The Reforged Trilogy: Book 1 — Crucible of Stars
Chapter 15
Red & Gold
“Better a noble war than an ignoble peace.”
– Cavain a’Shae, Arcadian monarch (10,620 MA)
Xia tried to calm him, but Gripper stumbled over his own words as he rushed to tell Maeve what he feared — religious wars, bloody battles fought right here on Stray! Gripper waved his arms in distress, nearly knocking into Xia several times. Maeve listened quietly until the young Arboran finished. Then she gestured for the other two to follow her inside the Blue Phoenix.
“What’re we going to do, Smoke? What if there is some kind of religious war going on here?” Gripper asked, loping along beside her on his big knuckles.
“Do? We will do nothing for the time being,” Maeve said.
“But–” he protested.
Maeve cut him off. “The wars of the galaxy are not our concern. Only if the Nihilists’ campaign proves a danger to Kessa and her child will this become our business.”
Maeve turned toward Xia. The Ixthian doctor frowned, but not at her. Perhaps her caring nature was torn — a war may have been brewing here on Stray, one that might endanger uncounted lives, but involving the crew of the Blue Phoenix would put them in the middle of it, as well as the pregnant Kessa.
“Xia, go wake Tiberius and Kessa,” Maeve said. “Duaal is young and so probably still awake. We must discuss Gripper’s concern and decide if this is a threat to Kessa.”
Xia nodded and hurried out of the hold, but Gripper lingered. He looked frightened. Gripper’s expression was not the intellectual worry of a far-off religious war that would have little — if anything — to do with him, but much more like the look Caith had worn the first time he faced his sister across the lists of a tourney field.
“This is not a good idea,” the young prince said.
Maeve jumped down from one of the large wooden rings affixed on top of a tall, bright-painted pole. She landed beside Caith and set her spear down. The deadly glass blade was swathed with brightly-colored cloth for training, just like Orthain’s when she was a squire.
“Come now, little brother. Are you afraid that I would hurt you?” Maeve asked, putting a wing around him. Caith smiled up at her.
“Of course not. You have always been gentle with me. I fear that I will harm myself. I do not have your grace.”
Maeve ruffled Caith’s black hair. “You have grace of mind. And that will serve you well if you still want to be a knight, like me.”
“I will never be a champion of the tourney field. My only interest in the spear is so I can stay with you when you work, enarri. So… so let us return to our work with no more concern for your clumsy little brother,” Caith said with a brave smile.
Maeve blushed and giggled at Caith. He was working so hard to become a knight just so they could always be together. She embraced her brother and picked up her spear.
“Are you… alright?” Maeve asked Gripper.
“What if Tiberius thinks the Church of Nihil is dangerous to Kessa?” he asked in a whisper. “There isn’t anywhere else to take her. Will we have to fight?”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps not. We must investigate further,” Maeve said. “There may be no danger here at all.”
Gripper brightened a little at that. Maeve couldn’t help smiling, too. He was so much like Caith.
Kessa was still rubbing blearily at her large black eyes when Xia escorted her to the mess. Tiberius and Duaal were already there, listening to Gripper recount the evening’s sermon. Kessa dropped sleepily into the seat that Xia indicated.
Maeve watched Kessa. Her time was close. Kessa’s splayfooted waddle was growing more pronounced by the day. Among Maeve’s duties — and one of few she actually performed — she monitored the Blue Phoenix’s supplies. Since the Dailon had come on board, their food consumption had nearly doubled as Kessa ate for both her taxed body and the rapidly growing baby inside her. But in the past few days, her appetite had plummeted.
Maeve didn’t want to ask Xia about it, so she had looked up the issue last night on the Gharib mainstream. After an hour or so of snarling at the slow connection out in the landing crescent, Maeve found documentation on Dailon pregnancy. Their gestation period was short by galactic standard, lasting just four or five months. Mother and child formed an extensive network of interconnecting blood vessels to facilitate the massive flow of nutrients to the baby growing inside her.
When the pregnancy was nearly over, those veins and arteries began to atrophy and separate, maintaining only a bare minimum to sustain to the child. Otherwise, Dailon mothers would bleed to death during delivery. To guess by the way she was eating and the sketchy dates Kessa had provided for the baby’s conception, Maeve guessed that the girl was no more than a week from delivery — possibly as little as a few days.
Coldhand would have to work quickly to get Vyron to Stray before his child was born. There was a chance, of course, that some other hunter would take the bounty and deliver Vyron, but Maeve doubted it. It was a paying job that would place Coldhand back on Stray and Maeve suspected that would be too great a temptation for her bounty hunter.
At least, Maeve hoped so. She hoped so hard that it became an ache.
Maeve and Caith darted in, encircling the hart in a cage of wings and arms. With a soft bleat, the white faun sank down to its knees, their fingers tangled gently in its fur.
“We get to make a wish now, right?” the young prince asked.
He began stroking the pale, soft fur. The little hart calmed under his touch, lying quiet on the carpet of fallen leaves.
“Yes, one wish,” Maeve said. “We caught but did not harm him. The gods are obligated to hear our wishes.”
“Maeve?”
Everyone was staring at her. Maeve realized that she was pacing and clenching her hands. They were shaking. Badly. She wanted a drink.
Tiberius scowled at her. He was still dressed for bed in checkered red flannel pants and a robe whose tattered sleeves bore mute testament to Orphia’s affections.
“Maeve? What do you think?” Tiberius asked.
“I think we know too little,” Maeve answered slowly. “I think it unlikely, but perhaps the Sisterhood left this city in peace and is no threat to the Union of Light or to Kessa.”
“If they’re like the Sisters back home on Axis, not a chance,” Kessa said, shaking her head. “They’ve never done anything peacefully and they would never listen to a group led by a male.”
“Is it impossible that the Nihilists threatened violence upon the Sisterhood and that they left rather than answer it?” Maeve asked.
“They would have fought,” Kessa said.
Maeve nodded, conceding the point.
“How isn’t as important as why,” Duaal said. “Was it a gang war? Or a religious one? If it was just a territorial spat, then it shouldn’t be a problem unless Kessa starts up a new chapter of the Sisterhood.”
“Does it matter?” Xia asked. “If the Nihilists are after the Sisterhood, they’re not going to be happy that Kessa’s here.”
“Duaal’s right,” Tiberius agreed. The young mage preened. “If the Church of Nihil chased the Sisterhood off just to clean up their new nesting ground, I doubt they’ll make any problems for Kessa. Anthem said the Sisterhood’s been gone a while. No reason they’d be looking for a Sister now.”
“If they learn of Kessa’s past membership, trouble may find her,” Maeve said. “But it is a simple secret to keep.”
Kessa blinked as she sleepily tried to follow their conversation. Finally, she seemed to understand and her blue skin paled a shade.
“You mean that they might try to kill me because I used to be a Sister?” she asked. “If I tell anyone?”
Tiberius shrugged. “It’s possible.”
“We can’t let them do that,” Gripper said.
“But we don’t know yet,” Tiberius reminded them. “Not for sure. Maeve is right, too — we need to find out what’s going on here. Are these Nihilists going to be looking for Kessa or is their business with the Sisterhood over?”
“Our task must be done quickly. Kessa has very little time left,” Maeve said.
“Take care of it,” Tiberius ordered.
Maeve nodded. “I will go to the Church of Nihil tomorrow and discover the truth of the black cathedral.”
“Hey, Smoke?” Gripper asked.
“Yes?”
“Be careful, please?”
“I will not bring harm to Kessa’s child,” Maeve promised.
“That’s not what I meant,” Gripper mumbled as she stood and left the room.
Maeve stroked the white hart’s ear. “My wish… I wish to do what no other knight has ever done. I wish to see the stars and their worlds. I wish to travel.”
Caith gasped, his jade green eyes wide and frightened. “You want to leave the White Kingdom?”
Maeve suddenly felt guilty for her wish, but Caith smiled at her.
“I know what I wish for. If… when Maeve flies into the stars, I wish for her to be safe. Let her be well and happy. That is my wish.”
Caith lifted his wings and gave the hart a light swat on the flank. The white fawn bolted back through the forest and Maeve pulled her brother into a tight embrace, gently chiding him for wasting his wish on her. Caith buried his face in her feathers and held his only sister close.
“I just want you to be safe and happy, Maeve,” he said. “Promise me that you will be?”
When Stray’s ancient red sun rose early the next day, Maeve was already awake. She stood in the semicircle of communal showers, her wings spread to their full length to keep her feathers out of the cascading water. The princess washed her matted black hair and worked a heavy comb through the wet tangles.
Her usual negligence served well enough to pass among the other Arcadians on Stray, and perhaps even work in her favor to convince the Nihilists that she belonged in their cathedral. But her hair was a problem. Maeve pulled the comb through it with gasps and curses until there was no more resistance.
She turned off the water and picked up a bottle of hair bleach from the floor — pilfered from Duaal’s personal stores — and poured the contents into her hand. The bleach stank and made her eyes sting, but she lathered it between her palms and rubbed it through her hair, from the roots out to the tips. She carefully applied a little to her brows, as well, and hoped that no one would look too closely at her eyelashes.
When Maeve had washed the bleach away, she inspected the results in the mirror. The dark blonde wasn’t quite the pale golden color that marked the rest of her race, but it would have to do. Her natural color was tenacious.
Maeve stared at her reflection. Oh, how her mother would have scowled to see her daughter wash away the mark of her heritage. But did it matter what her mother would have thought? Princess Beltain was dead.
Without bothering to wrap a towel around herself, Maeve left the showers and made her way back through the Blue Phoenix to her quarters. Tiberius passed her in the corridor, yawning and carrying Orphia on his arm.
“Good God, girl!” Tiberius shouted. “How many times have I told you not to prance around my bird without clothes on?”
“More times than the sky has stars,” Maeve answered.
She brushed past Tiberius and keyed the door to her room open. The Arcadian was fairly certain she saw him blush a bit, but it was difficult to tell through his stubble and ruddy skin.
There was a half-full bottle of narcohol partially hidden under her bunk. Maeve picked it up and drained it in a couple of swallows, then dropped it unceremoniously onto her unmade bed. She prodded at the clothes littering the floor with her toe, wrinkling her nose in disgust at her own mess.
Maeve went to the tiny closet and picked gingerly through its contents. Some of the clothes hanging inside hadn’t been worn for longer than anyone else on the Blue Phoenix had lived. Maeve’s half-formed plan hinged on convincing the Nihilists that she was wealthy and powerful enough to be of help to them. She hoped that the promise of a beneficial alliance would loosen some tongues and tell her what the Church of Nihil was doing on Stray.
Maeve passed up a gauzy gown of red and gold with an intricately laced bodice. While parading through Gharib as a princess — albeit of a lost kingdom — might have convinced the Nihilists of her wealth, it also stood a perilous chance of being utterly unbelievable. The entire Cavainna family was said to have died on Illisem, protecting the last of the White Kingdom as their people fled.
But the illusion of wealth was a delicate balance to strike. Arcadians were regarded the worlds over as pathetic refugees. They had escaped their world with little but their lives. Maeve ran her fingers through the crimson ribbons of another dress, also in Cavainna red and gold. How many Arcadians had left their homeworlds with nothing? Less than nothing? Even after their flight from the White Kingdom, thousands died of their wounds or strange alien diseases. And yet Maeve was staring into her closet and contemplating pretty dresses. It wasn’t right or fair.
Maeve settled on a simple but elegant dress of emerald green silk. It had been a gift from a pair of young dryads on Maeve’s thirtieth birthday. A blue cloak — cut into three panels around her wings — would keep her consistently dressed with the robed and hooded populace of Stray. Maeve clasped the cape and selected a few changes of clothes, then threw them into an empty satchel.
How long would this infiltration take? A lady of station could not be seen wearing the same dress twice. Maeve grumbled and forced herself to pull the crumpled gowns back out of the bag. She folded each one meticulously and replaced it. Maeve had never been skilled at courtly games. She grabbed a handful of multi-colored cenmarks from a table beside the door and stuffed them into her supplies.
Leaning against the wall was Maeve’s glass-bladed spear, hung with its collection of fading tourney ribbons. Maeve paused, considering. But after a moment’s thought, she decided against bringing it with her. A spear was the weapon of a knight, not a lady of the Arcadian court.
When she could think of nothing else to pack, Maeve picked her way through her cluttered room and went down to the hold. There were other airlocks exiting the Blue Phoenix, but those were built for orbital docking and well above ground level when the ship landed. Since no one except the winged Arcadian princess could use them easily while grounded, Tiberius kept them sealed. That left the cargo bay airlock.
Kessa was waiting for Maeve down in the hold, leaning heavily on Duaal’s arm. The young mage watched Maeve with a brittle lack of expression, but Kessa waddled a few ungainly steps and threw her arms around the fairy.
“I don’t know how to ever begin thanking you for all of this,” she said, holding Maeve tightly. “On Axis, I really thought my baby and I were dead. But you saved me. You and your friends are going to find a safe place for me. Thank you!”
“They are not my friends,” Maeve objected stiffly. “They are… colleagues.”
Kessa giggled as though Maeve had made a joke and tightened her hug.
“You’ve helped me so much. I have a doctor for my baby. I’m not hungry for the first time in… in longer than I can even remember. I’ll have my Vyron back and then we’ll be able to live here. It’s kind of hot and sandy, but it’s better than Level Seven.”
“We do not yet know if Stray is safe for you,” Maeve pointed out.
Kessa finally let go, her embrace not returned by the Arcadian, but ebony eyes still sparkling with tears of gratitude.
“I know,” Kessa said. “But you’re going to find out. And I know it’s dangerous, so I… I just wanted to thank you. Thank you, Maeve. More than I can ever say.”
“I do not need or want your thanks,” Maeve told her. “I am no angelic savior, girl. My hands are stained to the bone by the blood of those I have killed, enough to drown you and your baby both.”
Kessa flinched. “Then… then why are you helping me?”
“I owe you no answers,” Maeve snarled.
Kessa turned away with fresh tears in her eyes. She stumbled awkwardly up the steps out of the hold and vanished into the Blue Phoenix. Duaal crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. There was a new ornament on his belt, Maeve noted — a glass dagger with a hilt crisscrossed in woven ribbons of blue and silver. Calloren colors.
“You know, I can see why Tiberius made you first mate,” Duaal said. “You really have a deft touch, Maeve.”
“I stole your hair bleach to create this disguise.”
“Yeah, I figured that out,” Duaal said. “Do you have to be such a little witch? Kessa only wanted to thank you.”
“You are welcome to take my job… if you can convince Tiberius to entrust it to you.”
Duaal glared at her and then turned on his heels to stalk off without answering. Maeve was well aware of the young human’s dislike, but he lacked the steel or spite to kill her or even properly torment her, so she didn’t bother to cultivate his hatred. Better to spend her time honing a more effective blade.
Like Logan Coldhand.
But Maeve turned Duaal’s insult in her mind. He was right, of course. She was a beast, a monster. Perhaps that should have made his words sting all the more, yet Maeve felt only a thin sort of regret that Duaal could find nothing worse to condemn her for than insulting Kessa.
The sun was barely above Stray’s flat horizon, but the day was already hot. Maeve stepped through the airlock into a wall of dry heat. She shook out her wings and vaulted into the air, soaring east toward the black cathedral.
