Chapter Fifteen #2
Then they kneel.
The sound of armor hitting stone echoes across the dock.
My body goes cold. “No.”
I step forward before anyone can stop me.
I stop in front of the nearest kneeling guard.
He keeps his head bowed toward my stomach. “Look at me,” I say.
Slowly, the guard lifts his head.
He is older than most of Rhazek’s crew, with one horn broken near the tip and scars silvering the side of his face. His eyes are pale gold, though dimmer than Rhazek’s.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
His throat works. “Kavren, protected one.”
“My name is Elara. Why are you kneeling?”
“To the starborn,” he says.
“To hope,” he adds, voice roughening. “Forgive me.”
I wanted arrogance; that is easy to fight. This man’s voice carries grief older than me. The guards behind him remain bowed, desperate for one flicker of future.
I crouch to meet Kavren’s eyes.
“I’m sorry about your empty nurseries,” I say.
“But you do not kneel to what is inside me before you look at me.”
Kavren holds my gaze. “Elara.” The guards behind him lift their heads.
Nima helps me rise, and Rhazek steps to my side.
His voice carries over the dock. “You heard Elara Quinn.”
“To Elara Quinn,” Kavren says. The response rolls across the platform. I look away before I cry.
The citadel doors open at the end of the platform.
The interior is vast and dark and warm, built from black stone veined with gold.
The ceilings arch high enough for Rhazek’s horns with room to spare.
Banners hang from crossbeams, deep red fabric marked with a black star and sweeping horn-shaped sigil.
Old weapons line some walls. Others are carved with Dravari script that shifts faintly as we pass.
I glance at Rhazek.
“Did you grow up here?” I ask quietly.
“For some years.” His gaze stays forward.
Seryn directs us down a side corridor before the main hall can get more dramatic.
The medical chamber at Vonn Akra is less sleek than The Black Star’s but more beautiful: black stone walls, silver glass panels, a wide healing platform, basins carved from white mineral, and windows looking out over the silver forest.
I sit on the healing platform for Seryn’s brief external scan.
Halfway through, she lifts her eyes. “The life-pattern is clearer here.”
“How much clearer?”
“Enough that I can track rhythm without The Black Star supplementing the signal.”
“Vonn Akra specifically?”
“Possibly the northern mineral field beneath the citadel. Possibly old Black Star architecture. Possibly both.”
A chime echoes through the chamber.
Jorren steps in from the hall, face grim. “Varesh has arrived outside the outer shield.”
“How many with him?” Rhazek asks.
“Two council witnesses. Twelve royal guards. One ceremonial healer.”
Seryn’s lip curls. “Absolutely not.”
I look at her. “Ceremonial healer?”
“A political physician who cares more about lineage record than patient care.”
Rhazek looks at me. “Do you want to see him?”
I slide off the medical platform before Seryn can object.
I walk to the window.
Beyond the glass, Vonn Akra’s outer courtyard spreads below, lit by gold torches and silver moonlight. The royal escort has landed outside the citadel shield: white-gold ship, formal banners, guards lined like teeth.
“What are my options?” I ask.
“Refuse him, speak through the shield, or admit him to the outer hall. Tomorrow is also an option.”
“Outer hall,” I say. “With Maiven as witness.”
Seryn brings a chair. “If your vitals spike, I end the meeting.” I agree.
Jorren sends the invitation: Varesh, Maiven and two guards, outer hall only. No healer. Our own systems will record the meeting.
Varesh accepts.
The outer receiving hall of Vonn Akra is exactly as excessive as expected.
Black stone floor. Towering pillars. Tall narrow windows open to the red moon. A massive hearth burns blue-gold at the far wall. The sea crashes somewhere below, audible through the stone like a beast breathing in its sleep.
Seryn’s chair waits beside me.
Rhazek stands at my left. Seryn at my right. Nima slightly behind me because I asked. Jorren near the entrance with Kavren and the citadel guard.
The doors open.
Varesh enters like a man walking into a room he has already won.
Councilor Maiven walks beside him.
“Elara Quinn,” Varesh says smoothly.
“Your statement was widely heard.”
“Good.”
“You are on Nyxara now. The situation has changed.”
“No. The scenery has.”
Maiven speaks before Varesh can. “How are you feeling, Elara Quinn?”
“Scared,” I tell Maiven, then look at Varesh. “Not confused.”
Maiven inclines her head. “Understood.”
Varesh folds his hands inside his sleeves. “The royal nursery sanctum remains the safest location for you.”
“Seryn’s scans indicate this location is helping. I chose to remain here.”
Varesh asks, “And if your choices endanger the child?”
“Then Seryn tells me medically. Not you politically.”
“The child is Dravari.”
“The child is also mine.”
“Potentially,” he says.
“When you want control, I’m definitely pregnant enough to summon. But when I say the child is mine, suddenly it’s potentially.”
Maiven steps in. “She cannot be both confirmed enough for custody and unconfirmed enough to deny maternal standing.”
Seryn steps to my side with water. “Sit.” I do, still facing Varesh.
“What do you want?” I ask him. “Not the council version. You.”
He is silent a long time. “I want my people to live.”
I believe him. That does not make him safe. “So do I.”
I lower the cup. “Eighty-seven of us on the Mercy Ark. Seven are here. Grace is in medical care hoping her baby survives. Desperation didn’t give anyone the right to use us.”
“Elara Quinn,” he says, “remain at Vonn Akra tonight. Permit royal healers to review Dr. Vahl’s findings under supervision. Permit council witnesses to confirm your safety. In return, I will pause the custody order for one night.”
“No royal healers.”
“Then what do you offer?”
I look at Seryn. “Can you provide a safety statement without pregnancy details?”
“Yes,” Seryn says. “Stable, under my care, refusing transfer. Nothing more.”
Varesh says, “Insufficient.”
“Then be insufficiently happy,” I say.
“Maiven can witness that I am here by choice tonight. You can witness that too.”
Finally, he inclines his head. “One night.”
“Tomorrow, the council will reconvene.”
His eyes move to Rhazek. “And you, Warlord?”
Rhazek’s voice is quiet. “You heard Elara Quinn.”
“Then we’re done,” I say.
“Elara Quinn.” Varesh bows barely to my face.
He turns and leaves.
Maiven remains one moment longer.
“I will witness accurately,” she says.
“Thank you. Take a room in the outer guest wing. I may need you again before this is over.”
She nods, then leaves too.
The doors close.
Nima walks with me back to medical. Seryn checks my vitals, then steps out.
I lie back on the medical platform and stare at the black stone ceiling. Vonn Akra hums more quietly than The Black Star.
Rhazek stands near the window, where the silver forest glows behind him. The red moon paints the edge of one horn.
Nima hovers. I squeeze her wrist. “Go sleep. If I need a witness, I’ll scream something legally interesting.”
She searches my face, then nods and leaves.
When she is gone, I turn my head toward him. “Closer. Not just your hand.”
He stops beside the platform. “You are exhausted.”
“I’m done being discussed like a crate. I want you here with me.”
His markings flare, then he forces them dim. “The bond can still deepen.”
“I know. I still want you. Kiss me.”
He kisses me like he has been holding it behind his teeth since the hall. Hot. Careful of the bruised line of my ribs. I drag him closer until the window and the red moon fall out of the frame and there is only his mouth.
I put his mouth where I want it. He undoes the formal wrap with irritating competence. Cool air hits my skin. He kisses the faint curve of my stomach, then moves lower, until I have to brace a heel on the platform edge to stay on it.
He already knows the angle that makes my hips kick.
He uses it. Two fingers work into me, thick and slick, curling until the council-hall static in my head finally goes quiet.
I come with my hand over my mouth so the citadel does not get a show.
No gold display. No name shouted. Just the shake, and his breath against my thigh while I come down.
He lifts his head, mouth shining. “Tell me what you want.”
“In me. Slow. And do not light up like you just won a war.”
A rough sound leaves him. He strips. I wrap my hand around him and bring him to me myself. The first stretch punches a gasp out of me. Ridges. Heat. Too much, then not enough. The next inch makes my head drop back.
“Elara.”
“I have you,” I say. “Keep going.”
He sinks in until I am full of him. The medical platform hums as if Vonn Akra has opinions and has decided, for once, to keep them to itself. He holds still while I adjust. One hand stays low on my hip. His weight stays off my ribs. I can breathe.
He moves in long, controlled strokes. Every drag lights nerves I did not have time for while Varesh was talking. “That’s it,” he rasps. “Take what you need from me.” I hook my heels at his waist and take him deeper.
“Stay with me,” I tell him, because I need his face, not the warlord mask.
He does. When I come again it is slower than the first, pulled out of me in pieces, and I keep my eyes on his as I hold him close.
He breaks with a shudder, coming in me with his jaw locked so the hall hears nothing. A curse in his own language burns against my cheek. No lights. No ship answering. Just him shaking apart in my arms, still trying not to crush me.
After, he cleans me with a damp cloth from the washbasin and draws the blanket up. I keep his hand.
I drift toward sleep holding it, the silver forest glowing beyond the window.
The last thing I hear is a comm chime.
Jorren’s voice, low and grim from the hall.
“Varesh has filed the pause order.”
“He addressed it to the Mother of the Starborn.”
My eyes open.
Rhazek’s hand tightens beneath mine. I stare at the ceiling. Not that title. Not from Varesh.