by Hotter Edge
If ever there was a time to scream…
Chapter Two
In the quiet audience chamber of the Malac Festival barge, Saya-Rynn stared at the shivering youths clustered before her. “Ni-Saya, your thoughtlessness endangered not only your friends and a valuable natural resource but also the future ruler of this world: you. Tell me, what is fitting punishment for such dereliction?”
Luac shifted from one foot to the other, his bare soles squeaking in the puddle beneath him. Rynn clutched the carved coral beneath her fingers lest she throw herself at the boy. To hug him or shake him, she didn’t know. The coral throne, bright white and worn smooth, offered support for her hands but no comfort for the livid ache in her chest. “Luac,” she prodded.
He dragged his toe through the puddle, as if the thin arc of water was a barrier against her. “The storm had barely started. The malac should not have roused so soon—”
“You blame the beast?” She thrust to her feet, which were bare since she’d just gotten semi-comfortable for a long night of reviewing various festival orders and manifests. She wished she had at least stopped to put on shoes before rushing to the throne room after hearing about the near accident. Luac had grown so tall. Clearly a shaking was more in order than a hug. “That is the tact of a child. Shall I confine you to your room without supper, as I would a child? Or forbid you from attending the festival?”
Luac mumbled.
She took a step forward. “I did not hear you.”
From behind Luac stepped another young man, slender and lithe, all in blue-gray. The soft tone and his pale hair contrasted with her people’s favored bright colors. Except for his jewel-bright eyes, violet as sea spray turned to stone.
“Ni-Saya-Luac handled the encounter with impressive skill,” he said in a voice deeper than she would have guessed from his lean form. “We were returning here in all haste for the evening’s festivities when the malac appeared from nowhere.” He gave her a sudden dazzling smile that showcased a fleeting dimple in his smooth cheek. “Seemingly nowhere. I suppose to underwater monsters, the depths are indeed somewhere. But the Ni-Saya acted decisively. If not for our speedy departure under his command, we would have been overturned.”
Rynn narrowed her eyes at the young man whose dripping blonde braid was the only indication he’d been touched by the weather. He was entirely too smooth, from his cheeks to his silky golden hair, from his seemingly untouched exterior to his easy non-answers. The way her captain had told it, the seas had been heavy enough that the small boat should not have attracted the malac’s attention except for Luac’s cavorting.
She narrowed her eyes another degree when the young man’s smile did not falter despite her scowl. Braver than Luac? Or more foolish?
With his morning-cloud coloring and that alluring glint in his eyes, he reminded her of the sleek sea wyverns that soared over the most remote atolls on Saya-Terce, guarding their territory with brilliant flashes of purple-hued flames from the rubidium they stored in their croups. Elusive and striking, the wyverns were legendary in her people’s stories as harbingers of sin.
What did this changeling wyvern want? She did not recognize him, and that concerned her. She knew all of Luac’s friends, the males at least. The females were coming and going with more frequency these days, and that too concerned her. Everything concerned her, and she wished for just a heartbeat—quicker than a malac snap—that she could take a barnacle scrapper to all the concerns of her life. But she was Saya.
“Who are you?”
“A friend of the Ni-Saya.” He bowed again, though they had all performed the necessary obeisance when they’d entered. Damn her great-grandfather for reviving the stupid relics of ancient ways.
“Welcome to Saya-Terce, friend who speaks out of turn and yet does not provide information I seek. You may be silent again.” She focused her glower on Luac. “My son will explain for himself.”
Finally, Luac raised his gaze. “I apologize, Mother. Of course the succession is ever in the front of my mind. In my excitement at the coming festival, I behaved irresponsibly.” He turned to his companions. “I’m sorry I scared you all.” He clapped his hand on the stranger’s shoulder. “That was especially ill-done when you came to celebrate with me, Icere, and you even said you hated the water.” He stepped away from the group to hold out his hand to the trimaran captain who stood at a slight distance. “Grig, I acted like a malac weevil. Forgive me?”
The captain grinned and the two clasped hands with manly vigor.
Rynn wanted to curse. Or beam. Her son was… He was like all youths: impossible, daring, full of himself. The fact he would be king when she was gone only exacerbated those qualities. Thank the winds she wasn’t like the girls who clustered around him now with adoring eyes. Being a mother had quite ruined the mystique of young men.
Her gaze went back to the stranger in the group. The Saya barge was full of guests at this time of year, but he must be fresh from the landing pad to still be dressed in such confinement. The blue-gray tunic was elegantly cut but a sturdy fabric that had shed the evidence of their adventure as if it had never happened; what other evidence was it hiding? She encouraged Luac and her daughter, Kylara, to explore outworld friendships. She wanted them to have a broader view than she’d been given, and more options.
Rynn rubbed her temple, careful not to disturb the intricate coils of braids studded with tiny shells that her personal stylist wanted to make the look of the season. “Ni-Saya.” When she had his attention, she continued, “Luac, see to your friends for the evening. We will talk later.”
As the group drifted out, Rynn overheard one of the girls say, “Your mother terrifies me.” Luac only chuckled and shook his head, but the stranger—Icere—looked back at her. For all his outworlder coloring, his eyes were as violet as Saya-Terce’s stormy oceans.
She wondered again what had brought him to her world when she so desperately wished she could escape it.
***
Rynn approved the last of the festival plans—everything under crunch deadlines with the early arrival of the spring storm season—and met with Luac again. Without the fading glaze of alcohol in his eyes, his apology was more graceful this time. So graceful she wondered whether the wordy stranger had coached him. But she was just peevish; she had raised Luac to be a king. That he displayed the proper skills now was as much a testament to his upbringing as to his basically kind and generous nature.
He was merely young, just into his twentieth sol-year. Older than she’d been when she had taken the coral throne, of course, but still.
He kissed her cheek and went off to bed. With which of his companions, she wasn’t sure. Maybe the new boy. She’d had no time to review the cruiseliner manifests, so she asked one of her assistants to run down details on the newly arrived Icere. While she welcomed outworld ideas along with outworld credits, she knew too well that outsiders could also bring trouble.
If pretty Icere was nothing worse than the usual sycophant, making himself comfortable as a suckerfish around another world’s aristocracy, she could let that pass. If he was a threat to those she loved… She had learned a thing or two from the malac.
Despite its swelled festival populace, the barge had quieted for the night when she left her office. Though her primary residence was on one of the central atolls, she enjoyed the time on the barge. It was large enough to rival some of the islands for square footage and was stable in all but the worst seas, but she sensed the subtle rocking of the waves beneath the plasteel and it soothed her as nothing else could.
Nothing else…
Her restless steps took her down one of the guest room corridors: one with the room assigned to the stranger. She should have asked her assistant to stay until she’d confirmed that this Icere was harmless. She wouldn’t be able to rest wondering if her son’s latest companion was anything besides what he’d shown the world.
Not that he’d shown much, considering the high-necked tunic and mysterious gloves.
> Without another moment’s hesitation, she went to his room and knocked. It was late, she was being rude—even for a reigning monarch—but she didn’t care. She would see what he was when he wasn’t expecting to be attacked.
“Yes?” His voice through the comm sounded sleepy.
She entered the override code and the door slid open.
He took a step back, blinking. “Saya. To what do I owe this…visit?”
A quick glance showed her that the common area was empty. The bedroom and bath were enclosed separately, out of sight, but no other voice called out in curiosity. Still, she asked for confirmation, “You are alone?”
The corner of his mouth kicked up in a lazy smile, showing off that dimple again. “Not now that you are here.” He canted one hip against the door jamb.
“Save it for my son.” She gathered the flowing lengths of her long, sleeveless vest-gown and walked past him.
In the compact kitchen—the festival barge held open feasts at every meal, so there was not much call for in-room options—she prepared two cups of teaweed. Behind her, she heard Icere slide the door closed and pad toward her.
A soft robe of gray covered him from neck to ankles, revealing only his bare feet and a narrow V over his chest starting at the notch of his throat. She wondered if he’d been sleeping in the robe or if he’d pulled it on when she’d knocked. No, he had answered from the door comm, not the bedroom. He hadn’t been abed yet. Luac had been yawning, his tongue purple from drink. Had the newcomer not indulged? Should she worry more if he had, or that he hadn’t?
Under the weight of her gaze, he eased the slight exposed gap of his robe tighter. The hint of nervousness made her stiffen. What was he trying to hide? He must know he had nothing she hadn’t seen.
She was tempted to tell him to disrobe, if only to see what he would do. But she had not yet reached that age where perverted rudeness could be shellacked as eccentricity, much less wisdom.
Although she had apparently not quite left behind the age where she wondered if that gray robe concealed an outworlder’s hairy chest or one smooth like her own people’s.
She took a sip of her teaweed to cover her inexplicable tension and held the other cup out to him. “Most visitors find this less pungent than some of our more traditional brews. Non-stimulating, so it won’t keep you awake.”
He raised one brow as if questioning the motivation for her gesture. “Thank you, Saya. I want to set myself to island time.” He took the thin-shelled cup but only cradled it in his wide palm.
He was already taller than Luac, who was taller than she was, but she suspected this Icere had not quite finished growing into himself. Still, he handled the delicate cup with more assurance even than Kylara who’d spent her girlhood playing with the ridiculously breakable but common shells. Rynn had to admit, he was also more stunning than her lovely daughter, with his lissome body and unlined face. In a few more years, he would be devastating. She realized she was staring too pointedly and dropped her gaze to her beverage. She noted he had big feet too, which were said to indicate largeness in general.
The wayward thought almost made her choke on her drink. And she’d just said teaweed wasn’t stimulating!
She set the cup down with a clunk. Surprisingly, it didn’t shatter, but Icere’s expression turned wary. Most might not have noticed the slight tension at the corners of his mouth, the subtle flare of his nostrils, but most people didn’t spend their days balancing the weight of a world on their shoulders.
Which made her wonder if Icere’s gray robe was padded to give him those broad shoulders.
Her distraction annoyed her. “Why are you here?”
“Ni-Saya-Luac invited me.”
“Give me the courtesy of no stupid answers, and I will assume you are more than a pretty face.”
His jaw tightened, and for an instant, she saw the shape of the man he would become. Devastating indeed.
He eased his lips into that dimpled smile he’d shown her before. “Maybe that’s all I am. A pretty face.”
She gestured toward the low table in the main area overlooking the ocean. “And all your hardware?” She’d already noticed the screens of his devices were dark. He had closed down whatever he’d been working on before he answered the door.
He shrugged, and she decided his robe was not padded through the shoulders. The strong glide of muscle over bone was only thinly masked by the gray fabric. “Even a pretty face needs his investments to earn out.”
She stared at him, hard, in a way that she’d perfected on her high-spirited, troublesome children. But Icere did not break down in babbling.
Instead, he took a drink of the teaweed while he studied her over the rim of the cup. “Why do I make you nervous, Saya?”
She should have kicked him off-planet. She was ruler here, after all. Of course, no sane ship would come for him through the storms. Perhaps she would kick him off the barge. That she could do personally.
“Can you swim, Icere?” She said his name as if she had his full dossier, which she didn’t, not yet anyway.
His eyes narrowed, whether at her use of his name or her question, she wasn’t sure. “I understand the mechanics.”
“If you can’t, just say no.”
Again, that jaw flex. “No.”
She sighed. So much for tossing him overboard. She had inherited her great-grandfather’s coral throne but not his easy cruelty. “Why have you targeted my son?”
“Targeted?” Icere straightened, and Rynn was again forced to notice he was quite a bit taller than she was.
“Whatever you want from him, Luac makes no decisions here. He is not responsible for trade negotiations or policy shifts. He does not rule here. Not yet. I do.”
Icere eyed her from his greater height. “Perhaps you should give him something to do. Then he’d have less time for pretty faces.”
Rynn sucked in a breath. Parenting criticism from this child before her?
He is no child. The thought—or was it a warning?—whispered through her mind as she took an aggressive step toward him.
He did not back away. “I was curious about the Malac Festival. The Ni-Saya answered some of my questions and invited me to see the rest for myself. I accepted his invitation to experience ‘an island welcome,’ or so he called it. Is this what he meant?”
For an incredulous moment, she stared at him. Then she couldn’t help herself; she laughed. “Yes, actually. At least so it would’ve been under my great-grandfather’s rule. He strung up more than his fair share of outworlders, the distrustful old monster.”
Icere drained his cup and set it beside hers without even a clink. “From what I’ve read of your history, he had cause.”
Rynn grimaced. “Only because he stole the kingship and wondered who would take it from him next.”
He blinked, as if surprised she had admitted the theft. “I was thinking of those who would abscond with your planetary resources.”
“Would they steal our sheerways-renowned recipe for the Purple Passion Pacifier that our visitors drink by the bucketful? It wouldn’t be the same drunk on a beach that didn’t have our violet waves.” She stared out at the ocean beyond the window. The lights from the barge had been lowered to show off the silvery bioluminescent foam that danced in mesmerizing patterns on the storm wrack. “What is from here can never really leave.” She brought herself up short when she heard the mournful note in her own voice.
“What about the malac?”
Surprise knocked her gaze from the hypnotic ocean view back to Icere. “The malac? A delightful creature to fabricate a festival around. Vicious as my great-grandfather, unproductive, slow to mature, sensitive to environmental disturbance. Who would want them?”
“For the liqueur.”
She waved one hand. “Mostly a tourist trick.”
He frowned. “Not from what I’ve read.”
“The Malac Festival leaflets from our tourism bureau? Yes, we’re quite proud of those.” She smiled. “Got
you here, and your credits too.”
He clamped his masculine lips together with the irascibility of a malac slamming its shell closed. “So the liqueur isn’t a dopamine agonist with a direct impact on orgastic potency?”
She mirrored his scowl. “I certainly didn’t approve such language in our brochures.”
“It’s not an aphrodisiac?” He bit out each word.
She shrugged one shoulder, ruffling her braids so that the tiny shells tinkled like laughter. “We might have said that. But what substance isn’t an aphrodisiac when consumed in paradise by the light of triple moons?”
“Chemically—”
“My sweet child, an aphrodisiac is not a chemical. It is a state of mind and body and spirit.”
He took a short step toward her, and his glower raised her pulse a notch. “Is that also in the brochure?”
Her breath hitched in a strange excitement. She marveled at the sensation. A reigning monarch shouldn’t be this giddy, shouldn’t be giddy at all. And she most certainly shouldn’t feel it. But she matched his heated glare. “Maybe you should read it again more closely.”
Just as she needed to study him more closely. There was something about him… She eliminated the remaining gap between them, her gaze fastened on his face.
Like the wyverns, he really was too beautiful to be real. The sculpting of his face hovered on a knife’s edge between a remote loveliness and an almost brutal masculinity, like a wistful girl’s dream of a slumbering prince, not yet awakened to the riotous passions of the flesh.
Despite herself, her lips softly parted.
He made a low noise, not quite a groan, and lifted his hand toward her cheek.
The warmth of his skin, hovering, not quite touching, went through her like the scent of those Purple Passion Pacifiers, heady and dangerous to the inhibitions. She leaned infinitesimally toward him, drawn just as the sailors of old had pursued the wyverns. The creatures were dangerous, but their rubidium treasure was used in the high-precision timing devices of sheerships to navigate the tangle of timespace passages that created the sheerways.