Ghost in Her Heart (18 page)

Laughing, Vana cleared the board. “In your
dreams.” Pausing to sip her drink, she considered her friend. “So
Kynan is rich.”

Kelsa flushed. “I didn’t even know until the
harpies here started on about it.”

“They’re not that bad.”

“You don’t have to socialize with them. I
feel kinda sorry for the wealthy guys out there—they have no idea
what’s in store for them. Now that they’ve gotten used to the idea
of marrying and being waited on hand and foot for the rest of their
lives, these women are rabid to find their own Daddy Big
Bucks.”

Vana snorted.

“Really. There are a couple of women
fashioning harpoons as we speak.”

“Lucky thing for Kynan he married you first,
then.” The remark was far from casual, as was Vana’s intent
consideration.

Kelsa shifted her eyes to her own drink. “We
didn’t do the booth thing, Van.”

“It’s registered as a lawful marriage just
the same. I saw the paperwork.” Silence stretched as Vana let that
sink in before artfully changing the subject. “So, are you ready to
be an honorary aunt?”

Blinking, for not even a hint of Vana’s
condition had been breezed about, Kelsa asked carefully, “In the
hypothetical future?”

“In about eight months.”

How to answer that without blowing her “light
and happiness” campaign? “I’d spoil her rotten,” she answered
thickly, unable to hide her surge of emotion. She couldn’t
understand why Vana wasn’t falling apart. The public thought their
Tzara was putting on a brave face, but Kelsa knew it wasn’t that.
She really did believe her folk remedy was going to work.

With a steady expression that owed nothing to
acting, Vana said quietly, “Have some faith in me, Kelsa. I did
this for all of us.”

Nodding in understanding, Kelsa took a deep
breath and straightened her spine. “How about another game?
Scrabble this time—I’m getting tired of chess.”

Chapter 8

Kynan swore as he slashed through a tangle of
vines with his machete. Two days, one dead man and thousands of
trees later and they still hadn’t found Vana’s tree, much less an
entire grove. The fruits were bright orange for pity’s sake—they
shouldn’t be this hard to spot, but a heavy fog had settled over
the swamps, making progress difficult. Combined with the deep
humidity and voracious insect life, it made for miserable work.

Static crackled over his helmet. “Man down!
Celgan stepped in a nest of water lizards. Medic is on the
job.”

Kynan grimaced. Water lizards had a mild but
swift poison, certainly enough to take a grown man down and keep
him there for the better part of a day. Those unlucky enough to be
bitten while traveling alone could be half-eaten before they
managed to crawl away. Another point went to the swamp—their
numbers were down to eight.

Glowing insects began to stir with nightfall,
lighting the swamps with their luminescent wings. The mists
lightened and the triple moons glowed down, turning the vine draped
trees into mysterious pillars of darkness. Weary, disheartened, the
men pulled out to await the dawn on the edge of the swamps.

A red sunrise woke the swamp, brightening to
a raucous carnival of bird song. Kynan kept his eyes fixed on the
trees where the birds called their warning, his men instinctively
following suit. They were not disappointed. Within minutes a group
of three men in full body armor had walked out. They halted fifteen
paces from Kynan’s group, their hands at their sides, pointedly not
reaching for their weapons.

Recognizing Nikon‘s battle armor, Kynan
tilted his head and waited. This would be interesting.

“Greetings.” Nikon studied them. In the fiery
blush of sunrise, his helmet reflected red. “Rather far from home,
aren’t you?”

Kynan kept his peace, waiting.

“I understand your queen has a sudden craving
for fruit.”

The implications of that statement were not
lost on Kynan’s group. Tersely, Kynan demanded, “Why are you
here?”

Slowly, Nikon reached up and removed his
helmet. It was the ultimate gesture of vulnerability, and an
unmistakable pledge of truth. His blond hair was cropped short, and
his green eyes were flat, grim, a perfect match for his stern
features. “I may be your enemy, Kynan Kingsfriend, but I am the
last man who would poison your women. Steal them, yes. Murder all
hope of future generations, no. My men have collected fruit from
the Mother Tree for you. I understand time is short? Accept them
now, and I will collect on my debt later.”

Kynan eyed him, wondering who his spies were.
“You know who loosed the virus.”

“No, but I know you’ve recently taken a wife.
Aren’t you eager to bring her medicine? Your time is short, Kynan.”
It was a warning.

They needed the medicine. Now was not the
time to hesitate, and though Dagon might want his head for it, his
sovereign could sort it out later. Kynan had a feeling that Nikon
had combed the swamp for at least ten miles and would guard every
tree against interlopers. This time, Nikon had won. “Done. I‘ll
tell Dagon to expect you.”

He just hoped this costly fruit worked, or
Dagon was going to bury him with it.

***

Dagon spent more time on his knees in his
grandfather’s chapel than he cared to admit. The small chamber was
built of unassuming gray blocks with a small amount of carving
around the windows and block that served as an alter. There were no
images in the room or glass in the windows, but the austere chamber
held majesty for all that. Generations of kings had knelt on stone
floor seeking guidance, wisdom and peace, and the walls had
absorbed that golden outpouring, radiating an invisible aura of
divine reassurance.

Odd how moments like that could make a man
turn to the faith of his fathers, Dagon mused. He hadn’t made a
habit of coming here, privately believing that God had abandoned
his generation. The threat of extinction hadn’t made him bow, but
the threat to his new family had humbled him in an instant.

Dagon looked up and contemplated the ceiling.
It was hard for a man to admit he couldn’t save the world.
Ultimately, that honor rested in his wife’s small hands, and in the
forming hands of his daughter. Men might rule the world, but women
created life, made it grow within them. Without the womb there was
no kingdom to govern, and a king was as useless as the next
man.

His knees creaked as he pushed away from the
floor. Giving the alter one last nod of respect, he sought out his
wife as he had every night since the quarantine, willing to face
decontamination every time he left rather than let her sleep alone.
In a week, perhaps, they would have the final verdict. Either the
virus would have run its course or the Mother Tree would have done
its job.

The waiting was killing him.

Kynan had brought back the fruit yesterday,
along with news of Nikon’s deal. Dagon had a fair idea of what he
would ask, and he wasn’t comfortable with providing it.
Unfortunately, he had little choice. Honor demanded he give Nikon
the same chance he’d given him.

Vana wasn’t going to like it.

***

“Bottoms up.” Vana couldn’t suppress a
grimace as she took a hearty sip of the Mother Tree’s juice,
shuddering as it went down. Astringent, with a bitter aftertaste,
the liquid had the medics all excited and the women who had to
drink it grouchy. It was killing the virus and all signs said that
her tiny daughter was thriving on it, but it didn’t make it taste
any better.

Kelsa’s image eyed her balefully from the
view screen. “You couldn’t have found a medicine that tasted any
worse, could you?”

Vana raised her brows and took a deliberate
sip, trying not to flinch at the taste. “I don’t know, I think I’m
actually getting used to it.”

Pinching her nose, Kelsa waited a minute to
kill her taste buds, then took a gulp. Shivering, she demanded
nasally, “Couldn’t the cooks add some sugar or something? I feel
like I’m drinking straight vinegar—with alum.”

Vana’s mouth twitched in sympathy. “Sugar and
cooking kills its active properties. The medics are trying to
dehydrate it into pill form. Until then….” She raised her brows in
helpless resignation and downed the rest of her drink, grateful it
only took a small glass to get the desired effects. On the bright
side, the orange tonic had cured her morning sickness.

Grateful to have the morning ritual over
with, she waved to the harem on the view screen and turned it off
until Kelsa could find a private terminal. She figured the communal
juice drinking would make the medicine go down easier, and so far
she’d been right. Thanks to a sense of humor she’d fostered about
it, they now took it as a rite of passage unique to women, one of
those bonding rituals that men could never share, like PMS and
childbirth. Of course, so far none of the men were complaining
about being left out.

Kelsa’s signal flashed on the consol, and
Vana turned on the view screen. Unusually serious, she studied
Vana’s face. “Have they found out who gave you the virus yet? I
think Kynan knows more than he’s telling me.”

Averting her eyes, for Vana had been warned
not to discuss it, especially over the public terminal, she gave
the stock answer. “They think it was someone from Nikon’s
side.”

“Uh huh.” Kelsa’s brow rose. “I think I have
a better idea who it might be.” Smart enough not to say more, she
merely watched Vana for clues. “Are they going to get the death
penalty? Attempted murder seems intense enough to warrant at least
that.”

Vana sucked in her cheeks and fiddled with
her water glass. “It’s not up to me. As the injured party, I’m not
likely to be called as an impartial judge.”

“What about Dagon? Will he have a say?”

“It’s up to the counsel this time.”

“Is the suspect at least under guard?”

“It’s being handled, Kelsa. We don’t have
enough evidence yet to make a formal accusation. You’ll know as
soon as everything goes public.” It wasn’t a blessing to know the
details of the case, not when Dagon’s mother was the prime
suspect.

Dagon hadn’t been surprised at where the
direction of the evidence was going. No one knew Ellyn’s moods
better, and he’d known that Ellyn wouldn’t take Vana’s public
insult at the adoption ceremony lightly. She held a grudge forever,
and while she could act in the best interests of their
people—helping the women to settle in, initially helping to make
Vana queen—she put her personal interests ahead of any political or
philanthropic instincts. Her many public indiscretions were just a
sample of her willfulness, and she wouldn’t hesitate to ruin Vana’s
life, uncaring of what it did to Dagon and their people.

Bringing her to trial would be touchy. Dagon
was determined to see her punished to the full extent of the law,
but their society was staunchly conservative. He judged the odds of
his counsel rendering a strong punishment as slim. It would help
that women were no longer so scarce, but Ellyn was a former queen
and a revered matriarch. It wasn’t going to be easy to overcome
their protective instincts.

“You can’t let her get away with it,” Kelsa
said softly, voicing Vana’s thoughts. “She tried to kill your
baby.”

Vana took a deep breath. “Let it wait.
Hotheaded justice is no justice. She’s going to get what’s coming
to her…Dagon will never rest until this is taken care of.”

Sadly, she wondered if Dagon would ever be
able to rest afterward, either.

***

“Lighten up, Dagon!” Kynan parried Dagon’s
strike with unusual force and disengaged, panting with anger and
exertion.

Dagon stared at Kynan before allowing his
guard to lower an inch, reluctantly recognizing his burning
muscle’s need for air. “Sorry.”

Shooting him a skeptical look, Kynan sheathed
his sword. “Tell that to my wife after you explain why my head is
no longer attached.” He moved to the side of the room and swiped up
his water jug, taking a hearty swig. Sweat trickled down his throat
as he brushed his wet bangs off his hair. “Counsel being
difficult?”

Dagon looked away, heading for his own drink.
“Always. I think I might have them close to seeing sense, though.
Exile isn’t the answer, not for attempted genocide.” He kept his
face closed, though he wanted nothing more than to destroy
something. The mirrored walls of the practice room would do for a
start.

Kynan, who knew him better than anyone alive,
sent him a slanted look and gestured toward the door. “Come on. You
need a session in the steam room, and then we’ll have some lunch.”
He waited until Dagon reluctantly fell in line, then canted his
head. “Congratulations. I hear the medics are going to release your
wife from quarantine in the next couple of days. That should help
you burn off some tension, aye?”

A reluctant smile tilted Dagon’s lips.
Sleeping was all he’d been able to do with his wife in the last,
eternal days, with all the monitors on her every hour of the day.
It would be one less stress to be able to lie with her, sleep with
her in his arms without having medics hovering in the
background.

He’d forgotten how vicious celibacy could
be.

It was more than that, though. He missed
their quiet moments, the peace of knowing that she was safe at home
or in her lab. The thought of her lab had his lips tightening again
in anger, but that wasn’t the only thing eating him alive.

Nikon had an appointment with him in five
days. Dagon knew what he wanted, and he also knew how women were
treated in his society. High priced, sterile prostitutes, servicing
those who could pay. Nikon’s people had taken the few of their
women that were left and decided they were best “utilized” by
sharing among those who could afford it. Differences like that had
carved a deep chasm between their people eons ago, and he wasn’t
eager to turn helpless women over to be used like whores. Even
Nikon’s own mother serviced many men.