“Thank goodness!” I say with a smile.
He laughs. “I admit, it was good.”
“It certainly sounded like it was good!” I giggle. “The snorat—I mean, the re-re-xut bugs were gathering!”
He pauses in surprise. “What? How do you know about the re-re-xut?”
“Oalla.” I bite my lip.
“Of course. Who else?” He laughs again, shaking his head while a faint charming blush comes to his cheeks.
Did I say I absolutely love it when Aeson blushes?
I do. . . .
For the next few minutes we stare at each other like two besotted fools until the dea meal arrives.
That’s when our conversation turns serious.
“Gwen, your Games scores average places you in the top five hundred,” Aeson tells me.
Sitting up in bed, with a tray on my lap, I part my lips. “Seriously? Is that good?”
“You are in the top half. There are only about a thousand Contenders remaining.”
“Okay. . . .”
“It’s moderately a good thing,” he says, taking a drink from his glass of qvaali. “Various audience polls give you an overall positive score of 7 out of possible 10, and you finally have sympathetic factions betting for you to win.”
I listen with rising curiosity.
“You’re definitely seen as a notable Contender, especially after that powerful demonstration of your Voice against the Plural Voice Chorus, but not quite so good that you are everyone’s target—your Power Score is a respectable 65 out of 100, while your Favorite Kill Score is a low 29 out of possible unlimited. You’re also seen as amusing, with an Entertainment Score of 914, which is very high, considerably higher than the average 500 out of 1,000.”
“Oh, dear. . . .” I look at Aeson sheepishly and start to feel warm around the head. That’s because I suddenly remember the Sarpanit Latao incident and how, in the heat of battle, I accidentally pulled down her pants. . . . And then I remember how I tried to levitate my own uniform, giving myself a wedgie . . . and my crazy defense of the Great Pyramid of Giza . . . and on, and on.
Holy crap . . . I am ridiculous.
Aeson notices my flush of embarrassment, and his serious, businesslike expression dissolves into a smitten gaze of amusement. But then he forcibly makes himself grow serious again.
“So with such scores your best strategy is to continue to try to keep out of sight and avoid the action.”
“Right.”
“There might be fewer people now, but the ones who are left are the most dangerous. Avoid all confrontation as much as possible.”
“Oh, yes!” I nod tiredly. “That’s been my plan all along.”
But he looks very seriously at me, and leans in closer, setting down his glass. “Gwen, promise me that you will run and hide whenever possible, and always stay with your team. Trust none of them, and never place yourself in a position where you’re alone with any one individual. . . . But in a group they will generally protect you as long as all of you are working together on a shared task. So—keep them busy, give them little survival tasks to focus on. . . .”
I nod, thinking about my teammates and the kind of people they are. “Yes, I can see how the group dynamic works as a balancing act.”
“Exactly.” He takes a few bites of his savory pastry roll and nods for me to continue eating.
I swallow some freshly-brewed hot lvikao to ease my throat, then eat some kind of tasty vegetable dumpling in creamy sauce. It’s such a wonder to be eating real food after so many days of rations, it occurs to me. . . .
I look up suddenly. “Aeson—what is my Kill Score?”
There’s a slight pause. His expression does not change but his eyelid twitches.
“Aeson!”
“You now have 395,” he says softly. “But it all comes from a single Kill.”
At once my breathing slows and I feel an onrushing wave of cold.
Avaneh.
“Is it—?” I begin.
“Yes, I’m sorry, Gwen . . . it’s the female Red Warrior from your team. Avaneh Lehatut, an assassin who was sent by my Father—one of many. So you must not feel regret.”
I’ve known on a gut level that of course the Imperator had assigned various assassins to eliminate me, but hearing it expressed out loud again, for some reason really brings it home, painfully.
“But she didn’t actually kill me, not in the end,” I say. “She chose to give up her own life instead. It was your hero’s armband that saved me, you know. . . .”
Aeson’s expression is raw with sympathy. “I’m extremely glad my armband helped—and it will be there for you again tomorrow. But no, it wasn’t the armband that saved you—it was you who saved yourself, simply by being you. The armband merely sealed the deal. It gave her a solid reason not to kill someone she was already starting to like and respect.”
My lips part. “Oh. . . .”
“And yes, she was indeed honorable,” he continues. “But not all of them will be.”
I shake my head in stunned confusion. “I didn’t want her points. I—I still don’t—”
“I know. . . . But it’s how the Games work.”
I sigh. “Why did I get credit for her kill? I didn’t actually do anything to her physically!”
“The scoring system must’ve somehow decided that you caused her death. I’m not certain. . . . After the Games are over we can review the programming parameters, if you like. Although, it might be better to let it go. . . .”
After the Games are over.
Right now I can’t even wrap my mind around the concept of living past the Games, of anything that comes after. I don’t dare to think that far.
I nod silently, then pick up another dumpling, dunk it in the rich sauce, and eat it. I am quite hungry, and even the difficult subject of our conversation does not stop me from enjoying the delicious food.
Aeson watches me eat and occasionally eats as well, rather absentmindedly.
“I missed you . . .” I say, glancing at him with a little smile to dispel the seriousness. “I missed you so much.”
He stops eating, and then just stares at me. “I love you. . . .” And then after an intense pause and a sudden flush of color he adds somewhat awkwardly, “Now, please make me happy and eat!”
We spend the rest of the afternoon in my bedroom and later in the nearest living room—after I insist I need to sit up and move around a little bit. Aeson supervises my every move, and when I ask to turn on the smart board TV, he pleads with me not to.
“The Games coverage is relentless and full of biased garbage,” he tells me as we nestle together on the sofa. “Trust me on this, you do not want to see it now, not in your vulnerable mental state.”
“Vulnerable mental state? What?” I reach across and punch him on the shoulder playfully.
But he points to my IV line that’s still connected the IV fluid bag suspended nearby. “The drugs are still getting flushed from your system, and you need to be relaxed for it to work properly. It takes time, and we can’t risk having you at less than your full strength and clarity of focus tomorrow.”
“All right,” I say with a mock frown and then slide my head to lean against him, resting against his chest. Then I sniff my own shirt and my underarms, and make another face. “Oh, boy . . . I could really use a shower.”
He shakes his head negatively and instead presses me closer to him, ignoring my less than ideal cleanliness state. “Tomorrow.”
I sigh. When I was brought here last night, I vaguely recall, the med techs and nurses gave me a sponge bath, to remove the worst of the sweat and grime, but I still reek slightly. . . . Poor Aeson.
“Okay, so I can’t even watch TV,” I say in a mopey voice, leaning into him. “Tell me at least how my teammates are doing—do you know? Is Brie okay?”
“You can safely assume they are going through the same detox as you are,” Aeson says, wrapping his fingers around mine and caressing them softly, which se
nds warm energy currents through me. “Brie Walton is back at Correctional, but in special quarters with better accommodations. Sangre picked her up, and he’s handling her recuperation. She’ll be returned to the new Game Zone tomorrow promptly.”
“Speaking about—do we have the new Game Zone coordinates yet?” I ask.
Aeson checks his wrist device. “Not yet.”
I bite my lip. “Are you sure I can’t see Gracie and Gordie? Maybe I can call them now?”
“They’re fine, Gwen,” he says with a steady, soothing glance at me. “Gracie and your brother have been watching you in the Games non-stop, and at this point I’m certain they’re exhausted and sleeping it off, and they’ve been told that you need your own rest. So, no, not a good idea. . . .”
“Okay. . . .” I pat his arm. “How is your Mom doing? And Manala?”
Aeson smiles. “They’re fine also, and they are very, very glad and relieved you’re doing well in the Games, as I told them in detail. Neither one of them normally attends or even watches the Games, my sister especially—but you know that. As for my Mother—after the Commencement Day Ceremony, she has not attended any of the events, but she is well aware of your status and sends all her love. Both of them are not allowed to see you today either, by my own orders—because I’m a cruel man who wants to keep my over-medicated Bride all to myself.”
I squeeze his arm and look at him . . . and he is laughing at me. Then he adds, “No, seriously, they know it’s not a good time to visit you now. But you can be sure they want to see you, and think of you all the time, and are kept informed of everything about you. Seriously, Manala texts me every hour to ask about you. I’ve just told her you ate a nice dea meal with me and are about to get back to bed.”
“No, I’m not!” I open my mouth in mock outrage.
“Yes, you are,” he says. And suddenly he picks me up with one arm, and my IV fluid bag and medication unit with the other, and carries me back to my bedroom.
At some point toward evening, while I’m lounging in my bed, I broach the subject that has been bothering me. “Aeson, how is your Father taking this whole thing? I mean, forgive me for asking, but has he said anything? Has he been watching me in the Games?”
Aeson’s expression immediately darkens, to the point that I’m frightened, and instantly regret my question. “My Father . . . don’t let it bother you what he thinks because it doesn’t matter. . . .”
I watch Aeson as he pauses, then continues speaking without looking at me, in a neutral voice that is suddenly leached of all feeling. “If you must know—he attends every day. Normally my Father shows a minimal interest in the Games and is usually present for a few events such as the main ceremonies in the beginning and the end where his presence is actually required by tradition, and also the first day of each stage. But now, he’s watching relentlessly. . . . When he arrives in the Imperial Box, he is there not only to watch you but to observe me and my reactions. Only, I don’t give him the satisfaction, and keep myself as composed as I can.”
“I’m so sorry. . . .”
Aeson turns to me and I see the raw pain in his eyes and an old underlying anger. “It’s okay, really. Because it goes both ways—I watch him also. I see the tiniest reactions on his face whenever you succeed, even though he pretends to applaud you benevolently before the world. And it pleases me to see him seethe in well-concealed impotence, when it comes to you. . . . Because in that moment he knows he cannot do anything to you. And neither can he quench the flow of the growing tide, the change of public opinion . . . no matter how many assassins he sends or what ugly lies and rumors his operatives stir up for the public. Right now his actions are constrained and he must play by the rules and look the part of a loving in-law, at least while you’re within the framework of the Games.”
“Then it’s a good thing,” I say. “Let him watch for as long as he shows up.”
Aeson makes a sarcastic bitter sound. “He might only stay at the venue for a few hours, but oh, I’m certain that he continues to watch from the privacy of the Imperial Quarters after he departs to the Palace. . . . And, yes, he likely has his staff instructed to wake him up or inform him in case of any major developments.”
The painful topic of conversation is interrupted because Aeson’s wrist comm receives the official Games Contender Update on my behalf. It includes the GPS coordinates for the location of the Stage Three Game Zone, kept secret until this moment.
“The Game Zone location! Where is it?” I say, feeling my pulse speeding up, along with a sharp twinge of nerves.
Aeson scrolls through micro screens of data and finally looks up thoughtfully. “Interesting,” he says. “It’s not too far from the last location on the Golden Bay coast. Except, this time it’s further out in the ocean.”
“Oh, no . . .” I whisper. “Then Stage Three very probably involves water.”
“Yes, very likely. . . .” Aeson gets up from his seat immediately. “Your cleaned uniform and equipment bag have just been delivered also. I’m going to take care of the equipment refill for you right now. You stay in bed and think about nothing. Promise me!”
I take a deep breath and nod, then watch him go.
Chapter 73
After Aeson returns, telling me everything is ready for tomorrow, we spend the rest of the evening together, enjoying each other’s company and making a point not to speak about what is to come in the morning.
Soon after the niktos meal, Aeson tucks me in my bed and turns off the light so that the only illumination comes from the open door to his bedroom. He then lies down on the bed beside me and wraps his arms around me, stroking my hair and nuzzling me softly until I start feeling that strange sweet mixture of sleep-induced warmth combined with light arousal which quickly escalates. My lips part and I moan with pleasure—at which point he stops.
Faintly reflecting the low bedroom light, Aeson’s eyes reveal an expression that is unmistakable. He sits up, leaning on one elbow to look at me. His face hovers over mine, ragged breath washing over me, and his pupils are wide and black with need. In that raw moment of desire, it becomes clear to both of us—it’s time to stop or things will go further. . . .
“Go . . .” I whisper. “Lie down in your own bedroom and keep the door open.”
“Will you be able to sleep?”
“Yes,” I lie. “You know I have to. . . . Must be strong for tomorrow.” And I give him a brave smile.
And so he leaves, promising to wake me on time. For quite a while I remain awake, listening in the darkness, hoping to catch the sound of his breathing again.
When it comes at last, far more gentle and lower in volume this time, it is sweet like music. It lulls me to sleep, anchors me with his presence, keeping the fear at bay. . . .
I wake up in the morning of Green Mar-Yan 19, day one of Stage Three of the Games of the Atlantis Grail, from an overpowering fragrance of flowers.
I open my eyes and see, all around my bed, vases and bowls filled with all kinds of blossoms. Some are lush with many petals, others slender with just a few elegant ones, short and long stemmed, of every shade from pale cream to the deepest rose-red. . . .
It’s the end of fifth hour of Ra, very early pre-dawn. The curtains are open and Aeson stands at the window, freshly dressed, watching the star-encrusted sky gradually revealing silver at the horizon.
Even as I blink to clear the sleep from my eyes, silent servants arrive carrying in more flower vases, setting them on every surface in my bedroom.
I notice my IV line is gone, and I feel remarkably normal when I sit up in bed. No more dizziness or headache or hallucinations.
“Gwen!” Aeson turns to me at once, and in that fraction of a second I watch his expression go from grim suffering to eager warmth. “Nefero eos, it’s time to get ready. . . .”
At his words a stab of fear strikes me in the gut at the realization that today is that kind of day yet again and I’m about to go back into the Games to possibly die . . . but I force
myself to put on a brave face and smile for him. “What’s with all the flowers? Wasn’t Flower Day yesterday?”
“It was indeed,” he says, approaching my bed. “These flowers were delivered to you from all your well-wishers—family, friends, and even strangers who are now your fans. But they were kept in the other rooms because I wouldn’t allow them to be brought in. We couldn’t risk having your hallucination symptoms triggered or worsened by the different scents.”
“Wow,” I say, “I had no idea!”
Aeson smiles softly. “Of course you didn’t. And I’m sorry for withholding them from you. I promise, next year you will have all your beautiful flowers on time!”
Next year. . . .
Again, the idea of living that long strikes me curiously, but I don’t let myself get bogged down with the depressive thoughts.
“I thought it might be pleasant to use the flower scents as an ‘alarm’ to wake you gently this morning,” he continues. “How do you feel?”
“And it worked!” I say with energy, getting out of bed. “I’m definitely awake and distracted in a good way. And, yes, I feel great.”
I glance beyond the fragrant barrier of flowers and see my uniform and bag laid out for me, all set to go.
“I’ll let you get dressed,” Aeson tells me, averting his eyes with difficulty as he starts walking out. “You have half an hour to get ready, and another ten minutes to eat. We have to be at the Game Zone coordinates by seventh hour of Ra.”
I shower and get dressed in record speed, put on my lightweight viatoios body armor and then the freshly cleaned uniform and shoes, and eat a hasty eos bread with Aeson in our favorite living room.
As I eat, Aeson gives me last-minute instructions on all the new gadgets and weapons he included in my equipment bag, including even more flotation devices than the last time (which I never ended up needing).
“You’re going into a scenario that almost certainly involves the ocean,” Aeson tells me seriously as we get in his car, with the Imperial guard convoy closely behind us in other vehicles.
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