Princess of the Void

2.7. Idle Rich

“Here’s how we’ll do it,” Grant says. “You squeeze my ring finger, and if I’m okay with the compulsion, I’ll wiggle it.”

Sykora’s raises a brow as she flips the auto-lander protocol on. “Ring finger?”

“This one.” He points to it. “Before you compel, just tug on it. And I’ll keep it still if the answer’s no.”

“Ahh. Subtle.” She clasps his finger. He wiggles it in her hand. “You trust me, though, yes? Not to abuse it?”

“I do.”

“Then why the gesture?”

“The choice every time is kind of important to me,” he says. “That’s all.”

“My ridiculous Maekyonite.” She chuckles and keeps her hand on his. “All right. Squeeze it is.”

He kisses the top of her head. “Thank you, Princess.”

He inhales her scent. Sabsum, she called it. There’s that fresh citrus smell. Like clean linen and lemon. A whole planet that smells like Sykora. He’d like that.

“Oooh. Grantyde. Look.” Sykora points as the autopilot slides them into the hangar. “You see that shuttle? I was hoping I’d see that shuttle.” She digs around in the armrest compartment and comes out with a silver canister. “I have a proposition for you. A target of opportunity in our little exo investigation. Take this.”

Grant side-eyes the cylinder as she places it in his palm. It’s got a real heft to it. “What am I holding?”

“A multitool,” Sykora says. “And this is a leech chip.” She holds up a wafer-thin circuit board that looks like a punch card. “Do you want to do some crime with me, dove?”

“How criminal are we talking?”

“Nothing I can’t talk you out of if you’re apprehended. Don’t worry. But I think you like being a pest to noblewomen.”

He puts on a guilty smile. “I’m not against it.”

“Here’s my concept. Nobody pays attention to the compelled husband. Why should they? Groom’s code.” She reaches into the rear seat of the shuttle and rests her palm on the oblong gift box she’s brought for their host. “I’ll leave this here and dispatch you to retrieve it. And you use this.” She taps the multitool. “To get into that shuttle. The Karestrom with the stripe on it.”

Grant cranes his neck. “Is that one Narika’s?”

“No, no. Narika’s going to have security and countermeasures on her shuttle and I’m not risking you. The Karestrom belongs to Viscountess Lorimare.”

“Lorimare like Lorimare Holdings. The thing Garuna’s mother let drop when she was compelling me.”

“Clever husband.” She nuzzles his shoulder. “The same. Maybe she’s totally innocent, and Lady Frelle was blowing smoke. But I want to follow every lead, and the Viscountess is what I would call a gimme. Did that translate?”

“Yes, Majesty.”

“So you’ll slip in and plant this leech chip in her dash port. This bit right here.” She gestures to a cd-player looking slot on the dash. “Leave it in until it beeps, then take it out again. It’ll give us all we need on Lorimare Holdings.”

“What is it, exactly, that Lorimare is holding?”

“Pieces of the Ptolek refineries. Equipment, freighters.” Sykora flips a switch and the shuttle’s landing gear hisses to the hangar floor. “Just another petty noblewoman who dug her claws in at the opportune time and now hangs from the Ptolek economy like a tick.”

“It sounds as though there’s little love lost.”

“As an outranking noble with an interstellar warship, I have a special dispensation to despise the idle rich. This pomp and revelry—for many of the ladies in attendance, it’s their entire occupation. Turns the stomach. At least Garuna, bless her hollow little head, does something.”

“Is that something you can control?”

“My remit gets fuzzy once you depart the firmament and go planetside. And they move in packs, these do-nothings. They have friends and assets. You have to go after them in subtler ways. Using your uniquely talented husband, for example.”

“If it’s sticking the lazy rich to the wall, I’m happy to be used.” He stands up and extends his hand.

She takes it as she climbs from her seat. “Did you have the equivalent on Maekyon?”

“Oh, yeah. They didn’t all have the royal titles, but everything else is very familiar.” He opens the shuttle door for her and seats his arm around her waist as she passes him. “A huge part of our culture was about hating them and wanting to be them at the same time.”

“You could be one now, you know,” she says. “Just tell me to vent plasma on all this palace intrigue stuff, and you could be my spoiled husband. I wouldn’t reproach you.”

He grins. “Where’d the fun be in that?”

Grant lets the attention wash over and past him as he paces the ballroom floor. Great geometric statues of Taiikari matrons at five times life size gaze sightlessly down from the gemstoned corners of the hexagonal ballroom. A host of red eyes gaze fascinatedly up from its crowded coterie.

The conversations around him pause as he passes them, but he still hears snippets. He tries to hide how sharply his attention is grabbed whenever he hears his wife mentioned.

“…and now the Princess is finally back after how many cycles away and it’s at a gallery show. Richly strange.”

“Do you reckon that’s why Narika’s shown up?”

“Of course it is. It’s a power play. Welcome back, sis. Guess who’s about to run Ptolek?”

“…a wreck these days. Hate to say it. But she’s being given the runaround by piddly little pirates. And this Aodok situation, my cousin says…”

“…see her husband? He’s got to be what. Six, seven feet tall. And striking. Look, look. Over your shoulder.”

He doesn’t see much in the way of anticomps on the gentlemen in attendance, most of whom are dressed in similarly dashing suits. It confirms for him that Taiikari men have a panoply of eye colors, from familiar Maekyonite shades to more far-flung rainbow tints. He shakes hands with an effulgent duke by the name of Morek, with irises as violet as chrysanthemum.

“I thought I was a tall son of a bitch.” Morek laughs. “But you, sir, are statuesque.”

“I have to make up for the cluelessness somehow.” Grant grasps the man’s forearm. “May I ask—would you be able to point out the Baroness Konia to me?”

“Konia? That snapdragon?” Morek pulls a face. “Does your Princess know you’re looking for her?”

Grant smiles and shrugs.

“She’s the lady in the capelet and the fascinator.” The duke gestures with his horned head. “Do be cautious, Prince Consort. Yes? Konia’s a hazard. And your wife is an unsparing woman.”

“Thanks, duke.” Grant squeezes the man’s hand. “She’ll spare me, I think.”

He plucks some wine from a perambulating tray and gives the owner of the tail it’s balanced on a wink. She giggles back. It is surprisingly easy to get used to a room full of tiny knockouts thinking you’re the hottest man of the evening.

He steers himself past Konia’s gaggle and slows his steps.

“It’s going to be a ripper of a race this year. Kaikam is back, you know. And I can tell you from the trials that she’s still got it.” The lady he was pointed to is a tall (nearly 3’2”) Taiikari with an animated, gesticulating tail. “Everyone is going to be hungry to knock her from the pedestal.”

A man in her audience oohs. “Do you think it’ll happen?”

“Oh, they’d have to kill her. So… maybe. That’s the Cloudsprint.”

Grant redirects his steps and stands beside the capeleted woman. “I hope I’m not eavesdropping. I just heard race and my metaphorical ears perked up.” He sees the alchemical reaction as she turns around and up. Annoyance metamorphoses into shock and then a bubbly laugh.

“Oh, it’s no trouble.” She takes his proffered hand. “Baroness Arenta Konia. My goodness, you are a tall one. What are you?”

“A Maekyonite,” he says. “And a fan of things going really fast. Grantyde, Prince Consort of the Black Pike.”

“The Black Pike.” She rubs her chin. “Ah. You’re Princess Sykora’s. I should have figured. Void Princesses get the best toys before anyone else has even heard about them. A Maekyonite?”

He sticks his chest out. “From Maekyon.”

“My God,” murmurs one of Konia’s adherents. “I need one.”

“What’s this about a—what did you call it? Cloudsprint?” He grins. “I knew about the invisibility and I knew about the compulsion. Am I about to find out the Taiikari can walk on clouds?”

Konia’s laugh is as sweet and scintillating as champagne. “We don’t walk on them, Prince Consort. We fly through them.”

“It’s a ship race?” Grant’s eyes widen. “I’ve been hoping there was something like that ever since I first saw an interceptor. Where is it?”

“Ptolek. Right along the exo belt. Oh it’s just fantastic, Prince Consort. The speed you can achieve. It’s exhilarating.”

“Do you race?”

“I used to. These days I’ve graduated to running the damn thing.” She rubs a lacy-gloved thumb along the rim of her glass. “My majordomo would throttle me if I tried to get behind a skimmer’s clutch again.”

“Why’s that?”

“Oh, it’s appallingly dangerous.” She gives a pointy grin. “There are deaths, I’m afraid. Now and then. I came close a few times, but if you’re good enough, you’re safe.”

“Holy hell. That sounds amazing. I haven’t been to a death race since I left Maekyon.” He’s being cheeky here, but the wide eyes and brief whispers at this pronouncement tickle him. “When is this happening?”

“Oh, Prince Consort.” One of Konia’s disciples clicks her tongue in sympathy. “You probably won’t be able to attend.”

He raises his brows. “Why not?”

Konia looks past him. “Perhaps I ought to let your wife explain.”

An unsmiling Sykora is at his hip. “Good evening, Baroness Konia. Grantyde, there’s a marquess I really do have to introduce you to.”

“Just a second, honey. I’m talking to the Baroness about this thing, the windsprint.”

Konia gives a genial ahem. “Cloudsprint.”

“Right. Right.” Grant does his best impression of a golden retriever-brained hunk. “You remember how I was asking about interceptor races?”

“Oh, these aren’t interceptors, Prince Consort.” Konia breezily cuts over Sykora’s opening mouth. “They’re faster.”

“Faster and without a PD membrane.” Sykora shakes her head. “You don’t need to see that, husband. I’ll take you to the Dessimer sometime. A much saner race. Good evening, Baroness.”

“Ah, well.” Konia shrugs. “So lovely to meet you, Prince Consort. You’ve certainly made Sykora into an even luckier woman than she was already.”

“Hold on. I want to hear about these skimmer things.” Grant laughs. “What’s the rush?”

“The Princess is a busy woman,” Konia says. “Doubtless she has more important people to see. I hear you’ve got some pirate problems out on the rim. Seems like everyone’s talking about this Comet Queen.” She chuckles. “And I thought I was full of myself.”

“But how would a fellow get an invitation to… what’d you call it? A cloudsprint?”

“It’s not a place for a good boy like you.” Konia winks past Grant at Sykora. “It’s barbarism, you know.”

“I stand by that sentiment.” He feels a little tug on his ring finger. He bends the knuckle affirmatively, and looks down directly into a compulsion flash. “Come away, dear,” Sykora says. “We’ve got many people eager to meet you.”

“Pardon me, milady.” Grant gives a practiced bow and kisses Baroness Konia’s wrist. “I’ll see you around, I’m sure.”

Arenta Konia grins. “I’m sure you will. Be well, Prince Consort.”

Grant falls in with Sykora, and the crowd parts around his prodigious height.

“Masterfully done, dove,” she whispers. “Was the compulsion all right?”

“Uh huh.” He gives her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Really sold it.”

Sykora glances back at Konia, who’s trying not to be obvious as she watches them depart. “Now we let her percolate for a while.”

“They really do just let you elbow into whatever you want,” Grant says. “I wasn’t prepared.”

“That’s how it is, to be beautiful and powerful. This is your life, now.” Sykora pulls a flute of syrupy, dark blue liquid from a passing cater waiter. “Kennian amrita. Try this.”

He takes a deep pull. The rich, complex tapestry fills his nostrils and coats his tongue. Spicy and sweet and with an umami tang, like seaweed. “That is delicious,” he says.

“It’s my favorite. We have casks of it aboard the Pike. I’ll give you one. Don’t go too overboard, it’s quite fermented.”

“I’ll walk the line.” He savors another sip. “Konia’s a real piece of work. I can see why they picked her to run the death race.”

Sykora smirks. “She’s lying, you know. About riding a skimmer. She did it once, at about a third of the speed, on an unoccupied track.”

“I figured.”

“Most of these people preen. There’s little substance in this hall. But there are sharks in this colorful reef. Here and there, on-mission, like you and I. And they’re dangerous. Keep by me, yes?”

“Of course,” he says. It was his wife’s plan, to dangle him and let the coterie imagine they can slice pieces off for themselves. But he can tell it’s grating on her. He half-encircles her waist with his palm and pulls her closer. “You doing all right?”

She blinks. “Do I not seem it?”

“You’re watching your inferiors drool all over me,” he says. “You’re allowed to feel weird about it.”

“I’ll be all right, dove. I just—” She takes a deep breath. “Just need to get used to sharing you.”

“You’re sharing a lie we’re telling. The truth of me is yours.” He brushes her stomach, just past her navel. She shivers happily. “You’re keeping my secret. Remember?”

She nods as she takes the amrita and has a sip of her own. “What did you call me back there? Honey?”

“Is that all right?”

“I’d just never heard it as an endearment. Is it Maekyonite?”

“I guess it is.”

“Honey.” She turns the word over. A smile creeps across her face. “I like honey.”

He squeezes her wrist. “I like dove.”

“When you to truly want to go somewhere, not just this playacting, you’ll tell me, won’t you?” She kneads his knuckle. “And never think I’d deny you.”

“I will,” he says. It’s a little white lie. There’s a lot he desires, when it comes to the Taiikari empire, that Sykora isn’t ready to hear. Not yet.

“Do you actually enjoy races?” Sykora asks. “We really could go to the Dessimer. I do love seeing the new interceptors.”

“I’ve never been a gearhead, but I’d be down to check it out. I could use an education in starships.”

“Do not tempt me.” She giggles. “I’d talk your ear off. I get so annoying.”

“Let’s get this done, then,” he whispers, “so I can take you home, and you can annoy me.”

“Right.” She pats his jacket. “You have everything you need?”

He nods.

“Okay, then, bandit king’s son.” Sykora sets her jaw. “Let’s boost a car.”