"… Mind begets matter, not the other way around – Intent, The First Law
No pattern may be created, except that which is viable – Viability, The Second Law
Integrity of the manifestation is contingent upon attunement to the Veil – Resonance, The Third Law..."
- The Three Laws of Psionics
~~~~
To call Utopia Station's Grand Ballroom grandiose, wouldn't do it justice. Indeed, the name didn't even come close to describing the true scale of the hall, for one could reasonably land a corvette inside that chamber, with plenty of room to spare. It was so large, that it had its own microclimate, or would have, were it not for the sophisticated life support systems which maintained conditions inside to the exact specifications of the occupants. Aside from the systems which ran it, it was also identical to every other Grand Ballroom aboard every other Council station in the galaxy.
The grand chamber was hexagonal in shape, with a raised dais on one side, for visiting Great Houses officials, illuminated by enormous holographic braziers that floated above, suspended on antigrav fields, the furnishings depending on which Great Houses were in attendance, currently a replica of the Crystal Throne that resided on Kalaris, looking at once both delicate and imperious, spun from a million tiny crystal threads that made it look as if it had been woven by a pack of artistic spiders, rather than machinery or alien hands. It took the honored central place, along with tables and seating of silver and crystal, for the Alvari delegation. And off to the side, to the right of the Alvari section, another throne, this one of polished obsidian that seemed to drink in all the light, inlaid with gold filigree that was all spikes and jagged lines, or panels that depicted scenes of domination, subjugation and violence. The Obsidian Throne, the seat of the Dra'var'th, the Dragon House, along with matching chairs and tables.
Down below the dais, two walls were lined with chairs, tables and various other seating arrangements for the Lesser Species which, although still opulent, paled in comparison to the grandeur of the High Table. And the chamber's center was reserved for the dance floor, an enormous slab of pearlescent marble cut and polished from a single block of stone and embedded with quartz crystals that glittered with a million colors as they refracted the ambient light and on balconies above, a grand orchestra would fill the ballroom with the hypnotic melodies of the Alvari.
The floors were enormous slabs of black granite, laser-cut with such awe-inspiring precision, as to fit together with hardly a visible seam or blemish, polished to a mirror finish and inlaid with precious metals and gemstones from a thousand conquered worlds. The walls were panels of gold and silver, as tall as mid-rise building, each one engraved with murals depicting historical scenes and Council propaganda. And high above, supported by impossible, spun-glass pillars, an enormous, vaulted ceiling of translucent glasteel that could either display the stars outside, or holographic imagery of any sky imaginable. Currently, it was configured to show the summer sky on Kalaris.
As was custom – and law, for in Council space the two were often interchangeable, the minor officials and various other attendants had already taken their seats and serving robots flitted about with trays of exotic drinks served in fluted glasses generated from hardlight by the ballroom's holographic projectors, rather than carved, forged, or spun out of any physical material. The high officials would arrive only after the first rays of the local star crested above the ceiling and would do so in the order of their station, with all those who followed after, being expected to bring gifts.
Naturally, Valyra would be the first procession of leaders to file inside, preceded by her herald and flanked by her closest advisors and her royal guards. And she looked resplendent, clothed in the traditional gown and bearing all the trappings of her rank. Her jet-black hair was braided into a thousand ropes, each bound together with a string of diamonds on a chain so delicate, that it was no thicker than a single strand of her silken locks and on her brow, rested a tiara that seemed spun together from dreams and starlight.
Her herald stepped forward and recited the customary announcement, his voice amplified by the ballroom's harmonics, so that it would carry to each and every corner of the chamber, despite the refined softness of his voice. "Her Royal Highness, princess Valyra Thay Rynn, First Daughter of the Alvari Dominion, first in line to the Crystal Throne and highest of the Great Houses of the High Table, the Phoenix House."
All throughout the ballroom, the attendants stood, then bowed with arms crossed over their chests, then knelt, in perfect synchronicity and as the princess swept her aquamarine gaze over the assembled crowd, she could already tell the humans had a surprise in store, for their representatives were not the only ones from amongst the Lesser Species in attendance. Her eyes also fell upon the Obsidian Throne to the right of hers, high on the dais and her features twisted in a subtle, disapproving scowl. Despite the outward civility with which the two civilizations interacted, it was no great secret that the Dragon and the Phoenix were not exactly fond of each other, indeed, their mutual animosity even greater than the usual bickering and rivalries between the Great Houses and unfortunately, they were the third oldest and most powerful of the galaxy's civilizations, after the Phoenix and Golem Houses, though that other ancient House, a machine intelligence created by a long-dead race which perished due to an unfortunate gamma ray burst, rarely involved itself in galactic politics. Personally, she considered the Dra'var'th barbarians in silken clothing, their notoriously excessive cruelty being something she greatly disapproved of. Alas, this was their sector, after all, so the arrival of their representatives was to be expected.
A fleeting glance was all she spared the Obsidian Throne, before she took her place, her eyes still searching the assembled masses for the one figure that had intrigued her most, though to her mild frustration, he did not yet seem to be in attendance. And since she had ordered his presence at the ball, the only conclusion was that he would arrive as part of the human Prime Minister's entourage, which was strange for a lowly commander.
"His Lordship, Overseer Dra'noth, Lord High Subjugator of the Stygian sector, honored servant of the Dra'var'th Overlordship, third of the Great Houses of the High Table, the Dragon House," another herald called out, this one in a harsh, barking voice that sounded like a volcano erupting, tearing Valyra's attention away from her private musings and back to the present.
Overseer Dra'noth was everything his title indicated him to be. Tall and lanky in the way of his species, with a permanent scowl upon his features, with eyes that burned like hot embers set in a skull topped by black horns and covered in a crimson skin that reminded her of fish scales, clad in a black uniform studded with carved ivory and polished obsidian. If ancient scientists from Valyra's species had inspired the human myths about elves and angels, it was easy to see why the Dra'var'th had inspired their depictions of demons. And those of the Dragon House did nothing to dispel that reputation, for while the other Great Houses were ruthless in the pursuit of their interests, the Dra'var'th had elevated cruelty to the highest station of their civilization. Indeed, cruelty was the central philosophy of the Overlordship, where everyone was a slave of someone else and those at the top psionically fed upon the anguish of those below them and even the name of their species was unpleasant to pronounce, with a pause between each syllable, which gave her a sensation she could describe only as like having shards of glass stuck in her throat. Theirs was a species of psionic vampires and they reveled in everything that entailed.
If the Alvari had turned psionics into both religion and an art form, the Dra'var'th had turned it into an instrument of terror. And as the Overseer and his entourage crossed the grand ballroom, she could sense it radiating off of him like a boiling cauldron threatening to spill at any moment. Several human attendants visibly flinched as he passed, while others stared at him with barely disguised hatred, both things which the Overseer seemed to revel in as he stopped before her, bowing stiffly and presenting her with the customary gift, which in this case was a dagger fashioned from the rib of a sacrificed slave. She immediately hated it, hated that she had to touch it, hated that she had to feel the lingering echo of that poor being's suffering and was glad to place it back into its box and hand it over to her maids, once the traditional exchange was finished. She made a mental note to dispose of the horrid thing in the nearest waste disintegrator once the ball ended.
And the rest of the day, it seemed, would be filled with even more surprises, for as the Lesser Species processions began filing in, they did not do so in the order she would have expected them to. The humans should have been the first, but the herald that stood in the center, was most definitely not human. "Second Chieftain Orguroth Ur-Kagga, ambassador of the Confederated Orkyn Tribes," recited the herald, the announcement much more modest in the manner of the Lesser Species. That one was an exemplary member of his species, towering even among his already cyclopean kind by at least a head and covered in furs and patterned leathers from the great beasts of his homeworld, the green skin of his features weathered with age and one tusk broken, no doubt in the battles his kind were so fond of. He presented her with a hunting bow that weighed almost half as much as she did, which she had to draw on her psionic powers to even hope to have a chance at lifting it. Still, even with that inconvenience, she was well aware of the great significance of that weapon among the Second Chieftain's species, so she thanked him with a small dip of her head as he knelt and presented it to her.
On and on, the delegations went, each with their heralds and their gifts, confirming that which she already suspected earlier. The reptilian Ssarok merchants in their gleaming garments of gold, the insectoid Chett, buzzing and chittering, the diminutive Myiori, rodent-like, always curious and never still, on and on they filed in until all thirteen of the Pact species except the humans were represented, those scheming Terrans having invited all their allies to the reception ball. Once again, they demonstrated a remarkable degree of cunning, achieving three things at once with this display. On one hand, it strengthened the already solid bonds between them and their allies. On the other, it served to advertise to her the full extent of what they had to offer. Then, there was a third, more subtle message, a veiled warning to the Dra'var'th, that mankind was not alone and would not go down as easily as they did the first time, should the Dragon House decide to back them into a corner. The strangest thing, though, the one she couldn't figure out, was why they had decided to humble themselves to the degree of leaving their arrival for last. The reason would reveal itself soon enough, though.
A new voice boomed across the ballroom. "His Imperial Majesty, warlord Kainan Wolfe, sovereign of the Terran Empire, steward of Earth-That-Was and liege of the first House among his peers, the House of Wolves," announced the herald. And this time, Valyra couldn't hide the surprise from her features any more than she could suppress the involuntary gasp that escaped past her lips. There he was, at the center of the human delegation, the portly Prime Minister at his side, along with a procession of soldiers and officials. He had ditched the navy blue Council security uniform for a severe trench coat that reached down almost to his ankles, the fabric dyed a dark, ashen gray that reminded her of the color of mankind's dead homeworld, with white piping and trim. His shoulderpads were clad in the black fur of some beast she couldn't identify and draped diagonally from his left shoulder to his right hip, was a crimson sash, the color of his species' blood.
He stood tall, imperious, holding himself with an air of such casual authority, that even Valyra found herself impressed. And though none of the Pact delegates would break Council protocol by bowing to him, as the grand hall erupted with the sounds of Orkyn fists drumming on their tables, with the hisses of the Ssarok, the buzzing of the Chett and all the other grunts, growls, chirps and squawks of the other processions, it was evident to whom the assembled Lesser Species really paid homage to.
"The insolence…" Ilvandar, hovering behind her throne, whispered in her ear. "The humans style themselves in the manner of the Great Houses," the sleazy little diplomat spoke. And Valyra had no answer to give him, as for the first time in decades, she found herself at a loss of words. With greater effort than she would ever admit, she composed herself as the Terran warlord mounted the stairs to the dais and knelt customarily before her throne, her regal expression returning, except for a subtle smirk. Her slender hand reached out to accept the customary gift he offered her, a delicately-forged musical instrument she recognized as a flute. "This was forged three hundred years ago by a master craftsman who supplied instruments to some of the most legendary musicians of Earth-That-Was," he explained as she inspected the flute's delicate craftsmanship. "It is said that when one plays this flute with real passion, those fortunate enough to hear its notes can feel a fluttering of angels' wings. This one is the last of its kind."
Valyra smiled. Not a formal smile, or a curt nod, but a genuine expression of joy, her aquamarine eyes glinting in the ballroom's light, a smile that became a playful smirk as she addressed him. "You are a very clever man, commander," she said, teasingly emphasizing that last word. "Posing as a lowly liaison to get a measure of me in a context not constrained by diplomatic protocol. And Empire, not Federation? Very clever, indeed, to have concealed that for… how long, exactly?"
"Seven years, your highness. Although we still have elections for many of the positions in our government, mankind has ceased being a republic seven years ago, though it took some time for an orderly transition to finalize," Kainan answered her, his own smirk matching hers. "It was a peaceful process, we simply realized that it would serve our interests better if we reformed our government to follow the example set out by the older, wiser Houses, like your own."
Again, Valyra's eyes flashed with surprise as she recognized the true scope of the humans' ambitions. For there was one and only one reason the Great Houses, with one exception, organized themselves as monarchies. As widespread genetic manipulation and artificial womb technologies had made traditional reproduction redundant across most of the galaxy, it paved the way for a custom that had become a staple way of forging ties among the species of the High Table: marriage alliances. And though it was not unheard of for members of lower nobility to seek just such an arrangement with a particularly influential ruler from among the Lesser Species, it was still rare enough to be audacious. And given the timing and manner in which the warlord had decided to announce his government's transition, she wondered how long it would be until one of her handmaids might receive invitations to begin negotiating one such deal. A bold move on the humans' part, to seek to tie their fates so closely to hers and she wondered if they would still do so, were they aware of just how… complicated her political situation was.
And that they managed to suppress the knowledge of their government's reshuffling for so long, was by itself, a very impressive feat, though the smugness in Overseer Dra'noth's aura told her the Dra'var'th had already got wind of some things, though it had to have been recent enough so as to not afford them enough time to prevent the change. For although matters of internal governance were supposed to be one of the few things Council authority did not extend to, in reality, things were a lot more complicated and it was not uncommon for a Great House to intervene in the internal matters of one of their vassals, in cases where some policy might prove to be an inconvenience to their interests.
Indeed, the reason for the Overseer's smugness became apparent as the loathsome worm leaned forward to speak. "It is… satisfactory to us that one of the species of lesser stock under our stewardship, has finally managed to internalize some tiny measure of our wisdom. In fact, such an occasion deserves to be marked with a symbolic gift," spoke Dra'noth as he motioned for his attendants to bring forth a wrapped package that was just then carted into the ballroom by an antigrav sled. "A monarch can not be a ruler without a seat and with that in mind, the Dragon House wishes to honor the newly-minted House of Wolves with a seat befitting of their station. I present to you the iron… chair," the Overseer said, a smug satisfaction painted on his ugly features as his servants unveiled the package.
It was the kind of seat one might have cobbled together from the refuse of a scrapyard, a mockery imitation of a throne, all straight lines, crude welding seams and hard edges, bereft of any adornments or comfort. That it was forged of iron, the element widely considered to be the most lowly across most of the galaxy's civilizations, only added to the insult. And it was at that very moment, when all the shocked gasps and growls of disapproval echoed across the hall, that Dra'noth decided to inflict the final twisting of the knife, the cherry at the top of his grand spectacle of humiliation. "We would, of course, invite you to join us here on the dais, but alas… your species still has much to progress before you are ready for such an ascension. Oh, well… Maybe in a thousand years or five…"
Kainan took it in stride. He stood, then turned to examine the supposed 'gift,' with a respect one would normally reserve for a fine, purebred steed or a rare jewel. "Iron…" he said, nodding slowly as he ran his hand over the rough metal of one of the armrests. "An element most often overlooked… Not the strongest, or the most beautiful and noble…" he said, slowly pacing around the thing, as if deep in contemplation of its value. "And yet, where obsidian shatters, iron bends… It will never match the beauty of the nobler metals, yet none would forge a sword out of gold and silver… And a hundred trillion years from now, when the last star dies out and all the other elements have decayed to dust, only iron will remain…" he said, nodding his appreciation. "It is a good element. And House Dragon demonstrates great magnanimity by bestowing upon us the honor of associating us with that element from which the strongest wills are made. The House of Wolves thanks you for this wondrous gift, Overseer," he said, turning to offer a low bow to the Dra'var'th upon his throne, who's smugness had been replaced by a visage of cold fury. "We receive it in the spirit with which it was given."
Over on her throne, Valyra's features lit up with a grin. Of course, leave it to that human to take such a public insult against his species' pride and turn it around to fashion it into a boon.
Later, after all the ceremonial exchanges and rituals had finished, she found him leaning against one of the ballroom's spun-glass columns, his steel-gray eyes observing the mingling crowds with the sharpness of a hawk. "I have to admit, your majesty, you continue to surprise me," she said as she swiped a hardlight glass of something pink and fizzy from a passing serving robot. "Thrice today and once, the day before. A very rare achievement, indeed," she mused in a low, half-whisper, her conspiratorial tone mirrored by the playful glint in her aquamarine eyes.
"One has to be cunning to survive, princess," he responded with a smirk. "The galaxy is a harsh place, after all," said Kainan as his eyes drifted to the glass in her hand. "Champagne from Earth-That-Was… One of the last few bottles in the entire universe. I hope you'll find it to your liking."
Valyra ignored his attempt at deflection, she wasn't about to let him play that game with her again. "You are playing a very dangerous game, warlord. Even your choice of title is a bold and risky move, for one might easily mistake it for a declaration of rebellion," she said, before taking a small sip from the champagne and smiling in appreciation of the beverage.
"We are a species forged in war and conquest, your highness. Hardened by it, from the earliest days of our existence," Kainan said to her, his tone shifting from his previous, good-natured mischief, to something more pensive and introspective. "Time and time again, we have faced its horrors and each and every time, we have emerged stronger from its embers. It is wise to be mindful of one's history, wouldn't you agree?"
She scoffed, rolling her eyes, though the smile never faded from her lips. "Such a game you play, human… Yesterday, you had me believe you were just another spy working for the Prime Minister, when in fact the Prime Minister is the one working for you. Today, you announce yourself with a pride to match that of a ruler of one of the Great Houses, yet you humble yourself by being the last to arrive. And the way you turned Dra'noth's insult around, salvaging what should have otherwise been a complete disaster for your image… It makes me wonder if I should be more weary of you, than of my House's traditional rivals," Valyra teased, before finishing her drink and releasing the hardlight glass, which was then simply dematerialized by the ballroom's holographic projectors. And then, her already mischievous smile became an outright dangerous grin. "If you are so determined to cause a scandal today, then perhaps you would indulge me in a small and harmless conspiracy."
At that, he raised an eyebrow, his own lips curving upwards into a smirk. "And what exactly do you have in mind, your highness? Because I find myself most certainly intrigued by your request," he said. She kept her silence for a few more moments, a slender finger reaching out to tap his chest before she answered him. "Why don't you ask me out to dance?"
Kainan's smirk became a full-blown grin as wicked as her own. "You, my dear princess, are as fond of stirring trouble as I am," the warlord said and by way of answer, he held out his hand. As if on cue, the orchestra high on the balconies began playing a slow tune, one he recognized from his research on the Alvari and made him appreciate just how fond the princess truly was of trouble. For there was no shadow of a doubt in his thoughts that this was no coincidence, she orchestrated this, just as he did with his grand entrance, as the dance that melody was for, was most definitely not an appropriate one, given the differences in their station. And as he led her to the dance floor, he could see it in that glimmer in her eyes that this was her way of exacting her revenge on him for the surprise he pulled earlier.
He should have excused himself, apologized loud enough for all the gawking onlookers nearby to hear. It would have been the smart thing, the strategically ambiguous thing, but like the fool he was, he decided to go along with her little game, even though he knew that by this time next week, half the galaxy would be gossiping about the audacity of the human. Ignoring Ilvandar's furious scowl and the palpable hostility of her royal guards, he gently slid his arm around Valyra's waist and began leading her through the motions of the dance, once again demonstrating just how thoroughly he had studied her species' customs.
For her part, Valyra did not hesitate for a moment and pressed herself against him, while also using the intimate closeness of the courtship dance as an excuse to lean in close and whisper in his ear. "I assume your Prime Minister has already informed you why I'm here, yes?" This close, he could feel her breath upon his neck and he had to suppress a shudder and fight to keep his wits about him. "He has," he whispered back. "You want us to make sure that this year's tithes are handled by accountants of your choosing." Of course, all the Lesser Species paid a yearly tithe to the Galactic Council, fifty percent of which was due for the Great House that ruled over the sector, while the rest was supposed to be divided equally between the other High Table species. In theory, it was a fair system where the Great Houses used those resources to maintain the galactic infrastructure that everyone relied upon. Navigation beacons, infonet relays, refueling stations and translation matrices that enabled trade and diplomacy between species whose vocal cords were not always compatible with each other's languages. In short, all the things the galaxy depended on to function. In practice, the majority of the tithes only served to fatten the purses of the Great Houses at the expense of the Lesser Species. But in practice, the Lesser Species also always fudged the numbers, always finding ways to pay less than they were supposed to.
For a high official of one of the Great Houses, especially an heiress, to request that the accounting be handled by her own hand-picked bureaucrats, though, was highly unusual. It was, more than an indicator of a desire for skimming off the top, a sign of political tensions, usually internal. Not that it would take a genius to guess that an Alvari princess would ever visit human space purely for the sake of diplomacy.
"In principle, I do not see why not," answered the warlord, his tone pensive. "Although the Dragon House will almost certainly issue a formal protest, especially considering the… historic relations between your two species."
Valyra snickered, playfully rolling her eyes before leaning close to whisper again. And sliding her hands along his shoulders in a way that was definitely intended to surprise him into lowering his guard. "Oh, let me worry about the Dragon House… Though, I have to wonder. Given how amenable you seem to my request, just what exactly might you wish for in return?"
He paused, his brows furrowing for a moment as he pondered his response. "Many things, your highness. Prosperity for my people… security for the Empire… technologies to end disease and bring Earth back… But I will settle for something more realistic. A friend at the High Table, something mankind dearly lacks." It was the diplomatic, perfectly neutral answer. The expected answer, though he could see it in the subtle frown on her features that it was not the answer she had expected. But if he said anything more, he might have run the risk of her figuring out certain things that would have been… inconvenient.
Valyra wasn't one to back down so easily, or settle for such a bland response. Before she could press him for more, however, something else drew her attention. It was a familiar coldness, one she had learned to recognize early in her childhood. It was the cold breath of murderous intent, echoing across the Veil from somewhere above and behind… From one of the ballroom's upper balconies. Two things happened in less time than it would take to blink. She tensed like a coiled spring, her eyes widening and flaring with a bright cyan light as she summoned her psionic powers. Her senses extended forward, homing in on the source of that hostility, a human mind, primitive and defenseless to her intrusion. An assassin.
She read it in the man's psychic echo, the moment his mind calculated the trajectory of the bullet meant to end her life, before his brain sent the electrical impulse to his hand, before he even reached for the pistol hidden in his blue Council uniform. She was about to explode into motion, to leap out of the way, when another figure cut in front of her. She felt the gloved hands close around her waist, felt their steely grip as she was tackled to the ground. A shot rang out, the bullet whizzing through the spot she'd been in but a moment earlier. She felt the spatter of something warm on her cheek, blood. Crimson, human blood. And as she gazed up, she found herself staring into Kainan's stormcloud eyes.
The universe, which paused as if holding its breath, came crashing back into focus and around them, chaos erupted. Some delegates ducked, others scrambled for the exit. One of her guards drew his shardblade and threw it at the assassin, impaling him through the chest before he could fire another round. Then, they were on top of them, two of the guards pulling the human warlord off of her, while five more formed a protective circle around their princess, shardblades drawn, helmets swiveling as they scanned the crowds. Kainan shoved the paladins restraining him and pushed himself upright, his hand reaching up to clutch at his right shoulder, where the bullet had clipped him. "Are you alright, your highness?" he asked her, a look of genuine, honest concern on his rugged features.
She stared at him, her expression one of pure, profound shock. Before she could answer, her bodyguards ushered her out of the ballroom and towards the security of the Amethyst Suite.
~~~~
"This is a disaster," Jordan Mason grumbled as he paced around in the Terran executive office, his chubby hands fidgeting with a button that had come loose as the portly man was making a run for it when the reception ball devolved into a scene of pandemonium. "A total fucking disaster, your majesty."
The chamber was spacious and furnished in a clean, sterile style, devoid of personality. A simple, stainless steel desk with a built-in holoterminal, a set of chair and a pair of white, polymer couches were the only seating arrangements, while the standard-issue, Council-supplied shelving, intended for books and personal keepsakes, sat empty. Because who would leave something as rare as a real Earth book inside a Council station?
Kainan sat opposite from him, in a chair facing the door. It was his first time seeing the inside of that office, as the details of his coronation had to be kept secret and no one with a functioning brain had a shadow of a doubt that the entirety of the executive wing was under heavy Council surveillance. Indeed, it was safe to assume that even the bugs had bugs, which is why none of the Lesser Species ever used the executive facilities aboard their respective Council stations. "Calm down, Jordan. This changes absolutely nothing, she needs us as much as we need her," he said as the autodoc was patching up his injured shoulder, the robot's many appendages whirring and clicking as it worked. "Do we know who the assassin was?"
"The Alvari have the cadaver," the Prime Minister answered. Which meant they weren't going to allow the humans to examine it. "Do we know how he managed to get in?" Kainan continued, flinching slightly as the autodoc prodded him with an injector, pumping a broad-spectrum antiseptic and antidote into the injury. Standard protocol, as one could never be quite sure the bullet wasn't poisoned. "What do you think?" scoffed the Prime Minister. "Dra'var'th delegation. One of their slaves, supposedly, though they're going to deny any knowledge of this."
"And the princess?" Kainan asked. "How is she?" Prime Minister Mason opened his mouth to answer, but before he could utter a word, his secretary barged into the office, alarm written all over her features. "Your majesty! Prime Minister!" the woman panted, as if she had been running a treadmill. "Calm down, Annabel. What's going on?" said the Prime Minister as he turned to face her with surprising spryness for his portliness.
The answer came when the doors hissed open and a pair of Alvari paladins marched inside, taking position on either side of the entrance. And from behind them, Valyra rushed in like a beautiful whirlwind, her expression one of furious determination. Her eyes found Kainan, still shirtless as the autodoc was just finishing with the last few stitches. It was not the wound in his shoulder which solicited the small gasp that even she was unable to suppress. Neither was it his broad-shouldered frame and the corded muscles which covered it. It was the tapestry of scars that covered every inch of him and though she'd known he had been a slave of the Dra'var'th, seeing it written on his flesh, was another thing entirely. Her expression softened for a moment and she slowed her steps, as if in hesitation, before the regal mask returned. "Leave us," she commanded, not even bothering to spare a glance at the Prime Minister and his secretary. Her tone made it very clear she would not tolerate any hesitation to obey. "You as well. And take the robot with you," she added as her cold glare turned to her guards.
As soon as they were alone, she turned to face him, crossing the distance between them with two graceful strides. He stood, one taloned hand reaching for his bloodied shirt which he'd discarded on the desk, but Valyra pushed him gently back into the chair, her hand warm and soft on his chest, her touch impossibly gentle. "Let me have a look at that," she said and reached for a silver cylinder hooked onto her belt. She had changed out of the formal gown and into the same pearlescent, skin-tight flightsuit he'd seen her wear the other day, or rather, an identical replacement. He raised an eyebrow at her words.
"Oh, don't give me that look," she smirked as she twisted the top of the cylinder open and poured some kind of glowing sea-blue gel onto his wounded shoulder, spreading it around with her slender fingers, her touch as light as a feather. "I am a princess of the Rynn dynasty…" she spoke softly as she tended to his injury. "Assassination… is an all too real peril that all the members of my family have to be prepared for. And that preparation includes basic field medicine."
Whatever that gel was, it worked wonders. The dull, throbbing ache didn't just fade, it disappeared altogether, the angry, purple bruising around the stitches already starting to recede. "This is not exactly a tissue regenerator, but I do not have your genetic profile, or the time to configure the medical equipment," Valyra murmured, her touch lingering for a moment longer than was necessary, before she straightened herself. "You jumped in front of a bullet for me."
"I wasn't about to let the crown princess of the Alvari Dominion get shot under my watch," said Kainan, carefully rolling his shoulder, testing the injury. The princess stared into his eyes as if she was searching for something in his soul, silent for a moment, her expression troubled as she pondered what had happened. Attempts on her life, those were to be expected. Especially now. She'd spent every day of her life prepared for that, as far back as she could remember. That the human warlord would protect her, was also hardly a surprise, since aside from the political singularity bomb that would have exploded in the lap of his species had something happened to her, it was obvious that whatever his mysterious plans and ambitions were, they required her to be alive and well enough to be a part of them.
What truly surprised her, was the way he moved. He'd been much faster than he was when they sparred, too fast. Unnaturally fast. And yet, she could sense no power in his echo on the Veil, he was, for all intents and purposes, a flickering candle in the void, just like the rest of his kind. And his civilization was simply too young, it normally took at least a hundred thousand years between a species first evolving spirituality and developing enough resonance with the Veil to allow for the manifestation of psionic abilities. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this man, this human, than even she suspected. "Who are you?" she whispered, more to herself than to him, her delicate brows still furrowed as she slowly shook her head in bewilderment. "I'm just a man, your highness," was his reply.
She sighed and stood up straighter, her regal demeanor now returned in full. "The assassination attempt. What happened?" she demanded. "You probably know better than we do, your highness," he responded, his own features an inscrutable mask. "I do," Valyra nodded. "But I want to see how much you've pieced together."
It was Kainan's turn to sigh, a taloned hand reaching up to rub his temples. "Dra'var'th slave. Probably brainwashed. And… the attempt was sloppy. Any fool in the entire galaxy knows it's next to impossible to shoot a psion, especially one of Alvari royal blood. It wasn't meant to succeed, only to make us humans look bad, maybe even pin the blame on us. And the fact that your guards reacted so late, suggests someone from your own court was involved in the plot as well."
He stood and slid his torn and bloodied shirt back over his frame. What he said next, caused Valyra's composure to shatter completely. "If anything, it might even be connected to the real reason for your visit."
She took an involuntary step back, her hand reaching instinctively for the shardblade at her hip as she drew in a sharp, sudden breath and stared at him, wide-eyed and at a loss for words. She knew he was a cunning man, that he had a lot more resources and influence than he let on, but just how far did his influence truly extend? Could he somehow be aware of the real situation in the Dominion? Had this human somehow managed to infiltrate the highest echelons of galactic power in such a way that would make him privy to secrets that were as closely guarded as hers was?
He held his hands out in a conciliatory manner and as if sensing her thoughts, he spoke to reassure her. "No, your highness, I don't have access to your people's secrets any more than the rest of the Pact does. But it's not hard to connect the dots and this was a reasonable conclusion to draw. And judging by your reaction, I think my suspicions were correct."
At that, she relaxed a little, regaining most of her lost composure, though some tension remaining in the set of her shoulders. She pondered something for a moment, before addressing him. "You are a very cunning man, warlord. You have a sharp mind and a remarkable perception. And you are very ambitious," she said, taking a step closer. "So, I tell you this with the best intentions, in the spirit of what small degree of friendship is possible between us, given the difference in our stations. It would be in your best interest to rein in that shrewdness of yours, lest you find yourself wandering into matters the Great Houses do not allow the Lesser Species to even be aware of." Without waiting for a response, she turned and left his office, leaving him to his thoughts and seeking the solitude of hers.