Chapter 17 The Aftermath #2
“Hey.” I tug her closer. “I’ve survived pirates, corporate death squads, and your terrible navigation.”
“My navigation is fine—”
“You got us lost in a debris field.”
“That was artistic interpretation of the route.”
I’m laughing when the door chimes again—and this time, it opens.
My mother sweeps in first, because Lady Valorian has never waited for permission to enter anywhere in her life. She’s immaculate in diplomatic silks, every silver hair in place, and her eyes find Polly immediately with the precision of a targeting computer.
Behind her, my father fills the doorway. Lord Valorian in full ceremonial armor—because of course he wore armor to a medical bay. His gaze sweeps the room, cataloging threats, before settling on me with an expression I can’t read.
And behind them both, trying to peer around my father’s considerable bulk: Ayla. My younger sister looks like she’s about to vibrate out of her skin with contained energy.
“Rynn.” My mother’s voice is perfectly modulated. Perfectly controlled. “You’re awake.”
“Mother.” I incline my head—the greeting of an heir, not a child. “Father. Ayla.”
My father steps forward, and for a moment I think he’s going to embrace me. Instead, he grips my shoulder—firm, assessing. Checking that I’m real. That I survived.
“The bio-flare,” he says. “The healers’ reports were... concerning.”
“I’m recovering.”
“You nearly burned yourself out.” His eyes are hard, but underneath—I know that look. That’s fear, barely contained. “Your mother was... we were concerned.”
“I had no choice.”
“There’s always a choice.” But he releases my shoulder, and something in his posture eases. “You’re alive. That’s what matters.”
“Father.” I take a breath. “I need to introduce—”
“The courier.” My mother’s voice cuts across mine. She hasn’t moved from the doorway, but her attention has been fixed on Polly this entire time. Assessing. Calculating. Finding her wanting. “The one who was transporting you.”
Polly straightens beside me. I feel her spine going steel-rigid through the bond.
“Polly West,” she says. Her voice is steady, but I can feel what it costs her. “OOPS Senior Courier. And—”
“His mate.” My mother says it like she’s naming a disease. “Yes. We’ve been... informed.”
The silence stretches. Polly’s hand finds mine, and I grip it like an anchor.
“She saved my life,” I say. “Multiple times.”
“How fortunate.” My mother’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “The High Houses will have... questions about the circumstances of your bonding. Whether proper protocols were observed.”
“There were no protocols.” I keep my voice even, though my scales are heating with anger I can barely suppress. “There was a mission. A crisis. And a woman who stood beside me when everyone else would have run.”
“Rynn—”
“She is my mate.” The word comes out with more force than I intend. “My choice. I would make it again.”
My mother’s expression doesn’t flicker. But I see my father’s eyes narrow—calculating. Reassessing.
“You have pink hair.”
The exclamation shatters the tension. Ayla has pushed past both parents, decorum forgotten, her eyes fixed on Polly with undisguised delight.
“Is that regulation?” she demands.
Polly’s surprise flickers through the bond before her smile emerges—genuine, startled. “Absolutely not.”
“I love it.” Ayla grins, and for a moment she looks exactly like the little sister I remember—the one who used to sneak into my quarters to hear stories about the galaxy beyond our homeworld. “Does it wash out? Can you do other colors? Rynn never lets me dye mine—”
“Ayla.” My mother’s voice is frost. “Decorum.”
“Yes, Mother.” Ayla subsides, but she throws Polly a look that clearly says we’re talking later.
Through the bond: a flicker of warmth. At least one of them doesn’t hate her.
“We should prepare.” My father’s voice cuts through the remaining tension with military precision. “The memorial ceremony begins within the hour. The Zaterran commander has... requested our attendance.”
Requested. Meaning Henrok told them they were coming whether they liked it or not. I feel a surge of appreciation for the massive warrior.
“You’ll attend the memorial?” I ask.
“The Valorian High Houses honor warriors who fall in righteous battle.” My father’s gaze is steady. “Whatever our... concerns about certain developments, the Zaterrans died fighting alongside my son. That debt will be acknowledged.”
It’s not acceptance. But it’s something.
“I need to finish dressing,” I say. “Polly has been assisting with my injuries.”
My mother’s lips thin at the implication. But she turns toward the door with the grace of a politician retreating from an unwinnable position. “We’ll await you in the corridor. Don’t be late.”
She sweeps out. My father follows, but he pauses at the threshold.
“The courier.” He doesn’t turn around. “She truly saved your life?”
“More than once.”
A pause. Then: “We’ll speak more after the ceremony.”
He’s gone before I can respond.
Only Ayla lingers, bouncing on her heels, clearly desperate to stay and ask approximately one thousand questions.
“Ayla.” My mother’s voice carries from the corridor.
“Coming!” She darts forward and grabs Polly’s hand—quick, fierce. “I’m so glad he found you. He’s been alone forever and it was awful and I don’t care what Mother says, you’re already my favorite—”
“Ayla.”
“Coming!” She squeezes Polly’s hand once more and vanishes through the door.
The silence she leaves behind feels louder than her chatter.
“Well.” Polly’s voice is carefully light. “Your mother definitely wants to murder me.”
“She wants to murder everyone. It’s her resting state.”
“And your father looked at me like I was a tactical problem.”
“He looks at everything like it’s a tactical problem. Including breakfast.”
She laughs, but it’s shaky. “Ayla’s nice though.”
“Ayla’s been waiting her whole life for someone to scandalize our parents.” I cup her face, tilting it up to meet my eyes. “She’s going to adore you.”
“One out of three isn’t bad.”
“Give them time.” I brush my thumb across her cheekbone. “They don’t know you yet. They don’t know what you’re capable of.”
“Causing diplomatic incidents?”
“Saving people who don’t deserve saving.” I kiss her forehead. “Being brave when it would be easier to run. Choosing love over safety, every single time.”
Through the bond: a wave of emotion so strong it makes my chest ache.
“When did you get so good at speeches?” she whispers.
“I’m a diplomat. It’s literally my job.”
Her laugh is real this time. She pulls back, swiping at her eyes with the heel of her hand. “Okay. Let’s go honor some fallen warriors while your mother plots my demise.”
“She’s not plotting your demise.”
“She’s absolutely plotting my demise.”
“...She might be plotting your demise. But she plots everyone’s demise. You’re in good company.”
The memorial fills the fortress’s central hall with crystalline resonance.
I stand with Polly at my side, her hand in mine, and watch my family take their positions across the chamber.
My mother’s face is carved from ice. My father stands at rigid attention, military bearing in every line.
Only Ayla looks around with open curiosity, taking in the Zaterran warriors, the pulsing crystal walls, the raw weight of grief that hangs in the air.
Suki stands beside Henrok at the front, her hand in his. When her eyes meet Polly’s across the chamber, something passes between the sisters. A silent conversation. We made it. We’re here.
Henrok’s voice fills the space, rough with grief and heavy with authority.
“We gather to honor the fallen.”
A ripple passes through the warriors. Not movement—something deeper. A resonance that hums through the crystal walls.
“Vesh’nar of the Eastern Ridge. Korath, son of Korath. T’ven the Swift.” Each name falls like a stone into still water, spreading rings of silence. “Mor’ava who held the south corridor. Brekt who gave his life at the generator chamber doors.”
I feel Polly tense beside me. Some of these warriors died protecting us. Protecting what we were trying to accomplish.
“They died defending their home.” Henrok’s scarred face is carved from grief, but pride burns beneath it—fierce and absolute. “Their family. Their honor. There is no greater death. There is no greater honor.”
One by one, the warriors come forward. Each carries a crystal shard—small, luminescent, pulsing with faint inner light. They place the shards on the memorial wall, and I watch as the fortress’s crystal veins seem to reach out, accepting each one. Drawing the fallen into itself.
Suki stands beside Henrok as he speaks the final names. When his voice breaks—just for a moment, on the name of his second-in-command who died holding the main gates—her hand tightens in his. Three years of marriage in that gesture. A quiet strength that says I’m here. I’ve got you.
I glance at Polly. Her eyes are bright, and I know she’s seeing the same thing I am. The same thing I want for us.
“Some of them died protecting our guests,” Henrok says, and his eyes find mine across the chamber. “Protecting what our guests love. That debt is not forgotten.”
I feel my mother’s attention sharpen. My father straightens slightly.
I release Polly’s hand and step forward. My body protests every movement, but some things cannot be done sitting down.
I bow—deep, formal, the acknowledgment one High House gives to an ally of equal standing. Behind me, I feel my parents’ surprise like a physical force. The Valorian heir, bowing to a Zaterran warlord. Acknowledging a debt.
“The Valorian High Houses will know what the Zaterran warriors sacrificed,” I say, and my voice carries through the chamber. “Your fallen will be honored in our records. Their names will be spoken in the halls where history is made.” I meet Henrok’s eyes. “They will not be forgotten.”
Henrok nods once. Apex predator to apex predator. It’s enough.
Then Polly steps forward.