I smiled.
I promise I won't argue with Traders.
Jon spoke into his wrist comm. "J-team, Pharaoh Dyhianna is ready to leave."
* * *
The Allieds invited us to their embassy in the city of New Athens. Accompanied by ten Jagernauts, with Vazar at my side, I met Colonel Yamada in the spacious lobby of the embassy. Columns bordered the area, all dark pink marble veined with gold. Pink and white tiles covered the floor in diamond mosaics, also veined with gold threads. A groined ceiling arched far above our heads, framing airy spaces, and a large chandelier of rose-hued crystals glittered in its center. It was beautiful, but also cold and formal.
Our footsteps echoed in the lobby. Yamada and his group waited under the chandelier. The colonel was a stocky man with a self-confident presence. His hair had turned gray, but his wide face had almost no lines. So far he had showed himself as skilled, sharp, and savvy; in other words, he wouldn't easily give up information. An Allied dignitary stood with him, Michella Monquou, the Delos Ambassador to Skolia, one of Earth's most respected diplomats.
Yamada had also brought his aid, Lieutenant Jennifer Mason, and ten soldiers. Unlike my retinue, however, his carried no weapons. Although Skolians tended to be more bellicose than Earth's natural-born children, I suspected their discretion now came from enlightened self-interest: we were the occupying force, with far more firepower than they could claim.
Our two groups met with formal nods, a Skolian custom, and with handshakes, an Allied custom. Jon Casestar had identified me as a diplomat, and Yamada treated me as an ambassador. Despite their obvious tension, they didn't seem hostile. I felt unease from their group rather than anger.
After various formalities, Yamada ushered us into a conference room paneled in gold. Swivel chairs of smart-leather surrounded a long, oval table made from a polished red wood. I paused at its head, watching the soldiers and diplomats assemble. Yamada stopped midway between the two ends of the table. The most effective place was actually where he stood rather than my position, but it made no difference. I didn't intend to be here long.
I felt now what Jon had said he suspected; the Allieds were deceiving us. Although the colonel's face remained impassive, his body language showed miniscule, but telling, changes— the tightened jaw and tense shoulders, his tight grip on the back of a chair.
I took a chance and made a guess. "Colonel, we would like to see the Skolian man you have in custody."
His face became even more guarded, and I knew my words had hit the target. Yamada raked his gaze over the Jagernauts arrayed around me. He had to know that sensors within their uniforms and bodies could pick up the slightest variation in fields within and around the embassy. Using wireless links, they had already deactivated many security systems here. The embassy had monitors, not as good as ours but good enough to know we had neutralized their security.
Yamada spoke as if he were guarding each word. "We don't even know the man's name, Ms. Selei. He refuses to identify himself."
So they did have someone! "I can probably identify him." At least, I could if he was who I believed.
Yamada's grip on the chair tightened, making his tendons stand out. "He may be a member of a noble House. He has an Iotic accent."
No wonder he was so tense, if he had an idea about the importance of his guest. I doubted he had guessed the full extent of it, though. "I will know, when I meet him."
His unease seeped past his mental barriers. He had no way to evaluate whether or not it would be wise to give up their guest to us. But he had no grounds to refuse and plenty of reason to acquiesce. Ten of those reasons had come with me, armed and silent, and another few thousand orbited Delos.
Just when his pause became long enough to grow awkward, he extended his arm toward the door as if offering an invitation. "I will take you to him."
The muscles in my shoulders loosened. "Thank you."
We followed corridors wide enough for six people to walk abreast. The air here felt refined, as if we breathed on a high mountain. The marble walls alternated with floor-to-ceiling holo-panels that showed mountains and lakes on Earth. Their beauty stirred a response deep within me, an instinctual longing blended with sorrow. My people had lost our home world six millennia ago, yet still I responded to those images. But we couldn't return, not now, perhaps never. Our lost home was forbidden to us by the hostilities that had sundered the human cultures spread across the stars.
Yamada and I walked together, with Vazar to my right and Ambassador Monquou to Yamada's left. Jagernauts and soldiers surrounded us on all sides.
"Our guest may refuse to speak with you," Monquou told me. "He barely says a word, and he went berserk when our doctor tried to examine him."
"A doctor?" I stiffened. "Why? Is he hurt?"
Yamada answered. "He's been a Trader slave, a provider we think."
Provider. The air no longer felt warm, or maybe I felt the chill inside. If the Traders had captured Kelric all those years ago instead of killing him, they would almost certainly have made him one of the psions they tortured to reach their so-called "exalted" transcendence. Had he endured that for eighteen years? No wonder he wouldn't talk to anyone. I would be surprised if he was still sane.
And yet… when he had linked to me in Kyle space, if that truly had been him, his thoughts had resonated with strength. It hadn't been the mind of someone who had spent nearly two decades as a provider.
I considered Yamada. "How did you get this man, if he was a Trader?"
The colonel spoke carefully. "It was an exchange."
"Of prisoners?" The Traders must not have realized Kelric's true identity; otherwise, they would never have given him up.
"Not exactly." Sweat beaded his forehead. "One of our people traded himself for the Skolian man."
Unease stirred within me. "Who?"
"A boy. A volunteer with the Dawn Corps. They're a humanitarian group that helps war refugees find their families and return home or relocate."
I stopped in the middle of the hall, my unease building. "Why would the Aristos take him in exchange for a noble-born Skolian provider?"
Yamada had also halted, and everyone else as well, leaving the colonel and me surrounded by soldiers. "We don't know why," he said.
"Who is this boy?"
Please.
I thought.
Let me be wrong.
Then Yamada spoke my nightmare. "His name is Jay Rockworth."
I felt as if the ground dropped beneath us. "No."
No.
Vazar was watching my face. "You know him?"
"Not at all." I felt ill. Unable to say more, I went to a marble bench by the wall. I sat down, then put my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands. Somewhere in the distance a cleaning droid whirred.
Why had Jay done it? He might
be
Rhon. He would be insane to go to the Traders. Or did he thirst for the power of the Carnelian Throne? As much as I had hoped to find Kelric alive, now dismay filled me. The universe was forever playing a game with us:
you can't have too much— if life works well in one way, it must suffer in another.
Kelric's miraculous return came at a devastating price.
But this still felt wrong. How had this boy known the Traders had Kelric when ISC had never been able to discover he still lived?
Vazar sat next to me. "What is it?"
I lifted my head. The others had gathered around us, several paces away, watching and waiting. I felt heavy, like lead. I answered in a low voice. "Don't ask, Vaz. Not yet." I needed to know more before I revealed anything, lest I cause more damage than had already been done.
Yamada was watching me with close scrutiny. "Are you all right?"
Rising to my feet, I said. "Yes. I will be fine." I wished it were true.
We continued onward, down wide marble halls. Yamada and Monquou asked questions, trying to understand my reaction. I evaded their inquiries or simply remained silent. I could tell they recognized my Iotic accent. Our noble Houses resembled royal families in countries on Earth, their positions primarily ceremonial and symbolic. However, the Ruby Dynasty and House of Majda still wielded power.
Yamada wondered if I had a link to that power, but he had no idea about the true nature of that connection. Yet. He and his people were sharp; I doubted we could hold them off forever. But my drive to come here had overridden even my preference to remain anonymous.
We turned into a smaller, more private hall. The colonel stopped at a polished wooden door with elegant friezes bordering its frame. I tried to remember what Kelric looked like, but I came up with only a vague image, an unusually tall, well-built man with genetically altered coloring, all metallic gold— his skin, his hair, even his eyes.
As Yamada opened the door, both anticipation and trepidation washed through me. Even knowing they had sent word that we were coming, I still feared we would find an empty room.
Several soldiers and Jagernauts entered, followed by Yamada and Monquou. I went next, with Vazar at my side, and the rest of our retinues came after. We entered a foyer with white walls and abstract holo-art that swirled with pastel color. Beyond the foyer, we followed a white hallway like dark motes in a tunnel of light. The ivory carpet muffled our footfalls, until I felt as if I could almost hear my own heartbeat.
The hall let us out into a spacious living room with white walls and more abstract holo-art. I had an impression of black furniture and glass tables, but that wasn't what riveted my attention.
A man stood across the room with his back to us. He was staring through the floor-to-ceiling window at the gardens outside his room.
He didn't have gold hair. He didn't have gold skin.
He wasn't Kelric.
I whispered his name, the word forming like a miracle on my lips.
"Eldrin."
15
Gabriel's Legacy
He turned from the window and stared at me, his beloved face so welcome that dizziness swept over me, followed by euphoria, then disbelief, then joy, all coming so fast that the emotions tumbled over one another and left me paralyzed, unable to move or speak.
Husband. Consort. Lover. Best friend. Father of my child.
Gods forgive me, but at that moment I was grateful to the son of Jaibriol II. The new Trader emperor might soon conquer Skolia. His decision to claim his throne could have ramifications that shook three civilizations. It could bring about the fall of empires. But in this impossible, incredible moment, I could only be grateful that his trade had brought Eldrin back to me.
My husband looked achingly familiar, with glossy wine-red hair brushing his shoulders and a sprinkle of freckles across his nose. He wore a high-collared shirt of white gilter-velvet. His trousers were dark blue, a color he had always favored. Darker blue boots with soft soles came up to his knees.
Then I comprehended the rest, the darkness under his eyes, the shock in his gaze, the numbed ache in his mind that masked a deeper pain he tried to suppress. He stared at me with no welcome, no joy, no warmth, only suspicion and something close to hatred.
I spoke softly. "Eldrin? Don't you recognize me?"
He simply regarded me, his face cold. Then he turned back to the window and looked out at the landscaped garden beneath the purple-blue sky of Delos. The atmosphere in the room suddenly felt too thin.
I walked over to him, uncertain how to interpret his response. He had closed his mind to me, something he had almost never done, even during a fight. We had argued plenty, but we always worked it out. Now he was a barricaded fortress, battened and dark.
I stood with him and gazed at the garden. I felt more than heard the others behind us: Jagernauts, soldiers, diplomats. Cloth rustled as someone shifted position. Someone else coughed. Vazar's stunned joy at seeing Eldrin swelled against my mind.
After we had remained that way for a while, Eldrin spoke in Iotic. "The depth of your tricks never ceases to amaze me." His voice rasped with laryngitis. I didn't want to think what could have made his throat so raw.
"My tricks?" I asked.
"Cruelty taken to new heights." His face was impassive, but his eyelid twitched.
Moisture filled my eyes. "It's me, Dryni."
No response.
He didn't believe the Traders had released him. They finally had their Lock and Key. They would never give that up. For what? An unknown youth? It was impossible.
His scent drifted to me, familiar, masculine, overlaid with a faint fragrance of soap. On a submerged level, my body reacted to the pheromones that psions naturally produced to attract each other. I wanted to touch him, hold him, welcome him home. But instead we stood in formal, cool silence. I didn't know how to convince him this wasn't a cruel game played by the Aristos, tormenting him with promises of family only to take it all away again.
