The Consort (Tellaran Series) (17 page)

Her unbound hair and yellow gown garnered scandalized stares from the black clad courtiers and servants as she and Kyndan hurried through the palace halls. Two servants of the empress had met them upon their arrival on the palace grounds, their pace quick and tense.

Instead of being taken to the throne room, the servants led them to the floor above, to another of her mother’s official but less formal reception rooms. One of the servants opened the door for her, the other preceded them inside.

“The Princess Alari,” the servant announced. “Imperial mate, Commander Kyndan Maere.”

Inside were a few of the more powerful clan leaders. Alari saw Pellena of the Trade Council and Mezera, Leader of the Council for War and other Council leaders as well.

She recognized High Priestess Celara and Sechon the Elder, standing beside the throne but for an instant she did not know the figure slumped in it.

Alari’s mouth parted. “Imperial Majesty?”

The empress raised her head and Alari drew her breath sharply at her wan face, her drawn mouth. 

She took a step toward the throne. “Mother?”

Mezera, the War Council leader, regarded her gravely. “The elder and I have been keeping the empress’ illness secret for some time. But her health has worsened so that we can no longer conceal it, First Daughter.”

Alari froze. “First—?” Her heart sped up. “What of Saria?”

Her glance swept the room going from her mother to the Imperial advisors, the healers and clan leaders, blinking at their taut mouths and pallid complexions.

In Kyndan’s face she saw shock collapse into grim understanding. 

“What of Saria?” she asked again. “Where is my sister?” Alari’s gaze darted from one stiff face to another and her voice rose. “
Where is my sister?
”

“The princess’ vessel never arrived at Az-litha,” the War Leader said. “Ships were sent in search of the
Ty’har
but when they arrived Princess Saria’s ship was . . .” Mezera dropped her eyes, her voice tight. “There were no survivors.”

“No.”  Alari shook her head again. “No. You are wrong. You are
lying
!”

“Alari.” Kyndan caught her hand gently, his hand cupping her face to look into her eyes and in his face she saw the truth. He gathered her against him and her arms went around his waist, too stunned for tears.

“What happened?” Kyndan asked.

“We received a distress signal from the
Ty’har
stating their location at the edge of Ren’thar’s sword.  Assistance was sent—”

“How the hell did they wind up that close to the Badlands?” Kyndan interrupted the War Leader sharply. “That’s light years from Az-litha.”

“It appears that the
Ty’har
suffered a navigation malfunction,” Mezera continued. “Before assistance could reach them the ship was hit by an ionic front. When the rescue ship arrived—”             

“A
malfunction
? On the princess’ flagship?” Kyndan echoed, disbelieving. “You don’t think it might have been sabotage? That someone did this on purpose?”

“We do not know what happened to the
Ty’har
, the investigation into its destruction is just beginning.” Mezera’s shoulders sagged. “As is our grieving. The loss of Princess Saria is a terrible blow—for all of us.”

The empress met her gaze, her face drawn with pain and grief. “As Mezera says, I am ill.  The healers have not been able to help me and,” her mouth trembled, “now with Saria . . .”

She reached out to Alari. Kyndan’s embrace tightened comfortingly for an instant then he let her go. Alari hurried to close the space between them, to take her mother’s hand in her own, shocked at how weak her mother had become.

“Alari.” The empress’ eyes were sunken and shadowed but they were steady. “I name you Regent.”

“Regent?” Alari shook her head quickly. “No! I am not ready to—”

“We are none of us ready, Daughter. But you are prepared. Your whole life has been in preparation of this moment.”

Sechon stepped forward imploringly. “First Daughter—Imperial Regent—the Empire, your
people
need you.
Your mother is . . .” The elder trailed off, her eyes pained. “There is no other choice. The Az-kye must have a ruler. You
must
take the throne.”

Frantically she sought Kyndan’s gaze only to find his face closed and set. 

She swallowed hard. There would be no parties or friends or dancing at the Rusco ball now. She would never see the Tellaran worlds, apprentice as an artist, choose their home . . .

Alari closed her eyes for a moment against the bitter shattering of her dreams then forced a nod.

Sechon let her breath out in relief and bowed low. “A blessed and long rule, Imperial Regent.”

“Imperial Regent,” echoed the advisors, the healers, the Council leaders as they bowed.

Kyndan held her gaze for a moment, his blue eyes stormy.

“Imperial Regent,” Kyndan said hoarsely.

Her vision blurred with tears as he, too, bowed to her.

The palace was draped in white as the Empire began its month-long period of mourning for First Imperial Daughter Saria.

The next day Alari, dressed in pure snowy white, oversaw the rites for Saria at the temple of Meithea, making offerings to the goddess of the Underworld to guide her sister kindly. Kyndan stood at her side, proud and handsome in his blue and white Tellaran uniform, and she did not think that she could have remained upright without his strength beside her. No one spoke to her directly of it but Alari knew the courtiers whispered over his attire although, like the black-clad warriors, Kyndan too wore an armband of white in honor of Saria.

The empress had become so infirm her white-draped litter had to be carried into the temple and Azara reclined throughout the rites. It was doubtful her mother would ever recover enough to resume her place as ruler and the court, possibly the whole Empire, knew it.

The three days since Alari had become regent had been filled with meetings with her advisors, petitions to hear, decisions to make. Her grief would not excuse her. Kyndan accompanied her everywhere, a source of strength at her side at all times.

He rose with her before dawn and despite the scandalized glances of her maids remained as they dressed her. As regent her mourning court dress sometimes required fourteen layers of white silk, the last being heavily beaded. Her face, including her mouth, neck, and hands too were brushed with white makeup and a single finger-wide red line of face paint split her lower lip. They outlined her eyes in black and the area below her eyes from lower lid to mid cheekbone were rouged. Her dark hair was twisted up, ready for the crown.

“Leave us,” Alari said before her maid, Tilanna, could place the cornet of regent on her head.

Her reflection was ghostly, frightening in its severity, and she remembered all too well when her mother appeared thus after the death of her father.

Now it is I who am the image of mourning.

“Why do they do that?” Kyndan asked quietly, meeting her eyes in the mirror’s reflection. “Make you up like that?”

“The white is to show how the shock has altered me. The rouge to show my eyes reddened with weeping.”

“And the red line on your lip?” he asked, glancing at her mouth.

“That by my own bite I will draw the blood of any who would harm me and mine. I must look fearsome, intimidating, vicious with grief as I take the throne.” Hesitantly she sought his gaze. “Do you find me ugly?”

He gave a rueful smile. “I find you astonishing. I’m embarrassed to admit how much I’d like to pull those nine thousand layers right back off you and see you spread wide for me.”

In all of this he was her comfort and her strength and she craved his touch, the feel of him hot and hard inside her. “I too wish for it.” She glanced at her reflection dispiritedly. “But like this you cannot even kiss me.”

“Well, I can’t just wreck an hour of their hard work.”

Her breath caught as he clasped her around the waist and lifted her effortlessly onto the bed. He gave her a hot smile as he flung her skirts up and slid her underwear down. He gently urged her legs open further and his eyes softened as they rested on her center.

“But you know,” he murmured and leaned down to bring his mouth against the inside of her thigh. Her eyes fell shut as she arched toward him, already aching. His tongue trailed toward her center and his voice grew hoarse.  “I have an idea that won’t mess up your makeup . . .”

Alari sat upon the Az-kye throne, empress in all but name, clasping her fan in her lap as the petitioners squabbled.

“The Council for Trade has caused chaos in the markets,” Telyn, Leader of the Council for Food, said heatedly. “Merchants everywhere are crying out to Your Majesty for justice! The Council for Trade’s grab for power should alarm you as much it does us!”

Benne, the Trade Council Leader, countered, “Your alarm only stems from seeing your greed thwarted.”

“
You
speak to me of greed?” Telyn cried. “When your Council has grabbed power for itself at the behest of a grasping, opportunistic Tel—”

At Alari’s side, Kyndan tensed. Telyn broke off, clearly realizing she was delivering a challenge-worthy insult to one born the Imperial Consort’s sister.

“
Newcomer
,” she finished then addressed Alari again. “We ask that the dispensation to the Council for Food be increased again.”

“Imperial Regent,” Benne countered, “prices offered by Trade and Food are comparable.”

“But the profits are not! You levy fees for the landing and departure of all cargo shuttles but you do not impose those same fees on vessels owned by your own members—or on vessels owned by those whom you favor!” Telyn’s face flushed red with anger. “In the few short months since Kinara of the Az’anti seized power for the Trade Council, their members have lined their pockets and built a network of lackeys throughout Az-kye space! There are those that say that Your Majesty no longer cares for traditional Az-kye ways.” Telyn threw a narrow glance at Kyndan, standing beside her, clad still in his Tellaran uniform. “You may find your rule the weaker for it.”

Kyndan took a half step forward. “Is that supposed to be a threat?”

Telyn met his glare. “A terrifying prediction of what will come if the Imperial Regent does not exercise her power wisely—and soon.” Telyn looked at Alari. “This is your opportunity to reaffirm your adherence to the old ways, to restore the balance between the Councils!”

Sechon held up her hand. “If I may, Imperial Regent?”

“You are hardly objective in this matter, Elder!” Telyn scoffed.

“It is well known that though I relinquished the mantle of clan leader when I joined the Council of Elders, my daughter Helia also sits on the Council for Trade,” Sechon said mildly. “But my vow was to administer to the Empire and to offer guidance that would reflect the highest good of all Her Imperial Majesty’s subjects, despite former clan loyalties. The . . .” The elder glanced at Kyndan, “
achievements
of Kinara of the Az’anti are well known. While I applaud such resourcefulness, I regard a few of the Council’s policies as reflective of an unbecoming self-interest in those sworn to serve the Az-kye.”

Benne stepped toward Sechon. “How can you possibly—”              

Alari flicked her fan and that one small gesture was enough to silence them all.

“The request for further dispensation is denied,” she said, forcing strength into her voice. “But all cargo vessels will pay equal fees, no matter their owner or the friendship they have garnered. Any vessel not paying export and import fees will be seized.”

Telyn’s face lit with triumph, Benne’s dark eyes flashed with displeasure, and then they bowed.

“Mezera, Leader for the Council for War—” the majordomo, Jelara, began.

“I will retire now.” Alari stood, signaling an end to the audience.  She descended the dais, Kyndan a step behind her. The Council leaders, clan
Ti’antahs,
and courtiers bowed to her as she swept past them.

Her attendants hurriedly took up their places around them as she turned in the direction of the regent’s apartments.

Upon entering her dressing room Alari handed her fan over and stood still, her shoulders heavy with exhaustion as the maids worked around her to remove her white mourning ensemble, to take the jewels and pins from her hair.

Kyndan folded his arms. “Why did you decide against Trade?”

“I did not,” Alari said tiredly. “I did not grant Food the dispensation they requested.”

“Did you decide against Kinara because she’s my sister?”

Alari shut her eyes briefly in relief as she was freed from the heavy, beaded court ensemble, putting her arms out so that one maid, Tilanna, could settle the lighter white dressing gown around her shoulders, another attendant knotting the sash at her waist.

“I did not decide against Kinara, my mate. The Trade Council has used their power unfairly to enrich themselves for months.”

“It looks like you’d rather make it harder for the poor to get a decent meal than look like you’re favoring a Tellaran.”

“Kinara is not Tellaran,” Alari said as the maids finished wiping the ghostly makeup from her face and hands.

“But I
am
. Would you have made the same decision if I weren’t here?”

“Were you not here, I would have been mated to Jazan and it would have been me on the
Ty’har
,” she said brittlely. “It would have been
me
that died, not—not—”

A sob cut off her words and quickly she covered her mouth with her hands.

“Alari . . .” Kyndan caught her in his arms, cradling her against him.

“Give us a minute,” he said to the maids. They hesitated and his nostrils flared. “That means, get
out
!”

The door shut behind them and Alari shook her head against his chest.

“I cannot believe she is gone,” she sobbed. “I cannot!”

“I know.” He cradled her head. “I know.”

He held her a long time, rocking her as she cried before he led her to one of the couches in the room. He went into the bathing chamber and came back with a folded damp cloth, wiping her face with it. Then he held the cool cloth over her eyes.

Alari leaned her swollen eyes into the soothing dampness.

“This is nice,” Alari hiccupped.

Kyndan held the cloth against her forehead. “My mom used to do this when I was a kid.”

“She was kind, then, like our sister.” Alari could not even imagine her mother doing such.

“She was,” he agreed, with a faint smile. “It’s funny, there were a couple times when we were at the clanhouse and I’d look at Kinna and think, gods, she looks so much like our mother.”

“How old were you when—?”

“Eleven, almost twelve. But Kinna had only just turned eight.” He brushed her damp hair back from her forehead. “It’s stupid but when I was a kid I used to pretend she was just in the next room, that it was okay, she was only out of sight and quiet ’cause she was reading or something. That I could just walk into that room and tell her about my day or ask her something if I wanted to.”

“I do not think that stupid,” Alari said thickly. “On every turn of the palace halls I think I will see Saria. That I will come around a corner and see the honor guard of the Second, then she will smile and disdain protocol to hurry over to me. That she will take my hand, and smile and whisper in my ear what the courtiers are gossiping about today.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to know her.”

Alari’s vision blurred with tears again. “I am grateful to have had such as she for a sister, but I wished many times that she had been the elder and I the younger. She longed to be empress and I . . .” Her tears overflowed, guilt and shame tightening her throat that not all her grief was for Saria. “I very much wanted the life that we planned.”

“Yeah, me too,” he said quietly. “But I sure can’t complain about the quarters.” Kyndan sent a dry glance back at the apartments they were now occupied as regent and consort. “They’re a hell of a lot nicer than anything I could offer you.”

“Oh, Kyndan, I am—”

He caught her chin to look into her eyes. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry.”

Tears stung Alari’s eyes. “I wish—if my sister—”