The Wos’kit Pollen Plot: Part 3
“I am absolutely one-thousand percent not prepared for this,” I said, fiddling with the hem of my sleeve. The navy gown Fleetwood had commissioned for me was smoother than silk and fit like a dream–the Royal tailor had even been gracious enough to take into account my clumsiness and shortened the length of the train considerably.
Though the color did not match the traditional white I had envisioned growing up, as I studied its elegant lines and the gently plunging neckline that elegantly framed my collarbones, I couldn’t help but feel…bridal. My hair was even beautifully coiffed, ringlets framing my face.
Chester, dapper as ever in his House Fuiq navy and silver tunic, stepped up behind me and clapped his hands on my shoulders. I could not bring myself to meet his gaze in the mirror. “I don’t know if anyone’s ever ready to become a Royal alien concubine. But if it makes you feel better, it’s practically painless.”
“Practically painless?” I repeated drolly.
Chester held up his left forearm and tugged back his sleeve to reveal his House Fuiq tattoo–a tattoo that would adorn my arm soon. “You’re going to want to drink an extra glass of qua’pir before the application process.”
From their seat on my bed, Ryan called, “I am always prepared to be a Royal alien’s concubine. Episode eighteen, season six of Cosmic Conquerors set me up for success.”
“Isn’t that the episode where one of the Snormanians tries to assassinate Bendleham?” Matt asked from his seat in the corner.
Ryan beamed. “Yep.”
“But that has nothing to do with becoming a Royal alien concubine.”
“I know. I’m talking about the climax of the show when Bendleham delivers that kickass–”
“I love you guys, but this isn’t helping,” I sighed.
“Sorry, Gretch,” Matt apologized, standing. “For what it’s worth, you look beautiful.”
“Smoking hot, no cap,” Ryan added, leaping from the bed. They strode to my side and used my mirror to straighten out their flowing tunic and straight-legged pant ensemble. “You know you don’t need to freak out. It’s not like you’re actually becoming Azo’lah’s Favored.”
I gulped, a stone of regret sinking heavily in my stomach.
“This is all for show, and damn,” they gestured widely at us all, “do we clean up well when we perform.”
Chester squeezed my shoulders. “We’ve got your back, Gretchen.”
I smiled at them all. “Thanks, guys, that means so–”
“Is this inane conversation over yet?” Nyc’arra groaned from her post directly beside my closed door. “If you proceed to blather emotionally at one another, you’ll miss the ceremony entirely.”
“Rude,” Ryan said, checking their Ran’dyl, “but not incorrect about the timing. Crew, let’s head out.”
Chester proffered me his arm. I entwined our forearms as Matt and Ryan led the procession out of my room, Nyc’arra falling in at my back.
With every step we took through the corridors, I felt my lungs tighten. I had my meds tucked away in a secret pocket of my gown. Even though I knew the list of attendees to the ceremony was exclusively short, I wasn't sure I would be able to stave off a panic attack.
Chester nudged our shoulders together. “So, I think I may like Mey-ran more than I originally intended to.”
Though my stomach swarmed with a thousand nervous bees, I grinned up at my friend, grateful for the distraction. “You think?”
Chester dipped his chin adorably. “He isn’t anything like I expected.”
“Really?” Ryan threw a wicked grin over their shoulder. “His uniforms are so tight, it doesn’t really leave much for the imagination to get wrong.”
Matt snorted as Chester reached forward and swatted at Ryan’s back. “That’s not what I’m talking about. I meant that he seems actually interested in what I have to say. He pays attention when I talk. In passing, I mentioned my casual interest in the crimson chlorophyll of the flora on Covlax, and when he got here for the festival, he had a bunch of plant samples delivered to my lab for me to study.”
“That’s so sweet,” I said as we turned a corner. I focused on Chester’s radiant smile, trying valiantly not to notice how close we were to our destination.
“I know,” Chester agreed. “I figured I was a novelty. That he’d lose interest once he got over the newness of meeting a human. And I wasn’t too thrilled about being politically maneuvered into being engaged to him–”
“Still not thrilled about that one, mate,” Matt said, leading us out onto the balcony and the amber transportation platform.
“He’s apologized,” Chester said defensively. “Said we could cancel the betrothal, that he’d convince his mother to sign an agreement with Auhtula Ty’uria that didn’t require a marriage.”
Matt and Ryan stepped onto the platform, both offering their hands to help me step up without tripping. “And yet you’re still engaged to him,” I said, as Chester and Nyc’arrra joined us on the platform.
The weird weightlessness took over, and for a moment, I was happy for the flip-floppy sensation—anything to not think about where I was headed. We came to stop on the ground floor of the palace, our feet touching down gently.
“Well, yeah,” Chester said, leading me off the platform. “If we aren’t betrothed, he doesn’t have an excuse to visit.”
I said, “Who knew alien political alliances were so complicated?”
Ryan raised both their hands. “I did!”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Matt said, wrapping an arm around their shoulders and tugging them into a gentle chokehold.
Ryan fought him off playfully. “It’s not my fault none of you grew up on Cosmic Conquerors and thusly lack the knowledge necessary to conquer the stars!”
Chester thrust a fist into the air and began singing the electric guitar riff that accompanied the opening credits of Ryan’s favorite show. For the rest of our walk, we sang the song, harmonizing the outlandish lyrics and sing-humming the hard rock rhythm that accompanied it.
Nyc’arra came to a sharp halt and rubbed her temples with her fingers. “Mercifully, we have arrived, and that noise you are all making can now stop.”
“Or we could roll into the opening verse of the first song of the musical episode Intergalactic Panic: Supernova Explosion!” Ryan suggested, eyes gleaming excitedly.
“Oh, look, it’s Azo’lah! A sentence I never thought I’d be happy to utter,” Nyc’arra said, grabbing at my upper arm and shoving me forward.
I tripped over the hem of my gown as I staggered. In the time it took me to catch my balance, Nyc’arra disappeared into the shadows. I was too overwhelmed by my current situation to be too impressed by her amazing disappearing moves.“Thanks for distracting me, guys,” I said over my shoulder as my friends practically sprinted to keep up.
Our Favored Ceremony was taking place in a small chamber off the Feasting Hall. And by small, I meant two cathedrals could still fit into the vaulted-ceiling, wide-windowed space. The glyphs on the mosaic floor were the verbatim speech the First Auhtula gave after shaking her enemies’ holy temple to rubble. I gaped at the small gathering of Destyrians who stood in a circle at the center of the room. Auhtula Ty’uria was dressed in a resplendent silver gown beside Fleetwood, who was clad in a navy sequined jumpsuit and combat boots with flaming skulls stitched into the side. On Fleetwood’s other side, Auhtul Cal’ton, wearing an all-white ensemble, beamed at me.
I waved at him as Chester, Ryan, and Matt peeled away to stand with Fleetwood and Cal’ton. The rest of the circle was filled in by half a dozen Myax, a handful of Auhtula Ty’uria’s councilors, and even my assistant, Sav’asa.
At the center of the circle stood Azo’lah. She was stunning in a navy dress that showed off her arms and shoulders. Her luminescent hair was an unbound wave of silver down her back. The light of the setting suns that came in through the windows at her back set her aglow.
I stopped dead in my tracks as I took her in.
Was this really happening? Were we actually going through with this?
My tongue stuck to the roof of my dry mouth, and, as though she sensed my rising panic, Azo’lah strode over to me. She stopped a hand span before me, her fingers reaching out and flexing against my arm. Looking at her up close felt like staring into a solar eclipse. “You are alright, ket’li?”
My cheeks burned at the endearment. “Just excited to get to you.”
Azo’lah’s mouth ticked up in a grin. She ran her hand up my arm and straightened out the sleeves of my gown. “You are beautiful,” she said. Distantly, I could hear Cal’ton and Ryan cooing at one another.
“You–you too,” I stammered as she led me to the center of the circle.
When we reached the center of the gathered guests, Azo’lah linked both of our hands together, and, for my ears only, she whispered, “Are you ready, Myaxi?”
No, no, no, no. My heart ricocheted against my rib cage like a yo-yo.
“Yes,” I murmured.
She straightened to her full, towering height. “Auhtula Ty’uria, ruler of the Central continent and head of House Fuiq, I, Azo’lah Myax, present to you, my intended Favored. I ask that you grant our union your blessing.”
I gulped at the word union.
While I knew the Favored Ceremony wasn’t an actual wedding and certainly lacked the pomp and ritual of Destyrian nuptials, my sweating palms didn’t know the difference.
Auhtula Ty’uria stepped briefly forward. “I grant my blessing upon both your Favored and this union.” She stepped back in line. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Fleetwood grab her mother’s arm, a silent thank you.
I looked up and met Azo’lah’s gaze, her navy eyes hypnotizing me into forgetting my nerves. She cleared her throat and began loudly, “Gretchen Myaxi of Earth, in accordance with the traditions of my house, I take you as my Favored. I offer you the protection of my name and title from all who would harm you. I offer you a home for your rest and your warmth. I offer companionship for the rest of your days or until I release you from this position.”
My knees wobbled along with Azo’lah’s voice as she continued. “I offer you all this in exchange for your loyalty and obedience to me, and House Fuiq, in all things. Do you accept my offer and the title of Favored?”
My heartbeat in my ears like a drum.
“I–” I cleared my throat. “I accept your offer and the title you bestow.” But the words were not enough. The Destyrians, a tactile people to the very end, required a touch of intimacy to seal the agreement. I reached up and ran my fingers delicately along Azo’lah’s collarbone, ignoring the low thrum of excitement that kickstarted in my core.
I grinned, fortifying myself for Azo’lah’s hand to do the same. But instead, she wrapped one of her arms around my waist and nearly lifted me off my feet as she drew me close. Her free hand trailed across my collarbone, and goosebumps broke out across my skin.
“Azo’lah,” I whispered breathlessly, “what are you doing?”
But instead of answering, she stooped down and for an infinite, heart-stopping moment, brought our mouths together.
I forgot how to breathe, how to think, how to stand. I fisted her tunic to hold me steady as the entire universe began to rotate on an opposing axis.
She pulled away, and I felt the entire room exhale. She said, “Out of respect for my Favored and her culture, we decided to complete the ceremony with a traditional human touch.”
There was a moment of silence and then polite cheering of congratulations, but I barely heard it as I gaped up at Azo’lah.
She stared serenely back at me as though she had not just kissed me in front of everyone important in our lives. Like she hadn’t just torn down every single mental wall I had built up around my impossible feelings for her.
I stared down at my forearm, where, just visible under the gauzy web of a nano-bandage, my brand new tattoo rested. “You weren’t lying when you said that hurt like a bitch,” I informed Chester, gratefully accepting the drink Matt pressed into my hand. At least Azo’lah had done her best to distract me during the ritualized process while I tried not to whimper in front of everyone watching.
“Looks dope as shit, though,” Ryan supplied cheerfully. They were doing a commendable job restraining themself from poking the healing wound. “I want a Destyrian tattoo now. The metallic ink is sick.”
“At least the healing is crazy fast because of the nanotech,” Chester grinned. “Tomorrow, it’s gonna itch, though.”
“Great,” I said, taking a small sip. Around us, the guests who had gathered for the ceremony milled about, eating dinner in the garden. Everyone was still recovering from the First Lover’s Festival. While congenial, the atmosphere was subdued, and the alcohol consumption greatly diminished. Next to her mother, Fleetwood was uncharacteristically involved in schmoozing, somehow managing to look regal, even while dressed like a disco queen. She was currently engaged in a lively chat with Councilor Jo’son, who looked uncharacteristically charmed by Fleetwood’s apparently earnest attention.
Chester followed my gaze. “I’m worried about her,” he nodded toward his best friend. “Whenever she’s not with us, she’s working to win over the council when it comes to—”
“To me,” I finished for him. “And I fucked up by being seen with Shockley.”
Matt patted my shoulder. “I’d like to say something empathetic, but my demisexual self can’t relate. But she’s not just fighting for you. You’re the fight right now because you’re the easiest, biggest target. If they succeed with you, they’re coming for the rest of us, and she’s not going to let it stand.”
“I wish we could help. But since we don’t know why the fuck she and Azo’lah aren’t approaching this as their usual badass tag-team, we’re forced to sit this one out,” Ryan said with all the subtly of a sledgehammer. “Gretchen, you know you can trust us,” they began but trailed off as Azo’lah approached with Auhtul Cal’ton in tow.
Azo’lah immediately wrapped her arm around my shoulder, her fingers tracing my collarbone once before they settled.
“Captain Thorley!” the young Auhtul greeted, his face brightening as they approached Ryan. Matt grinned at me. It appeared that Ryan had charmed Cal’ton when they had stood in for Fleetwood during the wos’kit pollen incident. “Congratulations, Gretchen Myaxi,” Cal’ton added belatedly. “Are you ready for the bedding ceremony?”
Azo’lah’s fingers clenched around my shoulder. The what now?
“In respect to the merging of our cultures, we will be holding a modified version, as the Fulyiti and her Favored did,” Azo’lah said lightly. I looked up at her, wondering why the fuck such a potentially embarrassing aspect of this ritual hadn’t been explained to me and then realized it was probably because Azo’lah hadn’t been allowed in a room alone with me for days and everyone kept forgetting that I currently wasn’t allowed to use a Ran’dyl so it isn’t like she could send me private comm.
“I’m going to get another drink,” I choked out around a terribly forced smile. Azo’lah started to follow, but Chester hip-checked her out of the way and linked his arm through mine.
“Don’t worry,” he murmured as we walked toward the refreshment table. “They’ll get you all ready and take you to a room with everyone watching but then they’ll leave. You can just fake the noises if you’re worried about anyone listening.”
“Is that what you and Fleetwood did?” I busied myself with selecting a different cocktail.
“Yeah,” Chester explained. “It was actually a lot of fun. We bounced around on the bed and made sex noises. Then, I introduced Fleetwood to some new music while we ate all the sexy dessert food they leave for you in there and drank the really high-quality qua’pir.” He nudged my shoulder as we reached the over-burdened refreshments table. “Azo’lah’s your friend. The night will be fun however you choose to spend it.” Usually, I was very fond of Chester’s genius, but not so much of the knowing look in his eyes. God, I was such a mess. Pining after one friend while having a friends-with-benefits relationship with Shockley was the definition of a clusterfuck.
“Thanks, Chester,” I said and meant it. “Can you cover for me, I just,” I shrugged toward the unpopulated section of the garden helplessly.
“Need a minute? Sure.” He picked up a new cup. “Just don’t take too long with everything going on, or your ket’li will come looking for you.”
I waved my hand weakly. “Oh my god, stop. It was just,” I lowered my voice already heading toward the longed-for solitude of one of the palace garden’s smaller arbors, “an act.”
“Sure, an act.” Chester leveled me with a look over the rim of his glasses. “She didn’t have to kiss you in front of Queen and country, is all I’m saying.”
I quickly turned on my heel, my traitorous face flushing. I had been trying very hard not to think about Azo’lah’s unexpected kiss or any of its ramifications or wanting to do it again at all since it happened—all of which I had been failing miserably at. I probably should’ve told Nyc’arra, who I assumed was still hiding in the shadows somewhere, where I was going, but it didn’t look like anyone had wandered out this far from the main party. I walked slowly down the lush turquoise lawn, dotted with autumnal flowers in sparkling white, like snowfall or Azo’lah’s hair—
Gah. I took a long draw of my drink and found myself on the edge of the royal family's private section of the gardens. I stepped over the glittering mosaic paving stones that lined the way to the alcove where we ate al fresco as a crew on nice days, now bathed in the pale lilac of twilight reflected off the pearlescent walls of the palace. As I rounded the vine-entwined hedges surrounding the area, I heard a low voice muttering.
I peeked around the corner, half expecting to find my crew members had snuck away from the slightly stuffy formal reception to have a more relaxed version with pilfered alcohol and pastries. What I did not expect was to see Councillor Lija sitting at our table, his feet kicked up on the surface like he was the Auhtul for which it was built.
“Yes, I know,” he said into his Ran’dyl, voice raising slightly in exasperation. “I want this just as badly, if not more than you.”
I couldn’t hear the person on the other line, and Lija had deactivated the device’s output feature, so it didn’t project a miniature version of his conversational partner.
“I know, it’s what we both deserve, and we’ll get it. While they successfully foiled my first plan, they unwittingly handed me a better one,” I heard the rustle of fabric, the scrape of a chair leg against the mosaiced slab the table resided on. In my mind’s eye, the image of Lija purposefully marring the glittering glyph for the Destyrian word for bloodless family (more accurately translated into English as found family) sent a flash of ire through me. Fleetwood had this area outfitted especially for our crew.
I was ready to storm around the hedge and unleash all my pent-up rage. Then Lija said something that doused my white-hot flare of anger with icy terror. “The House of Fuiq has been concealing an iz’waij.”
Holy shit.
Stupidly, without thinking of anything other than my need to protect Azo’lah and Fleetwood, I strode around the cover of the hedgerow into open view. “I wasn’t aware that you had the royal family’s permission to enter their private garden, Councilor,” I said. My tone was so mild and yet so cold, I almost impressed myself.
Lija turned to me, his hand at his side. His call abruptly ended. He raised one dark eyebrow. “Becoming Azo’lah Myax’s Favored has made you even bolder than before. Foolishly so.”
“I’m not the one in a place he has no right to be,” I said. I approached him, doing my best to keep my pace even and unconcerned.
“But you are,” Lija smiled in a way that sent chills down my spine. “And you have stayed there for far too long, by accepting the Fulyiti’s friendship and ensnaring her cousin, you revealed their secret.”
“You sound very confident for someone who couldn’t be more wrong,” I said, fighting against the steel-sharp spike of anxiety his words produced.
“Come now, Gretchen.” Lija sighed like I was a wayward child he had to instruct. “I know you suffered an attack, and I know that only Azo’lah and the Fulyiti were with you. Then, you were taken immediately to the medical wing, where your translator was removed and replaced. And now, you have a new bodyguard, a disgraced Myax whose language shills render her the only one capable of guarding you against a Destyrian iz’waij without the aid of technology.” He exaggeratedly scanned the alcove. “I can see why she’s disgraced, letting you wander off alone so soon after having her name cleared.”
“How do you know that?” I asked. How did he know of any of this? “The royal Healer Wing is private. The records are confidential.”
“Nothing in this palace is secret from me,” Lija grinned, smug and self-satisfied. He turned to leave, but I played one last card born of desperation.
“How do you know it wasn’t Fleetwood?” I was shocked at how even the words sounded. Acting had never been my strong suit.
Lija turned his head, listening but not facing me. I continued. “If your sources are correct, which they may not be, how do you know it wasn’t the Fulyiti that allegedly saved me?”
Lija considered for all but a moment. “Because, if that were the case, her mother would have revealed that information 68 binary cycles ago when her claim to the throne was questioned. An, iz’waij heir to the throne would’ve rendered your services unnecessary. Instead, you’re here.”
“Fleetwood has never wanted to be Auhtula.” I hoped that somehow pieces of the truth would help me cast some doubt in his mind.
“She no longer needs to be concerned about that.” Lija stepped into my space, crowding me against the table, scant inches between us. “Just know that when I reveal Azo’lah’s lifelong secret when I send this continent into chaos, when lives are lost and dynasties broken, it was all because of you, Gretchen of Earth.” He reached out, like he was going to brush my hair behind my ear or cradle my head in a benediction when a hand shot out from nowhere, wrapping around Lija’s wrist.
Nyc’arra whipped Lija away from me so hard that he stumbled and fell, the pale robin’s egg blue of his robes swirling onto the grass like watercolor paint. “You will not touch my charge.”
Lija scrambled to his feet, the elegant schemer instantly erased by an embarrassed man. “Now she’s your charge? She’s been—”
“I’ve been here the whole time,” Nyc’arra said, her voice as steady as her hand, which unsheathed a dagger. It might have been the most terrifying and satisfying thing I’ve ever seen. “If you think for even a moment Gret’chen is unguarded, you are wrong. I am the best at what I do.”
“Your lack of technological accessories is very telling,” Lija said, slipping into his cool demeanor uneasily, like it no longer fit quite right.
“Are we trading fashion tips now?” Nyc’arra asked blithely. “Here’s mine. I’d go change, you have grass stains on your robes. You look as sloppy as your blathering tonight has proven you to be.”
“This is not over,” Lija promised before turning and exiting the gardens. Nyc’arra said something in Destyrian, which sounded like a catcall, probably regarding the stains on the back of his robes. As soon as he was out of sight, Nyc’arra’s smile faded as she resecured her blade.
“Come, we must go tell the Fulyiti immediately. The palace is even less secure than I thought,” she pressed her hand into the space between my shoulder blades, guiding me back toward the reception.
“And Azo’lah?” I prompted. “We have to tell her what Lija suspects.”
Nyc’arra snorted. “We tell Azo’lah nothing. I won’t let her near you, bedding ceremony be damned.”
“She’s in danger, too!” I protested, futilely trying to fight against Nyc’arra’s hold.
“You’re in danger,” Nyc’arra stopped, resting both hands on my shoulders. “If Lija is correct, Azo’lah doesn’t need protection. If Lija’s correct, Azo’lah can send this continent into chaos with a well-placed sentence.”
“But she doesn’t want to be queen.”
“And you believe her just because she said so? Do you know the best way to stage a coup? Let someone else lead it, pretend it’s not what you wanted, and then sit obligingly on the throne when they beg you to stop the bloodshed.”
“Are you suggesting Azo’lah’s in league with Lija? That she, what? Hid her abilities her whole life, plotting for the right moment to take over the throne? She would never—”
“I once had very defined ideas of what Azo’lah would never do,” Nyc’arra said sharply. “And it turns out mine were very wrong.” She looked down at me, her eyes fierce. “I hope, for the sake of everyone on this continent, that you’re right.”