40 A Body Never Forgets the Ache of Hunger
A Body Never Forgets the Ache of Hunger
C rash. Whoosh. Crash. The ocean was an unbridled beast, magnificent and terrifying.
Call it morbid fascination with the element of her near-drowning, but in the wake of Spie’s abrupt absence, Temmi found some strange reserve of courage and approached the black water.
Took off her boots and let the freezing surf wash over her feet.
She knew she should return to her room, should try to sleep. She would, soon.
But Spie had left her there, and maybe some delusional part of Temmi was waiting for the princess to return.
She couldn’t stop feeling the soft and comforting warmth of the princess’s arms around her, the press of her lips, the untamed heat of her gaze.
Love isn’t real , Temmi told herself. Whatever that had been with the princess was something else.
Fleeting, carnal, mutually pleasurable. Not love.
So, why did Temmi feel so terrifyingly open?
Like someone had turned a key in the lock of her heart and set it free?
She should shut these feelings down. Kill them before they could kill her.
But she didn’t want to, not really—nor did she know how.
What she wanted was to turn around and sprint after Spie—to pound on her door and climb into her bed, to know what it was like to be held by her as they talked of everything and nothing while the night sky was painted pink and orange by daybreak.
Temmi burrowed her toes into the sand, seeking the warmth underneath.
Was this how I felt with Scot?
In the beginning, she remembered having butterflies.
He’d chased her down after she’d answered a complicated question in the triple integrals class she’d been sneaking into.
He’d asked if he could take her to lunch.
Normally, she would’ve refused, but she’d been so desperate for the life he led.
And he’d seemed so genuine—maybe he even had been, in the beginning.
He’d shared all of his studies with her; she’d shared her theories with him.
She remembered thinking that if Scot loved her, then maybe her father had been wrong to leave her.
Remembered believing the future could be happy.
When Scot betrayed her, she’d been furious with him, yes, but even more so with herself.
Hadn’t her father taught her that she couldn’t count on people?
That people leave? That they choose what’s best for them, time and time again?
That was all Scot did. A part of her understood, didn’t blame him for simply living up to the creed of being human.
Was she about to make the same mistake with Spie?
She glanced up the beach. The manor stood proudly in the distance, lit from within.
The luxuries of this place—the warm sun and the birdsong, the rich foliage, and the decadent cuisine—hadn’t made her forget her life on X72.
Eating stale barley chips and mashed eio root, fighting every day to make it to the next while a proverbial ax hung above her neck, the cold steel swinging low enough to kiss her skin and remind her how thin the line was between life and death. She’d skirted that line many times.
How many hungry nights had her family passed in the Graveyard?
Huddled together beneath the creaking metal carcass of an ancient ship, the agonized coughs of the dying all around them?
A body didn’t forget the ache of hunger, not even after years.
And Temmi had been one of the lucky ones: she’d gotten out.
There were many who hadn’t, many who’d died far too young of curable diseases, many who’d resorted to selling their bodies, whether to the city brothels or the orrist mines or as fodder for the empire’s wars.
They were an expendable resource, the citizens of X72. Cheap products.
Temmi could still change that. Nix was no longer planning to send her home.
She could go back to playing the game. Her whole life, all she’d ever wanted was to get off X72, but if she won Love Galaxy , she could turn X72 into a place worth staying in.
Not just for her family, but for everyone.
She could become Ambassador Artemis Ialan for real.
What had passed between her and Spie didn’t support that goal.
One kiss on a night-drenched beach changed nothing.
Even if it’d been a fucking great kiss. The soft, urgent press of Spie’s lips, somehow both smug and uncertain, had lit an unquenchable fire in the bowl of Temmi’s hips.
A fire that might burn forever. Because it didn’t matter if love was real—it didn’t matter if Temmi could love Spie Expani or if Spie Expani could love Temmi.
It didn’t matter that Temmi knew, in the tender cage of her heart, that this wasn’t how she’d felt with Scot, that this was so much more, could be so much more.
Their duty to their families would always come first. And Temmi couldn’t afford another mistake.
It was time she shut this thing down with Spie for good. She’d never be able to move forward with Nix if she didn’t. And she needed to move forward with Nix.
She inhaled the cold, briny wind. Let it burn her lungs and settle resolve into her bones. Her socks were full of sand when she stuck them back on her feet, her boots warm. She took off up the beach.
Halfway down the manor’s garden path, her CB decided to have a heart attack.
A holoimage of Kalvin shot out of it, spouting a recorded message about the death of Jasmine Gross and a sudden pause in filming.
Temmi closed her eyes against a cold wash of sadness.
So, Jasmine hadn’t survived after all. Three women, dead.
It was too many. At least a real investigation was finally taking place.
Perhaps that meant the rest of them would stay safe—no more cover-ups.
Maybe that was Spie’s doing. Temmi had been right to tell her.
She slipped inside the manor. The back corridors and stairwells were dimly lit and eerily silent, but that was to be expected at this hour.
When she turned the corner to the corridor of contestant bedrooms, she found it packed with an entire squad of imperial guards.
Ten, to be exact. All of whom swiveled their visored heads in her direction.
Enough LZ blasters to level a small town were pointed at her skull. She froze in the corridor’s mouth.
“Ambassador Artemis Ialan,” announced the gravelly and mechanical voice of the guard nearest her, their words echoing in the silent corridor, “you’re under arrest. Refusal to submit will result in your immediate incineration.”
Fucking hell? “For what?”
“Turn around. Hands behind your back.”
Temmi didn’t turn around. “Is this because I’m outside my room? I was just at the beach—I swear. Check my CB’s geolocation log. Or ask the princess—we were together.”
An LZ blaster levelled itself with Temmi’s forehead. “Turn around, Ambassador Ialan. I’m not going to ask again.”
This time, Temmi obeyed. Strong hands grabbed her wrists and yanked them together. A cold, hard material clicked into place, cutting into the bare skin of her wrists.
She winced. “What the fuck is going on?”
In that instant, she became fifteen again, fixing up an old three-wheel in a cluttered mechanic’s garage when two overly aggressive police officers grabbed her and bullied her into unnecessary restraints. Except this time, she’d done nothing wrong.
“Artemis!” a familiar voice called from the other end of the corridor. Spie? “All of you, stand down!”
Temmi strained to look over her shoulder. She caught a glimpse of Spie’s dark hair before a firm hand forced her neck forward again.
“Uncuff her; I’ll bring her to Kalvin myself.” Spie’s tone brooked no room for argument.
A rush of appreciation and something else, something warmer, filled Temmi. In her periphery, a few doors creaked open. Other curious con testants witnessing this embarrassing exchange. She caught Petra’s concerned gaze. Saw Arbora’s furrowed brows.
“All due respect, Your Highness, but my orders didn’t come from Kar-Beidell.”
Temmi once again craned her neck to look over her shoulder. And was once again shoved forward. Ouch . “This has to be a misunderstanding. I haven’t done anything!”
“I don’t care who your orders are from.” Spie’s voice again, like cold steel. “As imperial princess, I supersede them all. Release Ambassador Ialan into my custody or I’ll see your entire squadron stripped of their ranks.”
Wait. What was Spie doing there? How had she known to come find Temmi?
“Your Highness, I’m very sorry, but our orders come directly from Her Excellency.”
Wait, what??
“Captain Glossen relayed them not ten minutes ago. Ambassador Ialan is a threat to not only your safety but that of every person inside this manor. She’s under arrest for the murder of Ambassador Jasmine Gross.”
Wait.
WHAT.
Fingers glanced off the back of Temmi’s neck, pinching around the chain of her orrist basalt necklace. The chain was yanked up, the necklace pulled over Temmi’s head. The familiar burn of the orrist basalt vanished.
“This what we’re looking for?”
“That’s it, but be careful—it’s dangerous.”
Fuck.
Temmi might not have killed anyone, but owning that necklace was a crime.
A firm hand squeezed Temmi’s shoulder and shoved her forward.
She stumbled but somehow kept her feet. Dizziness swam through her brain, her vision tunneling.
Spie’s next words were lost to the blood rushing in Temmi’s ears.
The corridor appeared to shrink, and she became absolutely certain that she was going to pass out.