Keir (26 page)

“J’dahzi,” she said slowly. “Is that why T’rill invited me here?”

“Not at first, but I believe she is now being manipulated in some way. Quin, I fear for your life. I fear our queen has betrayed you. I beg you, do not stay. Leave at the end of the celebration and never return.”

She stared at him. “I don’t believe T’rill would betray me.”

“Neither would I, but she has not been herself since the Emissary arrived.”

Quin leaned back, her eyes narrowed. “I don’t know of anyone by that title who would come looking for me,” she murmured. “It implies that they’re only a messenger for someone.”

“Have you any idea who?”

“No, but there’s one way to find out.” She grinned.

“Quin, you cannot think of remaining!”

Quin looked to Keir for support, silently asking his opinion. He gave his wordless consent to follow her lead with a brief nod. “We’re staying, J’dahzi. I need to hear what the queen has to say to me.”

The saurian courtier shook his head in disbelief. “You are taking a foolish risk. You know I will do all within my power to help, but…”

Quin planted a quick kiss on his cheek, catching him unawares. “Dear J’dahzi. Come and see me later and we’ll talk more. If someone has come seeking me here, they will just try to find me somewhere else should I leave. At least I’m forewarned.”

He gazed at her sadly, before turning to Keir for assistance. “Then I cannot persuade either of you to take my advice?”

“I am sorry,” Keir told him. “It is her choice.”

“Then I will leave you.” He rose slowly, reluctance evident in his hesitant departure. “I will come to you later, Quin. Perhaps you will be more easily persuaded once you have thought on the matter.”

She flashed him a smile as he left, saying nothing until he was out of earshot. “If you think we should leave, say so now,” she told Keir, her tone challenging.

“You believe you should remain?”

“Absolutely. I don’t like it when strangers come looking for me. Last time it was a bounty hunter working for the Siah-dhu.” She shivered and made a face. “But I can send you back to Lyagnius if you’d prefer.”

“I will not leave you here alone, not if there is a chance you are in danger.”

“Good. I wanted you to stay.” She grinned her approval and finished her drink. “Would you like to dance?”

Keir stared at the saurian dancers. Although the steps were unknown to him, he recognized the formality of it. It seemed akin to something that might have been performed in the Adalucien court. But it had been twenty years ago since he had learned that.

“I do not know how.”

“Nor do I,” she admitted. “But it looks like fun.” She extended her hand to him in a slow, deliberate movement.

His breath caught. He stared at her open palm. Of its own volition, his hand moved toward hers until his fingers hovered just above hers. Then he withdrew it.

“Quin, I–”

“It doesn’t matter,” she told him, a fraction too quickly. “We don’t have to hold hands for the next one.”

* * * *

J’dahzi stood at the entrance to a corridor on one side of the hall. He watched anxiously as Quin urged her companion to the dance floor and the two of them tried to match the formal precision of the courtiers, before collapsing in helpless giggles as they failed. Reproving stares from the serious dancers only made them laugh harder as they retreated to the food tables, evidently enjoying themselves. He sighed at Quin’s childlike behavior. It would seem that, even after all these years, she had not lost her joy in life and still failed to take the threat of danger with appropriate seriousness. He hoped they would survive it.

J’dahzi left the celebrations behind, wondering what more he could do. In a nearby corridor he met his son dressed in the traditional military one-piece, the red and gold setting off the pale golden-green of his skin. He saluted his senior with deep respect, green eyes very solemn.

“T’reno,” the courtier greeted him. “All is well?”

“Yes, sir.” He hesitated, lowering his voice. “Did she take your warning?”

J’dahzi shook his head, dismayed by his failure to persuade Quin of her peril. “She honors the queen’s wish for her to stay. She is determined to find the truth. She would not listen to me.”

The young soldier looked equally grave, folding his arms behind his back. “Then there is no option. You wish me to proceed?”

“Will they be safe?”

“Who can say for sure? I promise I will do all I can to protect them without betraying my queen.”

“I cannot ask more of you. Furian’s Light grant it is enough!” He put a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Take care, my son.”

“Yes, Father. And you.”

T’reno left and J’dahzi stared after him. It was done. If Quin wouldn’t heed a warning, this was the only solution.

As he turned to leave, R’hellek appeared in the corridor, hands folded behind his back.

J’dahzi acknowledged him with a nod, intending to pass, but the Minister blocked his way. “You spend much time with your son these days, J’dahzi?”

The courtier darted a sharp glance at him, suddenly afraid of what may have been overheard. “I didn’t realize you took such an interest in my activities, R’hellek. Have you nothing better to do with your time?”

“I take great interest in any threat to the safety of our empire.”

“As do I. However, I fail to see what threat there is in my taking pride and an interest in my son’s life. But then, you have no children of your own do you, R’hellek?”

“Individuals are unimportant compared to the welfare of our world.”

“Individuals make up our great empire.”

“And the wrong ones can bring it down.” R’hellek leaned forward, grasping J’dahzi’s shoulder to make his point felt.

The courtier winced under the contact–clearly not a gesture of friendship. He pulled himself free and turned his back in dismissal.

He had barely turned the corner before something dropped onto the back of his neck. Legs prickled his skin and he stopped, putting a hand to his neck in puzzlement. As he touched it, a sharp pain slashed into his neck, followed by a burning sensation. J’dahzi gasped and clutched something hard, pulling it away to stare in horror. A black, glossy beetle clicked its mandibles at him.

A Langer beetle? Here?

He dropped to his knees as the poison seared through his body.

R’hellek!

With one hand to his neck he fought desperately to breathe, to call for help. His eyes rolled up as he fell forward, his last breath a deathly rattle.

* * * *

Despite her throng of admirers, T’rill found herself distracted as she stretched out on her couch with one elbow leaning on the curved armrest and her long legs to one side. Her three daughters, pale but perfect miniatures of their royal mother, sat on cushions in front of her, eating sweets from a blue glass bowl on the floor. As she watched them, the Emissary’s vision overlaid her sight. In her mind, she saw her palace vaporize and her children with it, in wisps of gold and scarlet. The rolling oceans and tropical beaches of her world, the tiny icecaps at the poles, the volcanic ranges that ringed its equator–all gone. Her heart quivered within her chest, a frightened shadow of its former self. It could all be taken from her so easily, and by a single entity.

“Your Highness?” a voice inquired.

She forced her gaze from her children to meet that of the speaker and offered him a smile of greeting. “Ah, T’vorem. Welcome.”

The saurian elder bowed, his bluish scales dulled to almost slate gray and sagging at his jaw and throat. His crisp white robe rustled like dry leaves being crushed, a sound that set her teeth on edge. Over his back she caught a glimpse of Quin and her companion as they tried to follow the complex steps of others in their dance, and the image held her transfixed. Then T’vorem straightened and blocked them from her view.

“Your Highness is enjoying the celebrations?” he grated. Again, Quin swirled into view and T’rill found herself unable to tear her gaze away. “Your Highness?”

“What? Oh!” T’rill shook herself. “Forgive me, what was it you wanted?”

T’vorem seemed affronted. “I merely wished to know if Your Highness was enjoying the festivities, but I can see that your interest is elsewhere.” His robes crackled as if to echo his irritation as the elderly saurian courtier swept away.

T’rill sighed, then watched as Quin laughed, her handsome companion smiling back at her. They seemed so happy, so carefree, and her own distress knotted more tightly in her stomach.

Perhaps sensing the queen’s eyes upon her, Quin stared back, the laughter wiped from her face. T’rill looked away as if Quin’s gaze had scolded her. How could she think of betraying her friend to the Emissary? What had he done to her?

She glanced around but it seemed her odd preoccupation had deterred even the hardiest and most persistent souls from seeking her attention. Her handmaidens stood mutely to either side, two young saurian women clothed in palest pink and both green-scaled like the queen, distant minor relatives called to her service. In a room full of guests and family, T’rill felt as if she stood alone against a tide of darkness, with no salvation in sight.

* * * *

From across the room Quin noted T’rill’s distracted air while J’dahzi’s words echoed in her head. A quiver of unrest cut through her, but it was the prospect of T’rill’s deception that troubled her more than any unknown threat to herself. She wished she could read T’rill’s mind and discover her unease, but her telepathic skills relied on a certain empathy or similarity between minds to make thoughts clear to her. The saurian minds were impervious to her meager psychic abilities and therefore a closed book. Was she just being reckless? Would learning the truth justify the risk?

“You fear J’dahzi may be right?” Keir asked.

“Not about T’rill,” she said firmly, refusing to accept it still. “But that there is a threat here for me? Yes. That I can believe.”

“What kind?”

Quin smiled. “Oh, there are so many!” But then remembrances came, images, and her smile slid away. The Earth destroyed. Ryan lost to her. All those she had loved who had died, or that she had been forced to leave to keep safe. The shadow that hunted her. “There are things worse than death, Keir. More dangerous.”

“Like what?”

“Like watching others die. A friend, a loved one, a child. Seeing whole worlds destroyed. Losing yourself.” She shivered. “Those are the things I fear the most.”

“Then why stay? Why risk that?” Keir shook his head. “I could almost believe you are deliberately courting danger.”

“You and I are more alike than you realize,” she told him, an unexpected harshness to her words. “You aren’t the only one with demons to face.” She touched his shoulder fleetingly, to take the unintended sting from her words. “Will you wait here?” she asked. “I want to see if T’rill will speak to me. We may have to leave after all.”

“Of course,” he told her. “Good luck.”

She flashed what she hoped was a bright smile. “I think you trust me too much.”

He raised his eyebrows, seeming more perplexed than ever. “You have given me no reason not to.”

“That may come.”

She turned abruptly and walked away, leaving him to puzzle over her words.

Wending her way through the Metraxians, all of whom towered above her, Quin approached the queen and bowed in submission, but her obeisance went unnoticed. T’rill had her eyes half closed as if sinking into a somnolent state, as if caught in a daydream.

“T’rill?” she called.

Startled, the queen looked up from her daughters, her expression unexpectedly morose. “Quin.”

She managed to raise a smile, but it seemed a forced expression to Quin. A nonchalant gesture invited Quin to join the royal party and she knelt beside the couch with the three princesses, who stared at her in avid curiosity. She returned their inquiring looks with one of her own then smiled. The three girls resumed giggling and one tentatively offered Quin a sweet from their bowl.

“Thank you,” she said, taking one and eating it in a single bite.

“Don’t stare,” T’rill scolded them. “Imagine how strange we look to her.”

“We don’t look
that
strange,” the youngest protested, and was hushed urgently by her older sisters.

Quin and T’rill both laughed.

“They are very sweet,” Quin said. “They remind me of you as a child.”

“Was I ever that young?” T’rill said, with a hint of wistfulness. “I certainly wasn’t that carefree.”

“Your childhood was more unusual.”

The queen shuddered. “Being a slave was certainly unusual,” she murmured. “I hope they shall never face such an ordeal.”

“Why should they?”

T’rill opened her mouth to speak, but closed it, her eyes avoiding Quin’s.

Hurt burrowed deep into Quin’s chest at the monarch’s reaction and she wished again that she could read T’rill’s mind and dispel her fears. “T’rill, is something wrong?”

The queen gazed at Quin before leaning forward in sudden urgency, her turquoise eyes fixed on her friend’s with a desperate, searching intensity. “Quin, have you seen worlds destroyed?” she whispered.