Ammonite Stars (Omnibus): Ammonite Galaxy #4-5 (46 page)

Grace frowned. “I didn’t choose my moment very well, did I?”

Ledin gave his crooked smile. “That could never matter. But I am afraid I have no time to spend with you. I’ll have to leave you to your own devices. Will you be all right?”

“Of course. I’ll see you next weekend, over by the Emerald Lake.”

Ledin’s brow cleared. “You have no idea how much I am looking forward to that. It is what is keeping me going!”

Grace left him to get on with his work, and made her way slowly back to the shuttle docking area, to wait for her mother and Petra. She was feeling unaccountably tired, and, as they would be several hours, she found a blanket in one of the day rooms, managed some degree of comfort by sprawling across three of the joined seats, covered herself up, and fell fast asleep. She didn’t even wake up when a security detail checked out who the person slumped across the waiting area seating was. They queried it with Ledin, who decided to leave her where she was. She obviously needed the rest, and was the one new arrival today he knew to be no threat to the station.

SHE DIDN’T KNOW how much time had passed when she heard people talking. At some stage she had tugged the blanket over her head, to block out the light, and she was about to remove it when she recognized the voices. Her heart gave a tiny flutter as she realized who they were – Six’s sisters, who had both joined the wrong side on the Kwaidian civil war and married Elders on Kwaide. They must have moved aside from the rest of the group, for Grace could make out what they were saying quite clearly.

“We
have
to get this Coriolan to bring visitors to Kwaide,” Samaliya was muttering to Jalana. “The old order is finished unless we can generate some income from somewhere. I have heard that he and his friends enjoy hunting. I am sure we can arrange something that would entertain them. Some sort of drag hunt, perhaps.”

“We will have to,” Jalana agreed. “Otherwise there will be nothing left to inherit by the time our sons are old enough. Thanks to our
dear
brother, the Elders have lost all power and most of their income.”

Samaliya’s voice was harsh. “I shall never forgive him for abandoning us,” she said. “—To go off with a meritocrat and a Sellite! They deserve everything they get!”

Jalana gave a low growl of agreement. “Let’s hope that fate will put them in our path, one day. We shall know what to do if it does.”

“He was ready to push that button, you know. He was about to kill his own sister!”

Grace shifted uncomfortably under the blanket. She herself had taken that choice, to spare Six from a terrible decision. It wasn’t something she felt able to remember with pride. It brought back memories of that terrible day, too, when Gerrant and Solian had gone to their death.

With a sigh, she pushed back the blanket, and sat up.

The two sisters stared, and Samaliya’s voice as she recognized Grace was waspish. “You!”

Jalana’s eyes narrowed. “You were spying on us!”

Grace smiled wryly. “I wasn’t! I had simply fallen asleep, waiting for my mother to arrive. In any case, you shouldn’t be telling each other secrets in an open corridor, surely? How are you, Jalana, Samaliya?”

Six’s sisters interchanged a look, and didn’t seem particularly anxious to reply. To Grace’s relief, at that moment Calab, Jalana’s husband, walked over and ushered them hurriedly away. He clearly didn’t want them to have any contact with one of the enemies of the Elders, even if the war was over.

Grace looked after them sadly. She knew that Six still missed his sisters, and was hoping that one day he would be able to rectify all his mistakes, and that they would forgive him. He had been desolated to find that they had chosen to make their lives with Elders in order to survive, and she knew that he blamed himself. Personally, she thought that both girls had changed beyond reconciliation. They had too much invested in their new lives to make bridges, and, from what she had just heard, they had even gone one step beyond that, and were thinking of revenge.

A shiver ran through her, and she pulled the blanket back around her. It felt suddenly chilly in this passageway. She had lived through something similar in her own family, and she hated to think of Six in the same position.

She sighed. The Sellites had a lot to answer for. They had ruined so many lives.

She watched as the party from Kwaide was escorted to one of the conference chambers, and then turned as she heard another shuttle snap into the couplings of the space lock. This might be her mother.

It was. Cimma gave her daughter a hug, and even Petra managed a smile, which was most unusual for the Namuri girl.

Grace grinned back. “Matri, I hope all is well with you. Petra, how is the practice going?”

Cimma laughed. “She is the youngest in the advanced class, and will soon be the best.”

Petra lost her smile. “Namuri should be the best. It is required.”

Cimma touched her arm. “You shall be. Very soon.”

The girl was beginning to smile again when she caught sight of a party, approaching them from the docking facilities for larger ships.

In a second, her demeanour changed from relaxed to something very like the stillness of a Tattula cat prior to an attack. A strange expression crossed her face. “What is
he
doing here?” she hissed.

Grace turned around. Tartalus had just arrived; he and his group were being escorted to the bridge area and the conference chamber leading off it.

“That is Tartalus,” she began, “He is—”

“I know who he is. Why is he here?” Petra was still rigid, trembling with some sort of emotion.

Cimma touched the Namuri girl on the shoulder, and looked puzzled. She knew nothing about Tartalus’s ambushes. “He is here to visit the Elders. It has nothing to do with New Kwaide.” She looked down at the girl’s arm, and saw that all the hairs were standing on end. “Do you know him?”

Petra gradually began to relax again. “I know him. All Namuri know him.” She watched him pass, and her normally light eyes seemed to have turned dark. “He is loathsome. He makes my skin crawl.”

“Loathsome?” Cimma echoed.

Petra’s jaw set. “I cannot not be in the same room with him – or the rest of his party. Is that why you have brought us here, Grace?”

Grace shook her head. “I had no idea they were even going to be here.” She looked around, spotted an open day cabin, and gestured towards it. “We can talk in there. Are you all right?”

Petra nodded. “He has gone.” Her skin was regaining its usual colour. “But one day, I shall kill him.”

Cimma looked surprised. “I thought the Namuri were opposed to violence.”

Petra looked along the corridor where Tartalus and his party had disappeared. “We make exceptions – for some people.” Her expression was a promise, and both Grace and her mother felt a shiver of apprehension run up and then down their backs. Petra sounded deadly serious.

They sat down, and Grace explained what Mandalon had asked for. Petra at first seemed rather reticent about the whole thing.

“Why can’t he use his own guards?” she muttered. “He has enough of them.”

Grace recounted what had happened the year before, when Gorgamon had very nearly managed to kill Mandalon, and explained that Mandalon had been forced to choose between dying himself and letting his attacker die.

Petra gave a snort. “Well, that doesn’t require much brain!”

“He hasn’t been able to trust anybody else since then. And, believe me, Petra, there are a lot of people on Sell who think that Mandalon is about to ruin the whole of the Sellite empire. You would have your job cut out for you if you decided to accept this.”

The Namuri girl pressed her lips together. “What about Magestra Cimma? How can I leave her unprotected? Because if they are sending one of those useless guards of Mandalon’s to take my place here, she might just as well be.”

Cimma opened her mouth, but Grace intervened. “Ledin will undertake to look after her in your absence,” she said quickly. “You need not worry about her safety.”

“N-no. I suppose not. If Ledin promises to look after her ...”

Grace gave the Namuri girl an encouraging smile. “Mandalon really does need you, Petra. I thought he looked as if he couldn’t take the stress for a moment more. And it is a very great compliment from the head of Sell that he trusts you. After all, he has only met you twice.”

“There are no better guards than Namuri.”

Grace took a breath. “But will you do it?”

The girl considered. “I suppose so, if you want me to,” she finally agreed, grudgingly. “But I will have to transfer the blood oath.”

“Of course. And you will have to wear whatever uniform he gives you.”

“Oh no! I’m not going that far. Forget it!”

Cimma inclined her head. “It is merely camouflage. If you went into battle you would have to wear special clothes.”

“But this is not battle.”

“This may be even more dangerous.”

Petra tilted her head on one side. “Very well, then. But only until after this Second Valhai Votation thing. I’m not staying after that!”

Grace grinned. “No need to. Your job is only to keep Mandalon alive until then.”

Petra gave something far too like a sneer. She didn’t hold a high opinion of any of the Sellites. “I don’t think they will give
me
much trouble.”

“I hope you will stay out of any confrontations with the other guards.”

Petra grimaced.

“—And don’t get into any arguments with Mandalon!”

“A meritocrat!” Petra sniffed.

“He will be your emptor – the Sellite word for oath bearer. He is trying to change the archaic customs on Sell. Surely you can empathize with that.”

“He is still a meritocrat.” The Namuri’s tone was flat. “Meritocrats are self-perpetuating.”

Grace found herself thinking that Petra should moderate her tone when she reached Sell, but, from what she knew of the girl, didn’t hold out high hopes.

PETRA AND GRACE got ready for the presentation at the 1st skyrise less than enthusiastically. Aracely had duly made the suggestion at the previous night’s dinner, and it had been accepted by those present as an inconvenient but harmless whim of the orthogel entity.

Petra was looking down at herself in utter disgust. She was clothed in a white feminine shift dress, which boasted many folds, and so interfered with the scabbard which was hung at her waist. Every time she reached down for her dagger she found herself grabbing handfuls of material.

“How on Sacras can I protect anybody if I am supposed to wear this?” she muttered. “And how can I run in these shoes?” She held one foot forwards for Grace’s inspection. It boasted a white shoe with a small but thin heel, something Petra had never come across before.

The Namuri girl sprang across the room, and tried to reach a full run, but as she was unused to the heel, small though it was, her ankle twisted, she teetered, and almost fell. Petra’s face was like thunder. “What is this? Some sort of handicap race? Is this Sellite meritocrat deliberately trying to make my task impossible? What does he think he is doing?”

Grace made a sympathetic murmur. “I don’t think Mandalon has anything to do with it,” she said. “There has never been a female guard before, on Sell, and I suppose the tailor house has designed this especially for you.”

“Well, they needn’t have bothered. I need a tunic and flat running shoes, not these ... these ... Elder’s shoes.”

Grace reached down into the bottom of the box which had been sent by the tailor house. She gasped. Nestling at the bottom of the box was a huge blue stone, set into a chain of hammered gold.

Petra snatched it out of her hand. “This is a namura stone!” she snapped. “This is one of the sacred namura stones! And they expect me to wear it as an adornment? As part of a uniform?” Her eyes had gone black. “It belongs to my clan. We are the only true owners of all namura stones. How dare these infidels use them as ornaments!”

Grace didn’t like to point out that they were also used to sharpen swords, so she held her tongue.

The Namuri girl had clasped the chain around her neck with fury. It shone gently in the light, displaying intense colours from deep inside, with flashes of peacock blue, mixed with greens, golds and russets. It was mesmerizing.