Mission To Mahjundar (5 page)

The official waved his hand and resumed his flirtation with the woman.

Rising, Mike left the dining room with rapid strides, trying to regain his calm. Wisely, Rojar didn’t see fit to follow.

A voice hailed him from behind. “Major Varone!”

Pausing, Mike waited for the hurrying guardsman to reach him, pushing through the ever present crowd in the hallway. Recognizing the man who’d held Shalira’s horse, he noted a large, nasty, purple bruise, half-hidden by wavy white hair. “I see you were injured at the plaza?” Mike asked. The older man had a truly impressive head of hair, confined to a thick braid. “The princess was so concerned about you right after the blast, she asked about nothing else. How is she today?”
 

Touching his bruised temple gingerly, the guard nodded. “The blast knocked me off my feet, and the damn horse kicked me. I was out for hours. Lucky not to have been trampled. The princess is well, thanks to you.”
 

“A rider at her level can’t handle a horse so spirited and poorly trained,” was Mike's critical assessment. He spoke more sharply than he’d intended, but his family raised horses on Azrigone.
 

This assessment apparently infuriated the guard, who drew himself up and glared at Mike. Green eyes narrowed, face flushed, he demanded, “Don't I know it? Doesn't she know it? Terrified of the brute she is, but the empress insists—and what Maralika wants must be so. If only the emperor—” Evidently about to commit some major breach of Mahjundan manners, he shut his lips tight for a second and then added, “Thank you for saving my lady yesterday.”
 

“I was there. I was lucky. Anyone would have stepped in.” Local politics weren’t his problem.

“Maybe. Maybe not. I think the princess was fortunate for once.” The last was muttered under the man’s breath. Mike wasn't sure he even heard the comment correctly. “Princess Shalira requests your presence this morning, to discuss the matter of travel.”

“Now?” Mike wasn’t sure he was
in the mood for any more conversation about the change in his plans, even with her
.

Nodding, the princess’s guard said, “She regrets not having the chance to ask you to join her caravan before the emperor issued his decree.”

“All right, I’m not doing anything else at the moment. Lead on—?” Mike gestured toward the bustling corridor.

“Saium.” Making a quick bow, he took off at a rapid pace, taking Mike into a hallway he’d not been in before.

“Was she born blind?” Mike asked, curious about her disability.

“Not a good idea to ask too many questions in this cursed city.” As if invoking a good luck charm, his companion rubbed at the tattoo on his upper arm—a fierce bird of prey, outlined in green and black.
 

“I merely want to avoid causing her distress. Your loyalty to the lady does you great credit, but I don't like riding into a situation unprepared. I want to understand the background. I'd rather not have to ask her these questions, but I have my own orders, which take precedence over anything your emperor wants.” Mike tried to alleviate the confrontational tone they’d taken. “I have a niece who was born blind on my home planet,” he went on more softly.
 

“I’ve heard such things can be mended in the Sectors,” the guard said speculatively over his shoulder, as they progressed through the halls.
 

“Not always. In my niece's case, the nerves were undeveloped at birth. Nothing organic can be done, and first her parents, then she herself refused cyber-enhancement. But she’s a successful musician on several instruments. Can play anything she’s heard once, gives concerts all over our Sector.”
 

“My lady wasn’t born blind. She lost the use of her eyes at age ten,” the man told him. “In our world, it’s a disgrace not to be whole in body and in senses. Life has been hard for her. Of course, the empress was pleased to watch the daughter of her greatest rival left without a husband.”

Tired of mystery and doublespeak, Mike swung Saium to face him. “Wouldn't it be better for the princess if I had the full picture of what’s going on? I want to know what kind of trouble I’m supposed to be expecting, for her sake. It's not my planet—I’m not on anyone's side. My priorities are to get my job done and go home.”
 

Saium stared into Mike's eyes for a long moment, before checking both ways to make sure the hall was relatively deserted. He leaned close to Mike’s ear. “Fifteen years ago, Shalira and her brother went for a morning ride along the river alone, as was their custom. Apparently they were set upon by assassins in a well-planned ambush. The crown prince died on the spot. My lady—a mere child of ten at the time—was found unconscious nearby, with few visible wounds. Yet when she awakened days later, she’d lost her sight.”

Before the soldier could say anything more, Mike heard the sounds of women laughing. A group of people approached from the other end of the long corridor.
 

“The Empress Maralika,” Saium whispered. Backing up to the wall, he went to one knee, head bowed subserviently.

Mike scrutinized the women mincing in a colorful parade toward him. As he shifted into parade rest, strong perfume enveloped him in a nausea-inducing wave, several scents mixing in an unpleasant effect.
 

“Ah, the outworlder!” Maralika came to a stop directly in front of him, standing so close her orange and red skirts swirled against his legs like a silken net. He met her gaze. Appraising him from head to toe in an insultingly frank manner, she didn’t speak for a moment. “What a pity,” she sighed to the nearest lady-in-waiting. “So handsome, in an alien fashion. To be wasted when the mountain clans kill him, which they will.” Tilting her head, she smiled, gazing flirtatiously upward through spiky black lashes. Tapping him on the chest with her fan, she said, “Tell me, why weren’t you there to rescue me in the square yesterday? Surely the life of the empress is worth more than the continued existence of some useless, pitiful girl? After all, who would miss our little Princess of Shadows?” Using the fan, she forced him to raise his chin. “Plainly, I was the assassins’ target, and your gallantry would have been properly appreciated, I assure you.”
 

Taking the fan in his fist, he removed it from her grasp, lowering his chin to stare at her. “Your Majesty appeared to be well guarded and well served yesterday.” Polite on the surface, Mike’s voice had a hard edge. “I observed that more than one of your faithful soldiers died to save your life.” With a slight bow, he returned the fan to her.

His tone and his answer apparently displeasing her, she spun on her heel and swept down the corridor without another word, her companions following, whispering and giggling. One, more daring than the rest, peeked over her shoulder at Mike, dissolving into laughter as she skipped around the corner.

Sliding one hand up the wall to steady himself on his apparently bad knees, Saium got to his feet. “Not wise to insult the empress.”
 

“I might have missed something there, but I'd say she insulted me first.” Mike straightened his tunic and shrugged.

Saium studied him for a moment, then puffed his cheeks out and nodded. “Whatever my lady doesn’t tell you, outworlder, I give my word I will.” He walked in the opposite direction from the way the empress had gone and Mike hastened to catch up.

He had to be satisfied with the guardsman’s pledge because a minute later, Saium opened a hidden door and led Mike through a short corridor painted in a soothing pale green color. The ever-present Mahjundan cherindors were there, he noted with amusement, but here the predators were hidden among the pastel leaves of a fantasy jungle. Saium let Mike precede him through a door covered in a carved seashell motif, walking into an antechamber embellished with ocean scenes in pale, cool colors on the walls.
 

“Her Highness will be with you in a moment, Major. She asks that you be seated and wait.” Saium indicated a grouping of furniture that included a couch and two matching chairs.

Realizing he was relaxing under the influence of the soft, simple colors of the room, Mike sat as suggested. W
ho chose this restful color scheme? Couldn’t have been Shalira. Maybe her late mother?
The garish, clashing colors and tapestries of battle scenes and monsters that crowded every available flat wall in the rest of the palace were absent here. Nor was there any heavy incense burning. The breeze brought the refreshing, light scent of flowering plants from the garden beyond a half-open door.
 

A faint whiff of the perfume from yesterday came to him, deliciously floral. Shalira came through the draperies across the room, dressed today in a simple lavender robe, edged in lapis with a thin ribbon of white lace at the hem. Her glorious black hair floated free, curling slightly, held from her face by a lapis-and-white ribbon edged in gold. Her only jewelry was the oval green and turquoise pendant. Pausing for a moment on the threshold to set a basket of cut flowers on a low table, she walked across the floor to him.
 

Startled, Mike rose, admiring her skill at creating the impression she could see her visitor. His niece at home employed the same techniques, keeping everything in fixed locations and knowing exactly the number of steps it took to move from one thing to the next, seemingly effortlessly.
Wonder what the polite greeting is for a Mahjundan princess? Briefing didn’t cover the contingency.
Deciding to go for polite if insipid, he said, “Your Highness appears well today.”
 

She extended her hands to him and he reached out to close his much larger, rougher hands over her soft ones. “Thank you for coming, Major,” she murmured in her low, musical voice as she drew him towards the pale green sofa by the window. Indicating he was to sit at one end, she curled up at the other. Kicking off a pair of high heeled sandals, she tucked her bare toes under the edge of her dress. “Would you care for a beverage? Iced rubyfruit drink, perhaps?”

He glanced at the silver tray carefully positioned on the low table beside her. Crackers and cheese were artfully arranged next to the juice pitcher and matching glasses. “Sounds refreshing, but whatever you’d like, your highness.”
 

She served them both, holding the glass with one finger tipped slightly over the edge to alert her when the proper level of liquid was poured. Despite having seen his niece manage the same task in a similar fashion, Mike was impressed.
I bet Shalira had to learn these things the hard way, unlike Cheryl, who had the best therapists and teachers in Sector Ten.
 

Having gotten Mike to meet with her, the princess seemed unaccountably at a loss for how to begin. She sipped at her fruit drink and toyed with the hem of her gown and then her jewelry, rubbing her fingers over the whorls of the pendant in a slow circle. Mike tried to put her at ease. “I’m admiring your necklace, exquisite enamel work.”

Shalira nodded. “This was my mother’s before she died. I never take the necklace off, not even for a moment. I’ll wear it till
I
die.”

“Of course the sentimental value must be—”

“This is the symbol of Pavmiraia, my patron goddess,” Shalira said, holding the ornament away from her neck as far as the golden chain would allow. “And it’s a locket.” Fumbling for a moment, the princess depressed one portion of the decorative pattern and the case flicked open.

Mike leaned closer, expecting to see a portrait, perhaps of her mother, but the interior was empty, nothing but shiny polished gold reflecting the light.

Shalira laughed, the sound flat. “It’s the custom for women to hide their most cherished dream inside the locket of Pavmiraia, but I’ve had no hopes worthy of submitting to her, not since my brother died and I became blind.” She snapped the locket closed with decisive finality. “Symbolic, of course, but a nice idea.”

“The prime minister gave me a fine dagger this morning on behalf of your father, for the small service I was privileged to offer you yesterday. There’s similar enameling on the hilt.”
 

“It was the least he could do—the least—” Her voice trailed off. Taking another sip from the frosted glass, she held it to her temple for a moment, rolling the cool glass from side to side as if her head ached.
 

“Are you doing okay?” Mike asked, watching how she frowned. “Any after effects from yesterday?”

“I’m fine,” she said, sitting up straighter. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”
 

A little silence fell between them. Mike had the distinct impression the princess’s thoughts were elsewhere. Finally, she sighed. “At the presentation ceremony, did the minister ask if you’d be willing to ride in my caravan?”
 

“Ask? More of a threat.” Mike knew his frustration was showing. He sipped at the sweet drink. “Ride with you or have my own mission cancelled.”

“And you don’t sound pleased. I wish I could have made the request myself.” She nibbled on a cracker, brushing crumbs from her lap.

“Forgive me, Your Highness, but why do you want us to go with you?” He leaned forward. “I’m on an urgent mission. Your route causes me quite a delay, which I can't afford without good reason.”
 

“You’re searching in the mountains for a lost military ship, aren’t you? To give those who died the proper burial, set their spirits free?”

“Well, yes.” Mike was aware Command had used those terms to explain the request for access to this closed world. The Mahjundans, with their various beliefs about spirits, death, and proper conveyance to the afterlife, understood and had consented to a burial detail.
Of course there’s another, more important strategic reason for me to delay my hard-earned retirement and accept this last mission
. He wasn't about to explain the classified background to anyone, not even this beautiful, solemn woman whose proximity was definitely having an effect on him.