Empress Game: The Empress Game Trilogy Book 1 (42 page)

“Is it because of him?”

She didn’t have to ask who he meant. She shook her head, unable to say more. She almost wished it was because of Malkor. That might be easier for Vayne to understand than the divided responsibility she felt for both the empire’s people suffering the TNV and her own.

Besides, Malkor was IDC. His job would lead him onward and away from Falanar on mission after mission. And she would marry another man tomorrow morning, chained to the imperial homeworld. When, if ever, she escaped, it would be back to Wyrd Space, not to Malkor.

“He’s an imperial, Kay. IDC. He’s no good for you.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” She took a deep breath and blew it out through her nose, trying to find even footing in the broken emotional landscape.

“Do you love him?”

She broke away from his gaze, staring at the door. “It doesn’t matter.”

“He loves you.”

The words brought pain and an unexpected longing. If there were no one else: no suffering Ordochians, no dying nanovirus victims, no
il’haars
, no IDC. Just she and Malkor. Would they chance being together?

“That doesn’t matter either,” she said dully. “I’m marrying Prince Ardin tomorrow morning as Princess Isonde.”

“I won’t stay for that. If you want to be part of these imperial politics I can’t stop you, but I refuse to sit around and watch.” She heard the disappointment in his tone, the anger, and it nearly broke her. “The Ilmenans are just as eager to get out of here, with any luck we’ll launch tonight.”

Her gaze snapped back to his. “So soon?”

“Tomorrow morning at the latest.” He sighed, his eyes closing for a minute. What did he see behind those lids? What memories haunted him? He looked weary when he opened them again.

Vayne headed for the door. “You still have time to change your mind.”

“I won’t.”

* * *

“I found it at her apartment in the palace. I’ll bring it over to you.” With that, Malkor ended the conversation and Kayla stared at the comm unit.

She was back at the rooms she shared with Isonde in the Empress Game complex, waiting for Malkor to bring her Isonde’s wedding dress. Isonde and Ardin had been planning this a long time, of course she had the thing already made up. Isonde herself lay in her medical pod like a rag doll, the blinking lights and occasional beep proving that, while her condition was deteriorating, she still lived—for now.

Kayla’s brothers were in the safehouse with the Ilmenans and some apparently trustworthy IDC agents for company/guard. Maybe Kayla could actually get a full night’s sleep tonight. The wedding would take place tomorrow morning in the arena. She and Ardin would be on the floor with as many titled and well-connected people as they could fit in chairs. Everyone else would be relegated to the stands. She didn’t know what to expect for the wedding, but then, what did it matter? She’d speak her lines, manage a smile if she could and stand where they told her to. Easy enough to accomplish even if she did hate the idea.

She was still trying to grasp the reality that she’d actually have to go through with the ceremony when Malkor arrived. He had the dress in a case, and if she wasn’t worried about it wrinkling she wouldn’t have looked at the thing until the last possible moment. It made her future all too real.

She went into her room to hang it in the closet and Malkor followed her.

“You’ll look beautiful in it,” he said.

She chuckled at the irony. “Actually, Isonde will look beautiful in it.” She closed the door on the thing so she could pretend it didn’t exist. “How did the meeting go with Parrel?”

“Meeting
s
plural. I decided to turn over the data regarding Dolan’s dealings with the IDC and imperial army that Noar and Rigger gathered from Dolan’s files. It’s… not good.” He sat down on her bed and she followed, sitting right beside him. Who knew when she’d be alone with him again, if ever? Their legs pressed together, hip to knee, and he gently placed his hand on her thigh.

“There’s evidence linking several high-ranking IDC officials—including the head of the IDC—to Dolan’s activities. Dolan has records of what actually happened on Ordoch and who was involved. Based on violations of wartime ethics laws, they could be looking at severe judicial action. If this gets out, it could destroy the IDC. The Council of Seven would vote to restrict our jurisdiction, rights, authority… Not to mention that with all of those officers stripped of their positions in the IDC, the structure of our organization would be ravaged.”

“What’s Parrel going to do?”

“It’s a tough decision. If he releases the information it could mean an end to the IDC and the good we do. If he keeps quiet for the good of the organization, they get away with their crimes and the corruption spreads.” His disgusted tone told her exactly what he thought of that option. He lightly stroked the inside of her thigh with his fingers while he spoke. “I didn’t come here to talk about this.”

She watched his hand, feeling the slip of his skin against hers on her bare leg. The sleeping tunic she wore covered her to mid-thigh and his fingers rested just outside of it.

“How is Vayne?” he asked.

She preferred discussing the demise of the IDC. At least that subject didn’t hurt. “The same and not the same. We’ve lost five years of each other’s lives, and my psi powers are absent from our bond. It’ll take time to get to know each other again.” She thought of their earlier conversation. “Time we don’t have.”

He squeezed her leg gently in support. “I’m sorry. I heard he and the Ilmenans are hoping to leave tomorrow morning.”

“He doesn’t approve of my decision to stay, he asked me to go with him.”

Malkor didn’t give her the automatic, “you’re doing the right thing” response, for which she was grateful. It was impossible to know if she was making the right choice. And even if she was doing the “right thing,” what comfort was that to her?

Malkor lifted his hand from her leg only to wrap his arm around her, resting fingers on her opposite hip and pulling her closer. “He’ll understand, in time.” He felt warm and solid. She laid her palm on his thigh.

The silence grew comfortable as they found a new closeness in the sharing of life’s troubles. Unspoken emotion flowed between them. The past weeks had melted her down and reshaped her, and time with him had altered her forever.

His breath feathered across her skin as he turned his head toward hers. She turned to meet him, centimeters away. It was as natural as dreaming to press her lips to his. One kiss led to a second. A third. A flurry of kisses.

He pulled back only far enough to rest his forehead against hers, their raspy breaths echoing each other’s. “I’m selfish. It’s terrible, but I’m glad you’re not leaving with the other Wyrds.” He rushed on before she could say anything. “I keep hoping that, with enough time, something will change. For us.”

His words echoed her own futile wish.

“What could change?” she forced herself to ask. “I’ll stop belonging somewhere else, or you’ll stop being needed here?” She tried not to give in to bitterness.

“It’s impossible, I know, but—” He tilted his head to look at her. “Don’t you feel it?”

“You know I do,” she said softly. “But that’s my wedding dress in there. Or Isonde’s. Or whoever I am now. And you’re embroiled in IDC politics no matter which way Parrel decides.”

He caught her hand. “What if I wasn’t? What if I resigned my commission and stayed here on Falanar with you?”

“As what, Isonde’s lover? While she—I—am married to Ardin?” She looked into his eyes. “Could you pain Ardin like that? Embarrass him in front of the entire empire and tarnish Isonde’s reputation? Or would you do nothing, sit by and watch me play the good wife to him?” She touched his cheek. “How could you stand that?”

How could she?

Better that she walk away now, break the bond that had formed between them.

He looked ready to argue further so she stopped him with another kiss. His duty to the IDC would carry him away from Falanar again and again. She’d be alone day after day, praying for Isonde to wake up, knowing that the microsecond she did, she, Kayla, would speed to Wyrd Space after her brothers. Her
il’haars
.

She kissed him deeper, cradling his cheek. Tonight she belonged nowhere but here, belonged to no one but him. And he belonged to her.

She drank him in. Everything else blurred until only his touch, only their connection, mattered. She shifted, their thigh-to-thigh perch on the edge of the bed making closer contact difficult. He cupped her hips, hands guiding her to straddle his lap, facing him, as they continued to kiss.

The heat of him seeped into her, softening her muscles, relaxing her against him even as the tempo of their mingled breaths kicked up. This was right, this melding, fusing.

This was
so
right.

He pulled her closer, palms feathering down her back, hands stroking her hair so lovingly, so gently, that it caused an ache in her chest. No one had touched her this way before.

She stripped his T-shirt off to place kisses on his shoulder and he returned the favor, tossing her sleeping tunic to the floor. His mouth burned everywhere it touched.

More.

She needed more.

When he scooted back on the bed, pulling her with him, she followed mindlessly, concerned only with touching and being touched. She was need and want and he answered.

His lips led her on as she followed him down to the pillows. “Kayla,” he murmured, her name existing only in the wisp of a breath between kisses. Kisses alone couldn’t satisfy her, not with his strong body beneath her and the edge of desperation their reality gave her. She moved against him, the friction of skin on skin exquisite. His moan sent her passion spiking and turned her movements frantic, rough.

He held her tight to him, hooked a leg over hers, and rolled. When he finally settled the full weight of his body on her, she hitched her legs over his hips and pulled him closer. “Yes,” she murmured against his mouth. He wrapped her in his arms as he sank into her, erasing five years of loneliness in an instant.

The beautiful completeness of being joined brought a wash of tears and she tried to blink them away before he noticed.

* * *

When they lay quiet and blissful, tucked together like puzzle pieces, the future tiptoed in.

Not yet. Please, not yet
.

Kayla grasped at the cocoon she and Malkor had built around themselves.
Not yet, let us have tonight
.

He nuzzled her neck and she turned to kiss him, memorizing every detail of the moment. This is what a life without Wyrds and the IDC and nanoviruses would feel like. A life with him.

She had to say the words. Just once. “I love you.” It didn’t change anything, but it had never been more true.

His lips curved, and then he smiled like he couldn’t contain it, like he’d never heard three more perfect words. She couldn’t keep from smiling with him.

He brushed his fingers across her cheek, and she half-laughed with his happiness. With their happiness.

“I love you,” he said, and kissed the tip of her nose. “You love me and that’s all that matters. The rest…” He waved a hand as if the duties and responsibilities of their lives were no matter. “We’ll
make
it work.”

Her smile faded and she kissed him as if she agreed. There was nothing else she could do in that moment and their night was slipping away.

“We will,” he whispered against her lips.

T
he wedding officiate droned on.

Kayla, uncomfortable in the heavy, multilayered wedding dress that weighed her down, let her mind wander. She stood on a dais in the center of the arena floor in the Game complex. Ardin stood across from her, the solemn, somewhat sad expression on his face making it easy to guess his thoughts: he was spending the wedding day he’d dreamed of with the wrong woman.

Kayla had glimpsed him early this morning seated beside Isonde’s medical pod, whispering to her, one hand clenching the pod’s edge as if to keep from touching her and disturbing her fragile state. Seeing him now was painful enough, but it was the sight of Malkor positioned behind him on the dais as his supporter that threatened to undo her.

She couldn’t bear to look at him, not when he looked ready to stop the wedding at any moment, and not when she wanted him to so badly. All the emotions of last night welled up, the poignancy, the connection. It was wonderful and it was bittersweet, standing as she was in Isonde’s wedding gown.

Instead, she let her gaze wander over the immense crowd that had gathered. Thousands of people—rulers, diplomats, councilors and Empress Game contestants—sat below the dais on the arena floor, crammed elbow to elbow to witness the event of a lifetime. Even more princes, mayors, oracles, clan leaders and governors filled the arena’s higher-level seating to the very ceiling. People who couldn’t claim a seat stood in the aisles.

She looked through the crowd, watching everyone watch her.

She saw Archon Raorin, with his passionate appeal for a withdrawal from Wyrd Space. She saw Councilor Adai, who was more concerned about the price of gallenium ore than humanitarian issues. She saw Prince Trebulan, the TNV-struck leader of Velezed, with his contingent all dressed in their ceremonial crimson mourning robes, marking the devastation of their planet by the nanovirus. Each of these imperials’ needs and demands were so different from each other, but she’d have to balance them all if she hoped to sway the councils to vote her way in the coming years.

Maybe her coming lifetime.

Based on the structure of the toxin Janeen used, Toble identified four distinct formulations of a cure. Isonde’s condition hadn’t responded to the first formulation. The other three were very similar to the first, their molecular structures varying only slightly. Toble admitted the odds of one of the other three compounds working were very slim.

Kayla put that out of her mind and went back to scanning the crowd. The two faces she most wanted to see weren’t present.

She and her brothers had said an awkward goodbye this morning at the safehouse. Vayne and Corinth would be traveling with the Ilmenans to the space dock in orbit around Falanar sometime soon, and they hoped to have clearance for departure before this evening.