Chapter 40
CHAPTER FORTY
Crown of the Void
Shohari
I WASN’T in control of my thoughts or emotions, and I hated it. I needed to be focused. I needed to stop changing from one to the other, from hot to cold, from desire to terror, from focus to... whatever this was. I couldn’t afford to lose control now.
The nebaru mantra I brought to mind didn’t help. Neither did my resulting growl.
With a sigh, I paced towards the training room, which was thankfully empty. I took a neutral stance and let out a long exhale.
The words came back to me as though I hadn’t stopped saying them for the last eight years, ingrained into my mind and soul as much as any child of Orith.
I started to sway, chanting the ritual words, both relieved and annoyed at the calm beginning to flow into my body, into my mind, into the room—buzzing, as though Kri themselves were here.
I was so deep in my meditation, I didn’t register the door had opened. As a presence touched my peripheral senses, I closed out the verse I was on and blinked my eyes open.
Of course it was Garrison.
I couldn’t quite read his face, but he cleared his throat with a grating cough, his voice husky as he said, “I’m sorry for intruding. That was... beautiful. What was it?”
I allowed myself a long, slow inhale and exhale. “Prayer.”
He concealed the surprise in his eyes quickly. “I didn’t know you were religious.”
The word didn’t translate perfectly, but a sense of it came through. “I’m not.”
His face wrinkled in confusion, and for the first time in days, the hint of a smile lifted my lips. “This does not make sense to you?”
“Frankly, no,” he said. “Praying is for religious people.”
“Is it?” I appreciated the ritual of it. “I don’t need to believe in the gods.” But if they did exist, I hoped they’d guide me.
His frown deepened. “That is… alien to me.” He paused, brows furrowed, before shaking off his introspection. “Did it help?”
I angled my body away from his. “It did.”
I’d wanted to find that place of calm security, of mental control. And in the ancient chant for conviction and virtue, I found it. A calming sense of foundation, of support, thrummed in my bones.
“I will see you later,” I said.
I didn’t meet his eyes, but I couldn’t ignore the warmth of his body as I brushed past.
I found I didn’t mind.
PAIATA HAD HIS irritatingly-wise-pilot look on when I entered the bridge.
“You have something on your mind,” I said.
“We all do.”
“Whatever you want to say to me, just spit it out, Paiata.”
“Fine, Cap. You want it to be perfect, but you’re not letting us use everything we have to our advantage. What gives?”
This again. Nobody had raised the issue of the Crown since the other night, but I suspected they’d been speaking about it when I hadn’t been around.
I clutched the hem of my tunic. “I will not stoop to their level.”
“You won’t kill them, you won’t blackmail their enemies, so what will you do? Wave a magic wand? Offer a prayer to Kri? Ask them skykking nicely?” Paiata’s typical calm tone took the same sharp edges as his spines.
“You overstep, Paiata. I am your captain, and you speak out of turn.”
“Kri’s hairy arse, Shohari, I’m your friend, and I want you to succeed.
” He huffed and started unwrapping a protein bar.
“I would quite like to bloody get out of this alive too. But just as much as that, I want you to wipe that smug smile off your skykking mother’s face, and I want you to leave Orith with your brother and never have to return, never have to give them a second thought. ”
I swallowed round my too-thick throat. The future his words promised tasted so good, and I wanted to drink them down and make them a part of me.
“I want that too,” I said. “But I have to be able to live with myself afterwards. If I’m just as bad as them, what does that make me?”
“Kri’ith.” He swung round in his chair and steepled his fingers. “We’re none of us perfect. The original Orkri’ians said ‘skyk this’ and left Orith. They couldn’t afford to care about the consequences for those left behind because they did what they had to do. Are we bad people?”
I set my jaw, letting the familiar sounds of the ship lull me. “I was taught to hate you.”
“But you don’t.”
“Of course I don’t. It’s only… The galaxy is supposed to be the rough, ruthless place. Not Orith.” The words ricocheted off my bones, another homeworld truth crumbling.
“Because Orith is so civilised? Genteel? Kind?”
I snorted. “Go fly the ship, Paiata. It won’t fly itself.”
“She literally does, Captain.”
“Stop arguing with me.” But there was no heat left in my tone. All my spines quivered into alignment, and I knew what I had to do.
FOR TWO DAYS, Paiata’s words hadn’t given me a moment’s peace. As hot chrya burned my gullet, I heard his admonishment. I couldn’t outrun his calm, persistent logic on the stepmill so I let my feet lead me back to the bridge—via the galley, naturally.
Once I placed a brew—a mug, Kridammit—on the pilot’s console and sat securely in the captain’s chair with my own, I took in the approaching view.
Orith was still a distant sphere, and her major moon, once called Miradai by all kri’ith, now Orkri to its inhabitants, glowed big and bright with the lights of progress.
“Drop to a leisurely cruise, please, and hail one of the pods. We’ll need to leave Coerril there tomorrow.”
“Aye, Captain.”
I took a thick breath of metallic, recycled, beautiful Dorimisa air. “And open a secure line to Inupa dai Yakri. Transmit the ship’s full ID.”
Paiata’s back straightened, and I heard his smile of approval. “Aye, Captain.”
As expected, the comm was terminated after a handful of chirps.
“Shall I hail her again, Captain?”
“No. Let me send a message first.”
The heat of my blood fortifies me. I took a sip of my drink. And so does chrya.
Punching details into my wrist-comm, I dictated a message.
“Dear Madame, I trust this finds you well. I return home with the finest gems from around the galaxy, almost more than one ship can carry; some may call them the crown of the void. Other ships may be desirous of them and I wish to offer you first refusal. Warm regards.”
Paiata swivelled his chair round to watch, and the calm approval on his grizzled features steadied me. “Opening channel, Cap?”
“Aye.”
Five or six chirps ticked on the holoscreen until it flickered into a face I’d not seen since childhood. Madame Inupa dai Yakri wore the same haughty disregard as ever, though her cheeks were more gaunt, and her headspines had long since faded to the palest lilac.
“Greetings, Mistress mai Tasra, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Her voice was as clipped as her features were pinched.
“Kri’s blessings upon you, madame. I have a proposal which will afford us mutual benefit.”
Her snort was most unladylike. “I am listening.”
“I was most intrigued to learn of a cruiser class vessel near Zerish bearing particular marks. I assume the owner of such a vessel might not wish for its existence to be made known to certain factions.”
Her deep sapphire eyes glittered with malice, even through the hazy connection. “What do you want?”
“A trade. I offer information. When I land, my mother will consider my actions somewhat… harrowing.”
Venomous interest flashed across her face. “Go on.”
“Information most agreeable to you—and most vexing to my mother—will become apparent once I land. In this, I require your assistance.”
“You speak in riddles. Tell me of this information, child, or I end this comm.”
I swallowed my revulsion and leveled my gaze, my headspines standing up like a nimbus. “End this comm, madame, and I will share my knowledge about the Crown with interested parties. Help me, and I will continue my business without a care towards yours, and pay no more heed to rumours.”
Her obsequious smile made my gorge rise. “No longer such a lickspittle, and now so much your mother’s child, Shohari.”
My nostrils flared, but I accepted it for the truth it was, the retort in my throat unable to escape past my clenched jaw.
The elder female’s bitter tone spoke for both of us. “Tell me what you require.”
So be it.
I outlined the last piece of our plan and hoped to the gods she played her part.