Book Three - Chapter Twenty-Five (Patreon)

“—do I make myself clear?!”

“He said—” began Alarion.

“I do not care if he stabbed one of the Mothers to death, much less what he said,” Williams snapped. “Are you truly so dim-witted that you cannot see that he was baiting you?”

“Then I should teach him not to.”

“By all means, on the field. Or at the bare minimum not in front of a line of reporters!” Williams threw his hands up and looked ready to scream, but thought better of it. They’d found a dim service corridor on Syed Fortress’ second floor to have their talk, but it was nowhere near private. “You cannot act this way.”

“I can,” Alarion said pointedly. “You just do not want me to.”

“No, Alarion. You do not want to.”

“So you are threatening me now?”

“No, Alarion.” Williams sighed like a disappointed parent, ignoring the tension in the young man’s squared shoulders as he explained. “I am not talking about you, or him. I am talking about Ashad. What do you think it would have looked like if the Sergeant had not stopped you?”

Satisfying.

“Like I assaulted an officer.”

“Think more broadly,” Williams insisted. “Have you read a newspaper this month?”

Alarion knew what Williams was getting at. He’d known it the moment Williams mentioned Ashad. But like Williams, he was still tense. He had the anger and adrenaline of a fight with no outlet, and it was making him contrary for its own sake.

“The South Seas Alliance would have seen a decorated Auxilia attack a Vitrian officer,” he answered at last, each word tasting more bitter than the one before it. “They would have seen division.”

“And weakness.” The Governor nodded. “When we should be projecting strength. The last thing Ashad needs right now is another war.”

It wasn’t what Williams cared about; Alarion knew that. Williams would watch Ashad burn if he could use the pile of ashes to reach something higher, but so long as that was not the case, Williams’ interests were the same as Ashad’s.

“I am sorry. It will not happen again.”

Williams briefly studied Alarion, then placed a hand on his shoulder and said, “I do understand. And for what little it is worth, his family is no friend to mine. By all means, beat him half to death if you are ab—”

“Garrett!” came an unfamiliar female voice. “There you are, I have been looking all over for you.”

The woman walking toward them was beautiful—gorgeous, even—but fake. Not illusory, but unnatural in a way that Alarion found momentarily hard to place.

Eventually he settled on a simple realization. She was too perfect.

Alarion had heard of cosmetic transmutation in passing, but he’d never seen the results firsthand until now. This woman was spectacular and exotic, with hair so blonde it bordered on white and eyes so green they reminded him of the orchard in springtime. Her skin was smooth, her smile bright and inviting, her legs so long they felt endless, but it was all too much. She was in her forties at least, maybe even her fifties, but there were no wrinkles, no beauty marks or smile lines.

She was flawless, and in being flawless she’d become uncanny.

Not that it made her unpleasant to look at. On the contrary, common decency was the only thing keeping him from staring at the gorgeous woman and her red silken gown. He wasn’t sure if her curves were biology, magic, or a bit of both, but his wandering eye did not care to know the difference.

“Lyna,” said Williams, his voice so dry it threatened to suck the moisture from the air around them. “I did not expect you.”

“No one ever does,” she told him in a voice as sweet as sunshine. “I procured a cabin on The Spark. A dreadful name for an equally dreadful ship, but needs must.” Her eyes flicked past Williams and held on Alarion until he had no choice but to meet her gaze. “And you must be Alarion.”

“Really? Because your name was not on the manifest,” Williams noted. Then, perhaps sensing the inevitable, he gestured toward Lyna. “Alarion, this is Lyna Porte-Ath, a friend of mine. Lyna, this is Alarion.”

“Friends are we now, Garrett? I am flattered.” She closed the rest of the distance between them and stooped down slightly atop her spiked heels to look Alarion face to face. “Hmm…”

Lyna reached out and cupped his chin with her long taloned fingertips, urging it one way, then the other as she continued to hum and haa.

There was no force behind the touch, nor any magic that held him in place through the indignity. According to Alarion’s brief [Observation], Lyna wasn’t even Awakened. She was just bold, with such a strong presence of will that he found it easier to go along with her unstated instructions than to refuse.

“I see it,” she announced, finally releasing him and standing back to her full height. Then she smiled and made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a giggle, entirely inappropriate for her age. “I would not have thought it from the photos I’ve seen, but in person? Oh, you are absolutely their type. I should have never doubted.”

“Their?” Alarion asked, quite befuddled.

“Absolutely,” Lyna agreed without further explanation. “As Garrett said, I am Lyna Porte-Ath, businesswoman extraordinaire. I have been dying to meet you, young man, but I swear it is as though the older I get, the shorter the days become.” She clapped her hands together excitedly and continued, “Williams alone has told me so much about you.”

It was the second time in barely an hour that Alarion had been told that others were gossiping about him. It was one thing to assume they were, another to hear them admit it. He didn’t like that.

But he’d also been chewed out enough by Williams for one day.

“All pleasant things, I am sure,” Alarion said through a fake smile.

Lyna tilted her head, then laughed at him.

“Mothers, no!” she cackled, her voice deepening as she adopted a faux baritone that sounded nothing like the Governor. “This boy will be the death of me. I have never met such an insubordinate—”

“Are you quite done, Lyna?” Williams asked, arms crossed defensively over his chest.

“Nowhere near,” she answered, though she didn’t resume the mockery. Instead, she took a step back, stroking her chin as she looked Alarion up and down several times. “It really is too bad. If only you were a little taller.”

This time it wasn’t hard to tell whose type she was measuring him against.

“But nothing for it. Not unless… hmm.” She considered the thought for a moment, then discarded it as quickly as it came. “Neither here nor there for the moment. Can I offer you some advice?”

“Lyna,” Williams warned, suddenly much more serious.

“Keep your senses on the short one.”

“That is enough,” the Governor reiterated.

“Preferably all of them—”

“Lyna!”

“Oh no, it’s fine,” she protested, swatting at his complaints as though they were a buzzing pest. “The deck is stacked against them ten times over—a little hint never hurt anyone.”

“You cannot just leak…” Williams drew a deep breath and let it out in an exhausted huff. “Alarion, we have a meeting to attend.”

Lyna perked up. “Is it that soon already? You see, Alarion? The time buzzes past. May I accompany you fine gentlemen? Garrett and I need to speak after—”

“This is a military briefing,” Williams reminded her. “Eyes only, even with your credentials.”

“Oh, Garrett.” She might as well have called Williams a slur for how flushed he became at her condescending tone. “Do you really believe I would have spent days on that forsaken ship only to eye up your boy and help him cheat a little while I sit on the sidelines?”

“You know I cannot.”

“I am not asking, you silly man.” She smirked, hand disappearing into her clutch purse and reappearing with a document too large to have fit inside. “You will find everything is in order.”

Williams took the paper from her and scanned it. “The Imperator’s Eyes.”

“Someone impartial has to report back to him when all is said and done.”

“Impartial,” the Governor repeated, his eyes flicking to Alarion before he sighed again. “Of course, Madam Porte-Ath. Right this way.”