by Casey Lea
Harrier sighed and her face fell into creases again. “Leave my patients? Not these. Their need for me is desperate. Unlike some others.” Her gaze strayed back to Wing and she attempted a smile. “I heard you were wed. Congratulations.”
Wing ducked his head in acknowledgement. “Thank you. Also, all my thanks, Harry. For saving him, raising him, keeping him safe.”
The older kres beamed in response. “It was a privilege and a delight.” Her smile trembled briefly, but then firmed again. She turned to her son with calm certainty. “Fare you well, Fal. I love you and I know we'll meet again.”
“Mai,” Falkyn called and his voice was rough with anguish, although his fronds stayed silent. However, Harrier broke the link and disappeared. He surged forward, half rising as if to drag the hologram back and was left sitting bereft in the middle of the bed.
Darsey's chest clenched again, but this time it was a very different pain. It wasn't for herself at all. Her eyes grew moist and she was swept forward by an unexpected empathy so strong it was almost euphoric. She dropped onto the bed beside Falkyn and placed her hand on his. He jerked away, but she went with him and he looked at her in panic with wide, storm-gray eyes. "Leave me be."
Darsey's arm started to fall away, but she managed to stop it and kept holding his hand instead. “Don’t worry, we’ll save your mother. She can find all the patients she needs on Blossom. If necessary I'll start a charity clinic on Gratuity and staff it with the best healers I can hire, just to get her out of there. We're not leaving her again. Right, Wing?”
Her husband was staring at Falkyn and clearly hadn't heard. However, her stepson had. He squeezed Darsey's hand with desperate strength. She winced and he managed to ease his grip, but he didn't let go. “Promise?” His thoughts couldn't help begging and she gripped his fingers in return. His mind had all the youthful openness of her own son's, along with a pain she hadn't felt from Jace for years.
“Absolutely. Of course. Now, let the medics check the regen on that wound. It's not every day your father shoots you.”
The intense, young kres surprised her with a smile. “I certain-sure hope not.”
Jace appeared on the far side of Falkyn to claim his other arm. Together, he and Darsey slid the newcomer back up the bed and against the pillows. She fluffed them up, so that Falkyn could sit supported and won another smile. “Thanks. There's no need to-”
“Nonsense. I'm just doing what family does.”
13
On the Edge
The Arck's palace gleamed in the light of seven moons, two of them full. Its marble walls looked like waterfalls flowing from the cliffs above the city. However, the inside was not as serene. Hawkeye FarFlight - nineteen cycles old and heir to the throne - picked at his nails, while his father picked at the staff. Hawk tugged at a smooth curve just above the quick, trying to pull it ragged again. He risked a glance at his father and it went unnoticed. What sort of perfectionist would fire someone over peach-colored blooms instead of gold? He sighed very softly and his father's head swiveled like an owl on the hunt.
“Does this bore you, boy?” Arck Sharpeye flicked his fingers to dismiss the servant, while keeping his smooth, golden features locked on his son. Not good.
“No, sire. It's very important that staff do as we wish. If they fail us in small things, how can we count on them in crisis?”
There was no flicker of expression from the Arck, but he inclined his head very slightly. “True.” He finally turned away and Hawk's shoulders unhunched. Too soon. His father stepped to the edge of the balcony and beckoned him to follow. The two stood side-by-side on the rim of the sculpted stone ledge that ran around the outside of an enormous room. The chamber floor was far below, but there were still three more tiers of balconies above them, before the painted ceiling. It was the largest room in the palace.
“Well? What do you see?” Sharpeye prompted and Hawk gripped his hands firmly in front of him.
“I see the grand ballroom. Fifty servants, no, forty-nine are preparing it for a masked ball. Seats and dance floors are in place. Flowers are being replaced. Silks are being draped. Speakers and lights are being tested. Hologram cues for different seasons are being placed in alcoves. The waterfall and rainbow are-”
Hawkeye's father lifted his little finger and the youngster stopped. “A good summation,” the Arck said, “that I could order from any com.” He turned lazily this time, then stepped back to stand behind his son. Right behind. He moved close, so that his starched golden robes put pressure on Hawk's calves. The boy shuffled his feet, just enough to push the toes of his purple boots off the edge of the balcony. They slid across without resistance.
His father must be overriding the safety field that normally acted as a railing around the ledge. Hawk stood quite still, leaning back to hold his place. The Arck's hands rose to rest on his son's shoulders and his forefingers began to tap. One tap a second. “Tell me of the three Ds and our guests tomorrow.”
Hawk took a deep breath and kept his eyes fixed on the balcony across the room, rather than the drop in front of him. Drak. The visitors? What did his father want with them? The usual, of course. Control, power, advantage. But how would he get those? Hawk needed more time to think. “What do we know of this Alliance?”
The Arck growled, while his fingers tightened in his son’s shoulders. “So little that Raptor should be flogged. My head of security can’t tell me where they dwell, who rules them, or what they wish. I know only what every kres knows. Their ships appeared nearly two decades past and now rule every trade route in space. No one can operate without them, not even me. Yet this is the first time they’ve deigned to send an embassy. It’s past time to teach these ambassadors what true power is. Subtly of course, we don’t want to risk a breach with such useful strangers.”
Hawk’s gaze strayed to the floor far below, but he didn’t flinch. His thoughts were distant and the drop forgotten. “These ambassadors, are they who-man?”
“The name is human and I expect so. Rumor says they breed prolifically and hence have spread like a virus.”
“Is it true some of the Alliance merchants are kres?”
A hiss escaped his father, whose nails dug in like talons, but Hawk knew better than to react. “So it seems. Raptor has found whole families that disappeared two decades past, with no complaint of missing persons. They cut all ties and left their home worlds, but never arrived at their destinations. They vanished unnoticed, until I started digging.”
“So the Alliance lured Empire citizens to join it?”
Hawk’s father shook him and the boy teetered on the edge. His hands clasped at air, but he managed to stop himself from grabbing for Sharpeye. That wouldn’t help at all. The Arck’s voice was harsh and his breath hot on Hawk’s neck. “The three Ds. How will I use them here?”
There was no time for further thought, so Hawk started talking. It was the safest option he had. Not that his father would actually kill him, but he’d certainly push him off the ledge. Broken bones could always be healed.
“The three Ds are often useful when dealing with enemies. Disorganize, disorient and distract. You're using them with this Alliance embassy. Ah, yes. The first is already at work. You invited them here, but you’ve left them sitting in their ship during customs delays for the past week. Whatever their usual plan of first approach may be, you have now disorganized it. When you do bring them to the palace tomorrow, it will be to a nighttime ball. Your full power will be seen, along with a light and sound show that will disorient these ambassadors from a mere trading conglomerate. The sensory overload will be greater than any they have likely experienced.”
Hawk stopped in sudden realization and jerked his head sideways to look peripherally at his father. The boy's fronds bristled to broadcast admiration. “A masked ball. They won't know who anyone is. Won't know where their contacts are, or who to wheedle. That's brilliant disorientation. But what of the distraction?”
Sharpeye's hands gripped Hawk's shou
lders more lightly, their warm weight massaging the muscles. “A better summation. The distraction will be sublime. A tragic accident at the port. Just after midnight, in the moment we're all unmasked, I will send a signal and an automated freighter will crash into their grounded ship. I shall offer full recompense of course. Several careless Port officers will lose their jobs and I shall preside over burial services for the alien crew, along with a total rebuild of their vessel. Do you see the advantages, Hawkeye?”
“Certain-sure. It offers the chance to introduce whatever you wish, including trackers, into their rebuilt ship. It also makes them reliant on you. The ambassadors will be bereaved, homeless and in shock. You can be their new best friend. I, ah, love it.”
“I was sure you would. But be warned, I know any new species is a curiosity, so I order you to stay far from them tonight."
"Patri," Hawkeye protested and instantly became stasis still. It was many years since he'd been stupid enough to question his father, but Sharpeye simply squeezed his son's shoulders and drew him back from the brink.
"I understand your interest, because I share it. I too long to know whether their females are as prolific as claimed. But remember, these humans have overrun the Rim in a matter of years and they share the mermaridian propensity for violence. You may only use them as mates once the survivors are our guests and I have sampled them first."
"Our prisoners," Hawkeye corrected. “The survivors will be our prisoners, not guests.”
His father responded only with his usual smile, a curve of the mouth as hooked and sharp as any raptor's beak. Hawk gulped and bowed deeply. He was already backing away before he rose. "With your permission, Patri, I'll retire to prepare."
"Of course. Wear your best, my son and practice your most saddened expression. By the morning there will be females to comfort and public appearances to make among the wreckage."
14
You Shall go to the Ball
Amber kept her head buried in her flowers and hurried across the ballroom. She breathed fast, drinking in the spicy floral scent and leaving a trail of petals behind her. It had seemed such a perfect opportunity, sneaking into the palace with the Arck's new floral delivery, but strangely it didn't feel at all perfect now that she was actually doing it. In truth, the scent from her huge bouquet was sickening. What had prompted her to start spying in person? True, the extra security around the ballroom had neutralized most of her spy flecks, but this was crazy. Sparrow would never have agreed to it. She must have slipped into youthful delusions of invulnerability.
“Over there,” a voice ordered and Amber almost dropped the vase. It steadied just before falling and large hands settled over hers to hold it safe. She pushed aside stalks with her nose and peered ahead through a golden halo. A face framed with flowers smiled back. The palace majordomo. “Have a care. Our Arck takes no prisoners.”
“Oh, I know, sah. He stopped me and said I was going the wrong way and I've been jumping ever since. He said he'd decided this arrangement would look acceptable in the garden.” Amber gave a nervous laugh and her voice dropped. “But I don't even know which garden he meant and I didn't like to ask.”
“Sometimes asking is needed,” her superior chided. “He will of course mean the ballroom garden. Take them that way.” He released the vase to gesture behind Amber. She twisted her head and then turned back to drop a simple, working curtsey.
“Many thanks, sah.”
The majordomo winked in reply. “Be calm, chicklet. And if you've need of help ask any server. Not the Arck though, nor any member of the court, especially the Thousand.”
Amber dipped carefully again and by the time she rose, clutching the wobbling vase, he was gone. She hid herself in the flowers once more and turned back to the wall that opened to the gardens. She had what she needed now.
Guards stepped forward to stop Amber at the ballroom boundary, but she showed them a recording of her meeting with the majordomo and his instructions sending her to the garden. The soldiers let her pass and her goal was achieved. She stepped out onto thick grass and the massive black vase swayed again when she sank into that cushion. Her shoulders twitched, hunching closer together and a voice called after her, but she staggered on across the lush lawn without looking back.
Unfortunately, trying to hurry with a heavy vase pressed against her was a mistake. By the time Amber reached the far side of the perfect lawn her burden was swaying and almost out of control. Disaster. She couldn't afford a scene. Her cover would never survive more serious attention.
The vase swung forward and back like an unwieldy pendulum, before finally tipping too far to hold. It arched ahead of Amber, flying from her arms, but she went with it. She dived forward to carry the flowers into the closest privacy alcove. She landed with a crash and a splintering of branches that sounded like migration-day crackers. The vase shattered under her, to leave her lying in a mound of soggy vegetation. Pottery shards dug into her hip and thigh, but she made no effort to rise, focusing instead on the com around her wrist and the hologram it was now generating.
A guard stepped out past the palace colonnades behind her and onto the lawn. He strode forward, staring straight at her and Amber cringed, trying to dig deeper into the ground, despite the shards that dug back. That pain was much less insistent than her growing panic. She was such a fool. The childish temptation to enjoy life wasn't worth putting that life in danger. Had he seen her before her disguise field went up? There was no way to be sure.
The guard stopped, but his brown fronds rose and swayed around him. He was seeking her mind, which made Amber smile. Little enough to find there. She stopped her thoughts and slipped into a state below meditation. She was scarcely conscious when the soldier paced along the alcoves. He hesitated again in front of hers, but then turned away. He stalked across the lawn and back to his post. She must be safely hidden.
Amber collapsed with her head in her arms. Spying in person was definitely beyond her comfort zone. She gulped back an unexpected sob at the thought of what Sharpeye would do to her if she was caught. This was no time to be thinking. She sat up, scraping petals and pollen from her cheeks. She glanced through her protective hologram at the hazy forms hurrying to and fro beyond it. Nobody paused or looked in her direction. She rested for another moment, until her pulse slowed to normal and then twisted onto her knees to start pulling supplies from her wrist com.
She decompressed a slender, tapered bottle of wine first, a very fine vintage that was one of the Arck's favorites. It was sure to be available for guests tonight, although hopefully no one would try Amber's offering. Being in com storage had ruined its delicate bouquet. She produced two glasses and wrinkled her nose when she opened the bottle. She quickly filled one wine flute and put it aside, before half filling the other and leaving it close to hand. A platter of fruit and spicy eggs followed to complete the disguise. If anyone should find her she could now spin a story about being invited here by a married lover for a clandestine meeting. She checked her scene and it looked convincingly like a picnic. Something sliced into her heart at that thought and for a moment all she could see was a battered wicker hamper.
“Not now, dearest,” Amber whispered and rose to her feet to step quickly out of her clothes. Thoughts of Sparrow fell away along with her garments. She needed to concentrate. She glanced up at the servants and guards beyond her hollow. They remained oblivious, but she still felt vulnerable standing naked in front of them. Her toes curled in the cool grass and something stuck to a little toe.
Amber quickly pulled her leg up, to stand like a stork, while examining the ground carefully. The grass was flattened where her foot had been and that bruise was crisscrossed by fine white strands. Cobwebs. Amber laughed at herself when a pallid spider scuttled across her footprint.
“You made me hop,” she chided, reaching to her wrist for new clothes. “Not many can do that these days.” She decompressed several lavender panels and they tried to float away from her. She snatched them back, to dra
pe strategically around her body, before fastening them with silver clasps. A few strands of silver in her hair, followed by rings and a necklace completed her disguise. She laid her courtesan's mask on a nearby stump and tried to relax. She was safely in place and ready to spy.
Pollen danced in the air around Amber and she focused on the nearest grains. Unlike normal spy flecks, hers were completely organic with a scan signature identical to real pollen. They wafted together, gathered by her mental command, before spiraling away and leaving the alcove. She kept tight control, but let them move with the breeze, lifting and turning naturally until they entered the palace. Once inside she separated them and sent each speck floating alone, until her coverage of the Arck's domain was restored. She sighed and sank to the grass in satisfaction. It was still ridiculously easy to defeat Sharpeye's security.
An image leapt into her mind without warning. Amber shook her head and tried to focus on her hands, but it was too late. Memories intruded for decades after a rebirth, but they were worse than usual in this last life. Before she could resist she was dumped in a past every bit as vivid as the garden around her. She was in the royal birthing suite, hunched over a straining figure. It was the Arkyss and she was close to giving birth.
Amber's hands finally came into focus, but they were shriveled and wrinkled. She was old, stuck in her previous life and about to deliver Princess Goldown. Her breath caught at the realization. This was when she had lost Sharpeye. This was when her most promising protégé had become a deadly enemy. The birth of this baby had been the first step down a path that eventually led to Amber’s murder by a traitor's bomb.
Her head drooped and she slipped deeper into memory. She was looking down at a newborn. The babe was freshly delivered, still bloody and damp, but that wasn’t why Amber crouched over her, hiding her from the rest of the room. She seized a proffered blanket and wrapped the deformed child as fast as she could, but not fast enough.