Act 4.11 - Return

Tor’laen made his way into the bathroom of their cabin, moving quietly. The sound of running water would mask his approach, he hoped. The room was warm and humid, and a soft cloud of steam had coalesced near the ceiling. The floral scents of Zakkili soaps lingered in the air.

The Ydani quickly shed his clothes, placing them in the usual receptacle. It was somehow connected to the ship’s laundry, he believed. But that wasn’t important right now. The Crown Daughter had already started her shower, and he was determined to take her by surprise, however slightly.

Stepping forward, he gently eased the shower door open. The frosted glass glided across silently, revealing the interior of the sizable shower. His wife stood under the stream of hot water, her face lifted, her eyes closed. Tor’laen crept closer, reaching for her.

His hands were inches away from her when she spoke.

“Coming to join me, husband?”

Tor’laen gave a small sigh, and grasped her gently by the shoulders. He had expected as much — their Bridge had given the game away.

“It’s quite unfair, you know. That you can surprise me, but I cannot return the favor.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Nalyra leaned back against him, her eyes still closed. Her skin was warm and flushed from the hot water. “I suppose you will have to get used to it. Just one of the tribulations that come with the privilege of being joined to a Crown Daughter.”

Tor’laen reached back and shut the shower door, then draped his arms over his wife’s shoulders.

“It is not such a large price to pay, when you put it like that.”

“It is not,” she said smugly. Opening her eyes she looked up at him, tilting her head back. “And since you are here…” A small grin flitted across her face. “Wash me, Consort.”

“Is that an order, Crown Daughter?”

“It is.” She lifted her arms, laying her hands on his forearms. A light, playful Press touched his mind, beckoning for his obedience. “I am your superior, your commander, by my mother’s decree, after all. It is well within my rights to give you such an order.”

“I imagine that your navy has similar rules against fraternization with a subordinate as ours does,” he grumbled, looking over the collection of bottles on the wall-mounted shelves. “But I suppose it would be pointless to mention that fact.”

She gave him an impish smile.

“It would indeed.”

Heaving a mock sigh, Tor’laen plucked one of the bottles of liquid soap from its place on the shelf. Nalyra’s favorite, he had come to learn. He poured a generous amount into his hands, rubbing it into a lather. He slid his hands over his wife’s skin, his fingers gliding down her waist and hips. It was a surprisingly easy task, his larger hands allowing him to quickly cover her body with the foamy soap.

Scrubbing at her back, he lightly ran his fingernails across her skin. She let out a noise halfway between a groan and a purr.

“I’m going to add this to your official duties,” she murmured, eyes closed once more.

“What, washing my wife?” Tor’laen chuckled.

“Assisting your Royal Hand with her daily preparations, thank you,” Nalyra replied with mock sternness. She cracked one eye open, glancing back at him. “At least, that is what we shall call it for the records.”

“Of course, Crown Daughter.”

Tor’laen selected a bottle of shampoo from the shelf, popping the top off. He warmed the viscous liquid in his hands for a moment, before starting to rub it onto the top of Nalyra’s head. He got to work massaging the shampoo into her scalp and she let out a breathy sigh, pushing her head more firmly into his hands.

The Ydani was careful not to pull on any of his wife’s crownthreads as he worked, but after a few moments of washing, several of them reached for him, gently twining their way around his forearms. It seemed almost involuntary, by his guess, and he wondered once more just how much control Nalyra maintained over the thin tendrils.

Nalyra turned to face him, her nose only inches from his chest as he continued washing her hair. He moved the showerhead, washing away the foamy lather from her head, and she opened her eyes, looking up at him. Cautiously, she prodded one of the patches of sealant on his abdomen, watching his face as if to see if he would wince. He did not.

“Doctor Alevi says they can likely come off within the span,” Tor’laen said, switching to a bottle of conditioner now.

“And the internal bleeding?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Completely stopped, and little chance of another tear, as long as I don’t overexert myself.”

“And you will not do so, correct?”

“You have my word, Nalyra.” He ran his fingers through her hair, coating it with conditioner. He would never openly admit it, for fear that Nalyra would collapse into a singularity of smugness, but the Ydani loved his wife’s hair. The color and the way it shone a midnight blue when the light caught it reminded him of the feathers of a Gaeni bird from his homeworld. The sight of one had been long considered an omen of good fortune in battle among his people.

“After all,” he continued. “I would hope we face no further catastrophes which require my direct involvement in the near future. The winds have changed.”

“The social climate has shifted?” Nalyra asked, tracing one of the scars on his stomach with her finger.

“Greatly, from what Kae’rel has told me,” he said warmly. “Many people support, or even look forward to the integration now.” He lightly rinsed Nalyra’s hair once more, washing away the excess conditioner. “I cannot overstate the effect the broadcast of our operation had on the populace. Nearly all my people grew up watching footage of our war with the Cal’raz. Of brave soldiers fighting on the frontlines. To see Zakkili Armswomen fighting in the same manner, fighting to save both Zakkili and Ydani lives…it does more for the Monarchy’s reputation than a thousand political speeches or promises ever could.”

“Good,” Nalyra said simply. With a flick of her fingers, the large stool sitting in the corner of the shower skidded across the floor, coming to rest at her feet. Some kind of Cast perhaps? Could she pull things as well as push them? There were still many mysteries within Zakkili mental powers from his perspective.

“Now sit, husband.” She prodded his stomach, lightly pushing him toward the stool. It was something she had fabricated specifically for him, to make showering more comfortable during his recovery. “I plan to return the favor.”

“Oh?” Tor’laen cocked an eyebrow at her as he sat. “Is that not below a Crown Daughter’s station? Washing your subordinate’s hair?”

“As you well know,” she said imperiously, grabbing the same bottle of shampoo that he had used. “A skilled commander takes care of those who serve under them. And,” she leaned forward and kissed him. “I’m washing the hair of my husband, not my subordinate.”

“Of course, Lyra.”

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She started to rub the foamy shampoo into his hair, and Tor’laen reached out, resting his hands on her hips. Not pulling her close or moving her, just holding them. Savoring the curves that had so often maddeningly enticed him before they had become intimate.

Nalyra was humming something, some kind of upbeat tune, and Tor’laen closed his eyes, relaxing. He shivered as she started to scratch his scalp, right where his horns met his skull.

“So, what was that last night about the former Royal Hand of the Aegis?” Tor’laen asked conversationally, and Nalyra’s hands froze, her fingers still in his hair.

“I had hoped you wouldn’t remember that,” she sighed. “I ought to ban Mikka from alcohol for an entire measure.” She continued washing his hair as she grumbled.

“If it is something I should not hear—”

“It’s nothing so terrible, I assure you, husband. Just an old story. One that Mikka loves to bring up when she wants to needle me.”

She washed away the shampoo from his hair before continuing.

“Just…please do keep in mind that I was a much younger woman at the time, when this occurred.”

Tor’laen reached up and caught one of his wife’s hands with his own.

“Nalyra, you don’t have to tell me if it’s something embarrassing. I need not know every one of your secrets.”

“A sweet gesture, Tor, but it is alright.” She squeezed his hand, then moved behind him, starting to spread liquid soap across his broad back. “Besides, if I do not tell you, sooner or later Mikka will, and she likes to…embellish the story when she does.”

Tor’laen turned his head slightly, glancing back at her as she washed.

“Though she likes to act as though it was some great drama, the truth of the matter was that I greatly wished to become a Royal Hand, and the former Royal Hand of the Aegis…well, let us say that the woman was rather unfit to lead.” The Crown Daughter moved her hands to his shoulders, starting to massage them. “I arranged an official inspection of this ship, and included one of my male cousins in my entourage. He is a pretty little thing, even among crown-kin, and I…might have given him explicit instructions to seduce the former Royal Hand.”

The Ydani half turned in his seat, giving his wife an incredulous look.

“The woman was an awful Royal Hand, Tor! She was uncaring, disorganized…utterly self-obsessed, to the point that it was detrimental for her subjects. Even had I done nothing, she was in line to be replaced. I simply made sure I was the one she endorsed to replace her.”

“So you had him seduce her. I trust your cousin wasn’t too bothered by the experience.”

“Oh, he quite enjoyed himself, believe me. The man has a petty streak the size of a frigate and, on top of that, the former Royal Hand was a very good-looking woman. But yes, I did,” she admitted.

Tor’laen gave a little huff of amusement.

“In our tongue, we call it a honeytrap. He gathered enough evidence of their little tryst to fully embarrass and scandalize her House were it released, and I used it to blackmail the woman into backing my bid for her position. Lying with a cousin of the royal family without the proper arrangements is not the done thing, believe me.”

“And that was enough to force her to bend to your will?”

“It was,” Nalyra said, working on a particularly stubborn knot at the base of his neck. “Her House would have undoubtedly disowned her, and without powerful ties, familial or otherwise, one would be hard pressed to keep a Citadel afloat. Jalari, and her lack of a powerful House behind her, is much more the exception, rather than the rule.”

“Your Zakkili politics never fail to bewilder me, Lyra.”

She chuckled, leaning forward against Tor’laen’s back, wrapping her arms around his neck, embracing him. “Yes, well, regardless. That is how I became Royal Hand at the tender age of twenty-seven. Two years earlier than Zikara, actually.”

“Because the order matters, I assume,” he said wryly.

“But of course, my dear husband.”

Giving a sigh of mock exasperation, Tor’laen reached back, wrapping an arm around his wife’s waist, and easily pulled the woman around in front of him, slipping her onto his lap. Her purple eyes sparkled up at him, full of joy and mischief. She looped her arms around his neck once more, pulling him downward and herself upward. Their lips met in a slow, deep kiss, as the warm water rained down on the pair.

“It has been quite the shift, by all accounts,” Zikara said, her gaze directed downward, at something not visible through the holographic window. “The most recent polling data gathered by High Matron Avena points toward drastically increased support for the Monarchy and integration among the general populace.”

Nalyra could feel another surge of hopeful optimism across their Bridge, though Tor’laen gave no sign of it on his face. Instead, the Ydani leaned closer, looking over the data Nalyra’s twin had sent to the Aegis.

“Things are looking up,” Jalari admitted, almost begrudgingly. “We might actually pull this off.”

“There are still many obstacles that remain in our way,” Nalyra cautioned, and the other Royal Hand rolled her eyes on the screen. “What of your efforts to expand your web of connections on Ydan?”

The three Royal Hands had agreed to a check in of their respective efforts, though this time they had elected not to meet in person, each woman reporting from her own Citadel. A pair of holographic screens hovered a few feet away from Nalyra, each one a window into the bridges of the Martyr's Blade and the Haven’s Gate respectively.

“I’ve been focusing on younger recruits from the Academy,” Jalari reported. She jerked her head at the man standing next to her. “And Kae has been making contacts within the Operational Support networks. As you might expect, lots of eager Ydani who got a shit job placement are more than willing to work with us. There’s some resentment, of course, but most of it is focused on the current government.”

“I have been somewhat…less successful.” Zikara went next. “There is still much lingering tension directed at our people. It is often difficult to get a sincere response.” She frowned down at the tablet in her hand. “However, it is not all bad news. My emissaries have been getting more inquiries about infrastructure and logistics now, as opposed to questions about mind control and spying on the thoughts of others.” The other Crown Daughter glanced up once more. “What of you, sister?”

“We hosted one of the members of High Command, one Commander Korr’taen, last night here for an informal diplomatic dinner.” Nalyra glanced at her consort, and he nodded at her. “The man is likely one of the strongest supporters of the integration in High Command, and perhaps in the entire upper echelons of the Ydani’s government.” She noted Kae’rel stiffen, and lean slightly closer to the screen. “He was more than happy to offer some very valuable contacts who are likely sympathetic to our cause.”

Jalari drummed her fingers on the armrest of her seat.

“Is this true, Shield Consort? Is the man trustworthy?”

Nalyra pursed her lips slightly at the blunt question, but Tor’laen laid a hand on her shoulder.

“I’ve worked almost directly under the man for over fifty years now,” the Ydani replied. “He’s a brilliant strategist, but not a schemer. On top of that, I personally heard the commander’s reasoning from his own mouth. I believe that—”

He cut off his sentence as a series of blue pulses lit up the empyrean through the viewports of the bridge. Over a dozen ships emerged from subspace, at the edge of Ydan’s gravity well. The Aegis’s bridge crew was only at half staff at the moment, and the officers scrambled to man the communications and scanner stations.

A sharp spike of alarm came over their Bridge, Nalyra stiffening as her husband’s emotion reached her.

“That’s an Outrunner Fleet,” he said quietly, moving to the edge of the command dais. Vessa had also gotten to her feet, staring at the viewports.

Moments later, there was another cluster of blue flashes, and another small fleet emerged, only a couple dozen kilometers from the first.

“And a second one,” Tor’laen muttered grimly.

“Should we bring the crew to action stations, Shield Consort?” Vessa asked, glancing up at him.

“I do not think so,” Tor’laen said after a pause. “They are not burning into attack formation. Merely moving into orbit, from the looks of it. Still, this is very odd…”

The Shield Consort moved to Nalyra’s side, turning his attention back to the holographic screens.

“Jalari, can the Lieutenant—“

“He’s already on it, Shield Consort,” the woman said, hitching a thumb over her shoulder. Kae’rel had stepped away from the call, talking quietly into his Ydani communicator. “He’s asking his superiors about it now.”

A terse silence fell over the three way call. Nalyra could feel how unsettled her husband was over their Bridge, and perhaps the other Royal Hands could pick it up from her.

Kae’rel returned his communicator to his belt, and moved back next to Jalari.

“They say scheduled check-in and resupply. No need for alarm.” He looked uncertain, even as he delivered the report.

“No, it is not.” Tor’laen shook his head, the concern seeping from him only getting stronger. “The second fleet, its next check-in is not for another two measures, assuming there have been no drastic changes.”

“How can you know, Tor’laen?” Nalyra asked softly. “Did you have all their schedules memorized?”

He shook his head.

“I do not.”

“Then how…?”

He let out a mirthless laugh.

“Trust me, I would know.” Tor’laen gestured at the second fleet to emerge. “After all, that was the fleet I commanded when I attacked the Saint's Aegis.”