When she passes before us, with Hasmik right after, Aeson gives his sister a warm smile and raises one brow meaningfully in brotherly familiarity. Manala curtsies with long-practiced perfection, but then puts her hand before her mouth to suppress a giggle as she turns around to head to the Tree of Gifts.
Brie Walton and all of my Team Lark members have been invited, but as far as I know none of them are here, for whatever reasons, some of which might be that they’re intimidated by the Imperial Court.
On the other hand, Aeson’s closest daimon friends are here, and they pass by our seats with warm meaningful expressions on their faces. Oalla, in a spectacular cerulean dress, looks with mischief at me as she curtsies, and Keruvat gives me a wink. Erita and Xelio just smile, and Xelio’s eyes narrow appreciatively at the sight of me.
Ah, Xelio. . . . I stare back at him with a fond smile.
Of all my friends, I recall with some sadness that Blayne is not here tonight, and has sent his apologies in advance. Considering that he must use a hoverboard to get around, he said it would be a little weird for him to show up at the fancy event in the Palace and have to use LM forms just to stay upright.
“No excuse!” I’d told him, but the boy is a little too proud sometimes.
“You’ll get your present later, Lark,” Blayne had insisted with a little smile.
And now I stare at the dizzying array of people passing by us in the room, and think about who else is not here tonight.
Dad and George.
And Mom.
At last everyone has greeted us and visited the Tree of Gifts. What remains is for Aeson and me to acknowledge each other’s gifts.
Those infamous love gifts.
Oh, help. . . .
In the traditional moment of silence Aeson stands up, facing me as I remain seated.
“Im amrevu Gwen, my beautiful Bride,” he says loudly, looking down at me with a heated gaze. And then he reaches inside his inner pocket and brings out the miniature rose crystal Pegasus I gave him. He lifts it up before the Court, to show everyone. “This is the generous love gift you’ve given me, and I treasure it.”
He returns the crystal miniature inside his jacket pocket.
And then he pauses and turns to look at everyone gathered.
I freeze awkwardly, unsure what to do with myself. Should I just get up and make up something?
But Aeson speaks again.
“My Bride has given me a generous love gift, but I have been remiss. All this time, I have not offered her anything better than the loan of my armband. And now—”
Aeson again reaches into his pocket and takes out a small, odd-shaped item of old unpolished metal, possibly gold, but with a patina of age, like brass.
The thing is about three inches long and shaped like the outline of a four-point star on one end, and the other end has some kind of extended attachment.
“Forgive me, Gwen, and allow me to make up for my shortcoming as a Bridegroom,” Aeson says, offering me the metallic thing. “This is a key—a very old key, and it opens a secret room in the Imperial Crown Prince’s Quarters. I call it my Room of Childhood Secrets. It contains old items of great meaning and importance for me. No one else knows about it, and previously I’ve never shared it with anyone. It is now yours. Please take this key and enter that room . . . so that you might know my heart and know me—you who are my one and only . . . my Gwen.”
Even as he speaks, I begin to tremble. A lump starts in the back of my throat and moisture wells in my eyes. I rise and take the key from his warm fingers.
As our fingers touch, he says softly, “At last—this is my love gift to you.”
Chapter 52
I clutch Aeson’s key, covering it with the palm of my hand, and control my breathing, so as not to bawl, even as the Rotunda fills with applause. . . . I’m certain that the nano-cameras are transmitting this moment to all the network feeds and Atlantida is watching eagerly. Oh yes, they’re going to be well satisfied with this long-anticipated revelation of our love gifts. And if anyone’s not—screw them.
As for me, I have no words. . . .
“Thank you . . .” I mouth silently to im amrevu, gazing into his eyes—which, I note, are absolutely brimming with excitement. Then we both sit down again. My fingers slip into his and entwine.
Minutes later, the Gifts Assembly is concluded. We rise and walk along the circling red path before the Imperator and Imperatris, then continue around the chamber, and finally exit the same way we arrived. Now that we have departed, the Imperial Sovereign and Sovereign Lady will take their leave, and then the rest of the Court will disperse, but it no longer concerns us.
“I can’t believe you did that, Aeson,” I whisper to him as we walk quickly back to our own Quarters, flanked by guards. “That was truly unexpected and—you know, I was going to be a little mad at you before for not remembering the love gift and almost putting me on the spot like that, but you’ve just made up for everything.”
He chuckles, continuing to beam at me. “You like it?” he says mischievously, his large hand encircling mine.
“Oh, God, yes!” I say. “It’s perfect!”
“Even though it’s a very belated love gift, will you forgive me?”
“That depends on you, mister! Are you going to continue to forget other important but simultaneously trivial stuff in the future? Will I have to resort to punitive measures to keep you properly focused on the silly details in our life?”
“What kind of punitive measures?” he asks, keeping his mouth in a straight line.
“I don’t know, but I’ll have to come up with some,” I retort, continuing our banter as we get out of the elevator on our floor of the main Palace building. I wonder if he’s ticklish?
“Now I really want to see what’s in that secret room of yours,” I say in an authoritative tone. “Like, right now, okay? What kind of awesome little boy memories will I find? This is such an amazing, antique-looking key, by the way. . . .”
“It’s ancient. And—taking you there right now,” he replies as our guards fall back at the doors and we enter our own Quarters. “By the way, your brother and sister will be meeting us here in a few minutes.”
“Okay.”
I follow Aeson through one of the familiar corridors on his side of the Quarters, past many doors, most of them unexplored by me. I wonder what other interesting old rooms this place holds—recalling momentarily that small, all-black chamber, retrofitted to be impervious to surveillance, where he did his broadcasts as The Rim.
In one of the hallways Aeson pauses his stride and points to my sapphire necklace and earrings, and to his own matching sapphire collar—the Imperial gifts. “Why don’t we take these off for now.”
I get the hint and we take a moment to divest ourselves of some exquisitely beautiful but potentially bugged jewelry, placing all of it on top of a small side table. No servant will dare touch it, and we’ll retrieve it later. . . .
We resume walking.
We stop before a door of faded lacquered wood with intricate carvings. I see it has a very old metal lock, and Aeson nods, pointing to my hand in which I’m carrying the key.
I notice his breathing has grown shallow, as though he is slightly nervous.
“Gwen,” he says, placing his hands on both my shoulders and holding me steady. “Before you go inside, I want you to take a big breath. Now, go on, please . . . open it.”
I smile at him, shaking my head at his slightly strange behavior, and simultaneously wanting to set him at ease. Poor Aeson, what does he think I’ll do—or how will I react—at finding a little boy’s treasures, no matter how oddball they might be?
I take the key and insert it into the ornate lock, and turn. There’s a small click.
I open the door and go inside, expecting another tiny closet interior.
Instead, the room is already lit, and it is a sizeable chamber, a well-furnished living room.
Furthermore, it is already occupied.
&
nbsp; Three people lounge on the sofas, talking softly.
At the sound of their painfully familiar voices, something happens to me. . . .
Even before two of them turn around, I cry out, my face contorting with impossible feeling.
It is my father, and George.
“Dad!” Words come out of my mouth, even as I gasp, immobilized, unable to take a single step forward, feeling Aeson take my elbow from behind, supporting me. “George!”
And then my paralysis breaks and I go insane.
“Daddy!” I cry hoarsely, rushing forward, even as my father gets up from his seat with his own exclamation . . . and then I feel the cosmically absolute, statistically ridiculous, infinite impossibility of his comforting, loving, gently strong arms around me once again.
“Daddy, Daddy!” I continue to mumble and sob outright, hiding myself against his old familiar jacket—oh lord, he is still wearing that old tweed thing—as my Dad presses his hands around my face, and kisses my cheeks and head, and strokes my hair, saying, “Oh, oh, my sweet girl!”
Then I feel George’s hands from behind, as he presses me fondly, pulling me in, my shoulder squeezed against his chest, so that I’m sandwiched between my father and my older brother.
Long seconds later we come apart, and the crazy questions begin.
“How? When did you get here?” I exclaim, laughing and sobbing, still in disbelief.
And then I glance behind me at Aeson who stands at the door with a fragile smile.
“I’ll get the rest of your family,” he says, and leaves—but not before making a quick meaningful nod of acknowledgment to the third person in the room—who happens to be the astra daimon Quoni Enutat.
“Well . . . let me see. We just arrived in orbit of Atlantis this afternoon,” Charles Lark, my father, says in a slightly dazed, permanently wondering tone of voice—as though he himself cannot believe any of it—as he still has his arms around me.
“Around noon, your time,” my brother George adds, stepping back to give me some space—now that we’ve hugged sufficiently. He follows up with a friendly pat and bump on my shoulder. “I believe, you call it Noon Ghost Time?”
“Yes, yes,” Dad says. “That’s it. . . . Now, our incredible Pilot, Quoni—this good, attentive man, right here—delivered us promptly into orbit, well ahead of schedule. And then he himself took us down in a shuttle to the surface in less than a few minutes. . . directly to this great capital city Poseidon—an absolute marvel. . . . Landed us right here in an airfield of this—this truly spectacular Palace structure . . . I have no words sufficient for the architectural wonders—but, never mind. . . .”
Dad takes a deep, slightly labored breath and looks at me. “Oh, my Gwen . . . it doesn’t matter . . . what matters is that here we are—you and we are all together now, and Gracie and Gordie will be here in a moment—” And my father resumes examining me lovingly, stroking my forehead and hair that’s completely come undone from its fancy crown coiffure. “How you’ve grown. . . . What a lovely child, no—young lady—what a beauty you are, I’m so proud of you.”
“You look good too, Dad,” I whisper, lying only slightly, because Dad’s beloved face is lined with exhaustion and he looks unhealthy-pale, up-close. . . . Or, maybe I’d forgotten what Dad looks like, how many wrinkles he’s supposed to have—or had. “And you too, George!”
George just smirks slightly. “Aged a bit, eh, Gee Two? Both of us, but in a good way. You’re about to get hitched, and I’m on my way to geezer, just like Dad. Right, Dad?”
“Shut up!” I mock-snarl with a comical frown.
“Anyway, yeah—Quoni did a brilliant job landing us,” George continues with a pleased expression, glancing at the astra daimon who is keeping back somewhat to give us privacy. “And he escorted us all the way up the elevator and to this royal floor. Got us in this room, then sat around with us as we waited—”
“Yes, indeed, Quoni kept us company,” Dad says. “Going above and beyond. He didn’t have to, I’m sure he has other things to do and probably wants to go home to his own family—”
I briefly turn to Quoni. “Thank you so much!” I exclaim. “For everything, for bringing them here all this way—”
Quoni, who in person is of average height, but has a very dignified and slightly reserved bearing, nods to me with appropriate courtesy. “It was never a duty but a pleasure, My Imperial Lady,” he says. “The least I could do for my heart brother and his Bride.”
“And then your fiancé got here an hour later,” George says. “He explained everything.”
“When? When was this?” I say with emotion. “My God, why didn’t you get me immediately?”
“It worked out just as well,” Dad says. “We were—to be honest, disoriented. This weight—that is, this quite strong gravity—made it hard to adjust at first, even a little hard to breathe . . . so we had to sit it out for a while.”
“Even though they started to turn up the gravity on the velo-cruiser since this morning,” George adds. “To get us prepped. But didn’t crank it up all the way.”
“Apologies for that. It was a precaution, not to overstress your bodies,” Quoni says with a glance at my Dad. “We didn’t want to risk a medical emergency with limited medical resources on board—not until we were sufficiently close to Atlantis.”
“Oh, wow, yes! Of course!” I react. “You need to sleep, Dad, and you too, George! The gravity is crazy at first!”
Dad chuckles. “My dear, I already lay down for a while, right here on this nice roomy sofa.”
“You need a real bed! Have you at least eaten?”
And then I glance at George, and my gaze sweeps the room. I notice there is a side table with what appears to be leftovers of a dea meal, dishes of food and various drink decanters.
“Oh, we ate,” George says, following my gaze with a nod.
“Yes, a lovely meal,” Dad adds. “Amazingly, all of it prepared for us right here, by two very nice waiters.”
“Yes, that’s how they eat on Atlantis, Dad. They hardly ever use dining rooms.” I explain, seeing George give me a meaningful glance. Dad is probably barely eating at all.
“So anyway, your Aeson was here, and he welcomed us very graciously and gave us a rundown on what to expect,” Dad says.
“Wait, after all that, did he lock you in here, in this room?” I widen my brows, as alarming notions start to come together in my mind.
Dad shakes his head. “Not at all. Your young fellow explained what kind of day it was for you, offered to take us to the royal event, even. Before you get the wrong idea, he offered us quite a few choices. We sat around for a few minutes thinking how best to announce our arrival to you without giving you too much of a shock at your ballroom event, not to mention making the wrong kind of spectacle before all kinds of persons—”
“Meaning, his royal parents.” George whistles. “And yeah, couldn’t have you dropping from a happy heart attack on us, sis.”
“I wasn’t going to!” I exclaim.
Instead, I would’ve bawled my eyes out before all of Court. . . .
“We decided against it, considering what condition we’re in, newly arrived, not about to make a mess of things for you or us.” Dad sighs, clears his throat, starts to cough. He steps away, reaching for a glass of water on the nearest side table.
As Dad drinks, I look around the room. “George, what about your things, your luggage?”
“About that—” Dad stops drinking and wipes his mouth.
“Everything is being delivered here to the Imperial Crown Prince’s Quarters” Quoni says. “We have their main personal luggage here, in this suite.”
My gaze keeps moving around the room, noticing indeed our family bags and suitcases sitting on chairs and on the floor, some of them very familiar—Dad’s old travel luggage set, faded brown rolling suitcase, matching carryon—and then my gaze stops.
On top of the table near the window, I see an urn.
Just as my heart
does a painful jolt—while my mind registers what I’m seeing, a moment of profound recognition—I hear Gracie and Gordie’s voices, and then they come running into the room, followed by Aeson.
There are screams (Gracie) and happy “whoa” exclamations (Gordie), and then everyone rushes together to grab and hug Dad and George.
Gracie, still in her festive Court dress, is jumping up and down, and then hanging around Dad’s neck, then jumping again, then ugly-crying, having reverted to her twelve-year-old self.
I don’t blame her.
Gordie and George actually embrace, like grown men do. Now that they’re standing next to each other, Gordie is clearly a little taller than George! When did that happen?
“You look good, man,” George says curtly, slapping his younger brother on the back. He then does the familiar finger-snap against Gordie’s forehead. Except, George’s hand has to reach up, not down, to do it.
Then Dad is hugging Gordie, looking him up and down with amazement. “Gordon, what happened to you?” Dad laughs, and I notice there’s a glint of moisture in his eyes.
“He’s got a day job, Dad! And I’m a Fleet Cadet!”
Now that she’s squeezed the life out of George, Gracie is hanging around Dad’s neck again . . . and he kisses her hair and wipes her tears with his large, oh-so-dear hands. . . .
My mouth trembles with emotion as I watch their reunion. Even as I laugh, I continue to leak from my eyes like a stupid gusher, seeing them laugh and weep and embrace.
Not wasting another moment, I move in and join them.
The Lark family reunion takes another several emotional minutes, followed by a barrage of questions. Dad and George repeat their story for Gracie and Gordie’s sake, then elaborate further.
Meanwhile, as they speak, I glance back to focus on Aeson at last, as he watches us, hanging back somewhat.
I walk toward him. “Aeson!” I say awkwardly, still overcome with emotion, and take his hand in mine. I realize with a peripheral thought that my face is a mess, runny with tears, snot, and cosmetics.
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