Princess of the Void 4.27. Owner/Bride-to-be

Revelry is the hab level’s rowdiest and most cheerful berth. A taphouse designed in the Taiikari style, all dark red wood booths and brass fastenings, with a small cool-toned crowd of off-duty crewmates chattering around the public taps—dirt-encrusted agro shifters, HAK-suited marines, slim techs and diminutive hangar grease monkeys. All trading their laminated scrip bills for endlessly refilling steins and an assortnt of steaming, falafel-like fritters.

Grant hasn’t spent much ti here. It takes so much Taiikari beer to get him anywhere close to buzzed, and conversations lapse into hushed bowing when he’s around, especially with his wife in tow. He was never really one for bars, anyway. Too many visits to them with his brother, who always treated it like an opportunity to let the Hyde family demons out.

But Sykora is busy on the bridge going over final preparations for their return to the Imperial Core, and Grant is here by himself looking for soone.

He finds her at a booth, holding court with a gaggle of engineer girls and their bright, effervescent drinks. Cramped into the middle of the booth are her newest apprentice and her apprentice’s indentured fiancée. “You haven’t bathed until you’ve bathed in sabsum. It’s like a clean beyond clean.” Specialist ena pokes her tail at the basket of fried fish Ipqen and Ruaq are sharing. “Pass that, would ya?”

Ipqen slides the basket over and catches Grant’s approach. The big tattooed Eqtoran woman bumps her knee against the table in her haste to stand and bow. Grant rembers when he first t Ipqen. She didn’t bow to him then. Didn’t call him Majesty either. But that was before she spent months aboard the Pike, and before the admiralty made it clear that she had to sing for her supper.

He gestures her back into her seat and slides his own seat out. The Taiikari girls giggle and whisper and nudge one another while he sits down.

“You can just do a little incline thing while you’re sitting, Qen,” ena says. “Just a dip.” She demonstrates.

Ipqen mirrors her. “Like that?”

“Uh huh.” ena does it again, toward Grant. “Hii, Majesty. Jaxy says it went well on Antrice.”

“It did,” Grant says. “Your boyfriend was a badass. May I speak with you privately for a second?”

“You bet.” ena’s tail snags a disc of fried radish as she stands. “Be right back, ladies.”

She follows Grant outside of Revelry, past a cluster of pronade tables filling for the early evening. He trades bows with a gangly elentary-school aged boy, walking tail-in-tail with his navigatrix mother and already a head taller than her. Grant doesn’t spend much ti on the hab level—it’s easy to forget there are entire families here. It’s easy to forget, in the hue and cry of this harrowing operation, that he and Sykora will be one soday.

“How are they doing, the Eqtorans?” he asks ena.

The little pink engineer swallows her bite of radish. “Well, Ruaq isn’t mine, but Lady Ipqen is a real peach. She’s much too big to get into the service hatches, but she’s a natural on the manifolds, and those are the hardest part of the job. Plus, she’s easygoing, she can haul about four tis as much as any of my other girls, and she’s afraid of .”

“And that’s… good?”

“Sure it is. That ans she doesn’t go by first appearances.” ena taps her forehead. “Smart cookie. Eventually she’ll calibrate and get that I’m a total sweetheart, as long as you follow my super-simple rules.” She giggles. “Well, not you, of course, Majesty. You can do whatever you want. But the generic you. Her. Anyway, she’s doing great.”

“And she’s fitting in?”

“Sure. So of the girls were giving her guff at first, but I took care of it.”

“How?”

ena gives him a sweet, reassuring smile. “Just talked to them.”

One thing Grant has begun to suspect about ena is that she’s a candy coating on top of a very different kind of person, which he has filed away as none of his business. He isn’t sure what to make of her, but he trusts Ajax absolutely, and the man worships the ground this little weirdo walks on.

“Okay,” he says. “I want to let you know this in order to give you and Ajax so ti. Sykora and I have been talking about giving you and Ajax promotions.”

“Oh.” ena’s deanor changes completely. Her eyes go wide. Her mouth hangs open. “Um. Like, to Senior Specialist?”

“Yes. And Master Sergeant.” He squints. “You’re excited?”

“Um. Yes.” ena’s reply is shaky. “Yes. Thank you.”

“I’ve heard a rumor we’re gonna lose you for a while once that happens,” Grant says. “So business you two have to attend to, I hear?”

She lets out a fluttery laugh. “So. Yeah.”

“Well, look.” Grant crouches. “If you promise to delay until this crisis is over, we’re willing to give it to both of you now. And then you can do whatever.”

“Um. I.” ena’s lip quivers. “Can I have just a second? To, uh—”

“Of course.”

She turns away. She takes a deep breath and holds it. She rubs her eyes.

Grant peers over her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“I’m just really, really, uh…” Her tail waves at him. Her voice is tiny and wavering with emotion. “I’m just really glad.”

She turns back around, blinking rapidly.

“I won’t take him away until you say it’s okay, Majesty. I won’t. I just. I need to—” Another deep inhale, this one damp at the edges. “Is it okay if I tell him?”

“I figured you would.”

“Okay. Okay, I’ll—” Moisture is beading in ena’s big round eyes. She wipes them on her forearm. “God, so embarrassing. I’m just gonna… I’m gonna go find him.” She looks at the glow coming out of Revelry. “Oh, hellfire. My girls. I—”

“I’ll let them know,” Grant says. “Go find your man.”

“Yes, Majesty. I’ll go and uh—” A tear slips down her freckled cheek. “Thank you. I can’t—uh. It’s not appropriate to hug you. But…”

His urge is to say no, of course. But she’s absolutely right, as much as he mourns it. They’re in public, and he’s a Prince, and she’s a grease monkey.

He holds his arms out a few feet away. “Air hug?”

She laughs tearfully and imitates him. Then she hurries away, tugging her communicator out of her chest pocket and holding down the voice command button. “Call Good Boy,” she mutters into the receiver.

Grant returns to Revelry’s wide-pillared doorway, scooting past a flock of outgoing gunnery girls who take a break from blowing a handso attendant kisses to bow en masse.

He returns to the table full of junior engineers. He gives his best royal dreamboat smile to the constellation of awestruck red eyes looking up at him. “ena had to dash. Would you ladies mind if the Eqtorans and I borrowed the table?”

“Not at all, Majesty.” A platinum-haired Taiikari girl—Nasha, if Grant rembers right—bows and lifts one last bit of fish from the table’s basket. Looks like the taste is spreading. Or at least everyone’s copying ena. “Let’s give the cute xenos so space, gals.”

The Taiikari clear out, with a chorus of chipper good evening, Majestys and so good to see you, Majestys. Grant’s pleased to see a few of them sharing Eqtoran forearm-bumping handshakes with Ruaq and Ipqen on their way.

“I haven’t gotten much of a chance to talk to you two, what with everything going on.” He reaches across the vacant table and takes a fish strip from the salt-brined basket.

“We’ve been busy, too.” Ruaq’s hand rests on Ipqen’s jumpsuited thigh. As far as Grant can tell, the Eqtoran ladies’ wardrobes consist mostly of uniforms. “It’s nice. Keeps a body from dwelling on the abstract when you’ve got stuff to do with your hands.”

Grant pops a flaky, breaded morsel into his mouth. “God, that’s delicious. What is that?”

“Lopaq fish,” Ipqen says. “From Apqar’s Ocean. We call that butterfish on account of the creaminess.”

“Are they preparing it right?”

“Sure.” Ipqen chuckles and wipes her heavy fingers on a napkin. “Hard to fuck up a butterfish.”

“So you two are settling in all right?”

“Sure.” Ipqen tosses the napkin into the near-empty basket. “I hear they made all the doors taller before I got here thanks to a certain Maekyonite everyone’s droolin’ over.”

“Thing is, we’re at the halfway point through the fish,” Ruaq says. “Gonna have to go back to the Eqtora system soon.”

“The Paas system,” Ipqen says.

“My mistake, mistress.”

“You suck.”

Ruaq’s tail slaps against Ipqen’s. It’s a atier sound than the Taiikari tail-tufted paff. “They’ve got up in the hydropons. Kind of lateral, going from fauna to flora. But I guess the crew prefers getting treated by a Taiikari who knows how Taiikari work and not an Eqtoran who’s gonna ask them how moisturized their dorsal is. Fair enough.”

“In the wider view, though,” Grant says. “How is it to be in, uh… not a republic, anymore.”

“Ah. Yeah.” Ipqen shifts uncomfortably. Her knee brushes up past the lip of the table.

“It still doesn’t feel real to ,” Ruaq says. “Maybe part of that is Ipqen and have been in it for a while, now. What with getting kidnapped and all. But there’s sothing so…” She waves her arm to indicate the artificial terrain of the hab level. “You’re picking out your groceries for the next few days and you rember these plants were grown on an Imperial battleship, and I’m an Imperial subject, and also my fiancée owns . And then you squeeze the tai fruit to check whether it’s ripe, and it is, and you eat it.”

“Nobody’s giving you shit for it, are they?” Grant asks. “The indenturent thing.”

Ipqen shakes her head. “There’s so clerical stuff now and again, is all. Allotnts and such.”

“Getting a couples cabin was kind of tricky, and technically all my paychecks and scrip and shit belong to Ipqen, and she just gives ‘em to after the fact.” Ruaq links her slim arm through the crook in the elbow of her owner/bride-to-be. “But everyone is being very polite about the enslavent thing.”

“God. I’m—uh.” Grant leans in so that none of the Taiikari at other tables hear them. “Sorry, Ruaq. We’ll get it sorted out.”

“I know you will, Majesty.” Ruaq’s got such a warm smile, for being a mber of a species that’s all canines. “I’m not stressed about it.”

Ipqen fidgets. She is clearly stressed about it.

“We’re going to the Imperial Core again,” Grant says. “And I know they’re not, uh… we just have to be careful. I’m asking you both to stay on the ship while we’re there.”

“Don’t gotta tell twice,” Ipqen says.

“I’ll tell you what.” Grant taps his engagent-ringed finger against the table. He’s still getting used to its clack. “Once all this is through, I’m going to be getting involved with Qarnaq. There might be an opportunity for you to transfer off the Pike, back to the Paas system.”

“We’ll think about it, Majesty. But, uh, speaking for myself, and with all due respect.” Ipqen rests one big mitt on her keeper’s delicate shoulder. “There’s no escaping the Empire anymore. Not for us with the implants, but not for anyone else either. Might as well make ourselves at ho. That’s where I’m at. And, uh…” She trails off. Grant sees her fingers tighten on Ruaq’s shoulder.

“We don’t really want to see it, Majesty.” Ruaq puts her hand on Ipqen’s. “Imperial Eqtora. Not at first. Maybe soday.”

“Besides,” Ipqen says. “Closer I am to you, easier it’ll be to guilt-trip your ass.”

He laughs. “You’re too good at it.”

“Yep. Can’t let it all be good food and blue shortstack poon, y’know.” Ipqen sips her drink. “Soone’s gotta sing the haunt-songs outside your window about the death of democracy and all that. Keep you humble.”

“Babe,” Ruaq whispers. Her knee prods Ipqen’s. “Ease up.”

Ipqen’s amber eyes blink. “Uh, I’m kidding, Majesty.”

“You can only be half-kidding.” Grant lowers his voice. “I know that there’s plenty of eyes around here. Appearances and all. But when there’s no crowd, you can still call Grant. And you don’t have to bow to all the ti or anything.”

“Uh. Grant. I kind of do.” Ipqen smiles apologetically. “It’s just… If I don’t do it all the ti, I worry I’m gonna forget at the wrong mont. You know? It’s easier for to just—keep everything straight. Know what I an?”

“I do,” he says, and despite the cavity it’s carved in his stomach, he does. These two don’t have the wiggle room he has, the protection. They need to be careful. And he really should be used to it by now. But Ipqen’s gone from a colleague to a subject, and sohow it hurts all over again.

***

“Nothing,” Hyax grunts as she settles into her seat at the command table. “Another interrogation in the hole, and Niminoa gives us nothing but glowers and sworn oaths to secrecy.” She folds her gauntlets across her midsection. “I’m requesting permission to use you-know-what, Majesty. We’re not getting a peep out of her without it.”

“Steady on, Brigadier,” Sykora says. “The Empress charges us to turn to the compound only during ergencies, when we’ve exhausted all other options, and we haven’t.” She gestures to Vora, waiting on the periphery with her tablet in-hand. “Majordomo?”

“The office was traced to a world one system over from Taiikar.” Vora steps into the hovering star map and points. “A planet called Chassak. The screengrab we froze bears it out. That green light coming in through its shutter there.”

“We’re going back to the Imperial Core, then.” As she gazes at the star map hovering over the command table, Sykora twists her engagent ring around on her finger. “The goddamn nightmare returns.”

“Indeed,” Vora says. “It’s quite warm, so pack light. And prepare for bureaucracy to a severe degree. Chassak is the pri world of the Imperial College of Clerks. Bogs and barristers as far as the eye can see.”

“At least we’re on business this ti,” Hyax says. “Real business. Not rubbing shoulders.”

Sykora nods her grim agreent. “No fawning curtseys or wheedling smiles. I am a Princess Margrave, returning on a mission, with marines at my back and a Prince by my side, and I will be given the respect I’m owed.”

“In a soundproofed pair of earmuffs,” Grant adds.

Sykora sighs. “I’ll wear the goddamn earmuffs. Yes.”

“Far be it from to propose additional prudence, Majesty,” Vora says. “Or that we spend any more ti in the Core than I need to. But we can’t be too quick and bruising, or everyone will question why you made the trip. So fake business.”

“Got any suggestions, majordomo?” Grant asks.

“A likely public motive is finding ourselves consultation and representation over Kanori’s death and the next steps for Cloud Gate,” Vora says. “We could lodge Narika’s proposed petition. The docunt is in, with signatures from her and the Princess of the Bright Covenant.”

Sykora snaps her fingers. “And while we’re in the area, we might as well finally get that portrait of you done. I can’t keep looking at your photo in the peerage. Not fancy enough. And I think you’re coming off a blink. Your eyes are sort of—” She half-shuts hers.

“I’ve had better photos taken,” Grant admits.

“The pri objective, of course, is investigation. We’ll be asking after which clerk was due to be in office 7-Thule on the day Kanori’s head exploded. And I want into that office. They’ll try to stonewall us.” Sykora cracks her knuckles. “I am in no mood.”

Have we thought about going in sothing smaller than the Pike?

Sykora shakes her head. I’m not resting my head anywhere but behind an impenetrable mbrane that I control.

“One last piece of business.” Waian detaches from her console and threads her hands together. “We received a datacrypted transmission, Majesty. Earlier today. I’ve been going back and forth on showing this to you, but if we’re going to the core, it’s ti.”

Sykora raises a brow. “You hid this?”

“I wanted to make sure it was legit,” Waian says. “Had to watch it myself, had to run my little tests on it. And it wasn’t imdiately mission-critical.” Her ears flatten back along her head. “It’s encoded as a reply to your bounty.”

Sykora’s shoulders tighten.

“You had a bounty?” Grant asks.

Sykora nods. “For anyone who could approach with information about the events of my kidnapping and marooning on Maekyon. I’ve got a rather eye-watering sum set aside as a reward. Who sent this?”

“Unsigned,” Waian says.

“And it’s legitimate?” Hyax asks.

“Yep.” Waian hooks her thumbs into her coverall’s belt loops. “I screened it and I passed it around half the monitor team. There’s no chiras or proof of tampering that I can find. Just raw video taken from a security cara.”

“Legitimate but anonymous.” Hyax fiddles with the clasp on her half-cape. “Who did this?”

“Whoever it was, we need to do the first watch on mute,” Grant says. “Make a copy and wipe the audio completely, just to be sure.”

“I’ve scanned it, boss,” Waian says. “It’s safe.”

Grant shakes his head. “I trust you with my life, chief engineer. But I can’t trust anyone with Sykora’s.”

Waian clicks her tongue but obeys. She plugs her arm back into the console and goes still. With a flurry of digital readouts and rapid progress bars, her digital presence strips the file of its sound and queues it onto the screen.

A garishly colored banquet appears—a two-dinsional image like a floating TV screen. There’s Sykora, laughing one of her 50% sincere laughs at sothing a middle-aged Taiikari woman is telling her.

“This is the feast at Gonnamor,” Sykora murmurs. “This is the day that ruined my life. And reinvented it half a decacycle later.” She stares across the sea of faces with a searching expression.

Her digital doppelgänger pushes her seat out and gives a quick kiss to the air by the woman’s cheek.

“I don’t rember this.” Sykora’s grip digs into his hand. “I—”

Her breath creaks to a halt as a servant steps into fra, glancing at the departing Princess and the cara behind her.

Grant knows that face. How does he know that face?

And then it cos to him in a sickening flash of vertigo. Heels on marble.

What am I seeing here? Would you like to tell ?

I don’t an fix the tray. I an fix you.

The woman turns from the cara and departs at an unhurried pace in the direction Sykora went. As she puts distance between herself and the cara, her outline becos grainier and more difficult to pick out of the crowd. But Grant knows who that was. And judging by the speechless rage spreading across Sykora’s face, she does, too.

Following the Sykora of old, the Sykora before her imprisonnt on Maekyon, is a servant of her mother, Marquess Palatine Inadama.