18 Pride is a Hard Thing to Part With #2
Temmi thought of Ollie. Of her mother. For them, she’d skin every last shred of her pride; she’d make herself bleed, would stand naked before the empire in nothing but her brittle skeleton, and, even then, would hand Spie Expani a hammer to smash her bones.
She forced herself to bend, lowered her head until it brushed her knees. Fought against the steel of her uncooperative body. Pride was a hard thing to part with. Once it was gone, Temmi didn’t know what would be left of her.
Cool fingers brushed her bare shoulder. Her signal to rise.
“I didn’t get into a scrape with any of the other women,” Temmi said upon straightening.
“I just wanted to give you a preview of what I’m working with.
” With yet another tear of her pride, her inner self screaming in humiliation, she stretched out her right leg, and, with a hard bite against the inner lining of her cheek, further exposed herself.
But Spie Expani’s eyes didn’t leave Temmi’s face. She stared intently, causing Temmi’s knotted stomach to flop and burn. A shipwreck in her gut.
“Oh, I never didn’t like what you were working with,” Spie whispered, her accent sharp and shiver-inducing. Her hand, dainty and pure in its snow-white casing, tucked a strand of Temmi’s hair behind her ear. “Save a dance for me, Artemis.”
In Spie’s royal mouth, Temmi’s name became a spider crawling down her spine.
When Temmi didn’t move, Spie leaned in, dropping her mouth to Temmi’s ear. She smelled of sweat and something spicy and warm, almost nostril burning. Saffron. Her lips grazed Temmi’s earlobe. Temmi’s lungs tripped on a sharp intake of breath.
“That means it’s time for you to go talk to my brother.” Spie’s voice was sultry, low. She dropped it even lower, low enough Temmi doubted their mics would be able to pick it up. “Keep your panties on, Trash Girl.”
Temmi’s cheeks burned, but they’d been burning since the moment she’d traipsed down the steps.
Longer than that, honestly. Since the moment she first confronted this woman behind X72’s government offices.
Spie Expani wielded her sexuality like a weapon, and Temmi was a fool for letting herself get shot. She wouldn’t make the mistake again.
Without another look, she forced her body to move beyond Spie’s sucking gravity. Toward the reason she was there: the scholarly prince with a face as beautiful as a tragedy. Unlike his sister, he sat upon his throne. And when Temmi reached him, the deep bow she offered him came more naturally.
His touch was lighter than his sister’s. A hesitant breeze.
“Welcome, Ambassador Ialan.” Nix’s voice had a soft edge, like his words were still half-lodged in his mind. Like he was surprised at their own weight coming out of his mouth.
“Call me Artemis,” Temmi said. “Your Highness.”
Call me Temmi.
It’s Nicky.
She should say something more. Something clever. Something that reminded him of their budding friendship. Of the hours they’d spent together in the ship’s library. But this formal Nix felt so different, so distant. Her mind came up blank.
“I look forward to speaking again later,” Nix said.
Temmi shuffled away, a sinking sensation in her gut. She’d failed. Would they send her straight home?
She entered the ballroom and was immediately confronted with a loud display of patriotism.
A massive imperial flag was draped over one wall: a rectangular white background splashed with seven violets, each one representing one of the empire’s seven solar systems, the Expan System at the center.
Bordering the bottom of the flag were the cross-stitched words A United Humanity.
In the room’s center was a blown-glass sculpture: twin eagles taking flight, the imperial seal.
By some impressive invisible machinery, the sculpture shifted and moved, the eagles stretching their glass wings.
They rose in a flurry of translucent feathers, circling one another, only to peak and dive back to their starting position moments later.
Above them, the ceiling was a gorgeous expanse of holographic sky, depicting each of the empire’s solar systems bleeding into one another.
Drones zipped overhead, casting shadows across a cornucopia of floating fare. Savory smells mingled with sweet ones. The whole backside of the ballroom was packed with musicians dressed in matching black sequin uniforms, many of them flipping through music-sheet holos.
The other twenty-three contestants milled about, chatting with each other, doing interviews with their producers, or carrying small plates bearing dainty portions of foods Temmi didn’t recognize.
A logical voice told her she should eat something, that food would steady her, would help soak up the lingering alcohol from the Cavaller ride.
But the thought of eating made her want to be sick.
In the ballroom’s leftmost corner she spied an empty triangle of love seats. Perfect place to potentially hide out for the evening. With her left hand, she held together the torn threads of her skirt and slunk in that direction.
“Hey there, X72!” A vision of pretty features, crimson fabric, and golden hair cut off Temmi’s escape. “I’m Rosaria Yune, Underbelt. This is Petra Corran, Outerbelt.” Rosaria gestured to her right, where another contestant stood with her arms folded tightly across her chest.
Petra had a handsome square face with a mouth downturned in what Temmi guessed was perpetual disapproval, and short light brown hair gelled expertly on top with both sides of her head shaved. She wore a pressed black suit that showed off the impressive girth of her arms.
A pair of camera drones dropped into a low hover and began to circle them.
Temmi wasn’t sure she would ever get accustomed to the constant presence of the cameras.
None of it is real, she thought. An acute longing made her chest suddenly ache.
For her mom, for Ollie, for home. She hated X72, but at least there, she knew what was real.
“Us fringe dwellers should stick together,” Rosaria said, expertly ignoring the drones. “Team underdog, if you will.”
Temmi knew better than to turn down an offer of allyship. “Yeah, sure, that sounds great.”
“Come chat with us while we wait for the heirs. Petra doesn’t talk much, but I plan to crack her wide open.
Isn’t that right, Petra? Aggressive friendship is kinda my thing.
” Beside Rosaria, Petra’s face remained impassive.
“Anyway, the lamb sliders are to die for.” Rosaria held up a plate burdened with small pieces of bread stuffed with meat.
“I didn’t eat like this at home; I’ll tell you that much. ”
“Sure, let’s—” Temmi’s wrist vibrated. She looked down and tapped her CB with her hand not holding her dress together.
Unknown: There’s a private bathroom behind the kitchens. Meet me there. Now.
Unknown: And come alone.
“Um, actually, I’m going to go use the toilet. But I’ll find you both after.”