Act 3.19 - Convalescence

Tor’laen awoke slowly, wincing at the dull pain in his gut. Relatively speaking, it wasn’t too bad — he had suffered far worse injuries during the war. However, it had been nearly three decades since he was last hurt so badly. Age was starting to catch up with him slightly, he supposed. Perhaps he was getting soft. More training.

The Ydani shifted slightly, and a curious feeling washed over him. It felt like he was tangled in something, but the blankets of Nalyra’s bed lay simply draped over him — he clearly hadn’t tossed and turned during the night.

Opening his good eye, he glanced downward and understood.

The Crown Daughter was still burrowed into his chest, her arms wrapped tightly around him, but that wasn’t all. His wife’s crownthreads had moved during the night, wrapping around his arms and hands. A pair of the thin tendrils were even wrapped tenderly around his neck. It was quite the embrace, all things considered.

Tor’laen smiled down at his sleeping wife, enjoying the feel of her skin against his. It seemed such a simple thing, yet something that had been completely absent from his life for the entirety of his adulthood. The little Zakkili in his arms was so soft, so welcoming. He gently ran his hand across her back, his fingers dipping under her silken nightgown, tracing the curve of her spine. Nalyra gave a hum of satisfaction in her sleep, her emotions foggy but warm over their Bridge.

It had taken a bit of getting used to — and perhaps that was putting it mildly — having this woman connected to his mind. But now he found that it was something he was unwilling to surrender.

With a small noise, his wife woke up, blinking sleepily under the lights of their cabin. A jolt of embarrassment surged across their Bridge, as she noted the state of her crownthreads, but Tor’laen simply squeezed her closer, and the sharp emotion melted away.

Neither of them spoke as she looked up, meeting his gaze. The silence felt somehow…reverent. He took the opportunity to look deeply into his wife’s eyes. They were one of his favorite parts of her, he decided. For a long time after his audience with the Queen, meeting Nalyra’s gaze had sent a small spike of dread throughout his body, his mind instinctively going back to her mother Burning away his native tongue. Over time, he had learned to separate the two. The lighter shade of Nalyra’s eyes had secured them as uniquely hers in his mind.

The experience of taking a pair of bullets the night before had emboldened him, in a way, and he brought a hand to Nalyra’s face, gently stroking her cheek. She was normally so self-assured, so sharp and proud. Seeing the uncertainty and desire in her eyes stirred something within him.

Tor’laen would never have considered himself suave or romantic — such a thing was about as far from the Outrunner Captain he had been for so long as was possible — but here, wrapped in his wife’s embrace, perhaps he could also move forward. He slid his fingers under her chin, and gently raised her face. Nalyra’s eyes widened slightly, and her cheeks started to flush, but a kind of urgent eagerness echoed over their Bridge.

Bending down, Tor’laen kissed his wife.

It was a short, soft thing, the Ydani not completely sure what he was doing. Nalyra still seemed to appreciate it, her body pressing against his as her ears gave a decidedly undignified wiggle of happiness. As he drew back, Tor’laen’s gaze roved over his wife’s face. She looked lovely, her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkling. Just who was this beautiful, dangerous woman who had claimed him as her own? A grin spread over his own face, and Nalyra glared at him, her eyes playful. She began to protest and he silenced her with another kiss.

For a long while, he held her close, the two of them content to hide from everything for just a little longer.

Nalyra eventually untangled herself from his arms, the Ydani gently releasing her. There was the tiniest echo of loss and longing across their Bridge before the Crown Daughter presumably clamped down on it. She slipped from the blankets, her bare feet silent on the floor of the cabin. With a glance and a smirk over her shoulder, Nalyra made her way to her closet.

Tor’laen moved to the edge of the bed and, with a faint wince, pulled himself to sit upright. Gingerly, he ran his fingers over the sealed wounds on his abdomen. It seemed that he would have to take it easy for a while. He moved slowly over to the small set of drawers situated next to his cot and retrieved a new uniform, before returning to Nalyra’s bed. Or, perhaps, their bed?

He was just sliding the jacket of his uniform on when Nalyra emerged from the closet, already dressed. She was wearing her finest command attire, the same he had seen her wear the day of her sister’s remembrance ceremony. The Crown Daughter strode over to him, waiting until he finished donning his uniform. She reached out, fixing the position of the band covering his damaged eye.

“Tor’laen,” she said, not quite meeting his gaze. “You are aware that such things will stay strictly within this cabin, are you not?”

The mask of Royal Hand and Crown Daughter was slowly returning to her face, her gaze hardening, her jaw setting. He could still see the woman he had kissed underneath. Tor’laen reached up, stroking her cheek once more. Her ears wiggled, and she unconsciously leaned into his caress.

“What I said to your sister was not just idle banter, Nalyra,” he said, scratching her scalp gently. “Among my people, such things are not to be shared or displayed for others.”

“An admirable trait, I would think,” Nalyra mumbled, closing her eyes.

For a few breaths, the Crown Daughter allowed herself to be comforted before drawing away, squaring her shoulders.

“But yes, things will not change outside of this cabin. Do you understand?”

“Perfectly, Nalyra.”

Tor’laen grinned, and grasped her by the hips. Staying mindful of his wounds, he pulled her onto his lap. It was almost intoxicating, in a way — finally having the power to return some of Nalyra’s teasing. To see the Crown Daughter be the one on the back foot.

“You are going to be simply intolerable about this, aren’t you?” she huffed, but allowed herself to lean back against his chest. Warmth flowed over their Bridge, lapping at his mind.

“I will strive to be as tolerable as possible, darling.”

She remained in his embrace for a long moment, before placing a hand on his knee. He released her, and this time actually let her go, the Crown Daughter moving to her desk. She started to set her hair, her hands moving with practiced ease.

“Your attire,” Tor’laen started, glancing at his wife, “it is the one you reserve for ceremonies, correct? Is there some kind of function on Kelran this day?”

“Unfortunately not, Tor’laen,” she answered without looking, still concentrating on correctly pinning her hair. “Today, we must attend a funeral.”

“Let us remember Armswoman Pella, Armswoman Kollit, Armswoman Silev, and Corporal Falil,” Nalyra said, her voice solemn. “These brave women gave their lives in service to the Saint’s Aegis and their comrades. They fought with faith and conviction, and did not hesitate when faced with their end. It is thanks to their sacrifice that so many of the civilians abducted by the mercenary company could return to their families.” She stepped forward and placed her hand on the large wall in front of her, where over a hundred small plaques were fastened to it in neat rows.

Each and every one of the plates was polished, glinting in the artificial light, but the four at the bottom shone especially bright — newly fastened there only marks before. Each bore a woman’s name, rank, and the personal insignia of her family or House.

“They will remain here, in a place of honor, alongside the brave souls who fell before any of us walked this plane. And they will remain long after all of us go on our own journeys to meet the Maker. They shall never be forgotten.” Nalyra stepped back, returning to her place for the ceremony. “High Priestess Soreth, if you would, please.”

The woman nodded and stepped forward, accompanied by two of her fellow priestesses from the chapel of the Aegis.

“We beseech the Maker — guide these beloved souls on their journey, and nurture the beauty held within their inner worlds. Kindle the flames of their spirits, and let them one day return to this plane to find love and happiness once more. This we pray.”

She fell silent for a breath before starting to sing softly. Her voice gained strength as she continued, joined by the two other priestesses. The beautiful, haunting music filled the hall, rising above the crowd.

The ceremony was taking place in the Hall of Arms, a large room on the Mid Deck of the Aegis. One that Tor’laen had not visited before that day. It was a place of honor, victory, and remembrance. That much he could easily tell. Three of the room’s walls were covered with a variety of objects, from medals and weapons to what looked like trophies. Each had a small hologram emitter below it, explaining what it was, who had won or earned it, and sometimes an image of the recipient or owner.

The fourth wall, however, was much more solemn. Black and purple curtains framed it, and incense burned in small holders set between the plaques. Plaques which held the name of every fallen soldier and crew member since the Citadel first soared through the empyrean.

Tor’laen had attended more funerals and remembrance ceremonies than he could even begin to count. They had been a constant factor of Ydani life during the war with the Cal’raz. This one, however, felt much heavier, the grief sharper and more personal.

Some of the soldiers gathered were silently weeping, likely those close to the deceased. At his side, Nalyra was as still as a statue, but the small piece of her that he had allowed inside his mind quivered, sorrow and grief radiating from it. She was taking the loss of her women harder than he would have expected. Even still, her face remained impassive.

One might think the Crown Daughter was a dispassionate ruler, if they didn’t have direct access to her emotions as he did.

The singing swelled to a crescendo. Tor’laen could understand the words, though their meaning mostly escaped him. Vows of renewal, words of faith and care, and promises of distant reunion — all sung in some archaic form of Zakkili. It tugged at his soul, and he let his thoughts rub against the bit of his wife in his head.

He had barely known the four women in passing, but they had been comrades. They had stormed the complex together, had faced down those accursed drones together. It was more than enough reason for him to mourn alongside the rest of the Zakkili soldiers.

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The rest of the ceremony seemed to pass quickly, with Soreth leading some communal prayers, then some of the soldiers and crew close to the deceased giving a few words of remembrance each.

The atmosphere of the room relaxed slightly as the memorial ended, though the feeling of solemn loss still hung in the air. Small conversations sprang up around the room as the attendees started to mix and mingle. A respectful bubble had formed around the Crown Daughter and her consort, the soldiers and crew making sure to give the pair proper space.

Nalyra stood silently, staring at the memorial wall. Across their Bridge, her mind echoed with grief and regret, tempered by duty and station. He dared to brush her shoulder with his hand, keeping the motion subtle. She nodded at the Ydani, throwing him a grateful look.

Tor’laen turned to find someone entering the bubble of space around them.

“Saia!” He hadn’t seen her since she had been evacuated from the mercenary complex by shuttle. His gaze instinctively went to the woman’s left arm, the one that had been taken off by the drone. The limb no longer ended at her elbow, forearm and hand having been replaced by an advanced prosthetic. He couldn’t help but stare for a breath.

The mechanical limb was like no prosthetic he had ever seen among his people. It was sleek and smooth, most of it covered by black, molded polymer. The machinery underneath was visible in a few places, but not in an intrusive way. It was perfectly proportioned to match her missing arm, her silhouette almost an exact match to how it had been before the mission.

“Not bad, huh?” she chuckled, raising the artificial arm and wiggling its fingers at him. He could hear the quiet whine of servos, but the motion was remarkably natural, giving the impression she was simply wearing a high-tech glove. “Getting it tuned to me was a bitch, though.”

She seemed to suddenly notice Nalyra standing next to him, and she straightened up.

“Uh, forgive my rudeness, Crown Daughter.”

“At ease, Corporal.” Nalyra waved her off. “I am glad to see you are recovering well.”

“Good as new, Royal Hand.” She snapped the limb into a crisp salute, moving the prosthetic with military precision.

“How can you do that?” Tor’laen marveled.

“Check it out.” Saia rolled back her sleeve. The area where machinery met flesh was still slightly red, but coated with sealant, similar to the type on the Ydani’s stomach, but flexible-looking. The corporal gestured to the joint. “They threaded artificial nerves into each of my organic ones. Felt like someone was sticking me with hundreds of needles for a while, but the results are worth it, yeah?” She wiggled her fingers again, moving them naturally.

“Nerves? Then you can feel with them?” he asked, his eye wide.

“Almost as well as with my right.” She shrugged. “They don’t reproduce pain, though. Just feels tingly instead.” She made a small jabbing motion with her right hand. “Accidentally stabbed myself with a fork while I was still getting used to it, didn’t realize it until someone pointed it out.”

“By the First Light…” Tor’laen exclaimed softly.

“Is it really that surprising, Consort?” Nalyra asked softly, moving beside him.

“My people…we have nothing like this.” He gestured to Saia’s new arm. “Our prosthetics are crude, but functional. This technology would drastically improve the life of countless veterans back on Ydan and our other worlds.”

“And it will,” Nalyra said confidently. “The Monarchy cares for and heals its subjects.”

“So it would seem.” His gaze was still fixed on the mechanical limb.

Saia, noticing his stare, gave a grin and extended her thumb, making an odd, jerking motion with her hand that held no meaning to Tor’laen. She went bright red a heartbeat later, perhaps remembering who was still standing next to the Ydani.

“Corporal, if you continue to make crude gestures to my consort, I will see to it that Mikka has you on double watch until the next Reign-year celebrations,” Nalyra said conversationally, a polite smile on her face.

“What am I doing now?” Mikka’s voice came from the side, the rest of the command staff emerging from the crowd. The Lieutenant Commander noticed Saia standing there. “Hey kid, good to see you on your feet again.”

“Uh, yeah.” The corporal snapped Mikka a salute. “LT, Crown Daughter, Shield Consort.”

“At ease, Saia, just don’t try and play with the Crown Daughter’s new toy right under her nose,” Mikka chuckled. Nalyra rolled her eyes at the Lieutenant Commander.

Vessa joined the group, catching Nalyra’s gaze and jerking her head slightly, motioning to the corner of the room.

“You will have to excuse me,” the Crown Daughter announced. “My Admiral requires my ear.”

Tor’laen watched the pair go, Nivi in tow, moving to an empty corner of the room.

“I heard you took some hits of your own, Tor’laen,” Saia said knowingly, clearly far more relaxed now that Nalyra had departed.

“He took a pair of fucking bullets for the Crown Daughter.” Mikka replied affectionately for him, clapping the Ydani gently on the back. It still caused him to wince. “Oops, sorry, big guy.”

“Not a problem, Mikka.”

“Damn you saved the Royal Hand again?” Saia looked almost in awe. “The civvies are gonna start putting holo-portraits of you on their walls in the Under Deck.” She gave him a gentle punch on the thigh with her prosthetic arm. The thing was stronger than it looked, from the feeling of it. He gave her a look and her grin widened.

“I was doing my duty,” Tor’laen returned. “I assume that is the reason for the ‘shield’ in Shield Consort.”

It was the truth. At least partially.

“Anyway, you should come out to the Under Deck sometime.” Saia glanced at the remembrance wall, her grin fading. “We need to toast our fallen girls. They may be on their way to the Maker, but part of them is always going to be here with us, too.”

“I would like that, Saia,” Tor’laen said quietly.

“Yeah, we’ll all get together and go bother the shit out of Zia.” Mikka clapped the corporal on the shoulder. “I promise.”

“Yeah. Got it, LT.” She managed to give Mikka a small grin.

“Now, we should probably go see what the Admiral is bothering the Crown Daughter with.” The Lieutenant Commander nudged Tor’laen’s thigh with her elbow. “Come on, big guy.”

The Ydani nodded to Saia, the corporal giving him a grin and a thumbs-up with her prosthetic hand. He followed Mikka through the crowd, dodging around the small clusters of Zakkili. The pair approached the Crown Daughter and the rest of the command staff.

“—and how did it look, Nivi?” Nalyra was asking the engineer as they drew near.

“I took it apart with a couple of my team, specialists in that kind of field.” The woman glanced around nervously. “It’s pretty much what you thought, but more advanced than anything I’ve seen of the type. Which, of course, makes it hilariously illegal.”

“Illegal, Nivi?” Tor’laen asked quietly, moving closer to the pair.

“Oh, Tor’laen! Are you doing okay?” The engineer looked up at him.

“As well as can be expected.” He looked between the two Zakkili. “What is illegal?”

Nivi glanced nervously at Nalyra. The Crown Daughter gave a small sigh.

“We have talked of this, Nivi. I do not plan to keep things from my consort. When it comes to intel and information, treat him as you would me.”

“Ah, uh, okay, Crown Daughter,” she gave a sheepish giggle. “It’s just that I was finally getting good at this operational security thing, and now we’ve got Tor’laen and Orli and—”

“Nivi.” Nalyra raised an eyebrow at the engineer.

“He’s part of the inner circle now, Niv,” Mikka put in. “No worries, yeah?”

“Right.” The engineer took a deep breath, clearly reordering her thoughts. “So the device the assassin was wearing on her brow, the circlet-like apparatus, was…well, something that should not really exist.”

“Why not?” Tor’laen gave her a puzzled look.

“Machines or devices that inhibit psychic powers are very strictly controlled in the Monarchy,” Vessa explained. “There are very few in existence and all should be under direct authority of royal agents.”

“Basically to prevent what you just saw down on Kelran,” Mikka added with a smirk.

“But why have them at all?” Tor’laen glanced between the women. “I would imagine the Monarchy would rather there be nothing that could possibly defeat their psychic powers.”

“If you need to arrest a Noble or Matron who’s gone off the rails, it helps to have something to protect your troops from getting fucking Stilled the moment they’re in the same room.” The Lieutenant Commander snickered.

“Essentially, Mikka is correct,” Nalyra said solemnly. “You cannot always depend on having a Crown Daughter or nearblood Crown-kin present to engage a fugitive mentally.”

“But returning to the device…” Vessa glanced at Nivi.

“Oh, right.” The engineer jolted at the reminder. “The problem is that the circlet was far more advanced than even the cutting-edge Monarchy tech. Stronger, more compact, more efficient — it was years, if not decades, ahead of what we have.”

“More technology that assassins should not have,” Tor’laen grumbled. “First the drones, now this.”

“Do not forget the plastic launcher on Orphila,” Vessa added, her face grim. “That was also not something terrorists or hired assassins should have.”

“It does seem to suggest a connection.” Nalyra’s eyes narrowed. “And then the detonator in the woman’s neck. Triggered when I gained access to the woman’s mind.”

Something clicked inside Tor’laen’s head.

“It feels like…” he started, as all eyes turned to him. “Like this is an evolution of the situation on Orphila. On that world, the assassins were undone by one of the women surviving, and Nalyra gaining access to her mind. Now they have adjusted, making sure such a thing could not happen again.”

The Zakkili women exchanged glances, expressions of concern and alarm on their faces.

“The other concern,” the Admiral began, “is that the target of this attempt remains unclear.”

“What are you saying, Vessa?” Nalyra asked, her brow furrowed. “It was clearly intended to kill me, was it not?”

“The more I think about it, the more I doubt it, Nalyra.” Mikka was the one who answered. “This woman was skilled enough to hit Tor’laen when he was focused completely on evading. On top of that, the first shot was center mass on the Shield Consort — I’m gonna guess her aim wasn’t so terrible that she would miss you completely and hit him by accident.”

“Are you saying that Tor’laen was the target of this assassination attempt?” Nalyra hissed.

“It is a strong possibility.” Vessa’s face was solemn.

“That is…an unpleasant thought.” The Crown Daughter’s jaw was tight.

Their gazes were on him now, concern and unease visible on their faces, as Nalyra shifted slightly closer to the Ydani. Tor’laen, though, was almost…satisfied by the shift. Let them target him instead of his wife. They would learn just how hard it was to kill an Outrunner Captain.

“Quite unpleasant. But regardless, it is out of our hands now.” The Admiral shook her head.

“It is?” Tor’laen looked at the woman, puzzled. His mind went back to their investigations into the separatists and assassins on Orphila.

“This is not Orphila, Tor’laen, and we do not have orders to investigate the attack.” Vessa shook her head.

“Kelran is no small colony — the planetary government is sizable and mature enough to claim sovereignty over affairs such as this,” Nalyra said, glancing at him. “Investigators working directly under the Crown have likely already been dispatched, and the governor will handle the situation with their guidance. Though, I do not envy Dizita. This is yet another burden placed into her lap.”

“So we are to drop it, just like that?” Tor’laen asked sharply.

“We have no choice, Shield Consort.” Vessa shook her head. “This is not something we can simply push through with the authority of a Royal Hand.”

“Also, I believe we will soon receive explicit orders to return to the High Fortress. To deliver the former High Matron,” Nalyra sighed. “We have already sent the biometrics of the fallen assassin to the planetary government, while the body and psychic blocking device will accompany us to Zakkil. There is little else we can do.”

“Still, a Crown Daughter, endangered within the capital complex,” Vessa said quietly. “And a Shield Consort seriously wounded by an assassin with forbidden technology. Dizita’s enemies will not stay quiet about this.”

“She has her tribulations laid out before her.” Nalyra’s eyes narrowed. “If she is worthy of her post, she shall survive this. Regardless, we shall make ready for a dive to Zakkil. Vessa, I leave the preparations to you.” She brushed a hand along Tor’laen’s arm. “The Shield Consort requires a follow-up examination, and I do not wish to have Doctor Alevi set out in pursuit of him. All of you are well aware of how…tenacious the woman can be.”

“As you wish, Crown Daughter.” Vessa nodded solemnly.

“Feel better soon, big guy,” Mikka called, grinning.

The Crown Daughter swept away from her command staff, smoothly drawing Tor’laen along with her as she moved toward the exit. Her feelings brushed against him — her earlier grief now faintly colored with care and concern, connected directly to him.