The Conspiracy for the Crown: Part 3
Day three of my Fleetwood-color-coded schedule included zero official appearances. This meant a morning mercifully free to stew in my bed with my cat. Sebastian was the only living creature in my life who didn’t tease me about the Azo’lah situation.
Ryan barged into my room in the early afternoon, Matt at their back carrying a tray laden with lunch and a carafe of steaming vy’tal. Tyler Batista, of all people, was with them, playing an imaginary trumpet and making the accompanying noises. He announced, “Time to wake up and party, Archaeologist of the Ages.”
I fake coughed and buried my face into the sheets. “I’m sick.”
“Not buying it,” Ryan hopped onto my mattress and yanked me up into a sitting position.
“And even if you are sick, power through that shit, homie. Today is the day,” Tyler said as he scooped Sebastian into his arms and fell gracefully onto the bed beside me. He propped himself against my spare pillows and cuddled my cat, who traitorously nudged Tyler’s chin and began batting at his backwards snapback.
Matt handed me the food tray with a commiserating smile. “Fill up, you’re not going to want to do today on an empty stomach.”
“I don’t have to do today at all,” I argued petulantly. I speared a large piece of fruit on my fork with more vehemence than the moment called for. “The schedule says so!”
After last night’s shitstorm of emotions (all of which I was blatantly ignoring), I was hoping to remain alone in my feelings while blasting Adele until I was coerced into another Fleetwood-approved gown for our next official appearance.
Ryan knee-walked up my bed, their blue eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “That’s because today is Veri’pos Day!”
At my questioning glance, Matt explained, “It’s a friendly competition for the little ones where they perform traditional Myax feats of strength and endurance. Think of it as a Destyrian Highland Games for the kiddies.”
“And the adults start turning up before sunrise,” Tyler cooed to Sebastian, booping their noses together.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, nudging Tyler with my elbow as I poured my first mug of vy’tal.
Tyler shrugged. “Max is doing some serious detail work in the engine room today. And since the last time I was allowed near the engine, it almost exploded, I was given the day off.” Tyler scratched behind Sebastian’s ears as he looked at Matt and Ryan. “Figured I’d come hang out with my fave frenemies for the day.”
“Hell. Yes,” Ryan held up their hand for a high-five which Tyler happily met.
I stuffed my mouth with bread and debated the merits of weaseling my way out of today’s festivities. But, taking in their excited faces, I knew resistance would be futile. “Let me shower and get dressed, then we’ll go,” I assented to whooping cheers.
Three mugs of vy’tal, a shower, a clean pair of breeches later, and my ponytail looped through Azo’lah’s ket’li crown, we trooped out of the palace, arms linked. The streets were already teeming with partying Destyrians. Opened barrels of qua’pir sat on street corners. Children darted through our legs, ribbons streaming behind them. “Where’re Chester, Fleetwood, and Azo’lah?” I asked.
“Azo’lah said she had some Myax stuff this morning,” Ryan said. “And Fleetwood’s dad and oldest sister, Ree’la, got in this morning, so she’s spending time this morning.”
I almost ran face-first into a pillar. “Fleetwood’s dad’s alive?”
“Right?” Tyler adjusted his snapback. “I thought he was dead, and that’s why no one talked about him. Turn’s out he’s in a band with his throne-abdicating daughter!”
“A popular, intergalactically-touring band,” Matt clarified as we joined the crowd in the streets. I tugged at my collar. The jubilant atmosphere had been quelling my anxiety the past couple of days, but today, the swelling crowd made me feel claustrophobic. We were buffeted on all sides by revelers. Considering my height compared to the average Destyrian, the stray elbows and hands often grazed my neck and sometimes my face. Ryan hooked a thumb over their shoulder, indicating the city’s central-most square where a stage was being erected. “They’re performing tonight, and it is going to be lit.”
“What about Chester? Is he with Fleetwood?” I asked.
At this, Matt and Ryan chuckled. Matt said, “Not exactly.”
“Chester is giving Mey-ran a tour of his precious laboratory,” Ryan said.
“And that’s not a sex thing, I asked,” Tyler clarified unnecessarily. “Chester is actually showing Mey-ran a lab.” He shook his head in disbelief. “And weirdly, he seemed real hype to see it.”
I grinned as Matt said, “Mey-ran is smitten. He’d spend the rest of his life inside a test tube if it made Chester happy.”
“They’re so cute,” Ryan rhapsodized. “It’s so gross. I love it.”
“We’re going to meet up with them later,” Matt directed our group down a lane pock-marked with food and drink vendors. I spied even more open barrels along the street. I could practically taste the fruit-laced alcohol in the air. He cocked his head and smiled cheekily. “Zlatah, anyone?
The afternoon passed in fits and bursts of flowing zlatah and plates of sweet pastries. We walked to the riverside park designated for the children’s competitions and watched the little ones (most of whom were taller than me) demonstrate their strength, speed, and agility.
As the suns stretched towards the horizon, Mey-ran and Chester, hands-linked, joined us for a dinner of deliciously greasy kebabs from a street vendor. Chester waxed poetic about the tour he gave Mey-ran of his laboratories and the Royal library. Mey-ran’s fond smile, while Chester spoke, was sweeter than the zlatah in our cups.
When the sky darkened to full night, the central streets of Thal, already filled to capacity with bodies, swelled further. The energy swelled to match, a jackrabbit pulse of dopamine-fueled impulses slipping through relaxed controls. People began singing, chanting, dancing to intermittent bursts of music. Others jumped into the city fountains, splashing gleefully.
We huddled close as we wended towards the central square where Fleetwood’s father and sister’s band were to perform that night. But instead of feeling insulated and safe with my friends, the ever-increasing press of the crowd had my claustrophobia from earlier returning rapidly. The motion of the crowd buffeted us together. Mey’ran’s side grazed mine, and the weight of Ryan’s arm across my shoulders felt leaden.
Ahead of us, Matt carried Tyler piggy-back style, one of Tyler’s dangling hands tipping a cup to Matt’s lips upon demand. My crew was joyous, giddy even, having the time of their lives. And all I could feel was a growing lack of oxygen as the crowd packed tighter and tighter. A Destyrian male drunkenly rammed into me. He apologized quickly, placing a placating hand on my shoulder before rushing off to join his friends.
I stammered, “Hey, guys, go ahead. I’ll—uh—I’ll meet you there.”
“Gretch?” Chester asked, his eyes narrowing with concern.
“Go! It’s not a big deal. I just have to check on something,” I lied, taking off without hearing a response.
I stumbled through the crowd in search of an open space, my Ran’dyl vibrating against my wrist. I reached the river’s edge, gasping. I sat on an artistically carved bench, only vaguely taking in the blessedly few people around. I checked my Ran’dyl guiltily. There were multiple messages in our crew group chat checking on me. There was even a separate message from an unknown source that started with, “My dude,” which I assumed was from Tyler.
I took in half a dozen heaving gulps of warm air before I replied, reassuring them all that I was okay.
But I was, most decidedly, not okay. Everything abruptly felt like too much—Lija and the Council's scheming, my relationship with Shockley, whatever the hell was happening with Azo’lah—and I was sure it was all going to end in disaster. I walked on coltish legs to the railing that overlooked the jade water. I leaned my elbows against it and stared at the gentle flow of the river. I rested my forehead against my palms and gripped Azo’lah’s ket’li crown a little too tightly.
Fuck, what a mess.
“Myaxi,” said a voice on my right.
I startled, clapping my hand over my galloping heart. I turned to Azo’lah, clad in a casual tunic and woven pants. Her hair was half down, my ket’li crown gold against its silver. “Damn it, Azo’lah. Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
“My apologies.” She joined me against the railing. “I was on my way to the performance when I saw the messages.”
I was going to ask her how she knew where to find me but remembered the technopathic tracer she’d placed on all of us. I thought about lying to her as well, promising her I was fine and joining the bloated crowd to watch Fleetwood’s family’s band perform.
“I just… needed a minute,” I said.
Azo’lah nodded. “Your darkness?”
“A little,” I conceded, biting at my thumb nail. “But also, everything, you know?”
Azo’lah’s mouth set into a grim line. “I do. We are asking a great deal of you, Myaxi. I understand if you are uncomfortable with the level of fervor I displayed last night to illustrate our—”
“No, that’s not…” I trailed off, frustrated. Because it wasn’t that Azo’lah’s displays of affection last night made me uncomfortable. It was that I was, maybe, sort of, a little bit, comfortable with it. And I was not ready to think about that.
Instead of asking me to explain further, she said, “Come, Myaxi.”
“Come where? The concert?” I asked. “Shouldn’t you be getting back to Fleetwood? Aren’t you on duty tonight?”
Azo’lah’s head dipped in a motion I would normally associate with mild embarrassment. “Ah, yes. But after our display last night, I have been removed from all official duties for the remainder of the festival. Milyna is temporarily guarding the Fulyiti.”
My cheeks burned at what was left unsaid. Azo’lah was taken off Fleetwood’s protective detail because her superiors didn’t want to leave the Fulyiti in the care of a sexually-distracted Myax.
“Let us go,” Azo’lah said, walking in opposition to the flow of the crowd.
I gestured to where the performance was moments away from beginning. “Don’t you want to see your cousin and uncle perform?”
Azo’lah ignored my question. “Do you want to see them perform?”
I thought of the throbbing crowd, the feeling like I couldn’t get enough air. All of the accidental and unwanted touches. “God, no.”
Azo’lah grinned. “Then, come. There’s something I wish to show you.”
“What are we doing at the Royal Marina?” I asked, staring down the long cranberry wood dock. The royal family’s boats bobbed serenely in their slips. It was startlingly quiet after the pandemonium of the festival.
Azo’lah led me to the smallest vessel, a teal sailboat. “After you,” she offered her hand. I took it, allowing her to help steady me as I stepped onto the boat.
“What are we doing?” I asked as Azo’lah deftly unraveled the rope tying the boat to the dock. “Whose boat is this?”
Azo’lah nudged the boat with her sandaled foot, leaping to board as we drifted from the dock into the gentle waves. “It’s mine.”
“It’s your…” I watched, gobsmacked as she unfurled the sails, revealing large swaths of iridescent rainbow fabric. Her hands flew about so quickly I barely saw what she did before the sails hoisted towards the stars, refracting their light. The warm breeze billowed us away from the Royal Marina and out into the river proper, the current carrying us to the sea.
Azo’lah moved about the boat as comfortably as she did a weapons training room. Her movements, quick and assured, spoke of significant practice. The muscles of her arms flexed and pulled as she adjusted the sails. I stared as she moved to take the chrome steering mechanism. “You know how to sail? How come I’m only learning about this now?”
Azo’lah shrugged, pushing a few buttons on the steering panel. “It never came up before.”
We sailed down the river, through the outskirts of Thal, the mineral aroma of the sea growing stronger. “And this,” I gestured to the teal hull and the rainbow sails, “is your boat? Did you let Fleetwood design it?”
“Zerin chose the teal,” Azo’lah admitted. I grinned at the idea of Azo’lah letting her little brother pick the color of her boat. “The sails are the best material for inclement weather.” She grinned up at the glittering fabric. “I also thought they were pretty.”
I mirrored her smile. “They are.”
As we entered open water, Azo’lah stepped away from the wheel and gestured to the glyph-embossed benches that hugged the sides of the small craft. The sails snapped above us as the wind rushed up the center mast. The deck rocked beneath us, and the ropes tightened. Mechanisms whirred and locked, steadying us against the rocking waves.
“Did the sailboat just… sail itself?” I asked, settling into the plush, woven cushions.
“In a fashion.” Azo’lah sat beside me. She pointed to the steering panel and the various mechanisms interspersed across the ropes, sails, and railings. “I’ve made a few modifications to make the boat more…responsive to my talents.”
I looked out across the glowing water, my grin widening. “Technopathic sailing. Cool.”
“I’ve always liked to sail when I’m feeling overwhelmed,” Azo’lah said. “Being out on the water has a way of clearing my mind.” Azo’lah sighed and looked back at the glowing lights of Thal. “And the sea doesn’t have ears the way the palace does.”
I tipped my head down to where the bioluminescent water seemed to spark where the boat touched it. “And you can’t beat the view.”
“No, you cannot,” she said quietly. I turned, surprised to find her looking, not at the impressive landscape, but at me. And fuck me, it was the look. The same soft but heated look from the night before. I was stunned to see it here, in the privacy of the open water where there was no one to sell our fake relationship to. “Do you want this, Gretchen?”
I blinked, blindsided by the realization that yes, I really did want this. I wanted her. I felt the invisible fist of panic wrap around my lungs and squeeze. I had always known Azo’lah was attractive, but here, in the moonlight, the emerald of the sea shimmering across the elegant lines of her face and catching against the natural sparkle of her hair, she was devastating.
I unwillingly released the noise of a dying cow that Azo’lah must have interpreted as a question because she clarified. “Do you truly want to stay here on Destyr with us? I wanted to ask you away from the others, so you could answer honestly, without feeling any pressure.” She shifted so that she was facing me head-on, her elbow resting on the safety railing, as she surveyed me.
“Of course, I want to stay here with you,” I said automatically, too overwhelmed to overthink my response. “This is my home. You guys are my family.”
Azo’lah nodded, the motion sweeping the unbound portion of her hair over her shoulder. “We did not have time to discuss the finer details of what you pretending to be my Favored will be like. I understand if you are second-guessing your decision to go along with our plan now that things are clearer.”
“No, I’m not second-guessing it.” I edged ever-slightly closer to her. “I guess I didn’t realize how interested everyone else would be in me becoming your Favored. There’s a lot of pressure with that many eyes on us.”
“Especially when one of those looking is actively plotting to remove you from the royal household.”
“Lija can suck my whole ass,” I said.
Azo’lah lifted one elegantly arched brow. “Is that even physically possible?”
I buried my face in my arms on the railing. “Just take your zali’thir and kill me now.”
Azo’lah tugged on my elbow, her palm cradling my chin as she pulled me away from the railing. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.” She tilted my face, so I was looking directly into her eyes. “I would miss you too much.”
“That’s so nice. I’d miss you too,” I blurted. Azo’lah, eyes crinkled with amusement, trailed her hand down the side of my neck. Her fingertips brushed aside the open collar of my button-down trailing, with spine-tingling electric awareness, across my collarbone in—oh my alien gods—a Destyrian gesture of affection reserved for romantic couples.
What was breathing?
She leaned in, resting her forehead against mine, skimming her nose against my flushed cheek. Both of her hands came up to cradle my face, her fingers brushing my temples. She just had to move millimeters, and we’d be kissing. I was going to–
Azo’lah froze. She pulled back, the vulnerability in her face replaced by horror.
“Azo’lah?” I asked. What had I done wrong?
“Who has touched you?” she demanded.
“What’re you talking about?” I asked, wondering where this was coming from. Destyrians were, by nature, tactile people and not particularly possessive when it came to touch.
“What Destyrian has touched you since we danced last night?” She brought her hand back to my face, one of her fingers tapping my implant deliberately.
“I don’t know,” I said. My mind was a flurry of faces as I tried to remember everyone I’d interacted with in the last day. “I greeted a lot of dignitaries last night, and then I was at the festival all day. There’s no way to know how many people I accidentally touched in a crowd that size. Why?”
“Your implant,” Azo’lah said, standing up, as the mechanisms located all over the boat shifted the ropes and sails, turning the ship back toward Thal. “It’s been tampered with. My signature isn’t the only one on it now. Another iz’waij has touched you. We need to alert the crew and get it removed. Now.”
“Yo, where’s the fire?” Ryan asked as Azo’lah, and I came striding into the living room of Fleetwood’s suite. They were laying across the floor, legs propped up on one of the velvet sofas, where Matt and Tyler sat. They were passing an almost empty bottle of qua’pir between them. Mey-ran and Chester lazed in the high-backed armchairs, their eyes bloodshot and glazed.
They had all changed out of their festival-wear into comfy sweats and t-shirts. It appeared as though Tyler had borrowed a pair of plaid pajama pants from Matt. He had paired it with a shirt he must have pilfered from Fleetwood’s collection, bedazzled with the slogan, Not Today, Satan.
In the far corner, LinManHam was curled up, watching over them all with his smoky, orb-like eyes. Sebastian was tucked up against one of LinManHam’s sizable leg bones, snoozing.
Clearly, Azo’lah and I were the only ones currently not under the influence. Though, if I was being honest, a glass of qua’pir would make the last few hours more digestible.
“Where is the Fulyiti?” Azo’lah asked, her tone as clipped as her steps as she retreated towards Fleetwood’s bedroom. She stormed into Fleetwood’s clothing-strewn but otherwise empty room. Azo’lah returned, maybe more annoyed than I had ever seen her. “I specifically stated in my comm that the whole crew, and only the crew,” she eyed Mey-ran and Tyler, “were to be present for an important debrief.”
“Tyler’s an honorary member of the crew,” Ryan announced, reaching out and slapping palms with Tyler in a high five.
“Hell yeah, I am,” Tyler agreed, taking a long pull from the bottle. “You guys are like top-tier frenemies. A dude couldn’t ask for more. I love you guys.”
I strode across the room and pried the bottle from his grasp. “I’m going to assume that’s the qua’pir talking,” I grumbled, draining the paltry amount of remaining alcohol in three gulps. I shook the empty bottle. “Is there any more?”
“On the tray,” Chester said, lifting his arm as though moving in slow motion.
Mey-ran giggled, sounding shockingly akin to a pre-teen girl, and grabbed Chester’s hand, his movements only slightly less languid. Christ, how much had they imbibed?
Azo’lah, teaching a masterclass in ignoring our crewmates’ bombed behavior, simply stated, “Tyler, however honorary a member of our crew, is also a Dangerous One. As the Myax of the crew, I must insist upon his exit before we discuss what has happened.” Azo’lah’s attention turned to the armchairs where Mey-ran and Chester were still laughing. “And Vic Mey-ran, though a valued ally, should also leave. For the security of the crew.”
At that, Ryan executed an impressive leg-swing-swivel, which resulted in them seated upright, with their back resting against the couch and their legs crisscrossed beneath them. If I had attempted that move at that level of inebriation, I would’ve ended up hurting myself. “Security?” they asked, their mirth-filled face growing serious.
Azo’lah nodded.
Tyler groaned and slouched deeper into the cushions, his head hitting one of the pillows and sending his backwards snapback askew. “But I’m so comfy here! Come on, let me stay. I’m so super good at secrets.” He tossed his legs across Matt’s lap. “Just ask my little sister! To date, I haven’t broken a single pinky promise.”
Maybe the qua’pir was starting to affect me, but I was mildly impressed by that admission.
“Wait,” Chester said, pushing himself into a more upright position in his chair. After a moment of struggling against gravity, he allowed himself to drop back against the seat. “You have a sister, Tyler?”
“I have two sisters,” Tyler announced, holding up two fingers demonstratively.
Chester leaned forward, over-enthused by this information. “I have multiple sisters, too!”
“Where exactly is the Fulyiti?” Azo’lah asked, the edge to her voice sharper than her zali’thir. “Milyna has only responded to my comms to say that the Fulyiti is safe.”
Matt shrugged. “Last we saw her, she was crowd-surfing during her dad and sister’s final set.” He sounded the soberest of the group, though that wasn’t a particularly tight race at the moment.
Tyler and Ryan immediately took to harmonizing like a clowder of caterwauling cats.
They all cackled as the front door to Fleetwood’s suite opened, and the Fulyiti herself, decked out in more glitter than I knew one body could contain, strode in with Milyna at her side. Instead of looking high on life and rock n’ roll (and the same substances our friends had ingested), Fleetwood appeared concerned.
“Apologies for the delay,” she said, quickly roping Azo’lah and me into a tight embrace. I felt my body relax in Fleetwood’s hold—she gave the universe’s best hugs. “I would have arrived sooner, but Ree’la and Father were intent upon catching up on everything in one evening. I could not get away sooner. What has happened?”
“We’ll explain everything.” Azo’lah nodded to Milyna, who did a quick security sweep of the room before stepping back into the hall to stand guard. Azo’lah said, “That is, we will explain once all our extra guests have left.”
“Guess that’s my cue,” Tyler sounded genuinely put-out at having to leave. He stood up. “Alright, peace out, homies.” But instead of exiting the room, he stooped over and kissed Matt’s forehead. Tyler proceeded to wend his way through the room, bestowing everyone with farewell kisses. He even had the audacity to lift himself onto his toes and peck Azo’lah’s cheek.
“Goodbye, sweet Tyler,” Fleetwood said.
Tyler held up peace signs with both hands. “Dudes, call me about shenanigans tomorrow!”
“Bye, Tyler!” Ryan hollered to his back.
“See you,” Matt said much more quietly. There was a slight flush in his cheeks as his fingers lightly brushed against his forehead.
After a long moment of silence in which Azo’lah glared at Mey-ran, I cleared my throat and said, “With all due respect, Vic Mey-ran but…”
“Leave,” Azo’lah said curtly when I trailed off. It seemed her patience had left the building.
“That wasn’t particularly respectful,” Chester pointed out, but he used his hand linked to Mey-ran’s to jostle the alien prince to his feet. “But they’re right, babe. You should go to bed.”
“But I wish to never be parted from your side,” Mey-ran replied, tightening his grip on Chester.
I flopped into Tyler’s recently vacated spot on the couch and held back the urge to simultaneously wretch and coo at the sweetness. Ryan had no such compunction. “I’m going to vom from how adorable this is,” they professed loudly.
Either not hearing them or, more likely, completely unaware of the rest of the room, Chester said, “Go to sleep. I’ll be in once we’re done here.”
Mey-ran stooped to kiss the back of Chester’s palm and sauntered from the room. Everyone but Azo’lah unashamedly watched him leave, the fit of the sweatpants he was borrowing was particularly snug.
“Stop objectifying my betrothed,” Chester demanded, though he smiled smugly.
Fleetwood took Mey-ran’s chair and flopped her legs over one arm, her head inclining over the other to rest on Chester’s shoulder. Sebastian, who had ignored my arrival, had woken upon hearing Fleetwood’s voice and now leapt into her lap. Traitorous little shit. He snuggled down into a purring ball of floof as she ran her long fingers through his fur. “Azo-zo, Gret’chen, tell us what has happened!”
Azo’lah took to pacing behind the empty chaise across from where I sat. We locked gazes, and I nodded. We had agreed on a story—an explanation—on the way back to Fleetwood’s rooms. Although neither of us relished lying to our friends, there was no way to give them the truth without revealing Azo’lah’s technopathic secret.
Azo’lah said, “While Gretchen and I were walking along the riverfront, I received word from one of my Myax contacts that someone has tampered with Gretchen’s implant.”
Prolonged, stunned silence met her proclamation. The joyous atmosphere of moments before distilled into an eerie solemnity.
Matt straightened up and looked at me. “I’m sorry, what did she just say?”
“Is this a joke?” Ryan added.
“Wait, what?” Chester asked, blinking owlishly through his glasses.
Without disturbing Sebastian, Fleetwood righted herself in her seat. “Someone placed a tracker in Gretchen’s implant? How? The only information about our implants is kept in highly secured files in the Healer’s Wing? Who gave you this information?”
Azo’lah gritted her jaw and fixed her cousin with an unassailable look. My stomach suddenly transmuted into a snake pit, complete with writhing. “As you know, Fulyiti,” Azo’lah began, “I have many trusted and anonymous contacts through the Myax order. The Myax intelligence network is vast. It appears as though the plot against Gretchen is more severe than we originally realized. Someone was able to access her implant and—”
Chester interrupted, suddenly staggeringly sober. “Someone? Who? Also, how? They would need physical contact with Gretchen’s implant and the access information that, like Fleetwood mentioned, is super securely kept in the Royal Healer’s Wing? If that’s the case, that makes this an inside job from someone with high-level clearance in the palace, most likely medical staff. They might’ve been able to do it if they had the access codes to your implant and had a very sophisticated and high-speed program override ready to transfer on their Ran’dyl. They’d just have to tap it to your implant. Gretch, do you—”
“We’ve interacted with dozens of Destyrians and delegates for the festival. And most of them I greeted with the traditional forehead touch,” I rattled off. “Not to mention the hundreds of people we’ve bumped into on the street. It could’ve been anyone.”
“What about one of those iz’waij?” Matt asked. “They can control technology with their minds, right? Could one of them have done this?”
My heart clanged in my chest as I fought against a wave of frustration at my friends and their astuteness, even while under the influence. Any other time, it would’ve warmed me down to my bones to watch them apply their considerable expertise toward dismantling something dangerous to me. At this moment, however, I was more concerned about protecting Azo’lah’s secret than about figuring out who had infiltrated my implant.
Ryan leaned forward, resting their elbows on their knees. “I thought they were hella rare? That’s why that iz’waij baby on the Western continent is such a big deal.”
“Just because we haven’t heard about them doesn’t mean they don’t exist,” Chester pointed out.
Fleetwood, who had been curiously silent, asked, “Cousin, this source—”
“Is trustworthy,” Azo’lah cut in, not allowing Fleetwood to finish her question. “Obviously, Gretchen must have her implant replaced immediately. We cannot have an unknown threat having access to her location at all times for her own safety and for yours, Fulyiti, since you are often together. I have already contacted the Healer’s Wing, and they will conduct the procedure in less than an hour.”
They all swore loudly.
Ryan wobbled to their feet and looked at me. “You holding up, Borowicz?”
I gulped around the stone of guilt lodged in my throat. “I’ll be okay.”
“Okay, okay, okay,” Ryan said, more to themself than to the rest of us. “Good work on this, Myax. Keep all of us updated on any more information you get through your top-secret Myax channels.”
“Yes, please do, cousin,” Fleetwood said. The hardened glint in her eyes did not match the almost playful tilt to her mouth. I didn’t like the disconnect, it made Fleetwood look dangerous. Shockley’s words from the day before came back to me: Have you truly not stepped back and thought about how devastatingly brilliant Fleetwood is?
Chester said, “I’d like to take a look at the implant once it’s out. See if I can reverse engineer the tracker in the gem.”
“And we should start making an extensive list of potential suspects. Lija and his cronies are definitely at the top of it,” Matt patted my knee. “We’ll get this figured out, Gretch.”
“We need to start considering some deep-state level conspiracy that doesn’t just include Central continent suspects but members of the other continents,” Ryan said. “Let’s not forget that break-in at the wedding in the East. We thought Fleetwood was the target and the perpetrator accidentally ended up in Gretchen’s room. But what if Gretchen was the intended target all along?”
I inhaled sharply. That thought had never occurred to me. I knew the political schemes I found myself unwillingly entangled in were dangerous, but someone going after me? Me? That was stupid. I was no one.
But then again, I was the current target of an unknown iz’waij.
“Captain, I think it best to put high-level security protocol in place for both Gretchen and the Fulyiti,” Azo’lah said.
Ryan nodded, as did everyone else in the room. Ryan said, “Absolutely. Gretchen, Fleetwood, you go nowhere alone. If one of us isn’t available, Azo’lah will have a list of Myax escorts for you to contact.”
Fleetwood nodded her ascent.
“I appreciate the concern,” I said, “but I don’t need to be babysat.”
Matt’s hand squeezed my knee. “Gretch, there’s no bloody way you’re winning this argument. Just accept it, yeah?”
Chester leaped from his chair. “Let me get some vy’tal, and I’ll head down to my lab to start researching iz’waij and technopathy and…” He held out his hands to steady himself. “Fuck, I’m still fucked up. I’ll stop by the Healer Wing, grab something to sober up.” He shuffled over to me and kissed the top of my head. “Don’t worry, Gretch. You’ll be okay.”
He waved goodbye to the rest of the crew and promised to see me once I woke up after my implant was removed. He left the suite, already pulling up research on his Ran’dyl.
“Majumdar, with me,” Ryan pointed towards the foyer. “We should hit the Healer Wing too, then start brainstorming suspects and put together a schedule for Gretchen coverage. Fleetwood, Azo’lah, can we take Milyna with us as a Myax consultant for security?”
“Absolutely,” Fleetwood said. “Have her tell my night guard that Azo’lah and I will be staying with Gret’chen for the foreseeable future. I will let her know if I have plans to leave my rooms.”
Matt and Ryan hugged me before they left, already compiling their suspect list.
Their exit removed the last buffer between our half-truths and Fleetwood’s shrewd mind. The tension between the cousins’ was so thick, I doubted even Azo’lah’s zali’thir would be able to cut it. Fleetwood’s steely sapphire gaze swiveled between Azo’lah and me. I felt like a child waiting for a chastisement from the school principal.
“Should we head down to the, uh, Healer’s Wing?” I ventured, my voice cracking under the strain of the evening. I was being tracked by an iz’waij, had lied to my friends, had almost kissed Azo’lah—
“In a moment, Gret’chen,” Fleetwood said. She shifted Sebastian’s sleeping form to Chester’s empty chair and fluidly stood. She was a living sun, the glittery gold of her halter top and bell-bottoms reflecting every light source in the room. She was radiant and intimidating. “Cousin, this source you spoke of—”
“As I said,” Azo’lah cut in once more, “they are trustworthy.”
Fleetwood nodded. “I know they are. Because I think the source is you.”
I shifted uncomfortably on the cushions, fairly certain my blood had just curdled in my veins. A dull throb started in my temples, the stress of the night finally manifesting itself as a migraine. I said, “Fleetwood—”
Fleetwood held up a silencing hand. “Dearest Gret’chen, you and Azo-zo have been acting sus all week. The lies cease now.”
“I am not lying, Fulyiti,” Azo’lah said, the steel in her voice flagging at Fleetwood’s accusation. “Gretchen’s implant has been tampered with. She is in danger. It must be removed immediately.”
Fleetwood stepped towards Azo’lah. When she spoke again, her voice took on the vaguely British intonation that let me know she was now speaking in Destyrian. “I know that is the truth. You would never lie about Gretchen’s safety. But the source of this information, that is the lie.”
“I have no reason to lie to you, Fulyiti,” Azo’lah said.
“Which is why it is baffling that you are,” Fleetwood retorted. “How did you get this intel, Azo’lah?”
Azo’lah shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “A source through the Myax—”
Fleetwood swore in Ancient Destyrian, fire sparking in her eyes. The cousins now stood only a few feet apart, Fleetwood’s fury a tangible, overflowing presence. “Why are you lying to me?”
“I’m not!” Azo’lah insisted. I stood to go to them, and the room spun. I blinked hard. I must have downed a lot more qua’pir than I thought.
“What has happened to trusting each other with everything?” Fleetwood gestured to me and the empty room as she continued, “Our family is under threat, and yet you refuse me the truth! What in the seven stars could be more important than our family…” Fleetwood trailed off, shaking her head in disappointment.
“Nothing! Nothing could ever be more important!” Azo’lah exploded.
“Guys, please don’t fight,” I pleaded, stumbling forward. The throbbing in my head abruptly flared into an unbearable, agonizing supernova that burned down my spine.
“Now, I am left to wonder what else you have not seen fit to share with me,” Fleetwood spat.”
“Guys!” I tried to shriek, but nothing was working properly. I tried to reach for them, but my arms simply twitched. Everything around me started to go dark. My legs buckled.
Fleetwood and Azo’lah rushed to me. I felt Azo’lah’s strong arms catch me just as my body began to thrash, completely out of my control.
Was I—was I seizing?
Fleetwood’s voice came, choppy and distant, like a poor transmission from an out-of-range planet, “What’s happening?”“Gretchen!” Azo’lah hollered, attempting to still my body. I thrashed wildly in her hold. I had no control over my own body anymore.
I screamed soundlessly against the roaring fire that leached through my nervous system.
Azo’lah cradled my head. “Gretchen, tell me what’s—” She trailed off as her eyes latched onto my forehead. My boots juddered against the floor. Azo’lah looked to Fleetwood and then to me.
Fleetwood hollered, “I’m calling the Healer’s Wing and—”
Azo’lah bit her lip, and as I opened my mouth in another silent scream. Azo’lah, tears pooling in her eyes, pressed her fingers to my burning temple, the touch firm and sure.
“It will be over in a moment, Gretchen,” Azo’lah promised in a whisper.
My body stopped seizing. The incandescent pain faded into a throbbing echo of its former strength. I sagged against the floor.
Fleetwood’s astounded, gaping face, staring at Azo’lah, was the last thing I saw before the world went completely dark.
I awoke to a world that was fuzzy and made little sense. I was supported by strong arms, my head lolling against a muscled shoulder. I felt weightless and unmoored but inexplicably safe. Voices came to me in snatches and bursts, familiar voices, but they spoke a language I couldn’t understand.
I thought I recognized Fleetwood’s navy space buns amongst the mess of color and indistinguishable shapes my eyes couldn’t focus on. But before I could fully grasp onto consciousness, I slipped back into the darkness again.
I opened my eyes slowly to a dimly-lit room. Warm, blue-gold light, like the sun breaking the horizon on a crisp autumn morning, filled my peripheral vision. I rolled my head to the side to see a curving sculpture and a tall lilac-skinned Destyrian dressed in the crisp white tunic and pants of a Healer. I had a strong sense of deja-vu. I was in the Healer’s Wing of the Royal Palace.
“Azo’lah Myax,” Healer Jil’al said quietly. Every word was like a needle being tapped into my skull. Then again, it was hard to distinguish that pain from the rest of my body, which felt like one giant, beaten bruise. “‘Gretchen Myaxi is awake.”
A shadow eclipsed the sculpture’s light, familiar and instantly comforting. “Azo’lah,” I tried to say her name, but my thoughts and my mouth weren’t quite in sync. It came out more like a croaky rasp.
“Could we have a moment?” Azo’lah asked the Healer.
“I will monitor her vitals from outside. But she should rest and avoid speaking as much as possible for the time being until her new implant fully integrates.” Azo’lah waited until the Healer had left before crossing to the rematerialized door. She placed her palm against it, no doubt using her powers to secure it. Shit.
“What happened?” I asked as she crossed back to the bed. Azo’lah sat in the crook of my hip, her long fingers brushing the sensitive skin near my implant. Clumsily, I reached out to fumble for her wrist, stopping her. She wove her fingers through mine.
“The iz’waij who tampered with your implant attacked you,” Azo’lah said tightly. “I intervened.”
The fight came back to me in a brilliant, painful flash.
“Fleetwood,” I whispered, trying to follow the healer’s advice. “She knows?”
Azo’lah nodded, looking miserable. I wished my limbs didn’t feel so heavy, so I could offer her more than just a limp squeeze of the hand holding mine. “She was...upset by the knowledge.” That was code for Fleetwood is fucking apoplectic.
“How did they attack?” I asked. “I thought you had to touch or be close.”
“Whoever it is must be a powerful iz’waij to so precisely manipulate something they have had little contact with, and do so from a distance.” Azo’lah frowned. At my questioning look, she added, “I did not utilize my powers for many years, so I prefer touch. It allows me to be more accurate.” She looked down at our intertwined hands. “I’m sorry, Gretchen.”
I lifted my free hand, but all I managed was a pathetic pat to her cheek. “S’not your fault. Better make me your Favored,” I mustered up a genuine, if pained, smile at Azo’lah’s incredulous look. “Give me that sweet royal protection.”
Azo’lah returned my smile, hers more sad than hopeful. Like she was already grieving something she had yet to lose. “That entirely depends.”
“On what?” I said with effort.
“On me,” Fleetwood said from the doorway.
