Chapter 33
CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE
After Asher had told me Phyenix Listra was over four hundred cycles old, I’d imagined someone on the verge of death, decrepit and wrinkled like shriveled leaves in the wind.
The male who stood at the top of the wide, crystal staircase was in his prime.
In fact, his lithe frame trembled with excitement; even the golden chains dripping from the lapels of his white suit shivered.
He raised both his hands—laden with gems—in greeting, smile so wide it blinded us all.
“My friends! Welcome to my humble abode!”
A titter swept through the crowd. Lucien stood close by and, though he smiled seductively up at our host, his eyes narrowed, ruining the impression of warmth.
He must have felt my gaze because his attention flicked to me and he winked.
“I cannot tell you how excited I am for this intimate affair,” Listra continued, sweeping his arms as if he could embrace the two hundred or so guests below him.
“All my treasures are open for your enjoyment, my gardens for your perusal, and my lagneia wine at your disposal. Wander, enjoy yourself, and meet me in the ballroom when you are ready.” He grabbed up a glass of the sparkling liquid they’d been passing around.
“To the Federation and the Thirteen! Long may our galaxy reign.”
Beside me, Asher raised his glass, gloved fingertips of his free hand pressing against my elbow to force me to do the same.
His voice threaded through the rest as they repeated the sentiment, drinking deeply.
I couldn’t help but find Lucien again, the smile gone from his face, glass empty, and eyes as hard as the crystal beneath our feet.
The drink was sweet with just a hint of spice. Bubbles burst across my tongue, leaving behind a buzzing sensation that crawled down my throat. The sensation was so odd I took another sip.
“Lucien needs to learn how to play the game,” Asher murmured in my ear, so close his lips brushed the shell.
I shivered, something low in my belly swooping at the contact as servants refilled our glasses.
The hand on my back pressed me forward and we moved with the crowd up the stairs and after Listra, who had turned in a swirl of white silk.
The opulent outfits around us made Asher’s all-black ensemble look dour, even with his black half cloak.
“How can they revere a government that profits off the suffering of billions?” I bit the words off, grateful for the music spilling through the walls and the hum of conversation around us.
Asher’s hand slid around my hip, squeezing once.
His face was close enough his nose brushed my cheek and anyone watching would have assumed he would soon take what he needed from me, as was his right.
The warmth of his breath slid across my throat, down my chest, and by the time he replied I’d forgotten what I’d even said.
“Because they sit so high at the top, they mistake the pile of bodies beneath them for a mountain the Maker honed just for them.” He squeezed again when I scowled. “Don’t worry, they’ll topple. They always do.”
The stairs led up into a large domed atrium.
It took me a moment of observing the many halls snaking out from the center to realize it was a replica of the starburst and circle of the Federation—the same mark branded into my skin.
I took another sip, focusing on the buzzing across my tongue rather than on the disgust threatening to claw its way up my throat.
We wandered for a while down one hallway that led to what might have been the first floor.
The exhibit of Listra’s belongings was immaculately organized with pedestals, markers, and themes.
I thought they were unprotected until a woman stepped a bit too close to a brightly painted mask and was knocked backwards a few paces.
She sat up after a second, shaking her head and looking around in confusion.
Her companion had to explain where they were and what they were doing there a few times while a servant rushed over with a damp cloth and apologies.
Food was passed on heavy crystal trays—a selection of tiny slices of meats or plants with jewel-like sauces and garnishes.
I hadn’t even realized it was food until Asher took one and popped it into his mouth.
The male who offered it to us smiled in an understanding way that made my stomach twist and I wondered when my face had become so readable.
We passed breathtaking textiles that appeared to be hundreds if not thousands of cycles old.
Some hung suspended in midair. One of the servants stationed in the room explained to the couple next to us it was an environmental preservation technique.
Others lay across the floor, over chairs, or on top of lifelike mannequins.
No matter how long we walked, Asher’s hand stayed on my hip, as if he was staking his claim.
Interested looks flashed our way, usually starting at Asher and his traditional Quinzyr tattoos before landing on me and turning contemplative—as if they were trying to calculate whether the credits in their account were enough to steal me away.
“Look at this gorgeous piece,” Asher murmured, gesturing toward a large spinning wheel.
Stationed at the door directly behind was Rhiaon.
Their short hair was perfectly smoothed back.
The all-white uniform they wore was similar to that of the servants skittering throughout the room, offering facts about the items or food and drink.
I knew better than to look at them too long and, after a moment, Asher turned me to face him, brushing my hair back from my shoulders and letting his gloved fingertips trace the line of my neck.
Heat spiked through my chest and I wondered if perhaps the environmental systems were set to be hotter than I was used to aboard the Kuxatana and Daskquah.
Asher’s hand settled across my shoulder, thumb pressing lightly on the hollow of my throat.
It was a possessive gesture, one that was mimicked in countless rooms on the estate from other masters, but again there was something so different about it.
Perhaps it was the look in his eyes, the hungry way they roved my face.
“Shall we find the ballroom, ly’anen?” He made the suggestion loud enough for Rhiaon to hear.
I couldn’t help but wrap my hand around his forearm, the silken feel of his shirt luxurious against my skin. “Whatever you want.”
Something in his expression flashed, but in the next heartbeat it was gone, a mask of polite amusement on his face as he dropped his hand to my back and guided me out of the room. A servant led us toward the ballroom up two winding staircases and through the packed halls.
I’d worried this part of the gala would be a continuation of Lesephous’ party from the night before.
However the ballroom was merely a gargantuan room, the perimeter scattered with tables and chairs and a band set up beneath an arched window.
The center was filled with couples and groups dancing, silks and stones swirling in a hypnotic rhythm.
A quick, energetic melody broke through the crowd and Asher slipped his hand from my back to offer it to me. “Ready to try out what you learned?”
I swallowed the last of my drink, heat tingling through my limbs, aware of the eyes on me as I took his hand and he guided me onto the floor.
It was the besmagnat and I was suddenly glad we’d practiced as much as we had when we slipped into the dancing crowd.
My hand was tight on the fabric of his cloak and I stumbled a few times as we started.
“Relax,” Asher breathed. “Let me lead.”