by Liz Craven
—
Lia fought to keep from leaning on the man escorting her down the corridor. There was something strangely reassuring about the strength of the arm beneath her fingers and the warmth of the hand covering hers. Everything about the man screamed duty and responsibility, but beneath the obligation Lia sensed a core she could only describe as solid.
Giving a mental head shake, she bolstered her emotional walls and chalked her weakness up to exhaustion. Of course, it didn’t hurt the man beside her resembled the ancient statues of the gods. She was no stranger to well-built men. The hard labor of the mines sculpted bodies better than the military, but there was something else about this man. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Something that made her want to rip his shirt off and run her hands over his muscled chest. The thought of doing so made her palms tingle and her stomach flutter.
This time she gave a physical head shake to pull her raging thoughts back under control. Talon must have caught the action, because he turned concerned eyes to her. Those eyes worried her. She had a feeling he saw more than she intended him to—maybe more than she understood herself.
She was still frustrated at not winning the debate over her status as the Damaia. Granted, her mental faculties were not operating at peak efficiency. In the past twenty hours, she had worked a double shift, suffered injury in an explosion, survived a cave-in, been summoned to the rep’s office, been found by her husband, met her sister-in-law, prepared for a formal mess and debated fundamental religious beliefs.
Unfortunately, she did not have the luxury of recouping. She still had to attend the dinner and keep her eyes peeled for an escape opportunity. One of her favorite things about life on Tmesis was the lack of assassination attempts. Surviving hardship was a lot easier than surviving poison. She had to find a way to escape.
While not in any condition to mastermind a getaway, she still needed to be ready to run when the opportunity presented itself. Of course, if they had the ability to track her, running was pointless.
“I didn’t know about the transmitter. When was it inserted?” Lia asked, fortunately too tired to be outraged.
“Shortly after you were born, before our sealing ceremony,” Talon replied, leading her into the lift.
Lia felt another stomach flutter at the mention of their sealing. She ran her free hand around the back of her neck. “Where did they put it?” She let the exhaustion seep into her voice and hoped her words sounded like casual conversation.
He frowned in a distracted manner as the lift began to move. “Just at the base of the skull if I remember correctly.” He seemed to force his attention back to her and smiled a politician’s smile at her. “Don’t worry, it should be invisible beneath your skin.”
Lia murmured absently, as if her concern had been vanity. The less substance the man thought she had, the easier her escape would be.
The lift opened directly into a formal dining room, where soldiers and fleet personnel stood at attention behind their chairs. Talon escorted Lia to the empty seat at the head of the table. “You remember Ilexa, Vardin, Thane, Caden and Captain Artrane,” he stated more than asked.
At her nod, he introduced those remaining and pulled her chair out for her. After seating her, he took the seat to her right.
Lia listened to the small talk and made appropriate responses when necessary. As the inane chatter flowed around her, she felt her simmering rage spark her temper. How dare they drag her back to N’yota like a wayward pet. Her temper disconnected from her brain and sought an outlet on its own. Unfortunately, Vardin provided that outlet. His glowing red eyes, which had focused on her from the moment she began to eat, never strayed as she began the entrée course.
“Am I committing some horrible sin? Using the wrong fork, perhaps?” Despite the caustic words, Lia kept her tone polite. She might be tired enough to risk sniping at an Inderian, but she wasn’t crazy.
The unanimous pause of the others at the table almost made her laugh. Apparently, they thought she was crazy. The urge to giggle bubbled up, and she suppressed it with effort. She must be more tired than she thought.
“I beg your pardon?” Vardin’s expression didn’t change.
“You are staring at me. I assume you have a reason.” Great. Now she was taunting the Inderian. She didn’t remember developing a death wish, but it had been a busy day.
“I was watching you eat.”
No kidding. She didn’t know Inderians had such a gift for stating the obvious. “And you find my mastication enthralling?”
Clearly, she had moved from merely wishing for death to active participation. Maybe she should impale herself on her dinner knife and get it over with.
“You are eating with the wrong hand.”
She glanced at the fork in her hand. Feeling awkward and embarrassed, she lowered the fork to her plate. Funny that her intentional rudeness didn’t bother her, but an accidental lapse in deportment had her flushing. “The wrong hand?”
“I reviewed your security files and event appearances. In all records, you kept the fork in your right hand. Tonight, you have kept the fork in your left hand.”
“And now you doubt who I am?” She couldn’t keep the hope out of her voice.
Vardin gave a slight shake of his head. “You are the Damaia.”
“Vardin is very attentive to details. It’s one of the things that makes him a superior soldier.” Caden grinned. “And once he notices a discrepancy he won’t leave it alone until he resolves it.”
Damn. Getting around someone that diligent was going to be difficult. She would have to remember that when she planned her escape. “I’m ambidextrous, but I prefer my left hand.”
“When did your preference shift to your left hand?” Vardin appeared dissatisfied with her explanation.
“I have always preferred my left hand.”
“Why did you not use your left hand before leaving N’yota?”
“Because it was decided I would only use my right hand,” she said with exasperation.
“Why?”
Thane asked the question, but everyone at the table had stopped eating and waited for an explanation. She hoped they were fascinated by her stupidity in baiting an Inderian and not which hand she was using. She had some control of her stupidity, despite the day’s sterling evidence to the contrary, but being a genetically engineered Prophecy fulfillment was out of her power. “Because using my left hand would be a clear indication I took after the Lassan line more than the Gemadam line.”
“How would holding your fork in your left hand do that?” Ilexa sounded bewildered.
“Because the Lassan line had both left-handed and right-handed rulers. The rulers of the Gemadam line were only right-handed. Therefore, using my left hand would indicate genetic bias towards the Lassan line.” Her tone held the sing-song quality of quoting a reoccurring lecture.
“That’s absurd,” Ilexa burst out. “Of all the nitpicking, micromanaging… Who decided that?”
“A member of the Gemadam House saw me using my left hand, and the family petitioned the Prophecy Council to prevent me from using my left hand as my dominant hand. The petition was granted.”
“How old were you?” Talon didn’t take his eyes from Lia as he reached for his wine glass. She hoped his action signaled interest in the topic was waning.
She shrugged. “Three or four years.”
Ilexa leaned forward. “What is this ‘Prophecy Council’?”
The question surprised Lia. The Council oversaw every minute detail of her life on N’yota to the point they even scheduled her to trips to the lav. As an oppressive dark cloud that hovered over her very existence, the idea the Council worked behind the scenes never occurred to her.
“The Prophecy Council made all decisions regarding my…” Existence? Purpose? Who knew explaining the Council would be difficult? “Life,” she concluded for lack of a better term.
“They raised you?” Ilexa asked.
The bureaucratic Coun
cil concerned with raising a child? The idea caused the edges of Lia’s lips to tug in wry amusement. “No, they were a political body,” she clarified.
“I don’t understand. Who was on this Prophecy Council?” Caden asked. He leaned forward, unguarded confusion shining in his eyes.
Lia shook her head slightly at the naive openness Caden showed. She had never been that young. Not even as a toddler. “The Houses of Lassan and Gemadam each elected a member. N’yotans not affiliated with either House voted on a member.” In other words, the rebels. But the rebels’ representative had objected to the term. As a result, the word “rebel” had been officially stricken from her vocabulary. “The High Priest and Priestess appointed one, and the League chose the last Council member.”
Ilexa frowned. “Lia, I don’t remember anyone ever mentioning the Council.”
Lia shrugged one shoulder, squelching a wince when it tugged on the wound in her side. “The Council was impaneled before my creation.”
“They likely wanted to have the positions filled before your conception should they need to make any health decisions during your gestation,” Talon interjected. Lia noted the deliberate use of the words “conception” and “gestation”, his not-so-subtle reminder of his position in their earlier debate. She felt the girlish urge to stick her tongue out at him.
“What kind of childhood is overseen by a bunch of bureaucrats that have to vote on which pair of shoes you are going to wear?” Ilexa demanded, outraged.
“Mine,” Lia replied without a trace of irony, effectively closing the topic.
“Damaia,” the chief medical officer began, “I would like to schedule a routine check-up for you sometime tomorrow if that is convenient for you.”
Though grateful for the change of subject, Lia shot Talon a murderous look on principle, before turning to address the doctor. The deeply ingrained public relations training by the Council had her acknowledging the man by title and name. “Dr. Brinson, I am not submitting to an exam.”
The man looked aghast. “Damaia, you have spent years on that moon, removed from proper medical care. There is no telling what you have been exposed to you. I insist you come to sickbay for your own good.”
Her own good? Lia gritted her teeth. She wanted to scream that she was perfectly capable of making her own decisions. Instead, she fell back on the abruptness she learned in the mines. “No.”
The doctor stared at her in disbelief. His mouth opened and closed like a fish. Like most intellectuals, a flat denial without justification stymied his ability to argue.
She pointedly turned her attention from the doctor and caught the captain attempting to hide a smile behind his wine glass. Obviously, Lia was not the only one who found the young doctor pompous.
“Damaia, once you are settled and have adjusted to the ship’s schedule, please contact the bridge. I would be happy to give you a tour of the ship,” the first officer offered with a charming smile. A handsome man with blond hair and brown eyes, he looked at Lia with pure male appreciation.
Flustered, Lia hesitated, unaccustomed to men flirting with her. Of course, it probably didn’t hurt she ruled what had become a very wealthy planet. “Thank you, Commander Warrant. That would be nice,” she said with a nervous smile.
“But unnecessary,” Talon said coldly. “I will show my wife the ship.”
Lia blinked startled eyes at Talon. What happened to not insulting League delegates? With a flash of feminine intuition, she realized her husband was jealous. For a moment, she felt a lightness that had nothing to do with the difference in gravity, only to come crashing down when she realized the jealousy was rooted in possessiveness rather than caring. He didn’t know her well enough to care about her, and she had been viewed as an object too long to appreciate the idea of belonging to anyone.
Pointedly ignoring her arrogant husband, she addressed the first officer. “Commander Warrant, how long will the trip to N’yota take?”
She saw the muscles in Talon’s jaw clench and felt a thrill of satisfaction.
“A little over a month,” he replied. “We have to deviate course to restock supplies on DeKalb Station. After that, we will proceed directly to your home.”
“DeKalb Station?” Ilexa’s face lit up. She turned dancing eyes to Lia. “I’ve always wanted to visit that station. It’s just inside League territory and trades with outlying merchants. Its shops are supposed to have the most exotic clothes and jewels. Not to mention perfumes and other wares. We are going to shop ourselves to exhaustion there.”
Lia knew excitement showed on her face, but not for the reason the others assumed. A station just inside League territory meant she could get passage on a vessel out of League space. Escape! “How far are we from the station?” she asked.
“Four days,” the commander replied.
Perfect. She would rest, recuperate and plan.
Talon scowled. “I don’t think that’s wise. The station is rough and I do not wish to expose the Damaia in an area with such poor security.”
Little flurries of panic began to swim in Lia’s stomach. This station would be the only opportunity she had to escape. She had to get off this ship when it docked. While she had enjoyed the luxury of not taking orders since being discovered, she had yet to challenge a serious decision regarding her safety.
“Talon, don’t be ridiculous.” Ilexa waved a dismissive hand at her brother. “No one knows we are returning with the Damaia. The only people who know Lia’s identity sit at this table. We aren’t going to announce it to the station. You present yourself as N’yota’s first minister and all attention focuses on you. Lia and I will disembark incognito with her security detail.”
Having a sister was proving useful.
“I would like to see the station,” Lia informed him. She carefully kept her voice mild and hopeful. She didn’t want to demand anything yet. Having only begun testing the boundaries of independence, she didn’t want to run up against them too soon. Once she gained certain liberties it would be difficult for the Council or Talon to take them away, but if they denied them early on, she would never get them.
Talon frowned. Lia instinctively knew he wanted to restrict her to the ship, something he could likely do for her safety. Almost any leader’s decision could be overruled when their security staff deemed the risk too great.
“We will need to evaluate the risk before making any decision,” he finally replied, reluctance tingeing his voice.
Lia realized she had been holding her breath and released it in a controlled exhale. The fact that Talon had not refused her request outright stilled the flutters in her stomach. Ditching her guard would be difficult, but escape would be impossible if she could not disembark before N’yota.
Ilexa flashed her beautiful smile. “I’m sure you’ll figure something out. This will be our only chance to do any shopping before reaching N’yota. I’m sure Lia would like to choose some clothes of her own, not to mention books, puzzles, holoplays and such to keep her entertained during the trip. Otherwise, she’ll go stir crazy.”
Lia blinked. She had never chosen her own clothing. Even once she went to work in the mines, the Guild assigned regulation clothing. The idea of choosing something for herself opened the door for a purely feminine pleasure she had never experienced.
Talon gave his sister a fond look. The first truly unguarded expression Lia had seen on his face. The harsh planes softened, his lips curled upward making them appear fuller, and his cold grey eyes warmed to the same silver of Ilexa’s. “While you, I’m sure, will suffer through the stores solely for the sake of the Damaia.”
Ilexa’s features took on an exaggeratedly serious expression. “I am willing to make such a sacrifice for my family,” she replied in a low, martyred voice.
Chuckles broke out round the table, and the topic turned to ship business. Lia listened with one ear, while trying to contemplate her escape. Exhaustion beat at her, causing her concentration to drift.
Talon rose, breaking he
r out of her reverie. When he offered his arm, she realized she had finished the dessert course. Though thrilled to leave the table, she loathed having to stand and make her way back to her quarters. For a moment, she flirted with the idea of putting her head down into what remained of her chocolate mousse, but feared Talon would use her head dive into the dessert to force a medical exam on her.
Despite the lighter gravity aboard ship, Lia felt as though she weighed the equivalent of a fully laden skimmer as she pushed away from the table. The solid feel of Talon’s arm beneath her hand and the welcome warmth of the hand he laid over hers surprised her with the comfort they provided. She said good evening to the table at large and allowed her husband to escort her from the formal mess.
They remained silent until the lift doors closed behind them.
“I’ve never seen anyone knowingly bait an Inderian before,” Talon said, and she heard the laughter lurking in his voice.
“I couldn’t resist,” she confessed.
“There are less painful ways to die than at the hands of an enraged Inderian,” he advised.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Aside from your attempted suicide, dinner went very well.”
“Were you afraid I would shun the cutlery in favor of using my toes?” she asked, though she felt no rancor.
He grinned at her, and her breath stopped for a moment. “No, but it was your first diplomatic appearance in twelve years. It can’t have been easy for you.”
He was concerned about how she felt? Flabbergasted, Lia searched for a reply. “Old habits die hard,” she muttered and promptly felt like an idiot.
The lift swished open and Talon led her to her door. He paused before it and turned to face her. He kept his guard up, but allowed her a peak behind it. The emotion she glimpsed, she couldn’t name.