panic, fearing for a jotik that flames licked my bed linens, but nay, all was quiet in my chamber. I knew what troubled me about the sight-capture, however. BoKama had named Raxkarax. But she brought me Raxthezana.
Perhaps she misspoke.
Remembering her gentle hands supporting me when I was sick, her soft voice soothing me when I awakened from terror-dreams, her unfailing loyalty when every other courtier had disappeared, I knew my BoKama could never betray me.
Of course, she misspoke.
Otherwise, it would mean that not only had Raxthezana survived, but Raxkarax likely had, as well. And if they both lived, then perhaps Naraxthel had not perished in the deadly earthquake that took my WarGuard, and if those three ikthekal had survived, then why not Natheka and Hivelt? Were they not the strongest, the craftiest, the worthiest of all my warriors?
And if they had all survived, even Hivelt whose sight-captures ended before them all, and if there was another alien upon Ikthe’s surface, did that not suggest that the Answer Dream given to my BoKama meant something entirely different than what I had been led to believe?
Might there be three other aliens, stars that streaked from the sky like portentous meteors just as my lovely pet had done those many months ago?
Surely my BoKama would have explained these to me. Surely, she would not have hidden such perilous truths.
A battery of coughs forced me to lean against the headboard until I regained my breath and strength.
BoKama entered my chamber, sweat limning her brow; she came to me from her forms, muscles loose and joints fluid, ready to battle: ready to battle for her Queen. Her nostrils flared a slow rotik before she herself was lost to a series of racking coughs.
I smelled blood and spied spots of it on her handkerchief.
“Took you the tower passage to the dungeons?” I asked.
“I, i,” she said, shaking her head. “Perhaps I pushed myself too hard in my practice.” She tilted her head at me. “You look rested.”
“I have rested,” I said, my voice rough with congestion. “But we have yet to discuss the aliens, BoKama.”
Her face betrayed nothing, nor did her scent. She strode farther into my room.
“Aliens?” she repeated, a brow raised. The sharp tang of suspicion punctured through my stuffy nose, bringing me up short.
My heart seized a jotik. Did she know of my prize? Were my conjectures wrong? I debated a jotik then demurred.
“I misspoke,” I said on a cough. “How came you to survive the alien’s weapon? I saw the flash of light. I thought you dead. It wasn’t until you signaled from your ship that you had Raxthezana that I knew you’d escaped unscathed.”
She gave me a soft smile and knelt before me as I sat on my bed.
“I’m too strong and too stubborn to die,” she said. “You know this.”
My laugh devolved into another bout of coughing. She rose and rubbed my back, holding the sachet to my nose when I wiped my mouth with my cloth.
Breaths easing, I grasped BoKama’s wrist and twisted her arm behind her, my illness belying my strength.
“Think you to betray me, Younger Sister?” I hissed. “What became of the alien on Ikthe? Why did you bring Raxthezana to me when it was Raxkarax you had your claws in?”
The fragrance of stinging nettles fogged my nose—the essence of BoKama—always truthful, always aligned with my wishes.
“The hunters made a fool of me, dear Ikma,” she said, a genuine tear streaking down her cheek. “We thought them dead, did we not?”
Nodding, I loosened my grip on BoKama’s arm.
“They set a trap. After the flash, Raxthezana sprang from the trees; we fought, and I bested him. But the alien and the others disappeared into the ikfal, and I dared not follow them lest I be overcome. Forgive me, Kama. I failed you. But it will not happen again.”
She knelt and bowed her head to the floor, and amidst her tears, more coughing shook her shoulders.
Frowning, I studied the aromas swirling about my room. Faithful BoKama. Resolution. Worry and illness. But not a hint of betrayal.
“Rise, Sister.” Snatching a clean cloth from my bedside table, I wiped the tears from BoKama’s face. “The illness. It worries you?”
“You said yourself you knew you were mad,” she whispered, her black eyes searching mine as she clasped my hands with her own. “Stray thoughts frighten me; every other jotik I think the madness stalks me. We are both of us weakened. What if the madness seizes me? What if the Goddesses forsake us?”
I stroked her hair and caressed her jaw.
“Sister-child,” I whispered. “The Goddesses have not forsaken us. They gave us a boon.” Should I tell the BoKama about my prisoner of war? Not yet.
“All will be set to rights. We will assemble a new WarGuard and send them to Ikthe to capture the four remaining hunters and the alien who would defy our rule. But first, you must rest.”
“You forgive me?” she said, her voice quiet.
“There is nothing to forgive,” I said, but my thoughts turned to the alien in the War Room. How much longer would it submit to my poisonous rage before it died? But what matter if it did? I had only to retrieve the other one to take its place. I was sure my eager ally would help me fetch it. “Have the maikshel prepare you a tea,” I told BoKama. “Rest and recover. I will assemble the guards.”
BoKama bowed her head as she left my bedchamber, and I caught a whiff of sister-bread—relief. BoKama pushed herself too hard if a simple cup of tea brought pleasure.
Rising from my bed, I rang for the eunuchs.
“Collect Raxthezana from his cell,” I said. “I would speak with him in the throne room in a zatik.”
I knew what his punishment would be. Raxthezana would lead my WarGuard to the hunters and draw First Blood if he wished to avoid the raxfathe. It still had its place among my people when traitors needed discipline.
Closing my eyes, I shuddered with pleasure at the thought of slippery tissue sliding between my fingers. Perhaps another visit to my prize was also in order. Fire licked in my peripheral vision, and I breathed deep of the sachet at my nose until the flames subsided to embers. I should ask BoKama if she has seen the fires yet.
“The fires are how you know,” I told the eunuch at my side, but he only frowned in confusion.