Chapter 9: A Letter from Home

 

 

Zara somehow survived two hours of questioning and berating from top palace medical officials.  She sensed that, as Commandant Reyphine mentioned, they didn’t so much have a problem with her saving the life of Princess Narisa, as they did having not had a chance to save Princess Narisa themselves.  She came away from the experience exhausted and with a heightened understanding of the balance of power within the Forbidden City.  Everyone had their place, their job, their proper station, and any deviation would be corrected, by violence if necessary.  

The exhaustion served her well, in a way, because when they brought her to a solitary cell somewhere deep within the Korkudai headquarters complex, Zara immediately fell asleep on the cot.  Even the grime of not having bathed, and the hunger in her stomach, couldn’t keep her awake.  She hadn’t slept well the night before, in the open-air tent within the War Garden, surrounded by hundreds of people also unable to sleep.  The intensity of being brought by shuttlecraft to Korkudai headquarters, being interviewed by the Commandant, and then being yelled at by a number of doctors had taken all of her remaining energy.  She’d already expended so much just to get through the dance itself.  But now, finally, in the quiet solitude of the stark white cell without any windows, Zara passed out.

She woke to the sound of a key turning in the lock of the metal cell door.  Groaning, Zara forced herself to sit up, certain that little time had passed, and that they’d be taking her for questioning again.  She felt sore everywhere.  The cots had no padding, and the bruises she’d received during the bombing weren’t insubstantial.  However, much to her surprise, the person at the door wasn’t a Korkudai agent, but instead, Prince Senthir.  

“May I?” he asked, motioning to a bench affixed to the wall, the only other piece of furniture in the cell besides the cot, toilet, and sink.  

Zara immediately nodded for him to have a seat.  He’d cleaned up since the bombing, unlike Zara, and a small white bandage sat over his brow where he’d been cut.  

“Do you know how long I’ll be kept?” she asked him, “I’m sorry, that’s not a proper greeting.  Please excuse my lack of propriety.  I’ve become a bit frazzled and short.”  She tried to think of a more formal way to greet a Prince of his station, but couldn’t.  Everything felt jumbled in her mind.  Before he could even respond, she asked yet another question.  “How is Princess Narisa?”

“She’ll live.  They say she’ll have a limp in that leg for the rest of her life, though there’s always the possibility of getting it replaced with an augment down the road.  Narisa is in good spirits about it, though.  She’s planning a number of fashionable canes and walking sticks.  Her bright spirit is difficult to dampen.”  

Zara found herself wondering how someone like that could end up marrying someone like the Commandant.  But, she supposed they did always say that opposites attracted.  

“She wanted to thank you personally,” Prince Senthir continued, “But she’s not allowed up and about yet, so she asked me to come.”

“Oh, how kind,” Zara replied.  She meant it, and yet, she also found herself slightly disappointed that Senthir hadn’t come of his own accord.  “Please tell her it was an honor to be of assistance.”

“I will.  Narisa asked me what kind of gift you’d like in thanks.  I told her I didn’t know anything about you, other than that you’re excessively fond of cheese, so…  She’ll be sending a ton of Imperial Grade cheese to your house, and…”

Zara jumped to her feet and began gesticulating wildly.  “What?  No!  That’s not…  I don’t like cheese, I don’t have a weird cheese obsession.  Gods be good, the constant presence and effect of this stupid cheese is driving me to literal madness.  My house just happens to have cheese in the basement!  I didn’t put it there!   Why would you tell her…something…like…?”  She realized belatedly that despite the fact that Senthir’s face looked deadly serious, he was certainly joking.  The man had an exceptional poker face, and he often used his long dark hair to slightly hide his expression.

“You know, you can be quite amusingly animated at times.”

Zara sat back down and brought both of her hands to her face.  She didn’t know if she should be embarrassed at the Prince teasing her, or angry that he’d do so at a time like this.  Feeling a little of both, she murmured from behind her hands, “If it is not traitorous to say so, Your Highness, I think you might have a slight cruel streak within you.”

“It’s not traitorous.  And it’s not slight.”  She heard him lean back against the wall.  “Seriously though, she and I both owe you.  Is there anything you want?  Other than to get out of here, that is.  The Commandant will only allow that once she’s certain you’re not needed for any further questions.”

Removing her hands from her face, she peered at Prince Senthir.  Despite the fact that he’d been cleaned up, he leaned against the cell wall almost bonelessly, like someone in need of a structure to keep from falling over.  She wondered if he’d even slept since the bombing.  “There is something, yes.  My maid, Trisla, she’s back at the Skyblade Palace in the Periphery.  I’m certain she’s incredibly confused as to why I haven’t returned yet.  Could you get word to her that I’m alright and will be returning soon?”

Prince Senthir’s eyebrows raised, and he looked like he was waiting for Zara to add something to that request.  She got the impression that she’d asked for a mild favor when she’d been expected to ask for something outlandish, like a massive ocean liner or one of the blue sand beaches of Treneska.  When no further requests were forthcoming, Senthir’s eyebrows dropped and he said, “Done.”  

“Thank you.”  Zara tried to pull her dirty dancing dress into a more respectable position.  One of her knees had become exposed through a tear in the fabric - a rather dirty, scraped-up knee.  She briefly felt heat to her cheeks, embarrassment less for showing off her leg to the Prince than for being unpresentable in general.  Prince Senthir very pointedly watched her attempt to hide her knee, so Zara tried to distract him with a change of subject.  “I can’t believe someone sent a bomb into the dance.  Well, I guess I can believe it.  Lots of people hate the Galactic Empire, and the Emperor in general, but…  He wasn’t even at the feast.”  Most of the Royal Family had retreated to dine alone, too worried that they may be poisoned if they ate with the Hostage Concubines.  It was surprising that both Senthir and Narisa had not.

“Yes.  I don’t think any particular person was a target.  The Spiral Alliance just wants us to know what they can do.”

“That doesn’t make sense.  Don’t you have a better edge if your enemy doesn’t know what you can do?”

Prince Senthir tilted his head and made a hand motion towards Zara that indicated she had a point.  “You’re not wrong.  It’s also possible that they were testing us.  Seeing what the reaction time of the Korkudai is, or what our procedures are following something of this nature.”

“So, you think there are more agents of the Spiral Alliance among the Hostage Concubines?  Someone who was watching and reporting back?”  

“Maybe.  Maybe the Spiral Alliance wants to cause problems within the Galactic Empire.  If planets begin to believe that the Hostage Concubines they sent to Viverides can’t be protected by the Emperor, it will cause unrest.  All of the Hostages are specifically chosen because they are beloved by their homeworlds.  That’s a risky play, though.  It’s just as likely that word will get out that the Spiral Alliance was behind the bombing and the planets affected will just intensify their allegiance to the crown.”

Zara frowned.  Trying to figure out the motivations and actions of a far-off group of worlds proved a difficult task.  In the end, she supposed it didn’t matter.  They’d gone about things in a horrendous way, one she couldn’t approve.  Was killing innocent people as part of your quest for freedom justified?  During the war, she hadn’t needed to really consider such an ethical dilemma.  Ankali had been fighting for their freedom, but they’d been fighting against a completely military force.   She wondered if she would have agreed with killing innocent civilians of the Galactic Empire in pursuit of the goal of keeping Ankali free.  Life was sacred, certainly.  But was freedom for entire worlds worth the horrific destruction of a few uninvolved bystanders?  If the alternative was the potential loss of an entire civilization’s autonomy just to spare the lives of those few… Zara hoped she’d make the choice to save lives, but she couldn’t say for certain.

“I guess we may never know, really,” Zara murmured.  It hurt her heart to consider the vast chasm of potential ruthlessness that might be deemed as justified by the righteous.  Such things couldn’t be thought about long without falling into hollow gloom.  But, as she considered Prince Senthir, it began to dawn on her that his own melancholy might be the result of having to think about such things fairly often.  Princess Clarisa was his half-sister, after all, and Zara knew he must worry about her being in the clutches of the Spiral Alliance.  She tried to think of something, anything, that might cheer the poor man.  “Well, at least I was able to try flanha eggs once before the memory was forever marred by insidious and lasting trauma.  I thank you for that, your Highness.”  

The observation turned out grimmer than Zara meant it to, but it appeared to be the kind of morbid humor that Prince Senthir enjoyed.  “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time that a woman’s experience with me ruined her for all experiences afterward.”  He gave her his mischievous smile, and it took Zara several seconds too long to catch his meaning.  Thankfully, by the time the shock set it at his most uncouth meaning, he’d already gotten to his feet and moved to the door.  “I should go.  I’ll come visit you next time I visit Lady Kessandra.  To check on you.”

Zara tried to thank him for coming, but he disappeared before she could wade through her fluster and spit out the words.

 

-*-*-*-*-

 

It took three more days before they sent Zara home, during which the Korkudai questioned her about every aspect of the past week.  They wanted to know about her life in excruciating detail, and even at one point interrogated her about the possibility of her sister, Thalia, being involved in creating bombs.  This particular line of questioning elicited from Zara an incredibly dry response of, “Yes.  A lot of blind people find themselves making bombs.  It is, after all, the type of profession where ‘just feeling around’ for things is encouraged.”

After that, they didn’t ask any more questions about Thalia.  

Although she’d slept well when she first arrived, subsequent attempts to get any sleep failed miserably.  The Korkudai never dimmed the lights in the cell, leaving Zara’s body completely confused about the passage of time.  And although Zara, herself, didn’t experience the torture she’d dreaded, she heard terrible noises from cells not far from her own.  The screams and desperate pleas caused her to shiver, but worse were the sounds of impact that didn’t elicit any noise at all, as if the person being struck no longer even had the strength to cry out.  Zara had no idea if those being tortured had anything to do with the bombing, or if these poor people had been disappeared by the Korkudai for other reasons.  It harrowed her, the sounds of power tools, the muffled garble of voices yelling questions she could never quite make out, and the constant surprise of metal doors slamming.  The stress of it, and the inability to sleep made her so nauseous that she couldn’t eat more than a bite or two of the food the Korkudai gave her.  Zara found the experience to be far more upsetting than her time in the bunker.

When she was finally released, the Korkudai told her that they would return her directly to Ebonrue, rather than to the Periphery.  She worried that this would strand Trisla at the Skyblade Palace.  However, when she inquired, the Korkudai informed her that all of the traveling companions of the Hostage Concubines had already been returned en masse to Ebonrue.  

Never had Zara considered how glad she could be to see Begonia House, in all it’s unimpressive charm, as a hired pedicab drove her from the shuttle landing station into Ward 43.  Later, Zara would remember little about getting into the house, except that Rowan had haggled loudly with the pedicab driver and Xaz had scooped her up like a delicate bouquet of rapidly wilting flowers to carry her inside.  In addition, fuzzy memories would remain of Trisla helping her with a bath before she’d finally collapse into her bed for some much-needed rest.  

Zara woke to Xaz dabbing a wet cloth on her face extremely carefully, so as to not scratch her with his claws.  He looked more serious and upset than she recalled him being in quite a long time.  “Lady Inkblossom, you return from the nightlands…”

“Xaz,” Zara tried to sit up, though felt as if she’d sunk so deeply into her bed she might never manage it.  In the end, Xaz assisted her into a more upright position.  “How long was I asleep?”

“The stars came, and went, and are here once more,” he replied quietly.  Then his voice lowered, and Zara could tell that though he was trying to whisper and be comforting, some simmering rage tinted his next words with the rumble of a growl, “Lady Inkblossom, who hurt you?”

“Yeah, what the fuck happened?”  The new voice came from Rowan, standing in the doorway, arms crossed.  “Nobody would tell us shit.”

“Rowan, please…”  Zara lifted her hand to try to assuage the cursing.

“No no, don’t ‘Rowan please’ me.  You were missing for five days. You’ve got bruises all over you.  And you basically collapsed like a snowman in lava the moment you arrived home.  That’s pretty fucking unusual for what was supposed to be a few hours at a dance.”

Although Zara knew that the anger from both of them came from a place of protectiveness, she found it to be a lot to deal with after just waking up.  Nonetheless, she did her best to explain without breaking the privacy contract she’d signed at the command of the Korkudai.  “Something happened during the dance.  Not just to me, but to everyone.  But, I’m okay.  I can’t give you too many details without endangering you, however.  Do you understand?”

Rowan scowled, understanding but obviously not liking the answer.  Xaz, on the other hand, didn’t appear to understand but seemed to trust Zara enough to not press the issue.

 

-*-*-*-*-

 

Within a few days, things had mostly returned to normal at Begonia House.  Although Zara kept her word and didn’t reveal what happened within the Forbidden City’s Outer Court, other concubines didn’t value their oath of privacy quite as much.  Rumors spread quickly throughout Ebonrue, and between Trisla and Rowan, they managed to put together much of what happened on their own.  This left Zara in the strange situation of knowing that they knew, but being unable to speak to them about anything that happened, nonetheless.

“I think the bombing probably wasn’t the Spiral Alliance at all,” Rowan said, watching as Zara laid out some tarot cards on the coffee table.  Lady Kessandra had been teaching her to read the cards, and had sent over two lovely decks, as well as a small clay pot of salve for her bruises.  How Lady Kessandra knew about the bruises, Zara didn’t know, but she suspected Prince Senthir had said something to the woman.  Rowan continued, “I bet one of the Concubines or guests was the target.  It’s a great way to off someone without anyone knowing who the real intended victim was.”

“That doesn’t make any sense either,” Trisla signed, “Not is it many times over so much more difficult to kill someone within the Forbidden City, but the Korkudai are going to investigate this like rabid snakes.”

“Snakes don’t get rabies,” Xaz announced, as usual not really following the conversation.  Zara was nonetheless surprised at the comment.  “Only maminals.”

Zara corrected him quietly. “Mammals?” 

“Yes, maminals.”  Xaz nodded a few times as if the words were exactly the same.  He put his hands out and flipped his fingers up and down slightly to imitate tiny wings.  “Like bitty bats.”

Laughing quietly, Zara shook her head and returned to her cards.  

Trisla and Rowan, however, went back to their theorizing about the bombing.  

Pausing in folding some laundry, so her hands would be free for signing, Trisla posited, “Maybe you’re right, Rowan.  I think it’s more likely one of the Noble Ministers orchestrated the bombing.  Or the Korkudai.  They’d be the ones that’d know best how to get a bomb into the Outer Court, after all.”

“Or one of the concubines was trying to get rid of a rival.  Though, that’s a long way to go for that.  Usually, they just use poison.  What do you think, Lady Zara?”  

Zara held up a hand.  “I don’t know anything about whatever you’re talking about.  It’s all nonsense.”

Thankfully, she was spared any further questioning by a knock at the door.  This time Rowan answered, bringing in the mail, a fat envelope from Ankali, which appeared to have not yet had the seal broken.  Zara was surprised but assumed that the Adjudicants were just too busy with the aftermath of the bombing to be going through all the mail. 

Opening it, she first found a holophoto of the night sky, taken by her mother, which she handed over to Xaz.  Countess Kalimat shared Xaz’s love of skies and stars.  Next she pulled out a letter, in her mother’s hand, addressed to her.  She began to read it aloud to all of them.

“My dearest Zara.  Inside are letters from your sister, your cousins, and your father.  I apologize for not sending anything via the core-net in recent weeks.  Our planetary core-net beacon has been on the fritz, and we’ve not been able to repair it with so many resources going towards reconstruction in the cities.  There’s also the problem that many of the beacon workers have come down with a new illness spreading rapidly across Ankali, something they’re calling Coral Lung.  I don’t really understand it, but it causes the lungs to slowly turn into a hardened substance like dried coral.  The person begins to suffocate in their own body.  They say it’s not uncommon to crop up on planets after wars where a lot of complex conchem is used.  Thankfully, we know the Galactic Empire has an exceptional treatment for it.  But, unfortunately, we’ve been completely unable to convince them to release more than a trickle of the medication to us.  If there is anything you can do to convince them to send more…  I know it is a lot to ask, but I don’t know who else to turn to.

I am sorry for putting such a burden upon you, but I do not wish to see our people suffer needlessly.  I miss you desperately and hope you are thriving on Viverides.  We look forward to when we’re allowed to visit.  With all my heart, your loving mother.”  

All talk of the bombing ceased as those in the room absorbed the new information.  Zara re-read the letter silently, and Trisla wrung her hands, looking worried.  

“You could ask Lady Kessandra,” Rowan suggested.

Zara knew she could, but felt more than a little hesitation.  “I’d hate to presume upon our friendship so soon.  But, it might be the only way.”

“It might not,” Trisla signed suddenly.  “The Astors are from one of the top Panmedicalist planets.  Lady Astrid might actually be your best bet...  If you can get her to work with you, that is.”

Panmedica.  Zara had heard about it.  The Panmedicalist planets were all colonized by groups hailing from Polonia.  For centuries, perhaps millennia, their technology had all been focused on medical and genetic advancement to allow people to survive on worlds normally considered too hazardous for human life.  Polonia itself was legendary.  It was a planet outsiders couldn’t visit.  The sheer amount of medication required to simply survive in the planet’s atmosphere would kill anyone who hadn’t been bred through the Polonian genetic lines, and raised under their medical regimen to survive there.  Even going there in a pressurized suit was forbidden, due to the possibility of some terrifying disease hitching a ride off of the planet.  Those who left Polonia had to spend an entire year, alone, in a specialized decontamination space station pod before continuing out of its system.  

“I can’t imagine it would be possible to get Lady Astrid to do us any favors,” Rowan grumbled.  

“Maybe.  Maybe not.”  A plan was beginning to form in Zara’s mind.  There might be at least one way to get Lady Astrid to help her out.  

At that moment, another knock came from the door.  Since they’d already had the mail come that afternoon, the additional visitor struck them all as a surprise.  “Probably an invite for tea from Lady Kessandra,” Rowan said, hopping up again to head to the door.  

Zara nodded, thinking nothing of it.  Instead, she began to read the letter from her father.  A soft-spoken man, her father had written largely about some of the projects being done in the capital city to repair following the war.  She noted that he’d left out anything about Coral Lung, likely so as to not worry her about it.  

“Lady Zarathenia,” Rowan said, returning to the front room with a visitor following them, “There’s someone here to see you.” 

Zara looked up and almost fell out of her chair.

The man standing beside Rowan held a tattered old cowboy hat in his hands.  Without it on, the fiery orange of his hair couldn’t be contained, and the strange feather-shaped burn mark on his cheek was easily recognizable.

“Howdy, Lady Zara.  My name is Tython.”