Chapter Eleven
Elara
Rhazek kneels in front of me, my hand locked around his, every muscle in his body held so still he looks carved from dark stone.
Seryn lowers the scanner by one inch. “The reading was inconclusive.”
I laugh once.
“Inconclusive is doctor for terrifying.”
I push myself more upright, still on the floor beside the bed. “Tell me what you saw.”
Rhazek’s hand shifts under mine.
Seryn’s jaw tightens. “I detected a secondary rhythm.”
“By rhythm you mean heartbeat.”
“I do not know that yet.”
“But maybe.”
Her silence answers.
I pull my hand out of Rhazek’s.
The loss hits immediately.
Pain flashes under my sternum. Not sharp enough to double me over, but deep enough to steal breath. Rhazek’s eyes flare, but he does not reach for me.
I press both hands to my stomach.
It looks exactly the same as it did this morning. Bruised at one side from the pod restraint. Soft under the borrowed black fabric. Human.
“No,” I say.
I hate the glowing mark in my palm and the fact that my body has become a place everyone has to study before they can answer a simple question.
“Could it be the enemy drugs? Or the bond? Some weird ship echo?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Could it be pregnancy?”
“Yes,” she says.
My fingers dig into the fabric over my stomach.
Nima whispers my name.
I shake my head.
Seryn glances between us. “I need to confirm the reading.”
My whole body recoils.
“No.”
“Then we wait and scan later.”
“What kind of scan?” I ask.
“An external field, like before. Here or medical?”
“Here. Nima stays, and the door stays open.”
“And he—” I stop.
Rhazek’s gaze stays on mine.
“He can stay,” I say.
“And no one calls it a baby unless we know something.”
Seryn rises. “I will retrieve the diagnostic field.”
The wall beside her opens.
A black-and-gold medical unit slides into the room from a hidden compartment.
The unit unfolds on thin mechanical arms, creating a ring of low golden light beside the bed, open on one side. It does not look like a pod.
“Thank you,” I mutter.
I get halfway upright before my legs wobble.
I look at Rhazek. “Help me up.”
He offers his forearm instead of gripping me. I take it with my unmarked hand and push myself up.
The contact steadies me so fast I resent it.
When I am standing, I let go.
I step into the diagnostic field.
The gold light rises from the floor, slow and careful, stopping at my knees.
I still flinch.
I close my eyes.
The pod glass gleams behind them. I open my eyes again. Nima is by the bed, the door open.
Rhazek stands three steps away, hands at his sides, looking like a warlord trying to turn himself into furniture so he does not frighten me.
I make myself stand still.
The light moves up my thighs, my hips, my stomach.
It pauses there.
Seryn’s gaze flicks to the display.
“Tell me,” I say.
“The field is looking for the rhythm again.”
The medical warmth is clean and precise. Still, my skin crawls.
My palm begins to glow.
Rhazek’s markings answer.
The diagnostic field brightens.
She exhales. “The field is having difficulty separating your bond response from a possible embryonic signal.”
I sway.
Nima steps closer. “Elara.”
“I’m here.”
Seryn adjusts the field. “I am filtering Rhazek’s biometrics out of the reading.”
The diagnostic light flickers.
Seryn’s mouth tightens. “The signal weakened.”
Rhazek’s voice is low. “Because you filtered me out.”
“Possibly,” she says.
I stare at the display even though I cannot read it. “So you need him in the scan.”
“No,” Seryn says carefully. “I need to understand whether the signal exists independently of him.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“Then it may be bond echo.”
“And if it does, it may be real.” Seryn nods.
The light flickers again.
No rhythm.
My breath comes too fast.
A horrible, impossible disappointment stabs through me.
That terrifies me more than the first reading.
Rhazek’s voice comes rough and quiet. “Elara.”
My body turns toward him before I decide.
He remains where he is, but his face has changed. The mask is cracked enough for me to see the fear underneath.
A tiny sound fills the room.
One beat.
Pause.
Another.
Not mine.
“Is that—” I start.
The light over my lower stomach gathers into a small point, brighter than the rest. It hovers just above my body, not touching, trembling like a star reflected on water.
Seryn’s voice is too soft. “There it is.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“It means there is a secondary life-pattern.”
“A life-pattern—not a heartbeat?”
“Not yet in a human medical sense. But not only bond echo.”
My hand goes back to my stomach. This time I leave it there.
“When?” I ask.
My voice is hollow. “How? We didn’t—”
My face heats so fast I almost choke.
Seryn lifts a hand. “Listen to me. This is not a human-standard conception pattern.”
“The bond appears to have triggered conception and accelerated implantation without full mating. The threshold is lower than the surviving records suggested.”
“No full mating,” I whisper. “No blood rites.”
“I know,” Seryn says.
Rhazek’s markings flare so brightly the room fills with gold.
I whirl on him. “Stop that.”
He flinches.
“Stop glowing like this is good news,” I snap.
His face goes blank.
The markings dim.
Seryn touches the scanner screen. “This is extremely early. Fragile. Unprecedented. I need more data before I can say what risks exist.”
“Risks to me or it?”
“Both,” Seryn says.
“Could the enemy have done this?” I ask.
“The evidence points to the bond.”
“Your first scans showed no pregnancy or implanted embryo. The secondary signal appeared only after the resonance intensified.”
My gaze snaps to her. “Then this happened here.”
“Yes.”
“I barely know him,” I say.
I turn toward Rhazek.
“What are you thinking?”
“My people have buried empty cradles for longer than you have been alive,” he says slowly.
“My first instinct is to seal this room, triple your guard, kill Sarkan with my hands, and threaten the council into silence before they know what to covet.”
He opens his hands. “None of that is an answer you deserve.”
“Are you happy?” I ask.
“I do not know how to be happy about something that frightens you.”
I step out of the diagnostic field.
The light collapses.
My knees give way. Nima and Seryn get me to the bed.
“I need everyone to stop looking at my stomach,” I say.
“I am not a miracle with legs. I am not your species’ solution or his broodmare.” My voice shakes, but I force it louder. “I am Elara Quinn, and I am sitting right here.”
Rhazek kneels beside the bed. “The child, if there is a child, gives me duties. It gives me no rights over you.”
Nima quietly hands me water.
I take it.
“How dangerous is this?” I ask Seryn.
“Your vitals are stabilizing, and there is no sign of immediate danger. Tonight you need rest, food, water and monitoring.”
“Tomorrow, we discuss longer-term unknowns.”
I look at Nima. “You okay?”
She laughs through tears. “You’re asking me?”
“I’m versatile.”
“I’m okay.” She wipes her face. “Just… that was a tiny heartbeat-ish thing.”
Would it have gold eyes?
“Does anyone else know?”
Seryn says, “No.”
Rhazek answers carefully. “We will decide who must know and when.”
“Tell Jorren,” I say. “Nobody else without asking me.”
“What about your ship?” I ask.
The walls give a soft glow.
I glare. “Do not look innocent. You know exactly what you are.”
The Black Star’s voice comes low through the room.
“Life-pattern classified private under Elara Quinn authority.”
Seryn straightens slowly. “The Black Star has never classified a medical-political event under non-command authority.”
“Medical-political event can throw itself out an airlock,” I say automatically.
“So no one can access this without me?”
“Not without overriding The Black Star.”
“Can you override her?”
“Sometimes,” Rhazek says. “Less often lately.”
I look at the wall. “Thank you.”
The lights warm once.
Seryn closes the diagnostic field. “Elara, I want you lying down. You are exhausted, injured, and recovering from bond distress.”
Nima helps me swing my legs onto the bed. The mattress curves gently under my back, then stops as if afraid to overdo it.
Nima opens a nutrient packet and recoils. I laugh, but it hurts my ribs and turns almost immediately into tears.
Nima sits on the bed beside me and takes my hand.
“What happens if your council finds out?” I ask.
Rhazek’s voice is quiet. “They will want you moved to Nyxara. To the royal nursery.”
“Under guard.”
“Yes. They will call custody protection.”
“And Sarkan?”
“He will try again.”
“I hate this,” I whisper.
No one tells me not to.
“I hate that I’m scared. I hate that part of me is…” I stop.
Rhazek’s voice is rough. “What?”
“Curious.”
Then the exhaustion hits like a decompression wave.
My head sinks into the pillow.
Seryn notices instantly. “Enough for tonight.”
I look at Rhazek. “No secret warlord plans while I sleep.”
“I remember,” he says.
“Stay,” I tell Rhazek.
“Where?” he asks.
I gesture vaguely toward the chair near the window. “There. Brood quietly.”
Rhazek rises and moves to the chair.
It is too small for him.
The ship immediately expands it.
Seryn gathers her equipment. “I will return in two hours to check vitals unless called sooner. Nima?”
“I’ll stay until she falls asleep.”
Seryn leaves first. Nima stays until my eyes begin to close, then squeezes my hand and promises to check on Asha before slipping out.
The door remains open a few inches.
The room settles into quiet.
Rhazek sits near the window, huge and shadowed against the stars. His markings glow faintly over his heart.
I lie on my side and watch him.
“Rhazek,” I whisper. “I don’t know what I want.”
“Then we do not decide,” he says.
I close my eyes. The bed warms beneath me.
I drift halfway toward sleep before a thought cuts through.
“My people,” I whisper.
Rhazek answers instantly. “Protected.”
“Asha?”
“Sleeping. Safe.”
“Grace?”
“Stable.”
“Grace’s baby?”
A pause.
I open my eyes.
Rhazek’s face is turned toward the door, likely reading some silent ship report I cannot see.
“Still alive,” he says.
I fall asleep with my hand over my stomach, Rhazek keeping watch from the chair by the stars.
The last thing I hear is Seryn’s voice in the corridor, low and shaken, speaking to someone I cannot see.
“The signal repeated.”
Then Jorren, grim and quiet.
“Confirmed?”
Seryn answers like every word costs blood.
“She carries a starborn heir.”