The Dark Between The Stars

EIGHTY-FOUR
PRINCE REYN

After the Ildiran cutter landed on a high tower platform of the Prism Palace, Prince Reyn emerged into the brightest sunlight he’d ever experienced. Until his eyes adjusted, his noble escort gave him a pair of thin filmgoggles. “Human visitors are often blinded by the dazzling beauty of Mijistra.”

“Maybe it has to do with all those suns shining down,” Reyn said, shading his eyes.

Located in the Horizon Cluster, Ildira was surrounded by many nearby stars, but the main suns in the sky were the system’s orange K-1 primary, the nearby Qronha binary star, the Durris trinary system, and the blue supergiant Daym. Reyn understood the basic astronomy, but at the moment he had no great desire to locate all seven of the nearest suns in the sky. It was too bright.

Now the other members of the Confederation entourage stood blinking, looking about for their Ildiran counterparts so they could get to business.

A beautiful young woman came to greet him, singling him out. She had ethereal Ildiran features with a decidedly human caste. Her hair was pale and feathery; her eyes large, her smile genuine. Reyn’s Ildiran entourage placed fists against chests in a gesture of respect for her. One of the dignitaries bent close to him. “This is Osira’h, daughter of Mage-Imperator Jora’h and his consort Nira.”

He certainly knew who Osira’h was—she had fought the hydrogues at the end of the Elemental War when she was just a girl.

She extended her hand. “Prince Reynald of Theroc, I will be your liaison here. Since my mother was a green priest and my father an Ildiran, maybe I can help you bridge the two cultures.” She gave him a more personal smile. “I was looking for something interesting to do, and you seem interesting.”

He realized he was blushing. “I’ll try to be.” And, yes, Osira’h was very interesting, too.

The Solar Navy officers, the noble advisers, guard kithmen, and the Confederation representatives were ready to accompany Prince Reyn into the Prism Palace, but Osira’h grabbed his arm. “You must have felt so crowded on that ship. Growing up on Theroc with its big open skies, you probably just want a little space. Follow me.” She glanced at the others. “I will take care of him.”

She led him at a brisk pace away from the entourage, who were surprised when she abandoned them. As they entered the tower halls, she said conspiratorially, “Ildirans don’t like to be alone—you’ve probably noticed that already. Come, I can take you the back ways, and we’ll encounter fewer people, if you’d like that?”

At the moment Reyn would have liked anything she suggested.

They passed many soldier kithmen, ferocious-looking guards with body armor and prominent weapons. Reyn frowned to see so much security. “I thought Ildira was a peaceful planet. Are these just ceremonial guards?”

Osira’h hesitated. “There was a recent assassination attempt, and no one can understand it. Some people tried to attack my mother during a public festival.”

“Ildirans rising up to attack? What caused that?”

“No one knows—the assassins were like a silence in the thism. My mother would have come to meet you, but she’s being kept under special guard. You will see her at the banquet.”

Osira’h guided him along back corridors, through an empty sculpture exhibit, and up a winding spiral staircase to another tower of the Prism Palace where she led him to his guest quarters made of curved crystal adorned with colored lenses.

Regarding him with her large, strangely opalescent eyes, she said, “My inclination is to show you everything right away, drag you from tower to tower in the few hours before our banquet, and then tomorrow take you to all the planets in the Ildiran Empire.” She let out a quick laugh. “Maybe I’m being overly ambitious.”

He chuckled. “You are. I’m exhausted just hearing your plans.”

“We’ll have time,” she said. “You look weary. You should rest.”

Later, he followed Osira’h to the dining chamber where attender kith bustled about. Mage-Imperator Jora’h gave Reyn an effusive welcome, and Nira asked him about Theroc, even though she had visited recently for the funeral of Father Idriss. The rest of the Confederation entourage sat at a different table.

Her eyes sparkling, Osira’h took a seat beside him and explained the variety of colorful foods, fruits, meats, and confections (some of which were indistinguishable from the decorations). Ildiran musicians and singers performed an odd sort of atonal music with water-bubbling flutes; Reyn pretended to enjoy it. They both listened in rapt silence as a rememberer told a brief story from the Saga of Seven Suns.

His hosts did everything possible to make him feel welcome; nevertheless, Reyn felt a sense of uneasiness in the chamber, as if the Ildirans were subdued.

Osira’h introduced him to her brother Rod’h. Though he was a year younger than Osira’h, he seemed older, harder, and extremely serious. “There is an uneasy mood on Ildira,” he said, “a dislike for outsiders… like a kind of shadow.”

Osira’h flashed a quick glance at her brother, as if exchanging a secret warning, then she turned to Reyn. “We will protect you, don’t worry.”

He hadn’t been worried about that at all, but now he reconsidered.

Yazra’h, a strong and feral-looking Ildiran woman with flowing hair, rose to her feet. “We have no results in our investigations yet from the incident at the procession, Liege. We spoke with the families of the attackers. We studied their work, their homes. They had no connection to one another, no prior suggestion of violence.” She struggled with her words, wrestling them out. “It is baffling.”

“I should have foreseen it through the thism, “ Jora’h said. “But they managed to hide their thoughts. The attackers were blank to me.”

“It is one of the ways the Shana Rei attacked us, during the ancient conflict,” Rod’h said. “Through our fears, through a weakness in the thism.”

Reyn felt uncomfortable as he finished his meal. Perhaps this wasn’t a good time for his visit to the Ildirans after all, but he needed his own answers as much as they did.

At a time of the day when only three of the bright suns were in the sky, the Ildirans noticed the diminished illumination; for Reyn it meant he could remove his filmgoggles when Osira’h took him to the lush greenhouse at the top of a palace tower. “The Mage-Imperator made this place for my mother,” she said, stroking one of the young worldtrees. “I thought you might feel more comfortable here.”

The well-lit chamber was full of exotic Ildiran plants, but the centerpiece was a small grove of worldtree saplings, each one taller than Reyn. He chuckled. “I’ve only been here a day, Osira’h. I’m not too homesick yet.”

“Still, I wanted you to know that this place is always here. You have to be experiencing culture shock with all these new things. I’m the daughter of a Mage-Imperator, and you’re the son of the King and Queen. We understand the need to have a special place. Your father must have had the same need when he was a Prince.”

Reyn smiled to remember the stories he’d been told. “My father lived on the streets of Earth. His real name was Raymond Aguerra, and he had three brothers, a mother who worked several jobs.” He glanced at Osira’h. “The Hansa thought he would be a perfect candidate to replace old King Frederick, so… they kidnapped him, staged an accident that killed the rest of his family, and then altered his appearance. They indoctrinated him so he’d be a good little King.” Reyn gave a harder smile. “That didn’t turn out exactly as they planned.”

Osira’h was surprised by the story, but she had one of her own. “And I was raised in a breeding camp where my mother was held prisoner. They trained me to be the savior of our race.” The two stood together, staring at the worldtrees. “I guess neither of us is exactly what we appear to be.”

Reyn hesitated, feeling the ever-present tremors inside him, but at least the twinges of pain had left him alone for now. “Then it’s good to know you.”