Ryzven’s inner sanctum was exquisite.
Crystal and metal blended seamlessly, glimmering in the changing lights. It was like standing in a river, and then when the lights shifted, brightened, they revealed the bodies moving about the room. There were no limits here, Barathi mingled freely with outworlders, though none were so rare as Beryl.
Revelers undulated in the center, a sea of self-indulgence. He recognized a few of the guests. Some occupied the highest strata among the kith, while others were being used as playthings. Pleasures that had been deemed immoral by the Council thrived behind closed doors.
There was an entire tank of Darveelan crawlers waiting to be devoured. In these enlightened times, the Matriarch frowned on the consumption of live food, but doubtless she didn’t know about Ryzven’s secret predilections. Consuming the crawlers went a step beyond cruelty because they tested at a level approaching sentience, so they understood the danger, and fear permeated their whole bodies as they darted back and forth, seeking a means of escape. Zylar had been told that terror made their flavor sharper and more pungent, but he would never partake of such torture.
Beyond the diabolical delicacies, there was a vast array of illegal chem—sparkling powders and glowing vials, an assortment of elixirs and mood enhancers—and on the crystalline terrace beyond, party guests swapped nest-guardians and played lovers’ games for the amusement of others. One of the participants seemed revolted by the one touching her, and Beryl took a step toward the group.
“Wait,” Zylar whispered.
One of Ryzen’s cronies said, “When you accepted this invitation, you agreed to whatever I want. Be still.”
The doomsayer, who was physically powerful enough to throw off everyone who was touching her, lay back with a snarl. Zylar looked away. For him, this coercion didn’t work as sexual enticement or entertainment, and the scene made him feel vaguely ill. Beryl’s expression reflected confusion, if he was reading her response correctly.
“I don’t understand. By agreeing to attend, did we tacitly submit to whatever deviance is asked of us?”
“The rules are different, depending on social status,” he said. “I belong to Kith B’alak, and you are the highest-ranking intended in the Choosing.”
“But that’s not the case for someone of lesser standing.” Beryl shivered and stepped closer, and it took all Zylar’s self-control not to pull her against him, like someone might attempt to physically wrest her from his side.
The music was loud and discordant, ringing in his aural cavities until it was hard to think. Flashing lights made that no easier, a constant onslaught of bright and dark that lent the partygoers a stop-and-go aspect. In those shadow sweeps, people moved, appearing in different spots around the room.
He lowered his head and spoke near Beryl’s ear. “We don’t have to stay long.”
“I’m ready to go right now.”
Beryl cringed, and Zylar followed her gaze with his to where a tall Barathi was slurping down Darveelans, straight from the tank. The others scrambled away from his claws, and just then, the music stopped, so their high-pitched shrieks were audible. He hoped she couldn’t hear them, but then her eyes widened.
“Are they screaming?” she asked, shuddering.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to see any of this.”
“Terrible things exist, even if I don’t see them! We have to save those little dudes. They look like…” Here, the translator completely lost any ability to glean her meaning.
Zylar wanted to be a hero for her. He did.
But the prospect of fighting Ryzven on his own ground, along with all his sycophants, sent a spike of visceral fear through him. The wrong tactic here could end his hopes for a life with Beryl. Yet if he did nothing, he was unworthy of someone so brave and beautiful. Zylar dug deep and found some courage.
A verbal protest here would do no good. Sometimes, one had to be clever. Quietly, he drew Beryl toward the display of colorful liquids and powders. “Stay calm. Feign an interest. Ask me a question.”
Thankfully, she was a clever person. “What’s that?”
That was a sparkling pink dust, doled out in tiny vials. “It’s joy enhancer. Everything gains a patina of brightness, so jests seem funnier. Everyone looks more attractive. I’m not sure if it would work on you.” As he spoke, he activated his comm unit and keyed in a code that would block his identifying frequency, then he sent an urgent warning to the Protected Species Advisory Board.
There, done. I hope they come quickly.
Shortly after he turned off his comm, Ryzven joined them, shouldering between Zylar and Beryl like he had every right. “You look most charming tonight. This is new?” With one claw, he touched the fabric twining around Beryl’s shoulder.
“Yes. Thank you.” Beryl stepped back, removing herself from Ryzven’s reach.
His nictitating membrane flickered, revealing his irritation at her failure to be charmed or impressed. Still, the flavork tried again. “I trust you’re enjoying my hospitality.”
Be civil, he urged silently.
Beryl showed her teeth. “That’s one word for it. I’ve never seen anything quite like…this.”
Unsurprisingly, Ryzven took pleasure in what he judged to be a compliment. “It would be my honor to show you around my private collection. I have art the like of which you will never have experienced.”
“We would be delighted to take a private tour,” Zylar answered for both of them, earning a look of pure malice from his nest-mate.
“You don’t have any particular interest in the arts, do you?” That was a warning, a hint that he should back off and let this happen.
Beryl said in a desperately bright tone, “What do you collect, Ryzven? I don’t know anything about Barathi art. Back home, artists work in so many mediums.” Soon, she would start babbling, but it wasn’t enough to get Ryzven to stop glaring.
Before the situation could escalate, the doors chimed at the use of an override code and agents from the advisory board stormed inside. They located the threatened Darveelans instantly and boomed a warning at the greedy flavork still slurping them down.
“Back away from the tank! This gathering violates codes eighteen and forty-nine of the Protected Species Act. Violators will be—”
The moment Ryzven turned to deal with this intrusion, Zylar seized Beryl’s grabber. “We should go.”
Since others were already scrambling for the exit, they wouldn’t draw undue notice, and the agents would rescue the surviving Darveelans. She clung to him as they blended in with the throng currently fleeing from Ryzven’s lavish entertainment. This anonymous report might have future consequences, but he didn’t regret his choice. While Ryzven might guess that Zylar was responsible, he couldn’t prove anything. He suspected if he had named the offending party, instead of simply providing the location, the agents might have hesitated about crossing the most powerful scion of Kith B’alak. That made this turn of events even more satisfying.
He didn’t pause until they reached the safety of his quarters. When he turned, he found her laughing. “That was amazing. You wrecked his party. How much trouble is he in?”
“Not enough, unfortunately. I suspect he’ll be fined, little more.”
“But won’t this smear his good name somewhat? He got caught breaking the rules, and your people seem to care an awful lot about appearances.”
When she put it that way, Zylar paused, considering the implications. “It’s possible that he could lose some favor with the Matriarch,” he allowed.
“That’s good for us, right? It means less fuel for his nasty whisper campaign.”
Snaps trotted into the room, blinking sleepily. “You’re back? You’re back! I missed you both so much! I thought I would die of missing you.”
Zylar knelt and scratched the fur-person on top of his head. That was a beautiful thing to hear, even if he had only been gone for a short while. Especially then, perhaps. Snaps rolled over and presented his underside. He glanced at Beryl, who confirmed it was acceptable to proceed. The fur-person flailed all his limbs and wriggled in what Zylar presumed must be enjoyment.
“He especially likes it when you get the spots he can’t reach. Like here…and here.” Gently, she guided him, showing where to employ his talons to the best effect.
“I love you the most,” said Snaps, closing his eyes.
“Hey, what about me?” Since she was showing her teeth, she must be joking.
“I love you the most too.”
“That’s not mathematically possible,” Beryl pointed out.
“Talking dogs aren’t mathematically possible,” Snaps said, “but here I am.”
Zylar churred. The sheer joy he experienced with these two in his life made him feel as if his blood had become effervescent, constant contentment fizzing away, leaving him both giddy and lightheaded. He picked Snaps up and beckoned Beryl toward their nest.
She did whatever humans needed to do before resting, then she joined him, settling against him with a surety and trust that made Zylar even more determined not to let her down. “The Darveelans will be safe, don’t worry.”
“I’m glad you rescued them, but I’m more concerned about us currently. There are two events left in this round. Do you think Ryzven will blame you for this?”
At least this time, the blame was warranted. Not that Zylar planned to admit filing the report. “Even if he does, he can’t sabotage the Choosing. As long as I’m competing for your favor, I’ll pass the second stage somehow.”
“You promise?”
“I do.”
“What about Kurr?”
Zylar stroked Beryl’s head, wishing he could put full faith in these words. “We’ll find a way to help them too.”
The next day, Beryl feared that Kurr would be missing, and she leaned up against the wall in relief when she spotted them passing into the arena. Snaps wriggled in her arms in excitement; she didn’t let him dash off into the crowd. It was impossible for her to judge the Greenspirit’s mood from facial expressions, but their body language seemed a bit better than the day before. She pushed upright and hurried toward her friend, reaching for them, then she hesitated. Kurr twined a pair of fronds around her wrist, squeezing gently.
“Thank you for coming to me yesterday, but I was in no state to bear company.”
“I’m so sorry.”
A mournful sound, like wind rustling through dying trees, slipped from Kurr as they headed for the intended seating. “It’s not your fault.”
Beryl chewed her lip, wrestling with the proper choice here. If she confessed the whole truth, Kurr might hate her, but she wouldn’t be much of a friend if she pretended the situation had nothing to do with her. As they settled in, she made up her mind.
“But it is…sort of. At least indirectly.”
Kurr pulled their fronds away, turning to regard her with a chilly stare. “What do you mean? It was an accident.”
After taking a deep breath, she explained about the rivalry between Zylar and Ryzven, Ryzven’s unwelcome interest, and how he’d interfered with the Choosing, causing the Gauntlet to be unleashed instead of the competition that was originally planned. That petty, malicious act had been meant to screw with Zylar, but Arleb ended up paying the ultimate price. When she finished, she could hardly bear to look at Kurr, who must certainly hate her now.
“Thank you,” Kurr said finally.
“I…what?”
“For telling me the truth. Before, I thought there was nobody to blame and it was just my sad fate.”
Something about Kurr’s tone sent a shiver through her. “Again, I’m truly sorry.”
“This was not your doing, my friend. This tragedy is born from an evil heart that despises the possibility that others could be happy.”
That was true enough, but Beryl couldn’t shake the sense of foreboding as she regarded Kurr. “What will you do now? You mentioned that going home isn’t an option, so…” She hesitated.
It seemed heartless to ask if they meant to try to attract someone else at this stage in the Choosing, but the fact that Kurr was still attending the competition seemed to indicate they planned to keep going.
“Before, I had the half-hearted thought of luring a new suitor, though it seems callous. Now I must do this, but I also have another imperative.”
“What’s that?”
The arena was filling, and the setup on the field for the last two events was nearly complete. Fortunately, Snaps was more interested in the obstacle course being placed than their conversation. A moment this tense wouldn’t be improved by a dog’s observations.
“You said Ryzven hinted at wanting a second nest-guardian, yes?”
That was the last thing she expected to hear. “Are you joking? Why—”
“Because he is responsible for the death of my Chosen. If I succeed in getting close to him, I will destroy him utterly.” They spoke with such brittle, icy composure that Beryl’s bad feeling got worse.
This sounded like a suicide mission, and it seemed as if Kurr didn’t much care if they went to hell, as long as they took Ryzven with them. And while Beryl could understand the desire to get revenge, she couldn’t stand seeing them suffer.
“That’s not—”
“Stop,” Kurr said sharply. “I will not heed warnings or advice. If this can be done, I will do it. There is no guarantee that I can draw his eye, as he seems partial to small, soft creatures, but I hold high standing in the rankings, and if I judge by what you’ve said, he is the type who cares about personal prestige. I can give him that.”
Beryl lowered her head, fighting tears along with a bone-deep fear for her friend. “I wish I hadn’t told you.”
“Regret is useless. If you had made another choice, grief and despair might have devoured me. Now, I am filled with wrath, and it will sustain me, one way or another.”
She let out a shaky breath. “If you’re determined, I’ll do what I can do to support you. If he invites us to another of his terrible parties, I’ll get you an invitation.”
I can’t believe they were eating live, sentient beings. They looked so much like the Worms from Men in Black.
“You are a true friend.”
“There was a famous comedian on my world. I guess one of his sayings applies here. ‘When you’re in jail, a good friend will be trying to bail you out. A best friend will be in the cell next to you saying, Damn, that was fun.’”
“I’m not certain that this idiom has translated correctly, but I appreciate your offer to do crime for me, Beryl Bowman.” Three fronds swept out and encircled Beryl’s shoulder in a delicate touch.
Across the arena, the seats filled with spectators and Chosen, but oddly, Beryl noticed that Ryzven wasn’t in his usual spot. Maybe the alien equivalent of animal control had done him some damage? She would love it if his reputation got smeared like chocolate pudding on a toddler’s face. That infraction probably wouldn’t be enough to topple Ryzven from his pedestal, however. Zylar had said it would be impossible for Ryzven to prove he was behind the report, but her uneasiness intensified.
Between Kurr’s dangerous plan and the way Zylar had gone after Ryzven on the low, there was so much that could go wrong. Everything was unfamiliar here, and the prospect of being forcibly separated from Zylar made her break out in a cold sweat. How the hell would I even cope? It was disturbing on every level how unsuited she was to fend for herself out here.
I need to get started on those reading lessons, even if this Choosing crap is exhausting. I can’t depend on Zylar forever.
“You’re squeezing me too tight,” said Snaps. “My eyeballs are gonna pop out.”
“Eep, sorry.” Quickly she eased back on the headlock she’d put on Snaps and tried to steady her nerves, but she had to clench her hands to hide their trembling.
Searching the stands, she found Zylar in his usual spot. Some of the tremors receded when he raised a claw in a greeting he’d learned from her. Lifting her hand to wave back, she took a deep breath, another, until her pounding heart settled. Snaps stood on her lap and licked her cheek.
“Don’t be scared. Or sad. You smell scared and sad. Are you?” He licked her again.
Smiling, she scratched between his ears. “A little. I’m better now.”
“Because you fear for me, you smell this way?” Kurr asked.
Beryl had no idea how to answer that. “I mean…maybe? Especially if my scent changed after I told you what went down with Ryzven and you unveiled your master plan.”
“Then should I comfort you?” Kurr asked. “How would I do this?”
Before she could reply, the host said, “The second round will be completed today! What excitement is store for us with today’s competition? Let’s not waste time, and instead, go right to the action…after I review the standings.”
She tuned out while he posted the tallied results and only perked up when she saw that Zylar was solidly in the center of the pack—not high enough to earn envy for his position, but not low enough to fear they wouldn’t receive approval if they performed well together in the final round. When the host called Zylar’s name, she jumped up and cheered at the top of her lungs, even urged Snaps to make a bunch of racket. The other intended stared at her, but she didn’t give a damn.
Eventually she sat back down and gathered Snaps close. The final part of the second round went smoothly without Ryzven whining to officials to make shit more “interesting,” or whatever he’d said to get Arleb killed. There was a physical sparring challenge and a problem-solving competition, where Zylar came in second.
My Chosen is so damn smart.
It was probably weird to feel so proud of that. In the end, Zylar finished in the top third, safe and sound, while Kurr sat silently beside Beryl, doubtless plotting their intricate revenge. After the final scores posted, the Chosen who had lost their partners early on swamped Kurr. Six or seven Barathi, some with exceptionally bright colors, eddied around the Greenspirit like an alien ocean. Beryl lingered, wondering if she should offer a hand, but Kurr fluttered some fronds in a gesture that she took to be a farewell, confirmed by their next words.
“I will get acquainted with my suitors,” they said gently. “While I regret Arleb’s loss, I must think of the future. This is the path I have chosen.”
That had to be part of their strategy, a way of drawing Ryzven’s eye. If he saw that Kurr was in great demand, it might well pique his interest.
What came next? Beryl didn’t dare imagine.