The Consort (Tellaran Series) (31 page)

An heiress must attend to her duties, not her wants.

Or so her mother had reminded her. But still Alari delayed. She brushed aside the urging of her advisors, her mother’s demands, the compassionate coaxing of the high priestess to be unbound immediately.

After three days without him she could hardly eat or sleep, after six she no longer cared to and the longing for him grew with every heartbeat . . .

But that was all she had left of him. The traitor. The false mate.

It shamed her to love him still.

She hoped desperately that she might have gotten with child. Something of him, something perhaps that she could use to force them to allow him back. Surely they would not risk the strain on her body to have her unbound if she were carrying an heiress. They would not risk her health to have her separated from her bound mate for the length of the pregnancy.

That hope proved foolish and on the tenth day after Kyndan’s banishment the healers assured her she was not with child after all.

Alari looked at the sky, the same blue as his eyes, as she circled the Imperial park alone. She could stand to have none with her as she walked, round and round, knowing the court whispered that she neglected her duties to pine for him.

He was in Tellaran space now; her warships had reported the moment he left Imperial territory.

By her own order it would be his death to return.

Her mother was relieved to have his treason at last revealed, pleased to have him gone. Far too ill to rise from her bed she had priests of Ren’thar bring the ancient book that cataloged the names of all those within their clan so she could witness for herself Kyndan’s name being struck from the record.

Mezera, the war leader, was almost strutting in her triumph, and Alari felt such hatred for the woman that made it hard even to look at her. One good thing about being forced to take another for mate would mean Mezera would be removed from her position of power, denied the fruits of her cruel ambition.

Alari knew they would press her to choose another consort as soon as she was unbound. Already names were being mentioned by clan leaders eager to push their sons forward for her consideration. The thought of it brought such dread she could not even speak to it.

Only the High Priestess Celara, who visited daily with her young attendant bearing the box that Alari refused, and Sechon showed any consideration for the depth of her pain.

Utar, too, watched her with grieved eyes. No other clanless had ever served in the Imperial house but she kept him as an attendant, finding comfort in his silent presence.

Over tea the previous evening Sechon had relayed Kyndan’s last message to her. The china rattled in her hand at his words and Alari handed the teacup to her maid and rose, leaving the room without a word.

Had he loved me then? Had he, but simply not enough to choose me over his people?

Alari closed her eyes against exhaustion.

I cannot bear to let him go but I cannot rule like this.

And my people are all I have to live for now.

An hour ago the High Priest of Behur and healers confided that none of their remedies had made any inroad against the empress’ illness. There were no medicines or treatments left to try.

It was full summer now, the Imperial gardens ablaze with blooms. The rains would start in a few short months and there was no question her mother would not live to see them.

There is no other choice. And there is no more time.

She paused at the path’s edge. The gardener, his fingers knotted with age, stood and bowed at her approach.

At her feet were sprays of flowers, one color among dozens of the blooms and flowering trees in the park.

“Gardener?”

“Yes, Imperial Majesty?”

“That flower,” Alari said with a nod at the bloom. “What is it called?”

“Lovers’ blush, Your Majesty.”

She reached down and plucked a bloom to examine the delicate petals, the sweet fresh scent; the pale pink color that matched exactly the gown Kyndan had purchased for her.

Alari let the flower fall to the stone path.

“Take it and all its like from the palace garden and burn them,” she said. “I do not wish to look on it again.”

The gardener bowed again and Alari walked, alone, into the palace.

“How do you feel?”

Kyndan lay looking listlessly at the ceiling of his quarters. He couldn’t even summon the energy to answer Nisara’s question.

At that moment he honestly didn’t care if he never spoke again.

They’d crossed into Tellaran space yesterday. Somehow he knew he could tolerate the separation—not that it would be pleasant—if he knew it were temporary but the idea that he would feel this way forever, unchanging, when he would never see her again broke him apart. The
Dauntless
was still two days out from Rusco and he was ready to claw open the hull of the ship to get back to her.

Nisara got him to his quarters. Between rages and the sobs shaking his chest she got out of him where he’d stashed the box Celara had given him.

The high priestess talked about unbinding as if it were a relief, as if it freed one from heartache. Maybe it was a welcome end for an ill-suited pair.

Kyndan knew now that to be unbound from one you loved was agony.

“Like hell,” he rasped finally.

“You look it.”

Ordinarily he’d smirk, throw out a crack of his own, but he couldn’t dredge up the motivation.

She sighed. “Was it bad?”

“You can’t imagine.” Tears stung his eyes again. “I thought I’d lost her before, now I’ve really lost her. I can’t feel her anymore.”

Nisara’s frowned. “
Feel
her? Wait, is being bound some kind of telepathic connection?”

“I don’t know.” He closed his eyes again. “I don’t know anything anymore.”

He could hear Nisara moving around the cabin. After the palace this really did look the size of a snouse’s nest and his chest felt emptier than eternity itself.

“Here.” She held a drink pack to his face, the straw already pointed to his mouth. “You must be dying of thirst.”

He looked at it dully.

“Come on, Kyn,” she urged. “It’s going to get better from here. I’m sure of it.”

He wasn’t, but he let her put the straw in his mouth. He took a pull on the straw, the jinja juice hitting the dry tissues at the back of his throat. It hurt to swallow.

It hurt to live.

“Am I still in command?” he asked when he’d finished the juice.

“Yup.” She pushed the empty pack into the trash receptacle. “You’ve been in here, reading reports or whatever it is you command-types do.”

“You shouldn’t have done that. Covered for me.”

“Yeah, you know.” Nisara folded her arms. “I seem to remember someone saving my life during the last Az-kye–Tellaran confrontation. Coming back when the ship was about to blow to hell and carrying me over to the
Sundragon
.” She pursed her lips. “Probably shouldn’t have done that either, Kyn.”

His body ached everywhere. High Priestess Celara hadn’t said anything about that either but at least his mind was finally starting to clear.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

Nisara frowned. “Because we’re friends. Because you needed me.”

“No.” He managed to wave his hand a little. “Why didn’t you stay on Az-kye with Dael? Why didn’t you get married?”

Her face clouded. “He wanted to but Cenon—his sister—was afraid to bring me into the clan. Afraid of the backlash. Az-kye aren’t supposed to notice blue eyes or blond hair once you become part of the clan but . . .”

“Alari and I changed that didn’t we?” he asked. “Suddenly here was an Az-kye married to a Tellaran, one in a Tellaran uniform, and no one could pretend not to see it.”

He rubbed his hand over his eyes. “Kinna was sure she was going to be all right, but—”

“She’s been there for a while and she’s the Az’anti clan leader. She’ll be okay.”

“I know Aidar will do everything he can,” he swallowed, “to protect her and the baby.”

I’ve got to get back somehow.

“I couldn’t ask Dael to—Anyway, Dael and Cenon had it out. It got pretty ugly, vicious even.” Nisara gave a bitter snort. “I’m sure you know how sisters can be when they’re determined.”

Kyndan froze. “What did you say?”

“Nothing against Kinara—” Nisara stammered. “It’s just, you know, sometimes sisters are hard to deal with.”

Sisters . . .

The empress looking at him with hate from her sickbed, Alari in her white mourning gown, the erased Tellaran ship, the self-hatred in the Jazan’s eyes . . .

And it all fell into place.

“Oh, fucking hell,” Kyndan whispered.

There was far more going on within the walls of the Imperial palace then he’d ever imagined.

“
That’s
why.” Kyndan shut his eyes. “That’s why he did it.”

Gods, this wasn’t about getting rid of me at all.

Alari!

Every muscle screamed in protest as Kyndan pushed himself up to sitting.

“Why
who
did
what
?” Nisara asked.

Sweat broke out on his brow and he had to take a few breaths through clenched teeth before he could speak. “Tell the bridge to reverse course and head for the Badlands.”

“The Badlands?” Nisara frowned. “Why do you want to go there?”

“Because that’s where Princess Saria was murdered.” Kyndan gripped the cot, his stomach roiling. “Change course then get me a priority signal to the Tellaran Council.”

“Sir?” Nisara’s sudden formality showed she was worried that he’d lost it completely. “May I ask why you want to speak to the Council?”

“Because I think they might be interested to know”—Kyndan’s jaw hardened and he pushed himself to his feet—“that I’m about to conquer the Az-kye Empire.”

Alari shifted on her bed. Her whole body hurt, her chest cracked open to an emptiness that seemed to stretch into forever.

The high priestess wiped her sweat from her brow with a cool, damp cloth. “How do you feel, Your Highness?”

“Torn,” Alari rasped. “As if I will never again be whole.”

My heart is his, and his heart is Tellaran . . .

His treason was so clear now. So irrefutable. But she was unprepared for the depth of grief, the scalding agony of losing even this last hopeless link to him.

“To long for him and feel nothing but emptiness in return was torment. I thought now that I am unbound it would be better,” Alari said, unable to keep the accusation from her voice. “I thought the pain would be less.”

“It will be bearable,” High Priestess Celara said.

“Someone else’s pain always seems bearable,” Alari said bitterly.

“The memories will fade, child.” Celara patted her hand. “You will forget.”

Alari turned her face toward the window.

“As long as I can see the sky,” Alari whispered hoarsely, thinking how today it was just the shade of his eyes when he made one of his jokes, “I will never forget.”

They brought her food that seemed tasteless and iced juices that proved bitter on her tongue. Her maids helped her to the bath, exchanging glances as Alari sat in the tub, listlessly letting her tears fall into the water.

It was late afternoon when they coaxed her from the bath.

“No,” she said when she saw the black dressing gown her maid was carrying. The attendants were startled. It was the first time she had spoken in hours. “Bring me the white.”

“Your Majesty,” Tilanna began nervously. “No period of mourning has been declared.”

“Do not tell me whether or not I may mourn,” Alari said brittlely. “Bring me the white!”

The maids blinked at her harsh tone but they obeyed. Wrapped in a dressing gown of pure white Alari sat with a cup of spiced tea untouched on the low table before her, staring sightlessly over the empress’ city.

He had come for her when she was in disgrace, a cast-off princess with no hope to inherit. He had made her laugh, taught her to dance, and brought her to the heights of sexual pleasure with no chance that she should ever make him consort, to give him such immense power.

But she had thought he loved her then.

Was it only that I became regent? Was the opportunity to rule through me simply too tempting?

There was a ripple of consternation in the next room then Tilanna hurried out.

“Your Majesty, your advisors—it is urgent.”

Alari shut her eyes. Could they not even for the space of an evening, when it hurt even to draw breath, leave her in peace?

She looked to her maid to order them sent away when Mezera and Sechon hurried in.

They were both pale, their eyes wide with alarm.

“What is it?” Alari asked, frowning. “What do you here?”

“Your Majesty,” Mezera began, and Alari saw that she was trembling. “Our outposts, all of them, from Az-kanzar to Az-litha, have gone dark.”

Alari glanced between them. “What do you mean ‘gone dark’?”

“We cannot raise them,” Sechon said. “We cannot raise any forces beyond the home system.”

Alari shook her head a little. “A communications problem?”

“There was one last sensor relay before the station on the third moon went dark.” Mezera’s lips were white. “The relay showed Tellaran ships—an entire Armada closing on the Imperial homeworld.”

“It is not possible,” Alari managed. “It is
not
. How could they possibly broach our defenses so completely?”

But she knew.

Alari’s horrified gaze went to the sky. The sun had nearly set; the stars were just now beginning to appear as the last of the light faded from Az-kye’s sky.

“Kyndan . . .”