by Casey Lea
Amber retreated and a gap opened in the front row of the crowd. She wiggled into it with a grateful smile, which faltered when she saw who had found her a spot. Lord Warble. He nodded happily back, but made no effort to talk. Instead his fronds wandered forward to brush past her shoulder and she had to suppress a shudder. The frond-touch was incredibly rude, but this was no place to make a scene. Instead she sent a snap that was the equivalent of shouting in his ear. He winced and his frond recoiled.
Warble backed up as far as he could, so it seemed unlikely he’d try to invade her personal space again. She’d have to keep her thoughts under control though. Once that would have been easy, but she found herself struggling to remember the mental lessons she’d mastered in past lives. Her new mind seemed more childlike than any she’d had since her first life. It was strange, but Amber had no time to ponder further. A gong sounded, whistles chirped and the convict entered the hall.
15
Execution
The High Executioner stepped forward with a rustle of black silk robes to flick incense six times at Goldown before bowing to Falkyn. “The time of sentence has arrived, Sire. The six moons have each waxed full since the child was born and now the mother must face death as decreed.”
“Bind the Princess,” Falkyn ordered and as usual they jumped to do his bidding. He took a deep breath and made an effort not the grip the arms of his throne.
Goldown’s body was wrapped in a length of thin white silk. Only her legs were left free, so that she could walk to her doom. The trailing ends of the binding were handed to the Executioner, who paced around the Princess six times, winding the ribbon tight.
Goldown stood in silence until the ritual was complete, then shrugged off her guards to move forward alone. She glided toward the slab hidden in the shadow beneath Falkyn’s throne, but paused while she was still in full light.
Falkyn had to admit the Princess knew how to make an impression. All eyes locked on her before she slid forward again, with her head held high, looking every bit the queen she’d never be. He felt a spasm of guilt, followed by admiration. She knew how to play the crowd, even him, but then his mother-lover had always been a peerless manipulator. He cringed inwardly at his description of Goldown, but forced himself to use it anyway. Hiding from the truth never ended well and it made a person weak. He couldn’t afford to be weak. Not today.
The Princess stopped again, when she was little more than a silhouette under the throne. A rustle went round the room and as she backed up it became a murmur. Falkyn leaned forward to look down as she re-emerged from the shade. What game was she at? And who was she playing?
Goldown leaned toward Falkyn and her bound body swayed to meet him, like a feather in a storm. He sat upright and the room gasped as she fell onto his feet. She stood on her tiptoes, braced against the base of the floating throne, while Falkyn stared down at her in horror.
“Pardon,” she gasped and he felt her lips on his bare toes. “I beg clemency. I claim the Pardon of Prostration.”
Goldown kissed Falkyn’s feet again and his gorge rose, but he swallowed the stomach acid along with disgust. What was she doing? He looked at the High Executioner, whose face was pinched in the shade of her hat, and his nausea returned. It seemed this was going to be a drawn-out business.
“Explain,” Falkyn ordered and the Executioner prostrated herself beside Goldown.
“Apologies, Magnificence, to you and all the Honored families of the lost. The Pardon of Prostration comes from an ancient era when executions were more regular. If a convict abides the shame of utter abasement at the Arck’s feet, then the ruler must reconsider her claim and decide whether to grant mercy. There is no question of innocence here. The act of prostration is an admission of guilt and remorse. The Princess has thrown herself on your mercy.”
The Hall was so quiet Falkyn swore he could hear the dust motes landing. He looked for Amber and found her at the front of the crowd. She managed a smile for him, but she was ashen. His legs were trembling, but then he realized it wasn’t him. It was Goldown shaking as she rested her chin on his feet. He looked down into grey eyes as desolate as a winter sky.
“Please,” the Princess whispered, but that was all. Perhaps it was all she could manage without breaking down as fear cracked her apart.
Falkyn held his face as still as the room while his mind spun. He didn’t truly hate Goldown. He couldn’t. She was sad and sick and had been twisted by an abusive father. Falkyn had lied when he told Amber that killing his biological mother carried no cost. It would hurt him. Certain-sure it would hurt him more than pardoning her. However, this wasn’t about him. He lifted his eyes to the Supplicants’ Dais and a shocked crowd stared back.
“No,” Falkyn said and Goldown blinked up at him. He felt her surprise, followed by despair and a wave of anger.
“No? I’m your mother, you ungrateful drakking gat.”
“Take her.”
It took three guards to drag the Princess off Falkyn. She bit his foot and her teeth dug deep, but he didn’t let himself grimace.
The guards finally managed to lift Goldown back to an upright position, but she refused to walk. Her dignity was gone. She scratched and spat, writhing so hard the soldiers carrying her staggered.
“Curse you, boy,” she screeched. “Curse you to an earlier death than me. You shouldn’t even exist. Curse your line too. And our little brat. You can’t do this. Not to me.”
“Silence,” Falkyn ordered and Goldown’s mouth snapped shut. She opened it a second later, but he spoke before she could continue. “I’m not doing this to you. It’s the will of the kres. Do you know how many people spoke out against this? How many stood as friends to you? None. Now die with dignity, or at least whimper quietly.”
Falkyn sat back, silently cursing the Princess, but just as angry at himself. Her tantrum was unlikely to be improved by one of his own. However, she was finally speechless. She let herself be led under the throne, out of Falkyn’s sight. He sat back, blinking against a trickle of sweat, or possibly blood from his spiky crown, but it was impossible to relax. He could hear the quiet swish of medical machinery and the torrent of hate from Goldown’s mind.
I wish you’d never been born, Falkyn. Fear/fear/FEAR
The cellular re-writer hummed at full power and the Princess screamed.
Falkyn flinched. He couldn’t help it, but then silence returned and the execution was over. He sat perfectly still, listening to the High Executioner pace as she unwound the white silk bindings. There was a murmur as she asked Goldown how she was and received a rude word in reply.
Princess Goldown reappeared at the foot of Falkyn’s throne, shuffling along and leaning on the Executioner. There were gasps from the crowd and Falkyn squirmed at the sight of his punishment.
Goldown was only eighty-nine, but she looked ancient.
Her golden flow of hair had become white wisps that showed patches of scalp. Her yellow skin was dull and spotted with brown. She tried to look back at Falkyn, but winced and had to turn her body rather than just her head. He only recognized her because he knew who she was. Her skin seemed to have melted and sagged from her chin, while her nose jutted from a web of fine cracks like a rock from a parched lake-bed.
Falkyn shuddered. He couldn’t help it. He’d thought he was prepared for the savagery of stripping someone’s longevity, but he’d been wrong. Very wrong.
“Are you satisfied?” Goldown rasped.
The Executioner tried to draw the Princess away, but she resisted and almost fell. The pair stopped until Goldown had her balance and could look up at the healer who had killed her.
“How long do I have?”
“At least ten years,” the Executioner said without flinching. “Perhaps fifteen or twenty. Your health is excellent.”
Goldown laughed and started coughing. She spat phlegm, sending a wet glob back at the throne. She turned away without looking at her son and let the Executioner lead her to the door. She had a suite already
booked in the community of the Honored Aged and would live out her shortened life there.
Falkyn felt like retching. It seemed the Princess would be lucky to live past a hundred. He hoped he never had to see her again. The sooner he could forget today the better. Taking the bulk of someone’s life had a savagery to it beyond anything he’d imagined.
A crash rang through the room and the Royal Speaker stepped forward, continuing to strike his stave three times until he stopped in front of the throne.
“Arck Falkyn the Just invites all present to the Dance of Remembrance. You are welcome to attend him in the Great Hall at the seventh hour today.”
Falkyn smiled and tipped his head, stopping just before his crown could fall. The Dance of Remembrance. Wonderful. It was supposed to be a solemn event, dedicated to Goldown’s victims, but every eligible maiden in the Empire would mob him before each dance.
It would likely have all the dignity of a mugging.
16
Home at Last
Wing strode down the docking ramp at the slowest pace he could manage. It was actually almost a trot, but he was so eager to get home it felt glacial. The guard at the bottom of the slope snapped to attention. “Welcome home, Ad- that is, My Lord.”
The guard shuffled awkwardly to stand at ease again, while Wing had to catch his own hand halfway to a salute. He could get used to no longer being an admiral, but not being in the military was hard. It had been his life since he was a teenager. Perhaps he shouldn’t have retired after the ice plague, but he’d realized his priority in an emergency had become his family, rather than his duty. He couldn’t have kept playing a role he knew he didn’t deserve.
“Admiral,” another guard barked and Wing gave him a rueful smile, before realizing the man was looking past him. He turned to see a genuine officer and his best friend.
“Free.”
“Wing.”
The two met and grasped forearms then stepped into a rough hug. They broke away and Wing thought his face might split, because he was grinning so hard. “It’s great to be home,” he said. “Though seeing your ugly beak is enough to make me hit space again.”
Free’s smile was every bit as wide as his. “Don’t let me stop you. Best time of my life is when you’re holidaying on the Rim.”
“Liar. I know you pined for me.”
Free snorted and gestured to an approaching float. “Speaking of such, I suspect Dee will actually be pleased to see you. Would you like a lift?”
Wing jumped onto the flat platform of the transport before it dropped to ground level and Free followed with a laugh. A protective skin flowed up from the base to surround them like a waterfall and as soon as they were sealed in place Free punched the float to full speed. It streaked across the darkening sky like a shooting star. Wing whooped and Free laughed again.
“I thought you looked impatient.”
Wing grinned back. “Sorry if my flirting was a bit rushed.”
“Is that what that was? How the hail did you manage to win Dee?”
“Good luck and drink,” Wing said, but his answer was distracted.
He could see his home on the edge of the cliff ahead. It blushed in the darkness, each block of marbled stone glowing with its own light and warming his heart. His breath caught at the thought of seeing Darsey again. Ten weeks was too long. He’d never get distracted by people needing help again. Well, not for a time.
The float swooped toward the lawn that ran across the front of the house and Wing forced his way through the dissolving safety sleeve to jump. The distant ground slammed up to greet him, but he landed softly in the lush grass and windflowers. A sweet scent filled the night, but he didn’t pause to savour it. He threw away the last of his dignity and ran, reaching the house before Free could even land the float.
He entered the kitchen at a sprint and just had time to see Darsey’s eyes widen before he held her in his arms. She stiffened against him, making him loosen his grip, but then she embraced him back. He pressed his cheek to her temple, while his frond sought hers. Strangely there was no response and he felt no emotion at all from his wife. He drew back uncertainly.
“I’m sorry I’m late.” The apology sounded ridiculous, even to Wing. It wasn’t like he was simply overdue for dinner. His latest relief mission had run five weeks longer than planned. He tried a smile and to his amazement Darsey returned it.
“It’s okay. Your volunteer work is important. I get that.”
A weight lifted from Wing’s heart and even though he heard Free approaching, Wing took the opportunity to kiss his wife. Her response was warm, but brief. She pulled away far too soon with a rueful laugh.
“The rice is done,” she said. “I wanted the meal ready when you got in. I know how much you like my homemade casserole.”
“Everyone knows it,” Free added. “Hey, Dee.”
“Hey, yourself. Would you like to stay for dinner? There’s plenty for everyone.”
“It smells delicious, but I’ve no desire to interrupt your reunion.” Free gave Wing a smile. “I don’t have a death wish.”
“Good to know,” Wing said. “Thanks for the pick-up. Enjoy your night.”
“Wing,” Darsey admonished, “don’t be rude.”
However, Free was already backing away. “He’s rude, but also sane. Any man married to you would wish me gone. I understand. Truly.”
Free stepped through the door to the deck, still looking back, but then gave a small, jerky smile and turned away. There was a hum from the float powering up, then the sound of air cracking together and a bright line into the night sky.
Pots and pans rattled on the stove and the steam rising from them smelled delicious. Wing ignored it, to cup Darsey’s face in his hands and hold her gaze. Her eyes slid away to check the meal, but his focus never wavered. “You are so lovely.”
She looked back with a smile. “Thanks.”
“I mean it. Truly lovely, from the inside out.”
“Oh.” She squirmed and her smile slipped. “Thanks again.” They stood together for a minute, until she tried to turn her head and pull back. “Dinner’s ready.”
“My hunger right now is not for food.” Wing picked Darsey up with an experienced sweep of his arms and she jerked in surprise.
“But the meal-”
“Will reheat,” he said and growled in her ear. It didn’t make her laugh and roll her eyes as usual, but at least she stopped struggling. Their bedroom was only twenty paces away, but he made it in ten, despite his burden.
Wing ran into the edge of the bed and dropped Darsey to her feet beside him. She was laughing now and he grinned back. He caught her gaze and held it as he dipped his head. Her eyes closed when his lips touched hers and she rose into the kiss.
They pressed together, but it felt odd to Wing, presumably because he was out of practice. The kiss was sweet, but there was no tug at his lips – no delicious tingle of cells slipping past each other.
It seemed to disturb Darse too, because she pulled away. However, she smiled and wriggled out of her dress, so he must have been truly forgiven. Wing stopped worrying about the details and committed to the moment. He swept her close again to carry her backward onto the bed.
Darsey was soft and warm under Wing, who buried his face in the hair framing her neck. They merged in a more normal way and he was finally home, lost in her scent and the harsh echo of his ragged breathing. It had been far too long. His wife arched under him and he gasped, before whispering in her ear. “Flip?”
“A-hmmm,” she murmured vaguely, but made no attempt to move.
Wing raised himself on his hands and looked back for her leg coming up, but there was nothing. He hesitated and Darsey was suddenly still beneath him. He looked down, with a lift of an eyebrow and she smiled warmly in response. “Don't be shy, hotshot. It's not like I've never had sex before.”
Wing felt both his eyebrows lift at that. “No. But it's somewhat like you've never had sex with me.”
Darsey frow
ned as if considering something then shrugged. “It’s too bad. I was actually enjoying this. Much more than I expected to in fact, but I don’t have time for fun. I’m on a schedule and you’re not part of it. It’s lucky for you my master wants you alive.”
“Darse? What are you talking about? Who’s your-?” Wing found himself in mid-air before he could finish the comment. Darsey bucked him off and he tumbled from the far side of the bed. His wife came over the edge after him, fist first. She struck with her bodyweight behind her and it was like a spike driven into his temple. His last thought was that she wasn’t as pleased to see him as he’d hoped and then even that disjointed idea spun away.
A series of jerky snapshots replaced Wing’s vision. He saw his wife kneeling over him to lift her frond by hand. So strange.
The tableau changed and her face was close to his, while the long blue strand she stole from him decades past was humming like a machine. Cogs whirred.
She’d shifted again. Her cheek was by his. Vertigo washed past. He heard the shriek of an emergency call that shrilled from his com, but it was incoming. Someone was in trouble and wanted his help, which was sad, since he couldn’t even help himself. His com went quiet and then snapped open to fall from his wrist.
The woman he’d thought was his wife was suddenly there again. So close he couldn’t see her anymore, but he felt her face pressed to his. Then something with harsh bristles burrowed behind his ear and pain impaled him.
“Sorry,” she trilled.
Did Darsey say that? Everything was hurt and confusion. “S-sorry? Why?”
“Your position as coordinator of Relief means you have access codes for every aid convoy using Nexus. So I’m afraid I’ve got to go digging.”
And then the pain truly started.
17