Rafe lowered his voice slightly as he answered. “There’s a woman accompanying the delegation, Lady Gwen. She’s a friend of Sonja Geris and her husband and she’s—”
“Admiral Heydrich daughter.”
“So you know about her?”
“Arianna mentioned her a couple of times.”
“Yes, I gather she’s a friend of Arianna’s too.” A pause. “I’m glad you’ve heard of her. I didn’t want you to be caught unawares. She’s a friendly.”
That seemed to hint at her being more than a simple guest. “Is she a player on this?”
“That’s not clear. She’s in a rather strange and interesting position. All the male members of her family are deceased, except a younger brother, and if the rumors about him are close to true, I’d say there’s little chance of him enjoying a normal life expectancy—or even seeing his next birthday. She’s a widow, which makes her a matron, and that gives her some additional standing and autonomy in their legal system. She’s connected with Caneris and the decision to have her travel with the delegation seems to have been quite last-minute. So there was some urgency there. More than that, I can’t say.”
“Okay.” Kris got the distinct impression he indeed meant can’t, not won’t. His comment about Lady Gwen’s younger brother piqued her curiosity, particularly after the dark hints Arianna had dropped, but this clearly wasn't the time to pursue that. There was another question she’d been itching to ask though, and him bringing up Lady Gwen’s family brought it back into the forefront of her mind. Of course, this wasn’t the most opportune time to ask it either, but . . . “Can I ask you a question?”
“About Lady Gwen?” He gestured at the ladder junction, and the lift waiting for them.
“No . . .”—hesitating as they stepped on it together. “I just wanted to know how you talked that guy outta interrogating you.” His meeting with Captain Arutyun had been alluded to during their time with Caneris, but there’d been no opportunity to privately ask about it. She knew how persuasive Rafe could be, and that he was able to spin bullshit with the best of them when he had to, but how he could’ve convinced someone like Arutyun to bypass such a golden opportunity was beyond her. As soon as the question crossed her lips, however, it seemed like it might be an embarrassing topic, and she wished she’d kept her mouth shut.
Rafe didn’t seem at all put out, though. On the contrary, he looked a trifle amused. “Oh, that. I encouraged them to believe I was tripwired.”
“But you’re not.” Sure, it made sense he would be, and Arutyun’s people would probably assume he was, but she knew how much he hated the idea of them. And a scan would detect tripwires, so . . . “Are you?”
“No. I’m not.” The amused look took on a more private note. “My mom died of preeclampsia five and half months before I was born. They kept her body on life-support until I could be delivered. The procedures they used to keep me developing normally left traces throughout my cellular structure. Normal med-scans won’t detect them, but they show up if you scan for tripwires. Since my dad was Speaker, it was easy to convince them that mine was a system they’d never seen before and certainly couldn’t break.”
Kris had stopped listening halfway through his explanation, though, her mind full of the painting she’d seen in his Oscoda apartments, and again at the galley in Taos. And the last thing he’d said in his fever delirium on the raft: Tell Mariwen we’re supposed to meet Autumn to pick up the painting this weekend.
Oh shit. “I’m . . . I’m really sorry. I didn’t know it was so personal.”
He glanced down at her, eyes kind. “Between you and me, it’s not.”
She let a breath slide between her lips and nodded. The lift doors opened, and they stepped out.
* * *
Yeah, the ice is pretty damn thick in here, Kris thought, holding a lukewarm drink and her face set in her best attempt at a convivial smile. It had been maybe ten minutes since Commodore Shariati’s steward had received them and made introductions, and while that wasn’t much time for things to lift from the grim end of the social thermometer, she didn’t see much chance of it budging.
Even meeting Arianna here unexpectedly hadn’t done much to lighten the mood. Kris had renewed their acquaintance during the weeks she and Rafe had spent as her grandfather’s guest. That had been one of the few bright spots and given her sanity a much needed anchor during those stressful days. She had particularly enjoyed resuming their daily runs and sparring sessions and urged Arianna to approach her grandfather and ask his permission for the latter. The ease with which the admiral had granted it suggested that their previous clandestine sessions were not exactly news to him. Having to leave without being able to say goodbye had rankled, and that had bit again, and deeper, this PM when she received the necklace.
Arianna, wearing a stiff formal gown that did not suit her all that well (and looking like she knew it), had sidled over as soon as they arrived and whispered, “Did you get it?” Kris gave her a smile and a nod, touching the barely noticeable lump under the tunic of her full-dress uniform. After that, Kris had been pulled away into the round of introductions, and they’d barely had a chance for a word since. She turned out to be traveling in the company of Lady Gwen, a tall, striking blond woman who bore the clear stamp of the Heydrich family on her regal features.
Younger than Kris thought she’d be, and in view of Rafe’s remarks, Kris made a point of observing her. Her demeanor was cool, somewhat detached, almost a touch dreamy, but Kris could tell that anyone who presumed to take advantage of her seeming softness was liable to find themselves in deep shit. She and Arianna appeared to get on quite well together.
She also seemed to be quite close to Sonja Geris, though Kris thought she tended to overshadow the older woman. Lady Geris was being very much the diplomat’s wife this evening, and when her husband introduced them, her greeting was calibrated exactly to the setting, yet Kris sensed a subtle warmth that hinted she was more at peace than when they’d met earlier. Lord Geris, who avowed he was charmed of the acquaintance, was very much the facile diplomat; rather too facile, in Kris’s opinion, which, she also considered, probably made him just the man for the job.
At the moment, Sonja, her husband, Lady Gwen, Arianna, Rafe and Commodore Shariati were all talking together, while Kris played the role of a minor planet in an outer orbit and tried to ignore the few other guests, all undistinguished nonentities. The tenor of the conversation was unclear to her, though it appeared to be perfectly amiable. She paused in her orbit to accept an hors d'oeuvre from one of the two mess orderlies making the rounds under the steward’s watchful eye. It couldn’t be long now until they were called into dinner and she hoped to have the opportunity to thank Arianna properly for returning the necklace before they all sat down and private conversations became impossible.
She’d also love to know (if she could think of a decent way to bring it up) what had motivated the admiral to allow his granddaughter to travel to what was still an enemy state. She had told Rafe about Arianna’s disappointment over Adam’s planned tour being canceled, and her grandfather forbidding her to experience the VR concert recordings she’d obtained. She’d never expected the conversation to be taken seriously, much less lead to anything concrete and she still didn’t. But Arianna suddenly being here did smack of an unlikely coincidence.
The conference at the center of the room was showing signs of breaking up, the steward was casting covert glances at the chrono, and Kris was planning her move when an ensign belonging to the signals department gained admittance. She marched up to the commodore and presented a flimsy with a crisp salute. Commodore Shariati thanked the young woman, who conducted a parade-ground about-face and marched back out while Shariati unfolded the message. Glancing at it, she smiled and turned to Rafe.
“Were you expecting this?”—showing him the message.
“I believe the young lady is the intended recipient”—indicating Arianna.
Commodore Shariati handed the
flimsy to Arianna with a polite inclination of her head.
Arianna accepted with a bow and puzzled look, scanned the content and shrieked, “Adam, Baby!”
In the shocked silence following the explosion, she fixed Rafe with wide adoring eyes. “You did this?”
“Well . . . no,” he said deferentially. “I played only a minor role. The credit should go to Commander Kennakris and Lady Gwen.”
“Commander, you are being far too modest,” interjected Lady Gwen with a delicately arched brow.
“That’s a nice way to put it,” murmured Kris, but not so low as to be completely inaudible.
Arianna bounced a glance between them with narrowed eyes. Then she covered distance between her and Rafe with a bound and threw her arms around him. He accepted the impact with good grace and a vaguely bemused smile, and she beamed up at him.
“I don’t think I believe you played only a minor role, Commander. So thank you.”
“You’re most welcome,” he said, returning a hug much gentler than hers. “My pleasure.”
Kris, masking her look of undiplomatic pleasure with her fingers, felt Rafe was probably getting off easy. Had she not been constrained by that gown, she thought Arianna might have tackled him.
And the ice was thoroughly broken. Not a shard remained.
The steward, trying not to look scandalized by these unexpected goings-on, cleared his throat a trifle loudly. “Ladies, gentlemen, officers. If you will be pleased to walk into dinner.”
Smiling and chuckling, they were. And they did.
Chapter 44
Departing CEF Forward Base
Illyria, Vulpecula Region
“Going home,” said Trin as she showed Mariwen into her cabin aboard the starclipper that would take them back to Sol. “I apologize for it being a little cramped. But I expect we’ll make good time, so you won’t have to endure it for long.”
“No . . .” Mariwen glanced about the compartment, about a meter-and-half wide and just over two long, enough for a bunk, a table with two seats or a desk, one of which could be extruded at a given time, an autovalet she had little use for and some cabinets she didn’t need. There was also a niche with a mess port in it, and a console in the bulkhead. “It’s more than enough. I feel a little bad taking all this space.”
“Please don’t. We’re due to translate in thirteen hours and I took the liberty of getting you something, in case you might need it. It’s in the head—the cabinet over the sink.” Trin knew Mariwen suffered from an unusually bad reaction to hyperlight translation, and usually took a sedative for it. She pointed to a hatch at the other end of the compartment. “That’s through there, by the way. You have your own.”
“Oh.” Mariwen looked over as she realized Trin had displaced the ship’s master for her. “Trin, you really shouldn’t have.”
The corners of Trin’s lips tweaked up and there was a hint of a sparkle in her eye. “Certainly, I should have. Kylie can bunk with the crew for a few days. Indeed, she insisted.”
“Then . . . thank you,” Mariwen said, swallowing any final objections. “That’s . . . very kind. Please tell her I appreciate it and let her know I’ll thank her personally as soon as there’s an opportunity.”
“No worries about that.” Trin’s voice softened. “How are you feeling?”
Mariwen had been on edge since they met. She’d hid it well, but Trin sensed it and thought it was more than post-mission jitters. True, she’d had a wearing trip from Halith Evandor; first, from Halith Evandor to Zhian via Haslar on one of Admiral Caneris’ dispatch boats, and then from Zhian to Illyria on CEF stealth corvette—neither being the most comfortable mode of transportation for someone suffering from severe translation shock, with no meds available. But Trin didn’t believe that explained it all either. Mariwen had arrived here the day before Trin left Terra, which should have given adequate time to recover from even a fairly rough trip.
No, what Trin sensed Mariwen was worried about was the very prospect of going home. She’d had an anxious, expectant air about her, and it had gotten stronger even in the short span of time since they boarded.
“To tell you the truth,” Mariwen answered, eyes briefly meeting Trin’s before shifting away, “I’m not entirely sure. But, please . . . it’s fine and I can’t thank you enough for—”
“Not at all,” Trin interrupted her. “What we owe you is beyond calculation. For once, that can be said without any hyperbole.”
Mariwen smiled. It seemed to be a bit of a struggle.
“But if you feel like it,” Trin went on, “a small celebration might be in order at some point?”
“Yes.” A pause as her smile flickered. “That would be lovely.”
Not wanting to overstay her welcome, Trin put a hand on the entry. “I’ll let you get settled then.”
“Thank you.” Still the slight hesitation between the syllables. “I truly appreciate everything.”
The entry slid open and Trin held out her hand. “So do we.”
Their hands touched, a brief clasp, and Trin stepped into the passageway as the entry closed.
At the entrance to her cabin, Trin met a crewman carrying a red-bordered envelope.
“This just came in for Ms. Rathor, Captain”—holding it up. “Base forwarded it. Looks important. Skipper thought I should see you before delivering it.”
Trin regarded the code-locked message. Had Mariwen been expecting this? Was it the cause of her restlessness?
“It’s fine to deliver it, Fuentes. Go ahead.”
“Will do, ma’am.” Fuentes showed a wide grin. “Never thought I’d get to meet Mariwen Rathor on this job. Hope it’s good news for her.”
“So do I,” Trin replied, letting the levity slide. The ship had something of a holiday air with all that had happened. She couldn’t blame them. “Carry on.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He saluted and squeezed past her, grin intact, and Trin, holding in a wry smile, keyed open the entry and crossed the threshold into her cabin.
A light knock on her cabin door, and Trin, getting up from checking messages on the console, answered it. Mariwen stood there, looking as though the weight of a thousand years had lifted from her shoulders.
“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” Mariwen sounded relieved and maybe a little buoyant.
“Not at all. Please come in.” Trin moved aside so she could. “Feeling better? You look better.”
“Much, thank you. I . . . I got a message I was waiting for. I was a little afraid it might not come.”
Trin extended the compartment’s table and folded down both seats, recalling Fuentes and the code-locked message. “Good news, I take it?”
“Yes. Very.”
That explained the relief, then. “I’m so glad.” She gestured at the table. “Do sit down. Can I offer you something?”
“If you’re sure I’m not imposing?” Mariwen asked, hand resting on the back of a chair.
“Of course not.” Leaning over, Trin brought up the mess port’s menu. “Anything in particular you’d like?”
“Well . . .” Sitting, Mariwen unconsciously smoothed her skirt over her knees. “The main reason I came by was to say that if the invitation to celebrate was still in force, I accept.”
Trin straightened. “Excellent. I think I have just the thing then.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean it had to be now.” Mariwen sounded a touch sheepish. “Whenever it’s—”
“No time like the present,” Trin quashed the objection. “Strike while the iron is hot and all that.” Addressing herself to the mess port again, she tapped a series of codes. “I hope this works. Programming these things is not my forte.” The display flashed in response and emitted a series of beeps. “Now we’ll see what happens. It’ll just be a minute.”
Going to the cabin’s aft-most lower cabinet, she bent and reached within. The mess port chimed. A most welcome spicy aroma filled the cabin and Mariwen said “Oh!” Trin turned to see her looking under the cove
r of the platter the mess port had just disgorged with a grin.
“Buffalo wings? Sorry, I peeked.”
“Yes. Nick introduced me to them. I hoped you’d like them.”
“I adore them.”
“These are boneless.” As much as Trin had come to appreciate buffalo wings, she’d never gotten used to having a pile of bones on her plate.
“Even better.”
“Very good.” Trin slid into the seat across from Mariwen. “And then there’s this.” She placed her father’s bottle of Karelian brandy on the table.
Mariwen looked at it for a several seconds before raising her eyes, her expression sobered. “It’s that day?”
“I think so.” Retrieving two shot glasses, Trin placed them alongside the bottle. “This op has been quite the lesson in things going off-plan.”
“Only because I did everything wrong.”
Trin pulled the cork from the bottle with a musical pop. “I think what you did”—pouring both glasses full—“is redefine doing things right. Cheers.”
Lifting the glass, Trin tossed the brandy back. It was ice-fire sliding down her throat with almost no sense of wetness and hitting her belly like a flare, leaving a fierce cold burning in place of taste. Mariwen copied her example and they both sat rigid a short while, blinking at the tears.
Mariwen coughed twice. “Ah . . . Sorry. I’ve never actually done that before.”
“Me either.” Trin blotted both eyes with her sleeve. “And I doubt I’ll do it again.” Mingled laughter as she refilled their glasses. “But what I really wanted to say is that you taught me something very profound. Me personally, I mean.”
“I taught you something?”
For a heartbeat, the words caught in Trin’s throat and Mariwen tilted her head to one side, coaxing her with a quiet smile. Trin returned it, feeling a trifle foolish at her hesitation. After all they’d shared, she hardly had anything to be shy about.
“Yes. You taught me I was living my life bottled up—like this brandy. It's time for both of us to be opened up.”
Orion's Price (Loralynn Kennakris Book 6) Page 31