by Cara Bristol
“I’m sorry about Naimo,” he said. “I hope he will recover.”
“Thank you.” She rubbed the sore spot left by the headdress. “I don’t—how—I don’t understand how you came to be in the arena as the challenger.”
The corner of his mouth quirked. “I don’t either.”
“What?”
“I work for a spaceship remanufacturer. I delivered a ship your father had ordered.”
Business, then. A foolish hope deflated, leaving her more heartbroken. March would not have come for her, and if he had, she would have had to reject him. It is for the best. Let the past remain buried where it can do no harm.
“I still don’t understand the connection to the Sha’A’la,” she said. He’d been magnificent in the arena. Her eyes had been on him the whole time. Her heart had fought with him, for him. The sexy but mild mannered teaching assistant had turned lethal.
He fixed his gaze on her face. “Why did you disappear?”
Julietta rose to her feet and paced the room. “Isn’t it obvious? I left to fulfill my duty.”
“In the middle of the semester? In the middle of the night? I wake up and roll over and you’re gone? There’s nothing but a blinking light on my PerComm.” He jumped to his feet. “You never told me you had responsibilities.”
I’m sorry. Forgive me. I’ll always remember our time together. She’d written and erased multiple messages before sending that one. She’d never told March she was a princess, had led him to believe she was just another student with the freedom to choose her life path. The time for explanation would have been before starting a relationship—not when she had to flee to save herself further pain.
It hadn’t worked. Leaving had carved a hole so deep and wide it could never be filled. She averted her gaze. “I said I was sorry.”
“On my PerComm. Yeah, I got the message.”
“It was the only way.”
“No, it wasn’t the only way.” He glared. Terran eyes were so expressive, revealing every emotion. “Another option would have been to tell me the truth, face-to-face, to wake me the fuck up and say, “Gotta run. See, ya!”
Not an option. Because if she had, she never would have been able to leave at all.
“I made some mistakes,” she said. Going to Terra counted as the first one. Then she’d gotten involved with March. As powerful as falling in love had been, it hadn’t bestowed her with the courage to face her father and her family, the council, the seer, her people, her consort-to-be, and confess she didn’t want to come back or become empress. She desired to marry a Terran and have half-alien babies, if that was even possible. She’d had the weight of an entire world, a millennium of history on her shoulders, and she’d caved to duty, leaving while she could still do so.
“Yeah,” he said. “Me, too.” Meaning her. She was his mistake. She had earned his anger, but his bitterness dripped like acid on an already-wounded heart.
Tears welled in her eyes and trickled over her lower lids. They would leave black streaks down her cheeks, across the carefully designed whorls decorating her face. Incongruously, she wondered how long it would take for the design to fade without the act of sexual congress to activate her hormones. How long would she be marked as the almost bride?
“I deserved that,” she said, steeling her courage because she owed him an explanation. She twisted her hands. “I had to go. My father seems benign and doting, but he would have invaded Terra, stormed the university, and dragged me home.”
A small smile quirked at the corner of March’s mouth. “Having met your father and experienced his ‘hospitality,’ I believe you. The emperor is not a man to cross. Why didn’t you tell me who you were at the beginning?”
“Because, for once in my life, I wanted to be anonymous.”
“No one would have treated you any differently. They would have been surprised, at first, but after the curiosity wore off, you could have been that—just another college kid.”
“I would have known, and it would have changed everything.” She would have lost those precious, rare times when for a few moments, she did forget her station and duty. Oh, how she had loved cramming for exams, arguing and grousing in study groups, eating bad food, staying out too late with other students, the hustle and bustle of campus life, her one and only spring break spent at a beach town where she’d become inebriated. Shitfaced, the Terrans called it, which sounded worse than it was, because she’d loved the experience. It was so very…Terran.
Hey, Jules, you want to grab a cup of coffee? Hey, Jules, can you share your notes? Hey, Jules, there’s a party Saturday night. Hey, Jules, hey, Jules, hey. Jules. Oh, the sweet, sweet sound of it.
And then came March, who sought out her company not because he’d been chosen by the seer, but just because. And that was the sweetest of all.
Until the heartbreak. Her affair with anonymity had exacted a steep price.
“Would you have gotten involved with me if you had known my identity?” she asked.
He learned forward to rest his elbows on his knees and stared at the floor, silent for a long time. Then he sighed. “No.” He looked up at her. “If I’d had an inkling how short your stay on Earth was going to be and that I would start to fall in love with you—no.”
Julietta flinched under the double blow. As bad as bonding with Naimo would be, having memories of March made it bearable. To not have had the time, to never have experienced the joy was unthinkable. But the depth of his feelings deepened her loss. She wiped at the tears raining from her eyes. “I see.” She hated the way her voice trembled.
She rose to her feet and moved away toward a tacani, a large stringed instrument that produced melodious tones. Terra had something similar; they called it a harp. She wanted to smash it, kick it, break whatever she could.
The whisper of clothing revealed he’d gotten to his feet. “If Naimo should…pass, what will happen?”
“The seer will choose another mate for me.”
“You will go through with it?”
“I will be required to.” The idea sickened her, but responsibility only could be delayed; it could not be shirked. Each postponement shortened the time available to produce an heir. She and Naimo or his replacement would have to couple often to ensure she got pregnant by the deadline.
“I hope for your sake he recovers and you live a long and happy life together. I apologize for interrupting your solitude.”
She would never see him again. Her heart seized, but she didn’t dare watch him go. Julietta gripped the pillar of the tacani for support. Tears trickled down her cheeks.
For a big man, he moved quietly, his footfalls making the merest pitter patter on the floor. In seconds, the door would open and—
She whirled around.
March stood in front of her, his face stony, his blue eyes lit with an emotion she couldn’t read.
He grabbed her and yanked her against his chest. Her feet left the floor. One strong hand slid under her hair to grip her nape and tilt her head. His mouth slammed down on hers, would have forced her lips to part, but she was already opening for his kiss, drowning in it. Wave after wave of need swamped her body, eradicating all thought and will, except for the desperation to get closer, to meld into one body so no space, no cultural divide, no duty could separate them.
His tongue lashed hers, but she accepted his anger as penance, craved more, incited more as she lashed back. Teeth gnashed, deliberate and accidental, drawing blood that mixed with the decadent taste of him. Her head swirled, and she grabbed at his shoulders for support. Taut muscle, as hard as rock, offered no give, like his kiss. He didn’t coax, he took, anger and pain evident in the crush of his mouth, the steel grip of his hands.
Scalding tears of love and despair poured from her eyes and into their mouths.
When he dropped her on her feet and thrust her away, it was like tumbling into the abyss again, like returning to Xenia all those years ago.
He wiped his lips as if to erase her tou
ch. “Have a good life, Jules.” He left and never looked back.
Chapter Ten
The sky’s pink light filtered into the skimmer, but March’s emotions were anything but rosy as the personal transport craft swooped over lavender fields, stirring the grasses and startling animals.
“Coming up next, the coliseum will be straight ahead,” the computer said. “Built five hundred solar cycles ago, the coliseum is one of the largest single buildings and can seat twenty thousand citizens.”
He had little interest in the coliseum or any other landmark and wished to leave the planet as soon as he could, but the emperor had suggested he take a sightseeing tour. Maybe the topography and structures would be useful to Cyber Operations, so his cyberbrain recorded what he saw. He had to give Carter something, seeing how the ceremonies had ended so abruptly.
Especially since he had re-upped with Cy-Ops, notifying the director that morning. He would give Dale notice when he could see him face-to-face. The Moonbeam remanufacturing plant was too damn close to Xenia, and Dale still had many more ZX7Ms to deliver. March wanted no part of it. This time he would achieve a clean break. Becoming a field agent would give him focus until his heart healed—if it ever did.
How the hell could she mate with a man she hadn’t met or spoken to? The bonding ceremony represented the single most important event in her life, in the future of Xenia, yet she had little input into her choice of mate. And she was okay with it.
What had happened to the independent, carefree girl at the university? Had she been an illusion? An actress? Bonding did not preclude outside sexual recreation. It hurt that he’d been nothing more than a fling. When on Terra, do as the Terrans do. Go to class, hang out at the coffee bistro, have an affair with the teaching assistant…
March rubbed his mouth. I shouldn’t have kissed her…
“The annual war games and the saber competition are held at the coliseum—”
“War games?” he interrupted the computer.
“An exercise in which former clans engage in mock battles. Afterwards, the festival of flowers to celebrate peace is held at the coliseum.”
Did the Xenians do anything for real? Mock war games, mock bride fights, mock love affairs…
Unless they had everyone fooled. Perhaps these staged events weren’t recreation but training exercises. Maybe they hadn’t conquered their aggressions but planned to conquer the galaxy instead, like Lamis-Odg was hell-bent on doing. When push came to shove, the “peace-loving” emperor hadn’t hesitated to enforce his will.
What kind of ruler would his daughter be? Would she continue her planet’s isolationism, or would she expose Xenia to the galaxy at large? Did she have the discernment to distinguish friend from foe? Did she have the fortitude to navigate galactic politics? The strength to deal with the threats?
She had the strength to leave me. To toss me aside so she could bond with a stranger.
No worries. Jules would be capable of doing what needed to be done.
He forced her from his thoughts. “Computer—can you bring me closer?” Who knew what could be useful later? He should scope out the coliseum, do a little recon for Cy-Ops. Get more vids.
“Certainly.”
The skimmer, a compact version of a PeeVee, descended and flew over the open dome. The oval reminded him of a larger version of the arena where the ill-fated Sha’A’la had been held. Twice as many hover seats surrounded the perimeter. It would hold a lot of cheering, hissing spectators.
“During events, the hover seats shift to give the viewer a close-up of the action,” the computer said.
“Doesn’t that cause a traffic jam?”
“I do not understand traffic jam.”
“How can all twenty thousand seats move around without bumping into each other or interfering with the games?”
“Only the seats reserved for dignitaries circumlocate. They do not generally interfere with the games, but sometimes accidents happen and a spectator gets injured. Only a few deaths occur per year. Attending a game is relatively safe.”
Relatively. Unless you happened to be the unlucky spectator whose chair brought you a little too close to the action and you got impaled. Remind him to book a cheap seat if he ever attended a game—not that he would return. When he left here, it would be for good.
That kiss…desire and desperation mixed with salty tears like she couldn’t bear to part.
There’d been no weeping the first time. No good-bye kiss either. No good-bye. Why cry now? She hadn’t done so when she’d kicked him to the curb. They’d made love, gone to sleep, and then he’d awakened to a cold, empty bed. Her departure had nearly destroyed him, worry consuming him. Had she been abducted? Killed? What the hell had happened to her?
Finally he had the answer.
Duty before love.
No, just duty.
If she’d cared, she would have told him the truth before letting a date progress to a relationship. Jules had to realize he’d fallen in love with her.
Am I being unfair? Staying with him would have required giving up everything, and more was at stake than her personal wants and desires. Her dilemma affected an entire planet. Abandon her lover or abandon her people? He didn’t fault her choice, only the way she’d executed it.
Liar. He did blame her. How could she have left him?
By traveling to Xenia, he’d hoped to discover what had happened, get closure, and move on. Now that he knew, he didn’t feel better; he felt worse. Seeing her, talking to her, kissing her had reopened the wound. “I’ve seen enough,” he told the computer. “What’s next?”
“Perhaps you would like to visit the night side of the mountain?” the computer asked as if he had a choice. An itinerary of the highlights had been programmed into the skimmer. Whether he said yes or no, the vehicle would take him there anyway. How Xenian. Rules were phrased as polite suggestions, edicts as questions. Please enjoy my hospitality sounded better than don’t leave the planet, bucko. He hadn’t been given a choice whether to go sightseeing or not.
Like Jules never had a choice?
He sighed. “Show me the other side of the mountain.”
“Excellent. Setting coordinates.” The skimmer ascended into the pink sky and picked up speed. “Would you like to know why it is called night side?”
“Okay, tell me.” He’d like to know when this sightseeing jaunt would end.
“The Romoso mountain range divides the planet in half. Winter is colder and darker and lasts longer on the far side of the mountain, although summer, the season we’re in now, is warmer and lighter. Night side experiences climate extremes. Morning side, where the main palace is located, is more temperate.
“Two-thirds of the population lives on morning side, so night side is more rural, and the yacuni travel in great herds.”
Yacuni? March accessed his cyberbrain, and up popped a stillvid of the feathered antelope he’d seen when he’d first arrived.
“The night side palace is a place of meditation and contemplation,” the computer said.
The emperor owned many residences, several of which the computer had pointed out. Besides palaces, his tour had shown him pristine cities, massive monuments, and many natural wonders.
He’d begun to doubt hospitality had motivated the tour. Had Dusan ordered him out of the palace for a reason? Had his clandestine visit been discovered? It didn’t take an etiquette expert to know he’d violated some protocol. One did not drop in on the princess.
The skimmer approached Romoso and scaled the sky, flying high above the range. Pristine lakes nestled among the mountain valleys, and he detected the movement of animal life, but no dwellings. “No one lives in the mountains?”
“No. Only on the morning or night side,” the computer answered.
The skimmer descended to night side where a splendored beauty sprawled out as far as his cybereyes could see. March straightened in his seat, peering out. A dark-purple splotch moved across the lavender plain, and as they drew near,
a herd of feathered yacuni came into view. “Drop down. Get closer,” he said.
The PeeVee dipped low enough to shadow the ground. Tall grasses waved under the skimmer. Farming hamlets nestled here and there, and people tilling the land looked up as they flew overhead.
“There are trees here,” he noted.
“There are trees everywhere,” the computer replied.
Xenians might consider their woody, stubby plants trees, but the purple-leafed plants hardly qualified as more than tall bushes. The ones on morning side were shorter than he was. But, here, they had achieved some height, four to five meters at least. Not huge like the arboreal life on DeltaNu9084 or the surviving redwoods of Terra, but respectable.
“These are bigger.”
“Night side trees do grow taller. Would you like to visit the palace?”
“All right,” he said, knowing he didn’t have a choice.”
* * * *
Julietta had crossed the field and was entering the wood when she became aware of the skimmer. The droning alerted her before she noticed the speck in the distance. Many citizens owned air vehicles, but on the chance the one buzzing in her direction might belong to her father, she darted behind the nearest large tree and hunkered down in the soft, dewy lavender moss. She’d borrowed and donned a servant’s clothing so she would be less noticeable, but better not take chances.
“Go away!” she mouthed at the sky.
I need to be alone. I’ve gone to the night side palace. Per her instructions, the servant would have delivered that message to her parents by now. She’d hoped they would respect her privacy, that they would assume she’d sought solitude to come to grips with Naimo’s condition. For his sake, she’d wished him a speedy recovery, but it had been March’s visit that had overwhelmed her, shattered her composure, and sent her running. If only he hadn’t kissed her. Memories so vivid that the events could have happened yesterday, had assaulted her. Her wounded heart, patched with denial and avoidance, began to bleed anew.
When March had left her quarters, it had felt like she’d lost him all over again. His leaving had been for the best, but a hundred times since then she’d cursed herself for not calling him back, for not attempting to hold him for a little while longer. For when would she get another chance to see him? He would leave soon, and it would be as if he had died.