. “You seem thirsty.”

  She blinked, thinking over the question. “I am.”

  He grinned. “Why don’t we sneak over to the kitchen and get an actual glass instead of the few drops these cups will hold?”

  That sounded like a brilliant idea. Probably the smartest idea anyone had ever had. She beamed at the genius sitting with her. “You are so smart,” she blurted out.

  Jakum rose and offered her his hand. She knocked the cup over onto the plate and paused to worry about it. Finally, she realized the empty cup hadn’t made a mess and raised her arm to take his hand. After three misses, he reached down and took her gently by the arm.

  “Let’s go out the main doors and circle around,” he suggested. “That way, we can avoid the crowd.”

  Something didn’t seem quite right with the suggestion, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. She nodded her agreement, anyway. Jakum seemed to know what he was talking about.

  She staggered behind him. Fortunately, he had a good grip on her hand, so she didn’t fall. He caught her around the waist and helped her out the main doors. The stars in the moonless sky seemed to swirl, and Ilexa swallowed trying to settle her stomach.

  “I’m not usually so clumsy,” she whispered, before tilting into blackness.

  ***

  “She’s gone.” Thane’s voice vibrated with rage. “She’s not in her room, and she’s not in medical. No one’s seen her in almost two hours.”

  Rhys scowled. “A member of the Chrylian delegation named Jakum is missing as well.”

  The two stood in a hallway off the main kitchen. Thane knew they needed to keep Ilexa’s disappearance as quiet as possible, before other warriors went after her in hopes of stealing her from the first thief. The party continued in full swing, and he prayed that no one else noticed Ilexa was gone.

  “I’m going after her,” Thane growled.

  “I’ll send a few warriors—”

  “No.” Thane’s tone brooked no argument. “I’ll find them.”

  A cold smile curved Rhys’s lips. “Jakum is a scientist.”

  “He’ll never know what hit him,” Thane promised.

  “Don’t kill
him.”

  “I won’t…unless he’s hurt Ilexa.”

  “Deity go with you.”

  Chapter Nine

  Ilexa awoke to a jostling motion and the sound of repeated cursing. She tried three times, before she managed to force words past her dry throat. “Where am I?”

  “Shut up. I have to concentrate.”

  She knew that voice. Prying her eyes open, she turned to find Jakum behind the wheel of a skimmer. Straightening her back, she discovered she’d been harnessed into its passenger seat. Her brain felt as though it had been wrapped in cotton, but other than that, she didn’t seem to have been harmed.

  Her eyes drifted shut as confusion reigned, only to snap back open when realization struck. “You drugged and kidnapped me!”

  “I said shut up,” he snarled.

  “What in all the hells do you think you are doing?”

  “Bride-stealing. Now shut up!”

  “I will not. Where do you think you are taking me?”

  “Are you trying to get us killed?” he demanded. “I need to concentrate so we don’t crash. So shut up!”

  If he thought telling her to shut up would work, he had no idea who he was dealing with. By the gods, she had five older brothers. She had learned the power of constantly talking at a very young age. “What you need to do is turn around and take me back to the Hakimu holding.”

  “I can’t turn around,” he gritted out, clenching the wheel.

  “This is not going to work. I’m not going to marry you.”

  “I don’t care.”

  Well that stung. Apparently, Thalia hadn’t exaggerated about the men not actually wanting Ilexa. She squashed the blow to her self-esteem. “This will not endear you to my brother and sister-in-law. In fact, it will just make them angry.”

  Jakum muttered something unflattering under his breath, then took his right hand off the wheel and ran it over the console. The shutters over her windows rolled back, and Ilexa finally saw the rain beating against the skimmer. She’d never before understood the concept of a torrent. Even with the lights of the skimmer on, she couldn’t see anything beyond the windshield—not the exterior of the skimmer.