Visibly shaken, Rom stepped toward the exit. “We shall discuss this privately.” Joren, Gann, and Muffin trailed him, along with several guards. Jas hung back for a heartbeat. Di and the other women appeared stricken, but none seemed remotely interested in following. In that moment, the culture gap between them seemed enormous. She ran into the corridor as Rom spun around, clearly looking for her.
He waited until she caught up. “We have fought side by side since the beginning. We won’t stop now.” Pointedly, he settled her hand over the crook of his arm and resumed his long strides.
They entered a room with two conference tables arranged in concentric circles. Then the visiting diplomats—those who had been lucky enough to be in the palace and not the space-city—filed in, their shoulders bowed as if they bore lead weights. Soon the room was filled to overflowing. Jas edged toward a window to inhale fresh air. The pale blue sky was streaked with contrails. Ships that had weathered the storm in underground hangers were soaring beyond the atmosphere to view the aftermath of the attack, while communications personnel hunted for signals sent back from the B’kah ship trailing the surviving attackers.
The day wore on. After a brief visit with the Dars’ surgeon to treat her reinjured abdomen, Jas returned to the conference room.
Rom brooded, sitting by her side, while officials who ran palace intelligence came and went, asking them questions and entering the data in their handheld computers. Some gazed at her with a mixture of curiosity and awe. News of her decisive role in the battle had spread.
“Lord Dar, sir!” A strapping young man entered the conference room, gripping a starfighter pilot helmet in his hands. He bowed in front of Joren. “Wing Commander Ben e’ Dar requests permission to speak.”
“Proceed,” Joren said.
“Our tests indicate that antimatter detonations indeed destroyed the city.”
Several gasps emanated from the crowd.
“An entire city.” Joren peered around the room. “And dozens of ships carrying respected members of our Great Council. All killed in a cowardly terrorist attack carried out with banned weaponry.” Joren glanced at Rom. Jas saw a silent signal pass between them. Then Rom nodded curtly and addressed the group.
“Sharron vowed he’d bring his war to the Vash homeworlds. And he has. Yes, he is now dead. But his people will carry out his wish to destroy us all.”
The diplomats and surviving Council members began to murmur among themselves. Joren silenced them. “They are more ruthless and more relentless than we ever grasped. It is time we paid heed to Romlijhian’s warning—one he gave us twenty years ago. This man owes us nothing. This man has every right to leave us to our closed-mindedness, our stubbornness in not acting intelligently to end such an appalling threat. But he has not.”
Joren’s black-and-gold tunic shimmered as he faced Rom. “You are the heir of the exalted Romjha, our light in the dark. We await your orders, Lord B’kah.” He fell to one knee and bowed his head. One by one, others, though not all, followed suit.
Jas gripped Rom’s warm hand. She expected him to rise, but he remained seated for taut moments, twining his fingers with hers, as if letting go indicated his acceptance of the leadership role Joren offered. A choice. He said he’d have to make a choice. She stared at their clasped hands, then shifted her gaze to the men crouching humbly and expectantly before Rom.
This was his true calling, she acknowledged inwardly, his birthright. Her relationship with him paled in comparison to this galactic Pearl Harbor, to these people and their inexorable pull on him. Rom was merely her lover, but he was their king. And they had every right to take him from her. She forced open her grip on his fingers.
Rom brought his mouth to her ear. “It is time to offer the gauntlet once more. Pray this time they take it.” He stood, proud and tall. “Lord Dar—”
“One moment, my lord,” the young pilot said, this time addressing Rom. He was gripping his helmet so hard that his knuckles were white. “I have news of the B’kah cruiser. They followed the enemy out of hyperspace, then to what we think is their center of operations. Their arsenal there—it boggles the mind.”
“Where is it? Do they know?”
“Yes, sir. Balkanor.”
“Balkanor,” Rom said on a harsh exhalation. Jas looked at his face anxiously. What he’d feared most had happened: the years had allowed Sharron to transform Balkanor into a womb of illegal weaponry. “What of the cruiser?”
The pilot lifted his chin. “The signal was lost. We haven’t been able to raise them since. I…we think the ship was destroyed, my lord.”
There was a small commotion near the doorway. Then the group parted for Di, tight-faced and cloaked in an uncharacteristically somber garment. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly. “Romlijhian, a call came for you on the private channel.” Her voice shook. “It’s Father. He’s summoned you to the Wheel.”
From the viewport in the luxurious Dar cruiser, Jas could see their destination. Lit from within, the tiny disk rotated slowly, like a lost toy among the stars. But as they neared the Wheel, it grew in size until it was staggeringly huge. A million winking lights; spokes as wide and tall as the Empire State Building. It was a marvel of construction, even for a society that had achieved lightspeed space travel eons ago. “Five thousand years old…incredible.”
“Much history has transpired here,” Rom said, his arms snug around her waist. She set down her mug of steaming tock and leaned back into his embrace. They watched in exhausted silence until their cruiser docked in one of the thousands of bays. They’d been traveling for three days, sleeping little while they prepared the address Rom hoped to deliver to the Great Council—and his father.
The elder B’kah had not yet contacted Rom during their journey to council headquarters, nor forwarded any messages other than the mysterious summons he had sent Di. What pressure Rom must be feeling, Jas thought, not knowing whether his father had brought him here to laud him or humiliate him. All she knew was that the tyrant had better not cross her path, unless he wanted to hear how she regarded his treatment of his son.
The cruiser shuddered, then stilled. She tried to sound lighthearted. “Well, this is it. We’re here.”
Rom rested his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him. Long, silent moments slipped by as he observed her somberly. She came up on her toes to kiss him lightly. “A grain of salt for your thoughts,” she coaxed.
He seemed to choose his words carefully. “I have given much thought to us—to our shared vision, and to why you returned to me. The Great Mother gave us this time together”—his fingertip traced her lower lip—“not for love, or the happiness you have brought me in such abundance, but to light my path to the destiny She has chosen for me.”
The hairs on the back of Jas’s neck tingled. “You’re scaring me,” she whispered.
His pupils darkened within his pale gold irises, and he smoothed both palms over her hair, slowly and with care, as if memorizing her. “Your Earth world with its riches brought me back from the frontier. Then you were captured by the Family of the New Day, giving me the chance to rescue you and discover that Sharron was still alive. Then your sickness led me back to the fold of my family—something I swore I’d never do. Now we are here. The Wheel, home of the Great Council.”
She sagged against him. He rested his chin on her head.
“By coming back to me, you have allowed me this chance to convince the Vash Nadah to mobilize for war and defeat the revolution. And perhaps”—his voice tightened—“the opportunity to reconcile with my father. But Jasmine, I fear that since your task is complete, you will leave, as you did before. Even if it is not of your own choice.”
She reared back, her chin jutting high. “Magic may have brought me to you, or destiny—or God. But love is why I stayed. Do you understand that? I love you. I will never leave. Never.”
His gaze softened with his love for her, blunting the anguish she saw in his golden eyes. He opened his mouth to speak.
“Brother, the Council awaits you in the great hall,” Joren interrupted, walking toward them.
Jas slid her hand down the side of Rom’s face, over his cheekbone and the faint prickles of his beard. “We’ve worked on this speech long and hard. It’s terrific. I’ll be there, listening, praying.” She swallowed. “You’ll be wonderful.”
He kissed her on the forehead, then her lips, before he took her by the hand. They followed Joren out of the cruiser and into the rather intimidating confines of the Wheel. Gann and Muffin brought up the rear, overtly protective in the way they scanned the crowd. Jas didn’t doubt either man would hesitate to beat to a pulp anyone who tried to hurt Rom.
Several dignitaries met them on the way, taking Joren and Rom with them, as she’d been told to expect. The men had been assigned seating near the immense stage. Had she been Rom’s legal wife, she would have sat at his side. She thought of Di, who had stayed behind, torn between her religion’s dictates against war and the necessity she now saw for it. For her, the ageless terror of seeing loved ones killed in battle, even if their deaths were to save them all, had left her all but paralyzed.
Jas, flanked by Gann and Muffin, entered the anteroom of the Great Council Hall. People turned to stare at them. What an odd sight they must make, she thought wryly, a woman with peculiar black hair and fair skin escorted by two hulking men dressed like escapees from smugglers’ prison. As if reading her thoughts, Gann kept his hand lightly and reassuringly under the crook of her arm. His voice was gentle. “Are you doing all right?”
Her stomach squeezed tight. “Yeah. How about you?”
“More exhausted than after a match of Bajha with B’kah.” She smiled at his remark. “In here,” he said. They found seats in the rear of the darkened auditorium. He helped her tune a translator imbedded in a console in front of her so she could listen to Rom’s Siennan words in Basic, in which she was far more fluent.
Eight massive thrones graced the right side of the stage. From the left, eight immaculately robed older men marched to the chairs. The tall, broad-shouldered gentleman who led them had the confident stance of a warrior, a familiar lean gait. Jas’s heart skipped to a stop.
Rom’s father.
Though his facial features weren’t similar—Rom must resemble his mother—his body and that of his son’s were nearly identical. Fascinated, she watched a silvertrimmed indigo cape billow around the man’s long legs as he sat. The other seven followed, dominolike, in what Jas guessed was an order based on family ranking. The hiss of applause began at the front of the immense hall, spreading slowly to the rear.
Then Rom took the stage, walking resolutely to a crystal lectern. Seeking eye contact from those within the audience, he gripped the podium, his knuckles white—not with anxiety, Jas thought, but with passion. This was the opportunity he’d wished for so fervently twenty years ago and never achieved: the chance to convince the stubborn, peace-loving Vash Nadah to go to war.
“I am Romlijhian B’kah,” he announced. He inclined his head toward the eight leaders, then faced the audience. “I have been invited to address you because I have experience with a revolution begun by a group called the Family of the New Day.” His self-assured voice boomed, filling the hall with its power. “Five standard days ago, the Dar homeworld was suddenly and deliberately attacked by these revolutionaries. They annihilated a space-city, home to forty thousand, as well as five mining colonies, several honored members of this Great Council, and countless assembly politicians and diplomats. Then, without provocation, the Family of the New Day fired upon and destroyed a class-six cruiser in the B’kah fleet.” His hands opened. “We are in grave danger.”
Exhaling, he paced across the stage. “To fully comprehend that danger, the future we face if we do not take action, we must try to understand our turbulent past. Not simply in the manner in which we learned Trade History as youngsters, but with a more critical eye.” He clasped his hands behind his back and faced them. As he recounted the Dark Years preceding the Great War, Jas fell fully under his spell, barely breathing when he described in sickening detail the outcome of massive antimatter weaponry detonations.
His voice was low and earnest. “It is difficult to imagine a war so terrible, comprised of acts so heinous, that its psychological aftermath impelled warriors bred for battle to lay down their weapons…forever. But that they did. ‘Peace for all the time,’ they decreed, and incorporated that covenant into our holiest of documents, the Treatise of Trade…so that we would never forget. But—I ask you—did they honestly intend that we maintain that peace in the face of evil? At any cost?”
The crowd reacted first with silence, then with uneasy grumbling, a reaction that seemed to please Rom. His voice soared as he likened Sharron to the warlords who had brought civilization to the brink of annihilation eleven thousand years before. “Their leader is now dead. But his soldiers will carry on without him—many of them Vash Nadah. Those who do not believe me—look at the data! Even now, your intelligence reports reveal that they are preparing for another attack. Where will that be? When? How many more lives must be lost before we wage war against this monstrous threat, this strengthening evil unsurpassed in our time? We must fight as one to defeat them. I do not mean one family…or three. But all eight. Unity is victory.” He slammed his fist into his hand. “And without victory there is no survival!”
Jas glanced around in the darkness. Some assembly members were shouting, some weeping. Several stormed out. But most were listening in rapt silence. Rom’s father, ensconced in his gilded throne onstage, scowled. The man’s hands were spread on his knees, his muscular arms braced, his eyes downcast. He was either deep in thought or angry as hell.
Shoulders rigid, Rom faced his father and the other seven kings. “Honored members of the Great Council. You, the Eight, are leaders entrusted with the sacred power and vision of the ancient warriors. Your onerous responsibilities often force you to make complex choices—but none, I believe, as painful as the decision you must make today.” Pointedly, he sought and held his father’s gaze. Silently Jas cheered for Rom. In all her life she had never known a man with more guts.
Rom’s voice rose, just as they’d practiced. “I ask that you declare war against the Family of the New Day, to defend the galaxy whatever the cost, never to surrender, even if battles are to be fought on the very home planets that protect our children. I ask that you carry on the struggle, for as long as it takes, until the Great Mother deems us worthy to liberate the galaxy from this utter, merciless evil.” Rom regarded them for endless heartbeats, then bowed and backed up several steps. “Crush the darkness!” Fists clenched, he walked off the stage.
Applause erupted with the suddenness of a downpour. “B’kah, B’kah,” some began to chant. “Unity is victory!”
Pride and apprehension tumbled through her, and goose bumps pebbled her arms. She clapped her hands until her palms stung. Quietly, she remarked to Gann, “He’s reclaimed his role as leader.”
He whispered in her ear. “Whether he wanted to or not.”
She reached for his hand and squeezed it.
The applause abated only after the assembly members stood. Jas, Gann, and Muffin filed out a side entrance. She glimpsed Rom near the far wall of the anteroom, on the other side of a throng of eager admirers. He was glancing around, as if looking for her. She tried to push her way through the crowd, but it was slow going, particularly with everyone gaping at her—and her hair. She should have worn a cloak with a hood.
When she next checked the place Rom had stood moments before, it was empty. “Do you see him?” she asked Muffin, who towered over the crowd.
The big man craned his neck. “He took the center corridor. Lord B’kah was with him. And the other seven.”
They jogged to the spot where Muffin had seen the men disappear. By the time they got there, formidable-looking security guards had blocked the hallway. Their laser pistols glinted ominously. “I need to see Romli-jhian B’kah,” she said breathlessly.
Muffin’s shadow fell over them. The soldiers braced themselves.
“I’m Rom B’kah’s a’nah,” she explained. “He’s expecting me.”
The men glanced at each other. The shortest of the trio spoke, his demeanor polite but firm. “They are in council. No one is permitted inside. No wives.” He lifted his uneasy gaze to Muffin. “No one.”
She released a worried breath. Gann placed his hand on her shoulder. “Come. I’ll buy us all a drink. We have no choice but to wait.”
Loud voices echoed from across a vast plaza, where Jas huddled at a tiny al fresco bar with Muffin and Gann, a bowl of shimmer crackers between them. Real grass grew along brick sidewalks lit by laser-lanterns. A dome above let in the glow of trillions of stars. Several glasses of mogmelon wine warmed her belly, muting her nervousness, but at the sight of Rom marching her way, trailed by Vash starfighter pilots and intelligence officials, her pulse jumped all over again.
She pushed away from the table and stood, smoothing the long silken sleeves of her gown. Rom’s face was shadowed. He wore his mask of indifference, hiding his true emotions, though the glint in his eyes told her that something significant had transpired in the meeting.
He didn’t slow as he swept past. Grabbing her by the elbow, he propelled her away from the table. She glanced over her shoulder at the veritable army pursuing them. “Who are they?”
Rom whirled on his entourage. “Go.” When the men hesitated, he beseeched them, “I ask for privacy now. I will be at the appointed place at the appointed time.”
The men halted by Gann and Muffin, and Rom resumed his punishing pace. Jas followed. They were practically jogging across the plaza. A warren of dark, narrow streets loomed ahead, lined with stores and what appeared to be private residences. He chose the second alleyway, as if he knew exactly where he was headed. “Where are we going?” she finally managed, gasping for air in the Wheel’s thin atmosphere.
“Down below,” he said. Metallic cobblestones clicked under their boots. The structures were built so close together that they blotted out the stars above. The air reeked of overworked computer equipment, cooking meat, and something sour, like standing water. The cobblestones turned into stairs that descended into the bowels of the ancient space station.
Rom steered her off the main path, urging her along until they were wedged between a wall and a trash receptacle of discarded machinery and rotting food. She peered around nervously, and her mouth quirked. “Nice part of town. Mind telling me what’s going on?”
He pressed his lips to the sheen of perspiration on her forehead. “I must leave you.”
She went rigid and pushed away. “When?”
“Now. Tonight.” He swallowed. “They await me at the docks.”
“Who? What’s happened?”
“There was another attack,” he said grimly. “On the Lesok homeworld. The Family of the New Day’s forces have returned to Balkanor to rearm. Then they will strike again. Only this time we will not allow it.”
“We? You’ve convinced the Vash Nadah to fight back?”
“Yes.” Rom saw triumph spark in her eyes. “And they chose me to lead the attack.”
The blood drained from her face. “I thought…I thought you were throwing them the gauntlet. If you did, they tossed it right back.”
“I have the best chance of sneaking into the New Day headquarters undetected. I’ve seen their ways—and I’ve been to the planet. Their weapons lab and storage are deep under the planet’s surface. Only I know the landmarks to find the entrance, the system of underground tunnels to get there.” He thought of the dank cells where Sharron had tortured his prisoners. “I’ll be able to get my men in before anyone knows we’re there.”
Like a true warrior, she bravely absorbed what he had said. But her voice was huskier now, betraying her fear. “How long will you be gone?”
“I’m not coming back, angel.”
She gasped, lifting a trembling hand to her mouth.
“Jas, I can get my team in, but I will not be able to get us out.”
“You don’t know that!” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears.
He felt such pain that he could not describe it, would not share it with her. “The security measures in place at the cult headquarters are extraordinary. Even if we are successful, there is no way we can escape.” An image flashed in his mind of the group of men who comprised the Wheel’s elite guard, the best-trained warriors of the Vash Nadah. When he’d put forth the plan, no one brought up their nonexistent chances of success. Without hesitation, they were ready to follow him into a battle they couldn’t possibly survive. “Jasmine, I have to do this. I have to finish what I started.”
Weeping quietly, she wrapped her arms around him. He held her tight to his chest, each one of their heartbeats marching closer to the moment he’d never see her again.
“I am going to ask you to do something I fully expect you to decline,” he said. “I will not blame you if you do.”
She tilted her face up. “Anything,” she said shakily. “You know that.”
“When we flew patrol, I asked you to be my wife. You were interrupted before you gave me your answer.” They leaned into each other. He murmured his words against her hair. “I need to know what you intended to say.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “It was yes.”
Joy and remorse rocketed through him with the awareness that this was both the best and worst moment of his life. “Then marry me tonight. Consent to be my wife. It is for selfish reasons only that I ask, a dying man’s wish—”
“Stop it! You’re coming back. You know it, too, or you wouldn’t bother marrying me.”
He sighed. “That is not the reason. In my religion, a man and woman must be legally wed in order to live together in the ever after. By all that is holy, Jasmine, we deserve eternity since we cannot have now.” He gripped her upper arms and moved her backward. “All I can offer is my family name, but it is something I value more than the rarest of jewels.”
Jas bit her lip until it stung. Rom was heir to an an empire that defied imagination. A king did not choose his life’s path. His obligations came before personal wishes. Deep down, she’d already acknowledged that; only now had she finally accepted it.
“Rom, my love, if I could give you one thing in this universe, it would be happiness.” She wiped the back of her hand across her face, wiping away her tears. “Let’s find someone who can marry us.”
She saw the answering moistness in his eyes when he caught her hand and tugged her away from the wall. Her boots skidded over the cobblestones, which had become slick from condensation dripping from high above. Rom answered her unspoken question. “The people who live here are descendants of those who built the Wheel long ago. Not all are Vash, and the customs they practice are often ancient—and unapproved. But because of the sacrifices their ancestors made in building this space-city, we look the other way.” He slowed his pace, turned right, then followed the path to a dead end. Chimes tinkled as he pushed open a door leading down a dark and narrow flight of stairs. The air was muggy, warmer, and scented thickly with incense.
“Who told you about this place?”
“I asked one of the guards. He told me where to come.”
They entered a cramped sitting area. A single laserlantern hung from a wire tied to a metal beam in the ceiling. It spun in crooked circles, casting dizzying slashes of amber light across the walls and floor. “This counts as a legal ceremony?” she ventured doubtfully.
“Among the Vash Nadah, no. But it will be recognized among the merchants and in all the known worlds, including the frontier. And in my religion.”
“Ah, ah!” An incredibly short, plump woman scurried into the room. The top of her head barely reached Jas’s hips. “He told me you come.” She propped her hands on her waistless form and leaned back, gazing in admiration at Rom, then at Jas. She gave a quick satisfied grunt, her pale eyes sparkling in her seamed face. “I will do for you. Ah, yes, I will do.”
Despite the grief choking her, Jas exchanged smirks with Rom. The little woman reminded her of a chirpy little sparrow. But Jas’s brief amusement faded as soon as she saw the altar. Weddings were supposed to be times of joy—not of sorrow. She ground her teeth together. The bird-woman flitted around them, indicating that they kneel before a table littered with smoldering candles—real candles—and pots of fragrant bubbling oil. Rom hunkered down at her side. His warrior’s body pressed against hers, lending her his warm strength. The woman performed a curious, slow little dance, her face scrunched closed in prayer, while she raised two candles above her head, one in each pudgy hand. Then she offered a candle to Jas. When she took it, the woman gave another to Rom.
“Today the blood of the B’kah and the Hamilton are joined,” she recited in a singsong voice. “Two are stronger than one.” She waved her fingers, indicating that they were to touch the candles together. Jas’s hand shook. She gazed into Rom’s shadowed face. Quivering candlelight imbued his bronzed skin with an amber glow. She held her breath as they brought the wicks together. They sparked, then surged into one tall flame, and the reflection danced in Rom’s eyes.
While they held the candles together, the woman leaned closer, inspecting the flame. Then she cupped her gnarled hands over the candles. Her eyes took on that faraway, wisdom-of-the-ages look, reminding Jas of Tina, the elderly New Ager who’d once read her palm. “Very fortunate,” the little sparrow whispered. “Yes, good future…long life…many descendants. Your progeny will travel to many worlds.”
Jas averted her eyes. Apparently psychic abilities were not this ancient’s strength.
“All done,” the woman called out cheerily.
“One moment,” Rom said. “I want her to have this.” He twisted off his treasured signet ring and pushed the chunky band onto Jas’s left index finger. “Take my ring.”
Touched profoundly, Jas clenched her hand until the ring pinched her flesh. Then she crushed her fist protectively to her breasts. Solemn and silent, Rom leaned forward and kissed her, his mouth sweet and warm and tender. “I love you,” they whispered to each other.
The woman plucked a handheld computer from the folds of her dress and punched several keys. Entering the event in a galactic database? Then she spread a comfortably normal-looking piece of paper and two pens on the table. Unable to make out the runes, Jas let Rom guide her hand to the proper place to sign. Then they were back out in the filtered and thin night air.
Jas tried not to dwell on why Rom was in such a hurry, striding through the underground village and uphill to the docks. It was more crowded in the main part of the station. People who passed them made their support of Rom known: “Unity is victory!” “Without victory there is no survival!” The words had become the new battle cry to defeat Sharron’s uprising.
Ahead were the docks. Outside an enormous battle cruiser waited, its gleaming hull glowing in the Wheel’s reflected light. Soldiers lined both sides of the corridor leading to the hatch. They watched her with tender understanding, having already bidden good-bye to their own wives. Joren, Gann, and Muffin stood off to the side—with Rom’s father, stoic in his resigned despair, his face drawn. He pointedly sought eye contact with her and nodded, giving her his silent respect, but making no move to steal what little time she had left with his son. With sudden clarity—and surprising empathy—she realized how much pain he must feel at losing the same child twice.
Ten feet away from the onlookers, Rom stopped and drew her close. Jas felt sluggish, numb, as if she were trapped in a nightmare. Tomorrow Rom wouldn’t be with her, but now he was. She hugged him with all her might, laying her head against his shoulder as she closed her eyes.
“Be happy,” he whispered.
She pushed away, trembling, and dragged her fingertips down his cheek. “Come back to me.”
He swallowed hard. Haltingly, he began to speak in English. “Jasmine Boswell Hamilton B’kah. I…love…you.” Then he kissed her, drawing away slowly.
When she opened her eyes he was striding up the gangway into the ship. The soldiers followed; then the hatch snapped shut. Somehow she managed to keep her composure through the rumbling of thrusters. As the ship streaked away, she felt suddenly faint. Joren and Lord B’kah blurred. She wobbled and Gann steadied her, escorting her away quickly, protecting her from questions and condolences with his large frame. He brought her to a room. His quarters? Hers? She didn’t know…or care. She began to shake. Gann caught her before she crumpled to the floor. He propped his back against the wall and supported her crosswise across his lap, holding her to his chest. Shoulders heaving, she cried until it hurt. Sometime later, how much later she didn’t know, she heard deep voices. Muffin. Gann. “Have news…Balkanor is destroyed…No survivors…”
My God. Rom was dead.
He was never coming back to her.
A low, keening cry tore from the depths of her soul. Gann hugged her while she wept anew—for Rom, for her, for all they had lost, and for the sacrifice he’d made for his people. When she finally collapsed into exhausted sleep, she did so protected by her star king’s loyal knight.