Chapter 5 Penny
PENNY
Without my ID, getting into the party was a tedious and nerve-wracking affair.
I ended up following a Liil couple, letting their invitation open the way for all three of us.
If anyone asked to see my invitation, I was stuck.
For most guests, an ID check would be a minor embarrassment.
The Collectors weren’t so paranoid that they’d execute anyone who misplaced an invitation.
But if I gave them reason to investigate me, what would they find? I wasn’t willing to risk finding out, and that asshole Varok knew it.
So when I stepped into the party, I was stressed, hungry, and angry. Worst of all, I didn’t dare show any of that.
We stepped through the door, and the sight greeting us washed those worries away. The pair of Liil stopped and stared, and I joined them. Impressive as the guests’ travel gear had been on the skimmer, now everyone had changed into their fanciest outfits.
The combined effect was stunning, literally overwhelming. So many styles clashing and fighting for dominance made it hard to focus on any one person. Beside me, Debbie gave a weary beep as her limited AI brain tried to work out where to point the camera first.
I couldn’t help; I had no idea where I should start, either.
There, a Halveran nobleman stood in shimmering, multi-colored robes, his swinging tail decorated with ribbons tied to catch the light just right.
Beside him, his wife was drab by comparison in her gleaming formal black.
The pair were deep in discussion with a floating crystal the size of a human torso.
A remote proxy piloted by someone far from here?
One of the weirder aliens of the Reach? Or was a tiny alien driving it around?
Everywhere I looked, I faced questions like that. The aliens I’d arrived with were less mysterious but no less fancy, and the gold gown I wore seemed shabby in comparison. I froze.
Somehow, across the room, Varok spotted my arrival, and the smug bastard turned and grinned at me. A bright red flare of anger washed through me, breaking the spell and letting me stalk into the room. As soon as possible, I turned away and put him out of my sight.
I wished putting him out of my mind was as easy.
No one else noticed my arrival or my hesitation. Appreciating the advantages of my cover identity, I took a deep breath—the air tasted of perfume and narcotic smoke—and started circulating. Three seconds later I decided that, no matter how useful a cover it made, I was not cut out for journalism.
I kept a smile on my face as I asked about fashion.
Discussed galactic art trends. Got quotable opinions about the Impossible Collection.
All without losing the fake enthusiasm I’d practiced or letting my frustration show.
Some guests I spoke with could buy Earth and a dozen planets like it, and they used their farcical wealth to celebrate stolen art.
The Hive’s servitors moved through the party with an effortless grace, as though they shared a single mind.
Not too far from the truth, perhaps. I moved around too, staying far away from Varok.
It would be a terrible idea to try to interview the ‘master artist,’ and likely to end with me punching him.
And in breaking my hand, I admitted to myself with a wince. I’d felt his muscles and hitting him would be only slightly better than punching the wall.
Anyway, getting close wouldn’t have been easy even if I’d wanted to. He stood at Collector-Candidate Attrobi’s side, chatting amiably with his fans. He looked secure and in his element, which just pissed me off more.
“I know your secret,” a silky voice said at my shoulder, grabbing my attention as surely as if she’d emptied a pitcher of ice water over my head. “You’re not here as a reporter.”
The speaker was tall, thin, and graceful. Her skin was a deep green, her dress a blue so pale it looked almost white, and the jewels in her flowing black hair were either excellent fakes or worth more than I’d ever made in a year.
My heart pounded so loud that I was sure she’d hear it, and I struggled to keep my expression calm and bemused.
“I’m Penelope Halford from Earth News Central,” I told her. “And reporting on events like this may not count as journalism to you, but I assure you it’s every bit as real as any investigative reporting.”
She kept her grin and shook her head. “Lady Amyral, Scion of the Protectorate. And whatever your job is, we’re both here for the same reason—catching a suitable mate.”
My first reaction was relief, followed by dawning horror as I realized why she’d come to that conclusion. My cheeks burned as I very carefully did not look in Varok’s direction.
“I don’t know what you’re—”
“Shush.” She waved off my protests. “Don’t worry, I won’t spoil your hunt, now I see who you’ve set your eye on. I am so over artists, and my family needs a reputable noble match, so—”
“I am not—” I caught myself as half the room turned in my direction. Varok among them, damn him and his smile. You aren’t supposed to be looking at him, idiot. “I’m not after Varok for anything more than a story, and I don’t care who you’re interested in, lady.”
She raised an eyebrow, calling me on my bullshit more eloquently than words could have. I narrowed my eyes and tried to vaporize her with a glare.
In defiance of all justice, she failed to burst into flames. Worse, I felt the useful anonymity of my cover melt away as people started paying attention.
While I struggled for self-control, my accidental tormentor snagged a pair of drinks from a passing servant. To my surprise, she handed one to me, and I stared at it dubiously. Fancy, pink, and trailing sparkling smoke. I had no idea what was in it, and I’d never have risked drinking it by choice.
“Okay, fine. You’re not interested in the artist. You just can’t keep your eyes off him,” she said, clinking her glass against mine. “Whatever, not my business. You can still help me pick my prey. A professional gossip should have a lot of juicy secrets to inform my choice.”
Fuck. I bought a few seconds by sipping the drink I didn’t want.
Fruity and sweet, it left my lips and tongue tingling in an enjoyable but worrying way.
My preparation for the mission included studying the likely guests, but my research didn’t focus on the details Amyral wanted to hear.
If she realized how uninformed I was, it risked giving the game away.
I’d spent an hour gossiping with the other guests, though, and adding that to my research gave me plenty to work with.
So I pulled together some choice details and started filling in the gaps with whatever sounded scandalous.
“Where do you want to start? Prince Galliap is a poor choice, I suspect, since his dealings with Guildfather Urson are about to come to light…”
The rumors don’t have to be true, I told myself.
As long as they fool Amyral for a couple of days.
And it seemed I’d hit the sweet spot. Amyral listened avidly and shared her own gossip with me until a delicate chime announced the meal’s arrival.
Rather than ending the conversation, she linked arms with me and guided me to a seat beside hers as masked servitors brought out the feast.
I had the sinking sensation that I’d made a friend.