by S. J. Madill
"Are you cold?" asked Pari.
"I don't mind."
It had taken five days to raise her body temperature. Despite the side effects, it was worth it. She and Pari could finally share a room. No insulated suits, no hot hands or cold faces. It had been a long time since she'd slept so well.
Zura turned her face up to the sky, feeling the sun on her skin like a warm caress. Far in the distance, she heard the sound of a shuttle approaching. Palani government issue: Disa class. "Pentarch Yenaara is here."
"Oh?" said Pari. "You can tell from the sound?"
Zura nodded.
At her side — where she wanted her — stood Pari, in her thick black coat. Close behind them, like a shadow, was Irasa. Colonel Mwangi and the other staff officers stood a short distance away.
It had been a busy time for all of them: only six days since the battle, and the transition to civilian rule was hitting one snag after another. On the fifth Palani homeworld, the Temple's puppet leaders had refused to surrender their authority to the new Pentarch Council. Fortunately, the appearance of the Kaha Ranila had changed their minds.
Apart from that, her subordinates were proving entirely capable of dealing with the issues at hand. As long as she was informed and up to date, she hadn't had much to do.
It had given her more time to think about retirement. Gardening, she'd decided, was too idle. She'd wondered out loud about trying a musical instrument, like the irsu or the jelalon. Pari had suggested an Earth instrument called the 'bagpipe'. The look on Pari's face had told her that she was being facetious — as usual — but she'd researched it anyway. She'd heard one before, and found the sound strangely compelling, like some small creature being mournfully turned inside-out. She was tempted to play a recording of one early in the morning, to see how quickly Pari's opinion changed.
The Palani government shuttle touched down, the whine of its engines fading to silence. The ramp descended and a group of Palani government officials emerged, their long robes billowing in the wind.
Last out was the Pentarch Yenaara. Brilliant white robes swirled around her, and her diamond-studded tiara glittered in the sunlight. She moved with a practiced elegance, gliding across the pavement. A warm smile lit up her face.
Zura bowed. "Honoured Pentarch."
The Pentarch bowed in return: it was a sign of considerable respect, and a bit of a surprise. She's going to ask for something. "Greetings to you, Mahasa," the Pentarch said in her musical voice. She nodded to Pari. "Hello, Pari. Nice to see you."
Pari had a wide smile. "Hi, Amba. I hear you've been busy."
"Oh, but we have. Haven't we, Mahasa?"
Zura met the Pentarch's eyes, then looked sideways at Pari. "Quite."
"I hope I'm not too early," said the Pentarch.
Zura could already hear another ship approaching. "Not at all," she said. "Here they come now." It was a distinctive sound: Palani-built engines changed pitch if they went too long without maintenance.
Shielding her eyes with her hand, Zura searched the sunlit sky until she caught a glimpse of the tiny shadow descending from the edge of the atmosphere.
"Excuse me, Mahasa?" asked the Pentarch.
Zura didn't take her eyes off the approaching shadow. "Yes, Pentarch?"
"Before I leave today, could I have a moment of your time to speak in private?"
"Of course."
When the Pentarch didn't say anything more, it confirmed what Zura was thinking: the Pentarch had something to discuss in person. Couldn't she just send a message? Was there already some idiotic intrigue in the new government? "I knew it," she muttered to herself, as the Blue Guardian came into view.
"What's that?" asked Pari.
Zura shook her head. "Work problem. It can wait."
The Blue Guardian swooped down toward the landing area, its nose pitching upward as the landing gear unfolded. It made hesitant contact with the ground, before touching down again and settling onto its landing gear like a bird squatting on its nest. Condensation vapour curled up from the hull as the engines began winding down. For a moment, Zura thought she saw a smiling face in the cockpit window.
"Relieved?" asked Pari.
"Not yet. Almost."
A quick puff of escaping air came from underneath, the vapour quickly swirled away by the wind. Zura let the hem of her cloak slip from her fingers, and it curled around her as she watched the airlock for movement.
First to appear was the retired Admiral Dillon. He'd boarded Yaella's ship under an assumed name. Zura still didn't approve of the deception, but what was done was done. The human man, hair and beard white with age, stooped to walk under the Blue Guardian's hull. When he straightened up, Zura saw a wince of discomfort. He nodded to her, smiled and waved at Pari, but truly lit up when his eyes found Pentarch Yenaara. Years melted away from the old man as he smiled at her, but he didn't run to her. Instead, he remained next to the ship, waiting for the next person to emerge.
The Artahel. Daughter of the Admiral and the Pentarch. The sight of the white suit made Zura grit her teeth. Her daughter's life had been hanging on the mercy of this Artahel; on the trust the Pentarch put in her own daughter.
"Hey." She felt Pari's hand wrap around hers. "You just tensed up."
"I suppose I did." She was surprised that she'd let it show. Maybe Pari was just good at picking up on it.
A squeeze of the hand. "It turned out okay."
Was that enough? Zura watched as the Artahel — the Handmaiden — joined up with her father. The two of them reunited with the Pentarch, smiling and embracing each other. Zura looked away.
Master Buckingham had come off the bottom of the ladder. He was taller than the others, and had to stoop awkwardly to move around under the Blue Guardian's hull. His awkwardness wasn't just physical, either: there was no one here to meet him. No joyful embrace. Instead, he crouched on the pavement and opened the bag he was carrying.
Zura raised an eyebrow as the Handmaiden came back into view. Even the way she moved was predatory: Master Buckingham jumped in surprise when he noticed her next to him. He was about to say something, when the Handmaiden grabbed him by the hand and towed him, stumbling and trying to speak, back to the still-embracing Pentarch and Admiral.
"Ouch," whispered Pari. "Hell of a way to meet the parents." She laughed. "I pity the kid; he's in the deep end now."
Though too far away to hear clearly, Zura watched the Handmaiden introducing the tall, startled Bucky to the Pentarch, who was graceful and charming in return. She didn't feel pity for the boy; she was pleased for him. Whatever she thought of the Artahel as a whole, she had to respect that young white-clad woman's confidence and certainty. If Pari had been any less confident, would the two of them be standing together now?
"Hey!" cried a familiar voice. Kaiser had leapt out the airlock onto the ground. Wagging his tail and panting, the dog was too excited to think. When he saw Zura, he gave a single joyful bark and sprinted straight for her.
She couldn't help herself; she laughed in delight. When she crouched, the joyful dog leapt into her arms, squirming and trying to lick her face. "Good boy," she said, rubbing her hands through his fur. Then, just as quickly as he'd found her, Kaiser yelped again and leapt toward Pari.
Zura stood up in time to see Yaella limping toward her. A lump formed in her throat.
My girl. Her smart, beautiful girl, with the brilliant blue hair and a plastic cast on one leg. The girl who now approached her, her face a mixture of uncertainty and hesitation. "Hey, Mom—"
"Come here, daughter," said Zura. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Yaella, pulling her close and holding her tight.
"Mom, I…" Yaella looked up at her and sniffled, her eyes turning red. The girl's brave front came tumbling down: the blue-haired head pressed into Zura's shoulder, and arms wrapped around her back.
"Daughter," said Zura, "I'm proud of you." She should've said it before. She should've said it a thousand times. Every parent should dream of
having so formidable a child.
"But Mom," Yaella mumbled into her shoulder. "Nothing went right. I didn't—"
"Daughter, you have your own mind and the courage to follow it. You have the integrity to accept responsibility. I couldn't be more proud."
Yaella clung to her. "Ocean died, Mom. People died. I don't know what to do now."
"You're home safe. Tomorrow can wait until tomorrow."
"I love you, Mom. I… holy shit, you're so warm!"
"Language, daughter." She reluctantly let go as Yaella leaned away. "Hey Pari," said Yaella, turning to embrace the woman at Zura's side.
Zura watched the two of them for a while, and tried to remember the last time she'd been so content. It felt like centuries ago; perhaps a lifetime.
"Excuse me, Mahasa? A moment?"
Zura sighed. The Pentarch was behind her, an expectant look on her face, and made an elegant gesture for Zura to walk with her.
When they were a few steps away, Zura stopped. "What is it?"
"A happy day for us," said the Pentarch.
"Until now. What do you want?"
Yenaara looked away. "Mahasa, I know I haven't always done things the way you would have preferred…" She turned back to Zura, perhaps expecting an acknowledgement. Zura just stared at her.
The Pentarch pursed her lips before continuing. "Mahasa, I wanted to speak to you personally, before anyone else contacted you." She flashed an apologetic smile. "We're having a problem. Another of my nominations for Pentarch wants to resign. The people are dissatisfied; they think the new government lacks legitimacy."
Zura felt the cold wind burrowing under her cloak. "No. Whatever it is, the answer is no."
Yenaara quickly forged ahead. "Mahasa," she said. "Please. The people need you. They see you as someone with honour and courage. Someone with integrity. They compare you to the heroes of old. We need you—"
"No," said Zura. She couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice. "No! How many times must I say it? I've said it for centuries. I've said it to you. No," she shook her head. "No. I will not wear a Pentarch's chain—"
"Not a Pentarch's chain," said Yenaara. She stopped and took a deep breath. "The Synod of Prelates has gone to the Vault of An-Ranila. They are retrieving the Chain of Ages—"
"What?" cried Zura. The ground felt uneven under her feet. "Have you all lost your minds? I'm retiring, Pentarch. I'm not going to do that." She pointed toward Pari and Yaella, who were coming closer with concerned looks on their faces. "I'm not going to do that to them."
"Do what?" asked Pari.
Zura turned away and stared into the distance, out over the skyline of New Fraser. For weeks she'd been dreaming of retirement, of peace and quiet. Just her and Pari, the two of them watching Yaella grow into a remarkable young woman. Now, all her dreams were evaporating in front of her. She exhaled a shuddering breath. "They want to give me the Chain of Ages." She looked at Pari and Yaella. "Make me the Ranilasa."
"Make you the what now?" asked Pari.
Pentarch Yenaara looked genuinely apologetic. "Empress."
Zura had never seen Pari and Yaella's eyes go so wide. "No," she said. "I don't want it."
"Mahasa," said the Pentarch. "Please. I know this is difficult. But your people need you. You would have a part in creating the new government. You would give it legitimacy. And then…" She made an elegant version of a shrug. "One day a week, perhaps. Giving assent to legislation. Attending a few formal events. Being a symbol of integrity and stability, just by—"
"Enough," interrupted Zura. Just when the weight had begun to lift, it came crashing back down heavier than ever. It was giving her a headache. "Pari?" she asked quietly. "Yaella? What do you think?"
Yaella had a lopsided grin. "Wow. This is huge. You'd be great at it, Mom. Wait. Would I have to be a princess?"
Pentarch Yenaara waved a hand. "Ranilasa is not hereditary."
Zura's eyes went to Pari, who smiled at her. "Where you go, I go."
She wanted to scream. The tension was building in her neck and shoulders, its dull ache connecting with the throbbing in her temples. "By the Divines… how long do I have to decide?"
As soon as she saw the Pentarch's pained expression, she knew. "I'm sorry," said Yenaara. "It's being announced this afternoon."
"Nsal 'neth," muttered Zura.
Pari's smile widened. "Language, your majesty."
Chapter Fifty-Three
Zura descended the cliffside steps, one hand sliding lightly on the stone railing. Beyond it, a sheer drop to the rocks and the sea. As she walked, her eyes were fixed on the clear blue horizon. Her nose was filled with the smell of salt water, and her ears rang with the roar of the surf throwing itself on the rocks.
Kaiser had been at her side since she'd left the shuttle, but the moment he spotted people down below, he ran ahead.
For the past two years, this small cliffside retreat had been filled with hard-working artisans. Once her private corner of New Fraser, it was now being rebuilt. The rebuilding process came with a battle of its own: a constant struggle to keep the forces of gaudiness and ostentation at bay. There was no battle today; the workers had been given the day off.
When they'd asked her where she wanted her residence, the choice had been easy. While there were many palaces on the home worlds — official residences, ceremonial venues and the like — this was where she and Pari wanted to live. And on a day like this, with the sun filling the sky and glinting off the sea, she knew it was the right choice.
At the bottom of the steps, an artisan had been hard at work repairing one of the mosaics that paved the plaza. Hundreds of tiny blocks of stone, in an array of vivid blues and whites, awaited the artisan's return. She stepped sideways around the area, turning to see the pattern from a different angle.
The buildings on the plaza, once an outdoor dining venue for an aristocratic family, had been expanded. A graceful little residence was taking shape. A cozy retreat, as palaces went, dominated by a windowed room with a breathtaking view of the plaza and the sea. The restored stairway connected it to the rest of the palace at the top of the cliff, where statues and ornate spires kept appearing despite her protests.
Zura turned away from the building and started walking across the plaza toward the sound of the surf. Two people sat on the stone bench next to the far railing, waiting for her.
For months, courtiers had tried to remind her to smile, to be pleasant for the cameras. That hadn't worked. But some days, like today, a grin found its own way onto her face. For a few moments, she had genuine peace and contentment, even if it was just a lull between crises.
The Palani people — her people — seemed satisfied with her decisions. There were no more Pentarchs; instead, she'd decreed the creation of a legislative body with representatives from all of Palani space, not just the home worlds. She'd demanded transparency in all levels of government, and taken note of those who complained about it. Those in power were carefully watched by the new intelligence agency — Division 413 — that reported to the public, to the ministers, and to her. The first time she'd had a legislator punished for corruption, everyone had taken notice. To the public, it was an unexpected act of integrity. To her, it was a case of holding people in power to a higher standard — and following through with enforcement. After the initial chaos of establishing a new government, life had calmed down. First Minister Yenaara had broad public support, and with her intelligence and charm she was able to pass sensible legislation with little difficulty. For now at least, the machinery of the Palani Empire was running by itself. And that was exactly the way she wanted it.
The two figures sitting on the bench heard her approach. Pari stayed seated, while Yaella sprang to her feet. "Mom!" she called, a wide smile on her face.
Yaella's uniform was clean and carefully pressed, a far cry from the once-disheveled teenager. She stood taller, her chin up, looking fit and trim. She ran to Zura and gave her a hug. "Mom! I've got my first posting! I'm going to
be a Sub-Lieutenant on Kahala Mihia."
Zura held her tight. "Well done, daughter. You make me proud."
Giving her mother a peck on the cheek, Yaella pulled away, pausing to straighten her uniform. "Oh," she said, looking past Zura. "Drinks are here. Be right back." She left in the direction Zura had come, where an attendant was coming down the steps with a tray.
Zura stood and watched her daughter. Gone was the uncertain, undisciplined child. It was a confident, thoughtful young woman who strode across the plaza.
"Two years," said Pari, sitting on the bench. "Two years at the academy, and she's become a different person."
Zura shook her head. "She's the same person," she said. "She's just realising her potential."
"She wants to be like you, you know." The human woman was bundled in her favourite black coat, smiling up at her.
"Like me?" said Zura. "I hope not. She can do better than that."
Pari patted a hand on the bench next to her. Zura pulled her cloak around her and sat down. "I don't know, Pari."
"What?"
"I wanted her to have the life I didn't get to have. A life of peace. A life without ships and weapons. Instead, she's chosen my life."
"Stop that," Pari chided her. "You succeeded. You gave your daughter the opportunity to do whatever she wants with her life. She's chosen a life of service, based on your example."
"I suppose."
She looked out over the railing. The sea sparkled all the way to the horizon. Far below, the waves crashed with their unhurried, eternal rhythm. Zura took a few deep, slow breaths, letting the cool salt air fill her lungs.
A warm hand on hers. "How're you doing, Feda?"
"Good," Zura said after a moment. "The government is running itself. The empire is at peace. Yaella is growing up into a remarkable woman." She squeezed Pari's hand. "And you're here." Her eyes searched the sky for a ship she heard in the distance. "I'm doing very well."