The Conspiracy for the Crown: Part 2
When we arrived in Fleetwood’s suite, it was quiet, save for the clinking of cutlery and the gentle murmur of low voices. Matt, Ryan, Chester were gathered around the cranberry wood table, its gem-inlaid surface piled with an extra hearty breakfast. Clearly, Fleetwood had anticipated everyone’s need for post-party sustenance when she’d ordered it. However, it looked like our party princess wasn’t awake yet. Instead, her seat was filled by Sebastian who was purring as Chester absentmindedly pet him. Wedged between the bar cart and the wide-open windows, LinManHam rested, his foggy eyes watching everyone as they lazed at the table.
Azo’lah bypassed the table completely. She headed straight for Fleetwood’s bedroom, drawing up short when the door did not immediately admit her. Huh. That was new.
Azo’lah pounded her fist on it. “Fleetwood!”
“What’s up with Azo’lah?” Chester asked.
“There’s been a development,” I supplied, dropping into my seat. I scrubbed a hand over my eyes, desperately wishing I was having lazy morning sex instead of dealing with political intrigue and a disproportionately pissed-off Azo’lah.
Matt flipped over one of the artfully crafted ceramic cups and poured steaming, gloriously caffeinated vy’tal into it. “I could kiss you,” I said gratefully as I took it from him.
“Looks like you don’t need Matt for that.” Ryan gestured demonstratively to the juncture of their neck and jaw. “You’ve got a humongous hickey. Was Shockley trying to suck out your soul or something?” They scowled over the rim of their open laptop, which Chester had worked his magic on to make it compatible with Destyrian technology. Clearly, our captain was upset that we had interrupted their breakfast writing time. Matt patted Ryan’s shoulder in a conciliatory manner.
“Fulyiti, get up. It’s important! If you don’t open this door, I will use my Myax override and come in regardless!” Azo’lah barked.
Without warning, the door dematerialized beneath Azo’lah’s still slamming fist. Azo’lah barely checked her fist from hitting Fleetwood in the face. Fleetwood, blearily mutinous, looked like she wouldn’t mind returning the favor. She was clad in a stunning black robe with voluminous feathered sleeves—like an old Hollywood starlet who had killed her husband and looked amazing doing it. Azo’lah judgmentally eyed the neckline, which plunged to where a navel would be on a human. “You could not bother to dress?”
Fleetwood tied the waist of the robe in an ostentatious bow. “You could not bother to chill your pill until everyone is awake and not overhung?” She scooped up Sebastian and squished into the chair next to Chester, leaning her head on top of his. Her messy, unbound hair cascaded down his shoulder.
I poured her a cup of vy’tal. She looked like she needed it as badly as I did. Fleetwood’s muzzy gaze landed on my hickey. “If you woke me up to tell me Gretchen tapped Shockley’s effervescent derriere, I am bouncing back to bed.”
Chester snorted so inelegantly into his vy’tal it sprayed across the tabletop, while Matt and Ryan did a terrible job covering up their grinning mouths.
“I have important intelligence regarding Councilor Lija and his cronies,” Azo’lah announced over our friends’ chortling laughter. “He is the one behind the rumors surrounding Gretchen. He is laying the foundation to have her removed from Destyr. Apparently, he believes her influence over the Fulyiti has grown too dangerous.”
“WHAT?” Ryan hit a button on their laptop and closed it with a snap.
“Apparently, he would remove Chester as well, but, as Chester is the Fulyiti’s Favored, his position is more secure.”
“What about Matt and me?” Ryan asked.
Azo’lah shook her head. “There has been no word about ousting either of you.”
“Should I feel offended that I’m not viewed as a threat?” Matt said mildly. He ripped a piece of steaming bread apart and handed me half. Even with this unpalatable news, I was ravenous. I shoved the bread into my mouth and loaded a small plate with autumn fruit.
“I definitely am,” Ryan said. “But I sort of get it.”
“Get what?” I watched Azo’lah pace in front of the table, wishing she’d take her spot next to me.
“Well, he isn’t wrong,” Ryan mused, a distant glint in their eye as they mulled over everything. “You do have influence. You’re close friends with the Fulyiti and have a working relationship with the Auhtula. She respects you and your opinion. You could make waves if you really wanted to, and you went about it smartly. But still…” They trailed off, frowning. “Chester’s pretty untouchable, at least for the time being. He’s been practically adopted into the royal family—”
“Not quite,” Chester coughed, whacking Fleetwood lightly when she giggled.
Ryan waved their hand. “Close enough. And he’s engaged to a powerful ally, who could become a powerful enemy if Mey-ran sides with Chester. Given the heart eyes, the dude can’t stop throwing, it doesn’t look like the Vic is going anywhere fast.”
“But Chester will eventually if they get married. It’s not like the sole heir of Covlax is moving to Destyr after their nuptials. So all Lija has to do on that front is wait,” Matt chimed in.
I slowly refilled my cup, pointedly not looking at Chester so he couldn't see the devastation on my face. “You’re going to move to Covlax?”
“And leave you to discover paradoxically advanced ancient technology without me?” Chester grinned as Sebastian hopped from Fleetwood’s lap to his. “Not likely. I’m not actually gonna marry Mey-ran.”
“We require a plan,” Azo’lah cut in, pausing at the head of the table. She crossed her arms, which did incredible things to the muscles in them that I totally didn’t notice. “As Gretchen is the one Lija is politically targeting, we must come up with a strategy that will put her out of his reach.”
“I will take Gret’chen as my Favored,” Fleetwood announced with a shrug. During the ensuing silence, she leaned forward to take a bite from Chester’s fork. Ryan and Matt shot each other a look.
“No one will believe you a second time, Fulyiti,” Azo’lah sighed. She rubbed at her temple like a frustrated teacher dealing with wily kindergarteners. “Your first Favored is currently betrothed to the heir of a highly powerful political ally. It is unlikely, after Chester, that anyone will believe your new Favored is any more romantic than the first. That ploy only works once.”
“Perhaps we fell out of lust but remained friends. Let people speculate,” Fleetwood said. “They will do the same with Gretchen.”
“What does lust have to do with being a Favored? I thought it was an advisory position?” I interjected.
Ryan muttered, “For the kama sutra, maybe.”
“Are you all gonna embarrass me on top of everything else or explain what the fuck I’m missing?” I placed my cup down on the table, ready to return to my room, or better yet, find Shockley and go back to activities that didn’t require talking.
Matt, mercifully, answered, “Long story short, Favored were concubines in ancient Destyr.”
“The position was born out of the need for heirs,” Azo’lah explained. “It was typically male donors who were given familial status and protection for their part in producing an heir. Then later, Destyrian royals started broadening the definition to provide the same station to long-term lovers that were unsuitable for marriage until it was deemed crude and fell out of practice. A Favored, once bound, cannot take another lover without permission and cannot marry unless released by the Royal they gave their oath to. ”
Horrified, I gaped at Fleetwood. “And you revived this practice, why?”
“Because the Council was tweaking about my beloved,” Fleetwood said, snagging Chester’s glass of juice and draining it. “There were similar rumors that he was trying to marry me for nefarious purposes. The law of the Favored is ancient and has never been revoked. It is also ironplaid. Therefore, so long as my beloved remains my Favored, he is protected and immovable from my side. If Chester finds the one for him, I will release him, but by then, the Council’s fears will be moot, and I can argue for his years of service to Destyr and retain him as my advisor.”
Ryan clapped their hands, looking unreasonably delighted with themself. “Okay, so obvious solution: Azo’lah takes Gretchen as her Favored.”
Someone let out a high-pitched, hysterical giggle. Oh, wait. It was me. “Oh, come the fuck on.” I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry as I took in all of my friends’ considering faces as though Ryan’s suggestion was plausible in the slightest. “That’s even more preposterous than me dating Fleetwood. No one would ever believe someone like Azo’lah’s into me.” Azo’lah’s stare was an uncomfortably tangible force further warming my already burning cheeks. “Say something,” I begged, a little ashamed of how desperate I sounded.
“Wow,” Ryan drawled finally. Chester chucked a roll at them, dislodging Sebastian from his lap. Ryan merely popped the piece of delicious ammunition in their mouth before folding their hands on top of their laptop. “Gretch, we literally just came from a mission where our enemies gathered all of the video evidence regarding our crew, including, apparently hacking Destyr—”
“We are shoring up our security,” Azo’lah interjected.
Ryan waved her off. “My point is that said enemies, when they looked at that footage, came to the conclusion that you’re together. You spend most of your off-work hours together when you’re not on missions, also together. You two even have your own weird brand of flirting—Yes, you absolutely do,” Ryan insisted when I tried to protest. “I bet you if we started a rumor that you and Azo’lah were a thing, literally no one would question it.”
Sebastian leapt into my lap, almost knocking over my vy’tal. I righted the cup before it could spill, silently thanking my fur son with a grateful nuzzle for buying me time to think.
“Look, I appreciate that you want to protect me from Lija’s political-whatever-he’s-doing but—”
Eyes wide with alarm, Fleetwood leaned forward, her loosely wrapped robe slipping open in the haste of her movement. “Do you wish to phone home?”
Chester reached over and pulled her robe closed.
“No, of course not. I’m happy here.” I scratched behind Sebastian’s ears, refusing to meet anyone’s eye. “I just think there’s got to be a way to go about this that’s more plausible. Like, I’m plain for human standards and ugly by Destyrian—”
“Just let us try, Borowicz,” Ryan cut me off. “We’ll reevaluate if we have to.”
“Fine,” I bit out, ashamed of how sulky it sounded. But I really wasn’t looking forward to how humiliating peoples’ responses were going to be to this faux-relationship. I could already hear the mocking laughter.
“Eat up, Gretchen,” Ryan ordered, reopening their laptop. “Same for everyone else. We’ve got some rumors to spread.”
Azo’lah finally sank into her chair. I risked a quick glance her way. Her face was fairly dispassionate. But I could tell from the way her fingers twitched against the wood that she was already bothered by something. “For this to work, you cannot flaunt your tryst with Shockley,” she said finally.
I speared melon on my fork and said, “We met privately in my room. That’s hardly flaunting it.”
“Your neck says differently,” Azo’lah flicked the mark with her fingers, her navy eyes inscrutable.
Would today’s indignities never cease?
“I can just say you did it,” I shot back, annoyed. “Unless this is you saying you’re not a biter?”
Azo’lah busied herself by pouring a mug of vy’tal.
I ate my breakfast in silence, navigating around Sebastian, who was content to sit in my lap for the duration of the meal. As I finished my fruit, the door to Fleetwood’s room dematerialized. Tyler Bautista shuffled out, wearing nothing but boxer briefs and a flowing chartreuse robe that was clearly Fleetwood’s.
“Oh, hey fam,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “What’s the plan for today?”
“Bro, you good?” Tyler tugged his backwards snapback more snugly against his head. Though hidden by the hat, his dark hair remained an uncombed nest that escaped in random spikes that spoke very clearly of his previous evening’s activities.
“Yeah, I’m good,” I squeaked, still unable to meet his earnest gaze. I was accompanying him back to The Danger Zone in order to explain the need for high-key secrecy to Shockley. My friends thought it was risky for me to be seen going to Shockley, but I felt I owed him an in-person explanation.
Tyler had maintained an effusive monologue about the “hella dope” architecture of the royal palace as we exited said building and then moved on to ask me the names of all the flora we passed in the royal gardens. While Tyler seemed to have a million questions, (only about half of which I had no answer to) I only had one. And that was, what the hell was going on between him and Fleetwood? I hated myself for my hypocritically rampant curiosity. It drove me crazy when my friends dug into my relationship with Shockley, and yet—
“How?” I threw my hands up as we left the gardens.
“How what?” Tyler replied with a good-natured grin. We passed the palace guards at the arching gates and entered the crowded streets, already packed with festival-goers despite the morning hour. The warm autumn air thrummed with energy and laughter. We waded towards one of the dozen or so specially erected spaceship ports, built to accommodate all of the off-continent visitors. They were all eight stories tall and shaped in glyphs that represented the First Auhtula and her Myax love. The spaceships hung off the sides like cell phones plugged into wonky charging ports.
“You and Fleetwood!” I couldn’t keep the note of accusation out of my tone. “How?”
Tyler stopped in his tracks and grabbed my forearm. A pair of Destyrian women, arms linked and ket’li crowns woven into their glistening hair, passed by us, narrowly avoiding hip-checking me. “Are you asking me about, like, sex between humans and Destyrians? Because there are def some articles that I could hook you up with—”
“I don’t need articles, Tyler,” I pulled him along through the reveling crowd.
Seemingly ignoring me, Tyler said, “No shame in doing research and being prepared. If you have questions about Destyrians or whoever, I’m your dude! Some aliens aren’t like us, you know?” He gestured indiscreetly to his groin. “ Like, the Groshal are basically just beams of light,” Tyler’s smile widened, “but damn, they know what they’re doing.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it,” I said, impressed by Tyler’s nonjudgmental sincerity. Tyler Batista may have been a space mercenary but never let it be said that his heart was nothing but pure sunshine. “I just didn’t even know you and Fleetwood were into each other that way.”
We entered the temporary spaceship port with a wave of Tyler’s wristband. The temporary port was bustling. Many of the ships had their hatches thrown open as people roamed between them, exchanging ket’li crowns, hugs, and alcohol. Tyler directed me onto an amber platform at the center of the port.
“Level 6,” he said. Amber light surrounded us and shot us upwards, in a stomach-churning whoosh that I would never get used to. “Fleetwood’s hot. We’re friends. Plus, sex is fun. Why wouldn’t we have sex during a festival all about sex?”
At Level 6, I followed Tyler off the platform and across the deck. “Oh, so it was more of a casual thing?” While this was the expected response to my question, it still relieved me. I wasn’t sure if either of our crews could withstand what would surely be an enthusiastic and adventurous relationship between Tyler and Fleetwood.
Tyler nodded, “For sure. Don’t get me wrong. Fleetwood’s my number one princess in the whole galaxy. But there’s no way that’d be a good long-term deal. A princess and a mercenary? Yeah, right. Plus, I probably shouldn’t be with someone who goes along with all my bad ideas.” Tyler scrubbed at his forehead self-consciously. “Someone who can mellow me and keep me from blowing shit up, you know?”
My attention caught on a young couple making out against the side of a ship, ket’li petals raining like confetti from their…enthusiasm. “Yeah, I do kno—woah!” My arms pin-wheeled as I tripped over someone’s feet, the floor threatening to smack me in the teeth in the very near future.
Tyler gripped my waist, preventing me from face-planting.
“Oh, my God,” I breathed, embarrassment burning up my face, “I am so sorry.” My mortification turned to anger as my eyes met the person I had literally stumbled across.
Councillor Lija glared down his aquiline nose at me. At his back, his assistant, Roz’al, the one Azo’lah had flirted with, cowered at his back.
Alien Gods, what was it with this guy popping out of nowhere?
“Councillor Lija, we have to stop meeting like this,” I joked feebly, righting myself.
Lija’s sneered, “If only we could stop meeting at all.”
This asshole.
Tyler cringed. “Shit, homie, that’s cold.”
I cleared my throat awkwardly. “Well, I don’t want to keep you, Council—”
“What brings you to the port, Gretchen of Earth?” Lija asked, his intense gaze shifting from me to Tyler. His sneer ticked up into an imperceptible smirk; his interest piqued.
“Just...uh, walking my friend back to his ship,” I replied.
Lija inspected Tyler from the top of his backwards snapback to the bottom of his boots. “What interesting company you keep.”
I grimaced at a loss for how to respond.
Lija’s judgmental sneer turned to me. “And that isn’t even counting the other banished members of The Dangerous Ones.”
I grabbed Tyler by the elbow and yanked him away from Councillor Lija. The faster we lost this douchecanoe, the better. “Well, we don’t want to keep you, Councillor. Archaeology waits for no festival,” I added as an afterthought. Maybe tacking on a professional reason for us to be together would help?
Barely out of their earshot, Tyler said, “Who was that bag of dicks? Wait, you don’t like that guy, right? Cause he seemed like a big bag of dicks.”
I released his arm. “The biggest. He’s trying to get me ousted off of Destyr.”
“Fuck that noise,” Tyler said, gesturing to where The Danger Zone was parked, its eagle-shaped hull shading half the street below. “If you can’t stay here, you could come with us!”
“That’s very sweet, but I don’t think the space mercenary life is for me.”
Tyler shrugged. “You never know until you try it. A lot like alien sex.” He typed something into his wristband, and the door opened. With a grandiose sweep of his hand, he bowed to me. “After you, my lady.”
“Well, thank you, good sir,” I stepped carefully into a high-ceilinged navy corridor lined with chrome doors that ran from stem to stern of the ship. A few feet ahead, flat against the wall, were ladders on either side of me that led up and down.
I was surprised by how clean the ship was. The air carried a pleasant aroma that reminded me of the lemony scent of most Earth cleaning supplies. For some reason, I had been expecting a Fraternity House vibe with sticky surfaces, tacky decor, and the odor of sweaty laundry permeating every room. But instead, I had stepped onto, what appeared to be, a very organized and adult-run spaceship.
Tyler stepped in beside me, and the door shut. He hopped onto one of the ladders and hoisted himself up, screaming, “Max! Max! Someone here to see you!”
When there was no response, he hopped down and craned his lean body into the opening that led to the sub-floors. “Yo, Max! Dude, where you at?”
We stood in ringing silence for a long moment before Tyler raised his wristband and attempted to comm his Captain. When there was no response, he announced, “He’s probably in the engine room and can’t hear me over everything. Come on, I’ll show you around!” He walked backwards, pointing out doors like the galaxy’s best tour guide. “On this floor are most of our communal and workspaces. Armory, lab, storage space for high-value items.” His hands waved left, right, left, right as he listed them off. “We have some spare quarters that we use for holding cells when we need it.”
“Wait, did you say you have a lab here?” I asked, perplexed. What did a bunch of space mercs need scientific equipment for?
“No doubt. It’s nothing like what Chester’s got, but sometimes we have to check if the shit we stole is authentic. Max doesn’t let me in there much anymore since I kind of blew out half the ship testing some Yortesix powder.” Tyler came to a stop, tapping his fist against a command pad and opening the door to a spacious room filled with couches, a dining table, and a pair of battered but plush La-Z-Boys. All of the furniture matched the navy and chrome color palette of the corridor, though I did notice a wildly colored pinball machine crammed into a far corner, its rainbow lights dancing across the glass of the framed art hanging on the walls.
Nyc’arra, her white hair bound in a perfect plait down her back, was seated at the table, shoveling green goop into her mouth. She dropped her spoon into her bowl and growled, “What is she doing here, Batista?”
“It’s kind of a long story?” he replied. “You know where Max is at?”
I missed Nyc’arra’s reply, my attention caught by the massive piece of art hanging above one of the pillow-strewn couches. I stalked over to it, my chest burning with indignation at noticing the architectural design with its many tiers and Ancient Destyrian glyphs littering the sides. I stepped onto the couch cushions for a closer look to make sure my eyes weren’t deceiving me. “Is this—is this what I think it is?” I stammered. My palms pressed reverently against the glass protecting the tapestry depicting the Temple of Aluthua from Golyn that Shockley and his crew had stolen out from under us.
Nyc’arra and Tyler paused their bickering.
“Oh, yeah, the temple tapestry,” Tyler said as though we were discussing a $5 reprint of Starry Night hanging in a freshman dorm and not a priceless piece of history stowed away in their ship’s lounge. “Looks dope, right? Charlie did a great job!”
“Who the fuck is Charlie, and what is he doing touching this tapestry?” I roared. Panicked, I pressed my nose to the glass to inspect the tapestry as closely as possible. “Oh, God. Did this Charlie idiot tear it?”
Tyler came to my side and placed a placating hand on my shoulder. “Chill, Gretch. Max is a huge history dork, he’d never let anything happen to any of this stuff. Charlie’s, like, a total professional. That’s why Max always goes to him.”
The word always caught me. I hopped back down to the floor. I spun in a slow circle, my eyes raking over everything that hung on the walls. Not pictures or movie posters, but innumerable antiquities. There were other tapestries, scrolls, paintings, small artifacts in shadow boxes, and a whole wall of weapons.
“What the actual fuck, you guys!” I turned my fury on Tyler. “You have more here than most museums! How dare—”
Tyler backed toward the hallway, holding up his hands in surrender. “I think I’m going to find Max now.” He disappeared before I could continue to admonish him.
I gaped at the walls, at the unassuming way everything was laid out. My hands itched to catalog and study everything, to figure out how to get it all back to its planets and peoples.
Nyc’arra’s snicker pulled me back to the present.
“What?” I snapped, forgetting momentarily how intimidatingly scary she was. Not just her physical size either, though her biceps were thick as my calves.
She stood and carried her bowl to the counter. “I get it now.” She shoved her bowl and utensil into a machine the size and shape of a microwave and pressed a red button.
“Get what?” I crossed my arms, suddenly defensive. Under the knowing sweep of Nyc’arra’s gaze, I felt exposed.
Nyc’arra returned the now clean bowl to a cupboard before turning to half-sit on the counter. “Get the fixation with you. Despite all of your repellant physical attributes, you are passionate, strong-willed, and steadfast in your morality. It is no surprise Azo’lah has taken to you so strongly.”
The bottom of my stomach dropped out. Azo’lah? I had assumed Nyc’arra was talking about Shockley. My astonishment must have shown on my face, for Nyc’arra chuckled dispassionately. “Do not fret, tiny human. Her fascination will wane. It always does.”
“It won’t,” I bit back, flushing. “I mean, there is no fascination, so how can it wane? Azo’lah and I are just friends, crewmates. Like you and Tyler and Shockley.”
“I doubt that immensely.” Nyc’arra shook her head pityingly. “I have lived with Max and Tyler long enough to know that nothing of reason I say will penetrate that humanly-thick skull. But if I were you, I would exercise extreme caution where Azo’lah is concerned.”
My fingers tingled with the sudden rush of adrenaline flooding my body. “What? Azo’lah would never hurt me.”
Nyc’arra took a tentative step toward me, her jade-green eyes alight with curiosity. “She wouldn’t? Is there nothing she wouldn’t do to protect Fulyiti Kezira? To protect their secrets?”
The sound of our clones’ bodies hitting the floor of Coswir’s moon base echoed in my head.
A cold sweat broke out across the back of my neck.
“Azo’lah… wouldn’t…” My voice shook. I swallowed. “Azo’lah wouldn’t hurt any of us. And she doesn’t have secrets.”
“I thought the same, once.” Nyc’arra snorted dispassionately. “Do you even know the story of my exile from Destyr? The stripping of my title and honor as a Myax? My banishment from my home and family?”
I shook my head. Azo’lah had said that Nyc’arra had broken her oath, betrayed the House of Fuiq in some way, but I didn’t know the specifics.
“Well, that makes two of us,” Nyc’arra whispered.
“What do you—”
“I mean exactly what I said. I don’t know what I did. The last thing I remember is arguing with Azo’lah. My throat hurt from the yelling. So did my mind.” Her fingers caressed her temple. I did my best not to stare at her translator implant. “Azo’lah took my face in her hands,” Nyc’arra mimicked the action as though reliving the moment, “and said I looked like I needed a Healer. Next thing I knew, I was waking up in the HealerWing surrounded by half a dozen of my Myax sisters. No one would tell me why I was being held prisoner.
“I was brought before Auhtula Ty’uria. She… she charged me with crimes of treason.” Nyc’arra’s throat caught on the last word. “When I had no defense for my actions for I knew not what I had done, I was banished from the Central continent, and as a disgraced Myax, I would know no welcome on any of the other continents. Azo’lah, a member of the royal family and my lover for many binary cycles, the one who knew me the best, the one who knew I would never betray my oath, said nothing in my defense. She… let them strip my life away.”
My throat constricted with sympathy. My automatic reaction was to defend Azo’lah. But there was no doubt Azo’lah had used her powers. What had Nyc’arra done to make Azo’lah do that to someone she loved?
Azo’lah wouldn’t do what she did to Nyc’arra to me. She wouldn’t. I pushed the image of my lifeless clone away.
I opened my mouth to apologize, to argue, to say what I didn’t know. Thankfully Nyc’arra held up a hand. “I don’t want your pity,” she commanded. “I want you to be careful.”
“Borowicz, doesn’t know how to be careful,” Shockley said from the open doorway. He leaned against the doorjamb with folded arms, his hair still damp from a shower. He looked just as good now as he had that morning in my bed.
“I do too,” I snapped, my need to bicker triggered by Shockley’s mere presence.
Shockley laughed. “Let’s not debate the obvious.”
I threw my arms wide. “Alright, how about we debate why you have all of this stolen history hanging on the walls of your ship lounge like you have any goddamn right?”
Nyc’arra sighed and strode for the exit. “I don’t need to be here for this foreplay.”
Shockley patted her elbow and huffed, “I got this, Nyc.”
Nyc’arra’s response was lost as Shockley entered, and the door slid shut at his back. Shockley shoved his hands into his pockets and grinned at me like he was picturing me naked. Even in my current predicament, I didn’t hate it.
“So this is a pleasant surprise,” he said, shuffling closer to me. “You look good on my ship.”
“Amongst all these important historical and cultural pieces, I’m sure I do,” I bit out.
“You came to fight?” Shockley chuckled. “Should’ve guessed.”
“I did not come to fight,” I said, gnawing on my thumbnail. “I came to explain some things. We need to talk.”
“Really? ‘We need to talk’ after only one night?” Shockley’s tone was jocular but I saw the strain of nervousness around his eyes.
“It’s not you, it’s me,” I blurted. He came to a stone-cold stop. I went to him, snatching his hands out of his pockets and linking our fingers together. “No, wait, that’s not what I meant at all! I’m not here to end our thing. Last night was great, and I definitely—” I stopped myself as his self-satisfied grin returned. “Can we sit down and talk? There’s some complicated shit that’s happening that I need to tell you.”
Shockley pulled me onto the couch beneath the Temple Tapestry. “Tell me.”
So I did. I spoke for such a long time, explaining how truly frustrating my morning had been that Shockley provided me with two glasses of water to keep my mouth from becoming permanently parched. By the time I was done, my legs were stretched across his lap, his arms resting along my knees. “So you have to pretend to be Azo’lah’s Favored, so this Lija asshole stops plotting to get rid of you?” He pushed out a long breath. “You weren’t lying. That’s some complicated shit.”
I set my now empty water cup on the floor. “Which means while you’re still on Destyr, we have to keep what’s going on between us quiet. Unless, you know, because of all this new information, you don’t want to see me anymore.” My stomach knotted at the prospect.
“Don’t act stupid, Name Police, it doesn’t suit you.” Shockley kissed the top of my head in an unusually tender gesture. “Don’t worry too much. You'll take care of this Lija douche easily enough. You guys are one of the scariest crews I’ve ever encountered, and I’m a fucking mercenary.”
I cackled outright at that statement. My crew–with our bedazzled outfits and matching friendship sunglasses-–scary? “Yeah, right.”
“I’m not kidding,” he said emphatically. “You guys are all moral high-ground, blah, blah, blah. But think about it. Azo’lah is a certifiable lethal weapon even when she’s not wielding actual lethal weapons, Chester is the smartest person in space, and Ryan is one of the most competent. Then you have Majumdar, who flies like he was born to it and has a wealth of morally questionable skills.” Shockley squeezed my knee. “They’ve got you, the badass archaeologist who always comes through in the clutch. And then there’s Fleetwood, easily the most dangerous of you all.”
I laughed. “Ah, yes, Fleetwood Mercury, the scariest Fulyiti this side of Destyr.”
Shockley shook his head. “You laugh, but that’s because you’re one of her best friends, not her political rival. Have you truly not stepped back and thought about how devastatingly brilliant Fleetwood is?” He had a point there. “She’s smart and kind and quirky in a non-threatening way which endears her to others. It makes people underestimate her. She’s the most politically savvy person I’ve ever seen. First, she puts your crew together and establishes your credibility by averting a major political disaster. Then, she utilizes your crew’s adventure junkie tendencies to build powerful political alliances. She’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.”
“I mean, I don’t—”
“Gretchen, think about it. Your team has revitalized the Central continent’s relationship with the Ynoom and the Valik. You’re the first outsiders to form any kind of friendship with the witches of Huxor in a decade. And isn’t Chester, Fleetwood’s best friend and most trusted advisor, betrothed to the sole Covlax heir?”
It took a moment for what he was saying to sink in, but once it did, I murmured, “Holy shit, Lija’s going at Fleetwood through me.”
“Absolutely.”
“But why? Shouldn’t Lija want a powerful Central continent?”
Shockley shrugged. “Maybe it isn’t about the Central continent and more about who the powerful one is. Probably, he wants to be the one with connections and influence. In his eyes, Fleetwood’s getting too powerful, and her team is the one helping her. Lija can’t go after her directly since she’s the Auhtula’s daughter, but he sure as shit can try and dismantle her team,” Shockley said.
“Fuck Lija,” I said. “Just when I thought he couldn’t get any worse, he proves me wrong.”
“You won’t hear any disagreement from me on that.” Shockley’s hand wandered up my thigh. “Though I will admit, all the sneaking around will definitely add an unanticipated layer of hotness to this week’s festivities.”
“Will it?” I asked, teasingly.
“Absolutely, Name Police. All of the forbidden, clandestine meetings.” His hand grasped my hip, and he tugged me bodily into his lap. “Take right now, for instance. It’d be such a shame to waste an opportunity like this when we don’t know when we’ll be alone in secret again.”
I leaned forward, kissing him hard. Who was I to argue with such solid logic?
Later, when I left Shockley asleep and naked on the couch aboard The Danger Zone, I had a smile on my face and a framed Ancient Destyrian tapestry tucked beneath my arm.
After all of our adventures, all my near-death escapes, I couldn’t believe this was how I was going to go. Death by internal combustion caused by Azo’lah.
Bathed in amber-blue light of the palace ballroom’s towering sculptures, she was dressed in her formal Myax uniform with her hair in its usual braid, though tonight it highlighted her ket’li crown. She stood at Fleetwood’s shoulder as the Fulyiti held court with several off-world visitors and Auhtul Cal’ton. I’d offered to get Fleetwood and Cal’ton drink refills, a convenient excuse to get out of conversing with strangers, if only for a few minutes. I could feel Azo’lah’s eyes on me from across the room, and when I turned, she was still giving me that warm, devastating under-the-lash look, like I was all of her favorite things wrapped up in one gift. A gift she also really wanted to bang.
“Jesus,” Ryan muttered, tugging on their silver and blue embroidered sash and fanning themself dramatically. “I can’t believe she’s bringing out that look in public. It’s hot enough in private.” They winked at Azo’lah, who smiled before turning her attention back to her charge.
“What do you mean in private?” I drained a glass of rul’vol, a potent alcoholic beverage whose origins dated back to the Ancient Destyrians. “Azo’lah has never looked at me like that. Oh, hey, Chester, honored Vic.” I smiled as the two approached. Chester looked dashing in the High Destyrian dress required for tonight’s formal ball, allowing Mey-ran to escort him by the arm.
“I think I’m supposed to congratulate you, but I completely disagree with your decision, so I wont,” Mey-ran said primly, selecting a cup of qua’pir. He took a sip and then handed the glass to Chester. I arched a suggestive eyebrow at Chester as he accepted the glass.
“Wait,” I said as Mey-ran’s words registered. “Congratulations on what?”
The Vic turned, his expression similar to someone who just caught a whiff of dog-shit. “Becoming Azo’lah’s Favored.” I recalled our tense negotiations with the Vic when he first made a play for Chester. Things made so much more sense now. “I don’t understand why you don’t court normally instead of binding yourself to her like chattel.”
I blinked at Mey-ran. “You actually believe Azo’lah would date me?”
“Everyone does,” Matt’s familiar accent said, seconds before his arm reached over me to grab his own rul’vol. He, too, was dressed in the colors of House Fuiq. “It’s really not a hard sell. Especially when Azo’lah’s pulling out the big guns.”
Not even the dance floor full of dipping and spinning Destyrians separating us dampened the power of Azo’lah’s gaze.
“Jeez, she’s released the look,” Chester noted, following my eye line to Azo’lah.
“She needs to stop releasing whatever,” I waved my hands.
“Oh, is it too much to be caught between Azo’lah’s love you/wanna fuck you gaze and Shockley’s sexting?” Ryan drawled, snatching up their own glass of qua’pir. As if on cue, my Ran’dyl illuminated.
“You’re the worst,” I said. “I don’t wanna be on your crew anymore.” I pretended to fix my hair, the draped sash attached to my sleeve providing coverage for my burning face. “Oh my god, kill me.”
“No can do, Gretch,” Matt said cheerfully. “But Azo’lah is coming over here, so you might die anyway.”
I dropped my hands. Azo’lah was indeed crossing the ballroom, her face illuminated by an arresting smile. If I didn’t know her, I would’ve called the expression ecstatic. However, I’d spent long enough around her to see the slightest pull to one side of her mouth. Azo’lah was trolling an entire ballroom full of people, and she was having fun doing it. My friends, the traitors, slithered away, leaving us alone. “I didn’t have a chance to tell you how lovely you look this evening, Myaxi,” Azo’lah said as she approached.
My eyes narrowed. “You saw this dress before at the wedding on the Eastern continent,” I accused. Azo’lah ran her hand down the shimmering green-gold sleeve until her long fingers wrapped around mine.
“You looked lovely in it then, too,” she smirked.
“Why aren’t you with Fleetwood? Aren’t you on duty tonight?” I asked. Azo’lah brushed my hair over my shoulder, her fingers hovering above my collarbone.
“Milyna stepped in for a few minutes,” Azo’lah said, using our joined hands to tug me toward the dance floor. “I wanted to dance with my soon-to-be Favored.”
“Azo’lah, no—” I pleaded as the music changed and she took her place for the beginning of the dance.
“You know this one,” Azo’lah promised. “And I’ll take small steps so you can keep up.” I had the urge to punch her grinning face. With my own. Wait, what? Grudgingly, I took up the customary starting position for traditional dances across from her. The musicians struck up a familiar tune.
“Really?” I said as Azo’lah extended her hand, drawing her fingers slowly along the protrusion of my collarbone. “The First Auhtula’s Reel?” It was a sensuous dance that had been derived from an encounter between the First Auhtula and her Myax love. It was typically only performed by romantic couples. “You're enjoying this, aren’t you?” I traced the bare skin of Azo’lah’s collarbone. Beneath my fingertips, I could feel her breath catch. Azo’lah turned me into her chest, leading me into the next step, her hands gliding down my ribcage.
“Immensely,” Azo’lah admitted. “Shall we really get them talking?” Her tone was playful and challenging. When I met her gaze, the damn look was back, and fuck it, if two couldn’t play at whatever game this was.
“I’m beginning to think you’re all talk,” I retorted as I passed in front of her, my hand brushing against her breast.
“Don’t humans have a saying about playing with flame?” Azo’lah pulled me close, her hand pressing warm into my spine, drifting dangerously close to my ass.
Refusing to give even an inch, I pressed up on tip-toe, so my lips grazed her neck. “Even if that were true, I’m still not feeling the heat.”
Azo’lah let out a choked laugh. The rest of the dance was a blur of one-upmanship that was just the wrong side of appropriate. When the song ended, I was pressed against Azo’lah, her face cradled in my palms. My eyes automatically darted to her lips and then back up to her eyes, which were wide. Their usual bright navy shone midnight in the dim light of the ballroom. She dipped her head, and for a heart-stuttering second, I thought she was going to kiss me. Instead, she pressed her lips to my flushed cheek before drawing back. I shivered as she removed her hands.
I tried to say Thanks for the dance or any other reasonable response, but Azo’lah was lifting her ket’li crown from her hair, the gems winking at me as if in mockery.
Oh, sweet alien-gods, no. She wasn’t going to do this in front of everyone, was she?
“Gretchen Myaxi,” her voice carried in the sudden hush of the ballroom. “Will you take this crown and me until the flowers fade or festival’s end, whichever comes first?”
Holy shit, she was.
What’re you doing? I sent across our technopathic connection. I wasn’t sure if the message arrived with the hint of hysteria with which I sent it, but I really hoped so.
Exactly what it looks like, Azo’lah returned, her eyes widening meaningfully. Are you really going to reject me in front of all these important people? This time I wanted to punch her. Normally. In her stupid, smirking, stunning face.
“You honor me with your suit, Azo’lah Myax,” I replied, hoping none of the warring emotions came through in my tone. I removed my own wreath of flowers and allowed Azo’lah to replace it with her own. “Um, will you take this crown and me until the flowers fade or festival’s end, whichever comes first?” I choked out, hyper-aware of the eyes upon us, of the weight of Azo’lah’s flowers on my head, of the sweat running down the divot of my spine.
“I will keep you much longer than that, ket’li,” Azo’lah said. Christ, she was a good actress because she sounded terrifyingly sincere. She stooped slightly so that I could more easily place my more humble flowers upon her silver hair. “I must return to my post,” she brushed tender fingers along my cheek. “I shall see you later?”
“Of course.” I would see her later when the team inevitably gathered in Fleetwood’s room to debrief about the outcome of the night’s missions.
“Don’t have too much fun without me,” Azo’lah kissed my forehead, right beside my implant, and walked across the ballroom to return to Fleetwood’s side, like she hadn’t just pulled the metaphorical rug out from under me in front of a bunch of strangers.
I swept by the beverage table, grabbing another cup of rul’vol and heading out onto the terrace to cool my face.
The artistic installation that had debuted at the festival’s opening depicting the Temple of Aluthua was playing. The First Auhtula’s serene face looked down at me. I turned away from her knowing, beatific smile. It reminded me too much at the moment of Azo’lah’s. I downed the drink.
“I know what you’re trying to do.” I barely held back a startled scream as I whirled to find Councillor Lija standing beside me. His hands were folded behind his back. The light of the art installation skittered off his shimmering robes. “I warn you, it won’t work.”
“I’m just enjoying the festival,” I said, moving to reenter the ballroom.
“I know, Gretchen Borowicz,” he said simply.
“You know that I’m enjoying the festival?” I played dumb. “I’m so glad it’s apparent.”
“What’s apparent is that you and your crew are scheming to keep you on Destyr.” He stepped closer to me, his expression amiable, like we were colleagues chatting at a work party, not political enemies pitted against one another. “I know that you and Azo’lah Myax are not romantically involved. I know that her gambit to take you as her Favored is a ruse. And I know that I will stop you.”
“Wow, you sure do know a lot.” I picked imaginary lint off of my embroidered sash, trying not to betray any reaction to his threats.
“I do. I know everything that occurs on this continent and in this palace.” He ran his knuckles up my forehead, nudging my flower crown. “Such as you, entertaining the Captain of the Dangerous Ones in your room last night.”
How did he know that? The Royal families’ living quarters were supposed to be private, save for the Myax security, which was discreet. I glared at him.
Lija shrugged. “No place and no one is as safe as you think, Gretchen of Earth. Not even those closest to you.”
“Are you so hard up for prospects Councillor Lija, that you must attempt to woo someone else’s?” Fleetwood stood framed in the center doorway, Azo’lah just behind her.
“I see no prospect here,” Lija answered with a slight bow.
“Gretchen Myaxi,” Azo’lah said. “The Fulyiti was looking for you. Representative Dazir of Skyria desires to speak with you. They are in need of your professional expertise.”
Fleetwood held out her hand, and I immediately moved to take it, grateful for the rescue.
“Enjoy your power while it lasts, Fulyiti Kezira,” Lija said. Azo’lah gestured for him to go in front of us.
“Ah, Councillor,” Fleetwood returned sweetly as he passed, her gleaming smile flashing like a knife in the installation’s light. “It is good to take one’s own advice.”