by Pippa Jay
“Yes. He will.”
Tyree glanced up to find Zander staring at her, his expression flat. He sounded so distant this morning, more formal than ever. It made her ache. He’d retreated further into his diplomatic façade. Did he hate her that much for the previous night? What was going on in that head of his? She reached for his aura...and found a gray sheet.
The hurt scythed through her chest. “You’ve shielded yourself. Why?”
“I felt...I thought.” The mask cracked a little. “We’ve much to go through in the next couple of days. I felt it would be less distracting for you.”
He couldn’t even come up with a decent excuse for it. So he had chosen to hide himself from her. Closed her out completely. She meant nothing to him except the means to complete his mission. So be it.
“Thank you,” she said stiffly. She took another swallow of her capprey then rose, ignoring the food she’d set herself. “I think I’ll start preparing.”
“Wait.” Zander stood. “I take no offense from what happened last night. I hope neither will you?”
Offense...
Anger bubbled in her empty stomach. He was quoting a standard Decorum apology at her. Damn him.
“None intended. None taken.” There. All done by the Rules. She dipped her head in farewell, as did he, and then she scurried back to the bedroom before she gave in to the urge to punch him.
Visaya scuttled in behind her and closed the door. “Are you all right, my lady? You ate nothing.”
“I’m not hungry.” Truth be told her stomach was growling, but the thought of venturing back out for something to eat made her nauseated. “I’ll have something later. What am I supposed to wear for this frigging re-inauguration then? I take it something terribly formal.”
Visaya moved to the wardrobe and removed a garment in silver and blue. Unlike the overelaborate gowns she’d been forced to wear previously, this was elegant in its simplicity. A sleeveless, figure hugging full length dress in satin shimmered different shades of blue as it caught the light. Fine silvery mesh overlay it, forming wide, sweeping sleeves that would float as she moved.
“Do you like it, my lady?”
Tyree snapped her mouth shut. “It’s...beautiful,” she admitted. She frowned. “Do I have to have my hair tied up in knots again?”
Visaya smiled. “Not today, my lady.” She lifted a silver tiara from the wardrobe and displayed it to Tyree. “You may have your hair down and wear this.”
***
Some time later, Visaya pronounced her finished. Again, Tyree’s reflection stood at odds with memories of herself. In Refuge she would never have spent time gazing at herself in a mirror. But now she saw Mirsee, not Tyree, because Tyree would never have worn such things. Never have her hair lying glossy black around her shoulders like a cape, and a long dress of satin with billowing silver sleeves. Perhaps she was turning into Mirsee after all. Would she really be able to go back to Refuge and her own life after this? Would she still be Tyree? Or would Mirsee’s shadow overhang her for the rest of her life?
She turned away from the thought and her unfamiliar reflection, stalking toward the door. It slid open to reveal Zander waiting outside, as always in formal robes in shades of brown. Her pulse raced furiously as his gaze trailed over her body before he jerked his attention back to her face.
“Do I look the part then?” she asked with a catch in her voice.
Remember, you’re just playing a role. None of this means anything. You can forget this as easily as you can shrug off this dress...
Zander nodded slowly, as if considering the question at length. “You look perfect,” he said, his tone low.
Her insides quivered at the absolute sincerity of his words. The awkwardness from this morning had passed. Zander held out his arm to her, and she took it, hoping he couldn’t feel how much she was shaking. Some hope.
Zander led her down the corridor. Gleaming white Manikins—Paladins—accompanied them, two in front and two behind. More heavy duty than the simple combat Manikins and with their humanoid shapes encased in ceramide armor and weapons built into their arms. Only the Monitor had control of them. Supposedly, even the best hackers in the galaxy couldn’t break into a Paladin’s programming. Tyree shivered. After the invasion of the Monitor on Seclusion, she doubted even that legendary fact. Any programming could be broken, and not even a dozen Su could stave off four Paladins should they turn.
Zander squeezed her hand, but when she glanced at him he had his gaze fixed firmly ahead. Had the same thought occurred to him? Or had he just felt her shiver?
They arrived at the door to the sanctum. The Tier-vane would be watching them via a see-vu inside, but otherwise they would be unobserved and alone with the cleric conducting the re-inauguration. Sealed in, safe and secure, until the ceremony was over and approved by the Tier.
“Ready?” Zander murmured.
Unable to frame the word, she nodded. Her mouth had gone as dry as if she’d swallowed desiccant. The door opened and they stepped inside.
The interior reminded her of a primitive temple on one of the backward worlds, far removed from the high-tech station. She hesitated at the gloominess, and the sudden cloying scent of perfume.
What the frig?
Zander tugged her forward, and faint music filled the silence. Tyree wrinkled her nose as they walked toward a short, stocky human male standing at the far end of the room. His pallid complexion looked unhealthy in the half-light, but the heavy scent of what she now realized was burning incense would probably make anyone feel sickly. It certainly did her.
Zander’s grip steadied her as they approached the cleric. He wore heavily embroidered robes, explaining the sheen of sweat on his forehead. Tyree mentally rolled her eyes. Humans and their ceremonies. Why couldn’t they just have made their vows over the see-vu without all this extravagance and foolishness?
“Master D’joren,” the cleric greeted them, his voice wavering. “Lady Mirsee.”
She bobbed her head in acknowledgement as she’d been briefed, and the cleric coughed. Incense or nerves? She tried not to breathe in too deeply, but a sudden acrid waft prickled her throat.
Gah!
She wanted to cough.
The cleric cleared his throat again. “We have gathered here, in the company of our honorable allies, the Tier-vane...”
Tyree bit her lip to prevent the cynical snort threatening to break free. Honorable allies?
“...to validate and certify the inauguration of our Terran representatives, whose hands will join to honor our continuing peace with the mighty Tier-vane nation...”
As the cleric droned on, Tyree’s attention shifted. The see-vu conveying this pretty little scene to the Tier hung above the cleric’s head, and she glared at it, wondering what the Tier thought of her and this waste of time. Whether they were actually listening at all. Her gaze drifted. Fabric covered the metal walls, pseudo-tapestries that were probably replicas of ancient and historical significance. Humans were such traditionalists, clinging to their past like a buoyancy aid. Ridiculous.
The acrid tang stung her nose again, and she glanced at the cleric. Sweat trickled down his face, and he stumbled over the words. When he reached forward to take their hands and join them, the cold clamminess of his touch made her want to pull back. Tyree checked his eyes and noted the dilation of his pupils. What the frig had he taken? Not a cammer, that was for sure, unless he was having an adverse reaction to the tranquilizer. A stim maybe? Alcohol? She sniffed. No. Nothing she recognized.
He released them and gave a final blessing, falling silent with a bowed head. Tyree copied, but her head jerked up as the cleric made a choking sound. The man fell forward as though someone had smacked him over the head, and then began to convulse on the floor.
“What the...” Zander darted forward but Tyree grabbed his hand.
“Don’t touch him!”
A bubbling sound came from the convulsing man, and black liquid spread in a puddle underneath his head
. Black fumes rose from the fluid, and a smell sharp as acid touched her nostrils.
“Toxic,” she warned, and dragged Zander toward the door. The fumes followed them, stinging her eyes. Damn it! Someone must have fed something to the cleric, turning him into a living biohazard. She slapped the door lock. Nothing happened.
“Monitor, open the door.” Zander spoke with a calmness Tyree didn’t share.
“Cannot comply. Toxic elements detected. Security lockdown in progress.” A siren wailed and the dim lighting in the room switched to urgent red.
“Damn it!” Zander pounded the door. “Monitor, let us out!”
“Cannot comply. Toxic elements detected.”
Tyree clutched a handful of her robes and covered her mouth and nose as the fumes burned. It would be a slow, painful death if they didn’t get out. She glanced back at the body. It had sagged into a damp, shapeless lump still pouring fumes into the air. The cleric had been a dead man walking, dosed up with some kind of catalyst to turn his body into a poisonous heap.
Zander clutched her arm and leaned in close. “Get yourself out,” he whispered. “See if you can open the door from the other side.”
“No. I won’t leave you.”
“Listen to me!” He shook her. “Get out. Get help. There’s no point in both of us dying here.”
She glanced to the see-vu still hovering at the far end. Could the Tier-vane still see them? Hear them? Was she willing for them both to die here just to keep her true identity secret?
Everything screamed denial at his suggestion, but she obeyed, her robes slipping from her incorporeal form as she shifted. The cold metal wall slammed into her awareness and she solidified with a gasp. “Shielded.”
“Damn.” He grabbed her hand where the silver bonding ring still encircled her finger, and pressed the metal. “Pray this is still active.”
Tyree clapped both hands over her face as he released her, and Zander coughed, copying her movement. Hammering sounds came from the other side of the door, and then it opened a fraction. Tyree and Zander grasped the door’s edge, adding their weight to whoever had opened it from the outside. Shouts rang over their coughing. Tyree pulled with every ounce of strength she had. Someone wedged themselves into the gap.
“Out! Now!” Zander shoved her through and she tumbled naked into the corridor outside, choking. Someone slapped a mask over her face and she sucked in a deep breath. Clear air! She took several breaths before daring to look around. Zander did the same beside her, Pevanne at his side. Her gaze flickered round. She didn’t recognize the man tending her, but she was grateful for the oxygen he’d provided.
“My lady!” Pevanne sounded horrified. Soft fabric touched her back, and she glanced at him. The majordomo had shrugged off his own robe to cover her up, revealing a skinny but muscled torso...and the inevitable scars of his conversion. She couldn’t draw breath enough to say a word of warning.
“Pevanne,” Zander rasped out. The majordomo met her gaze for an instant before turning to his master. Zander looked furious, one hand up to ward off the medic valiantly attempting to reapply the oxygen mask.
“Why?” he demanded, gesturing at the surgical scars tracing across Pevanne’s upper body.
“To protect you, master. We had already lost our lady.”
Zander took a step forward to grasp the majordomo’s shoulder. “Thank you seems a poor phrase to express my gratitude,” he managed, his voice full of pain.
Petori, glowing crimson in alarm, rushed to Zander’s side and bobbed up and down as if in agitation. “Master D’joren, are you harmed?”
Zander coughed. “We’ve survived, Monitor. But you have much to explain about your failure to anticipate and detect this particular threat.”
The Monitor guide blazed a deeper red. “My sincere apologies, Master D’joren,” it squeaked. “Rest assured there will be a full investigation! Please allow me to extend priority use of our medical facilities to ensure your well-being at this time.”
“No.” Zander waved the Monitor aside and came to Tyree. “Our own medic will attend to us. I’ve no faith in your services at this time.”
“Of course, I understand, but—”
“No buts!” Zander snapped, rounding on the Monitor. “Your security has failed. I suggest you focus your efforts in rectifying that.”
Petori bobbed away. Zander reached down to Tyree and pulled her to her feet. “Can you walk?”
“Uh-huh.”
He placed his arm around her shoulder and walked her back to their rooms. Pevanne and the four silent Paladins went with them, but Zander waved away the two Centralis medics. Tyree’s legs shook as she walked.
Just a reaction to the chemicals, she told herself, it’ll wear off. I don’t need him holding me up.
But she didn’t shrug off his arm or resist being led. Her own acquiescence scared her further.
“I will fetch Callista,” Pevanne announced as he left them.
Zander pushed Tyree to sit on the couch and knelt to look her in the eye. “Are you all right?”
Tyree opened her mouth intent on denial, but stopped. “No,” she confessed. “I’m used to being the killer. Not the target.”
For a moment he held her shoulders, his gaze intent. Then he leaned forward and hugged her. Every muscle in her body knotted tightly, anger scorching through her veins. How dare he? And yet she didn’t have the heart to pull away. In that instant, she wanted to melt into his embrace. The shift from revulsion into need left her dizzy.
Heat rushed over her skin. Sudden nausea wrenched at her stomach, and she swallowed hard. “Gotta go,” she choked out, and yanked herself free. She barely made it to the bathroom before acid burned its way up her throat and she vomited into the basin. Once she’d started, she couldn’t stop, heaving repeatedly even when there was nothing left to come.
“Tyree?”
She’d closed her eyes, but heard water running over the sound of her retching. Zander pressed a cold cloth to her forehead. At least, she assumed it to be him.
“Tyree.” He rubbed her back.
“D’joren?” Callista’s voice came shriller than usual.
“In here.”
The medic felt for the pulse in Tyree’s neck before something stung her finger, but she was too busy puking to protest.
“Well?” Zander demanded less than a heartbeat later.
“Minimum toxicity levels, well within safety,” Callista responded after a lengthy pause. “Her metabolism deals with potential poisoning far better than a human’s. Hence the vomiting.”
Great. Tyree’s stomach knotted and she retched again. So hurry up already, metabolism.
“You’re all clear, D’joren,” the medic continued. “You’ll be pleased to know that whoever primed the cleric chose a bad subject for their biological bomb. He had a long-term digestion problem so the catalyst malfunctioned.”
Tyree groaned. “I know how he felt.”
“That still doesn’t excuse what happened,” Zander said, his tone sharp. “Time and again, something or someone is slipping past all the security. Thank the stars we’ve only a few more days until the damn treaty is signed.”
Tyree levered herself upright, gagging still. Zander’s concerned gaze met hers. He used the damp cloth to wipe her mouth clean with a compassion that had her shaking as much as her sickness. “Are you all right now?”
She nodded, keeping her mouth clamped shut. One way or another, Zander was learning her every weakness. And a Su should never be weak.
“I’m fine.” She shrugged the robe from her shoulders as if shedding his concerns, not caring that it left her cold and naked. She glared at the medic. “Are you done?”
“Neither of you need further care but if you experience any symptoms out of the norm—”
“Then I need a shower,” Tyree broke in. Strands of vomit-dampened hair stuck to her cheek, and the smell of sick stung her nostrils as much as the vomit had burned her throat.
“As you wish.�
� Callista huffed out.
“Unless you’re going to offer to scrub my back, Zander, perhaps you’d leave too.” She was being a bitch, she knew, but couldn’t stop herself. She’d shown too much frailty to these humans already. Time to prove she really didn’t need them.
The pinched look returned to his face. “I’m sure you’re capable of showering alone. But...” His gaze held hers despite the venom she’d spouted, his fine brows knotted. Even at the height of her rudeness, courtesy held him. Or perhaps concern. “Please call if you should need me or feel unwell. Excuse me.”
Tyree watched him go and wished herself back to Refuge.
***
The shower made a lot of things better. It didn’t stop the pain in her gut, but whether that was from throwing up or pangs of guilt, she wasn’t sure. Afterward, the Monitor system delivered a protein shake via the food dispenser in her room, the drink loaded with added extras that soothed her throat and stomach. It also offered a mild cammer that she refused. She couldn’t afford to be drugged up right now.
She tugged on her Su shift and rubbed at the device in her collarbone. Something nagged at her. No matter how she tried to evade it, Zander dominated her thoughts. She paced the bedroom, skin still damp from the shower, brushing out her hair with her fingers until the worst of the knots had gone. Why couldn’t she get him out of her mind? Why did she feel so bad about the way she’d treated him? By all the Mothers and Fathers, she’d treated people worse. After all, she usually killed them.
Still confused, she Misted through the wall. Zander sat in his chair as if he’d been waiting for her, cradling a glass that reeked of raw alcohol. The sight froze her solid.
Zander glanced up, his face haggard. “Have you come to kill me, Tyree?”
“No.” She drifted closer but kept herself formless. His attitude and question bewildered her. “Why would you think that?”
He gulped down the rest of his glass. “Wishful thinking,” he muttered.
“Is that what you want, Zander? You want to die?” She wafted to his side and took solid form. “Because if it is, don’t ask me to do it. I never could.”