Law of Survival (39 page)

“No need.” John bent closer, until their arms touched. “You ask—I comply. Or haven't you figured that out yet?” His voice seemed to emerge from the very air surrounding them. “That's all you have to do. Just ask. It's very simple.”

“No, it isn't.”

“Of course it is. All it takes is practice. ‘John, do this. John, attend.'”

John, take over my life.
Jani kept that thought to herself. John was better at that sort of argument than she. The only sure way to fend him off would be to say something cutting, and she didn't want to spoil the evening that way. The music, the lights, and the color combined to make a storybook setting and she wanted to enjoy it, if only as a spectator.

She let her gaze drift over the heads of the dancers, to the view through the french doors. The night air chilled, but assorted weather barriers had made the terrace a haven for those in search of respite from the noise and glitter. At first, she ignored the distant glimmer of white as it drew near the windows, taking it for a guest returning from a wander among the trees. Then the figure walked into the full blaze of light that flooded the terrace, and her heart skipped.

Lucien stepped up to the doors and scanned the interior scene. He wore drop-dead whites, the gold shoulder boards and looped braids snagging the light and slicing it into metallic rainbows. He stiffened like a hunting dog on point when he spotted her, but instead of entering the ballroom immediately, he held back. One hand on the door catch, eyes on her, like the soldier in her painting, he stood still and straight and awaited his mistress's pleasure.

After a moment that seemed like nothing and like forever, Jani smiled. Only then did Lucien open the door. He strode the perimeter of the ballroom, chased by stares, the light of the chandeliers shimmering off his silvery head.

John's voice sounded like distant thunder. “What the hell is he doing here?”

“Good evening.” Lucien set his brimmed lid atop the table, and immediately nabbed a glass of juice from a pass
ing waiter. “My God, I haven't seen a scrum like this since Cao's granddaughter's wedding last year.”

John didn't appear impressed with that social credential. “I don't recall your name on this invitation list, Pascal.”

“I'm a late addition, sir. To Colonel Pierce's security team.” Lucien raised his non-alcoholic glass. “I'm on duty.” He looked from John to Jani, added two and two, and nailed four. Eyes flashing cold, he set down his drink and held out his hand to Jani. “Care to dance, ma'am?”

Jani pretended to ponder, until she saw the hand waver and uncertainty flicker in those chill eyes. Only then did she take Lucien's hand and let him lead her out on the floor. “Are you really a member of Niall's security?” she asked after they had picked up the step to the à deux that the orchestra played.

“He signed me up because I used to work for Ani. I think he was concerned she might try to pull something. Or maybe he was concerned I might try to pull something.”

“Is dancing with me on the duty list? I didn't check.”

“We're all supposed to keep an eye on you. What better way?” Lucien stepped back and gave her a lengthy head to toe examination. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Jani drank in that inestimable face. “So do you.”

“Hmm.” Lucien pulled her close. “You covered your eyes.”

Jani tried to ignore the press of his body against hers, a feat she didn't quite manage. “Niall and I worked out a protocol. Official government functions where I'm acting in some sort of intermediary capacity for the idomeni, the films come off. Purely social stuff, like this, they stay on.”

“How about if the person you're with simply prefers you without them?”

Jani felt the blush rise. She hoped Lucien wasn't close enough to feel it, too. She looked toward the table, where John watched them, drink in hand, and steered until she had turned her back to him.

Lucien hugged Jani closer. “How—are you?” For the first time, his voice sounded stilted, rehearsed, as though it was a
question he had never asked before. Her beautiful, fractured prince.

This princess isn't so intact herself.
Jani rested her cheek on his shoulder. The polywool felt pleasantly rough. “Fine.” The orchestra played Eduard, and she savored the rise and fall of the strings. “Usual aches and pains.”

“Umm.” Lucien sounded like he knew the feeling. “I assume you heard about Tsecha.”

“Yes. Considering all Cèel could have done, he got off easy. But he wanted it. I think he decided that becoming true Haárin was the best way for him to work toward his new order.”

“Well, like everything he does, his new order means more work for everybody. They've signed me up for another class. Haárin Language Protocols—what a surprise.” Lucien paused. “It's next week.”

Jani grinned. “Is it?”

“Yeah.” Lucien sighed. “I guess I'll have to get to know our friendly in-city BOQ.”

“I guess you will.”

“Heard you moved upstairs to a bigger flat.”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.” Lucien tried another angle of approach. “Is dinner out of the question?”

Jani counted to ten before answering. “Dinner's fine.”

“Then that will have to do, I guess.” He pulled her closer. “For now.” His fingers fluttered along the seam of her fitted top. “This opens up along the side.”

They finished that dance, and the next, and the next. The monster prince and his changeling princess, in a world where survival was a happy ending and you took your magic where you found it. By the time they returned to the table for Lucien's lid, John had departed, the only signs of his presence three glasses depleted of their contents and a linen napkin crumpled into a tight ball.

 

After being introduced to Jamira and impressing her mightily, Lucien took his leave to return to the command center. Jani made rounds, talked with the people who had been anx
ious to meet her, and kept a daughterly eye on her parents, who appeared ready to waltz, eat, and talk until the last candle guttered to extinction.

She finally broke away, taking refuge in a secluded hallway that was far enough away from the ballroom to discourage casual visitation. She found a narrow windowseat, wedged into it, and watched the activity on the terrace.

“How are you holding up?”

Jani turned to find Niall standing in a doorway. Since his job kept him behind the scenes, he had opted for dress blue-greys rather than the more formal whites. He looked as tired as she felt. A half-smoked 'stick dangled from his lips. “I would have to say, Colonel, that I have just about reached my limit.”

Niall took the 'stick from his mouth and studied it. “I know just what you need.” He pulled a handcom from his pocket and barked a few terse orders. “Follow me, please, ma'am,” he said as he repocketed the device.

They exited through a side door. Pullman waited for them with the skimmer of the day, a black two-door. They closed themselves in, and Niall steered into the early morning quiet.

“If you want to change…?” He reached behind his seat and pulled out a small duffel. “I've got a set of casuals. You'll swim in them, but they might be more comfortable than that get-up.” He glanced at her sidelong and grinned in bemusement. “Never saw so much damned metal in my life.”

“You should see all the stuff I didn't wear.” Jani piled into the backseat and unclasped earrings and bracelets, then paused as she unpinned her sari. “You know, if an enterprising reporter gets holos of this, I'll entertain Chicago for at least a month.” That kept them both laughing until they left the city behind.

They drove through Bluffs neighborhoods that Jani recognized, then down darker streets that she didn't, finally ending up on a dirt trail that led down to a secluded stretch of beach.

“Belongs to a friend.” Niall popped both gullwings and walked out onto the sand, unclasping the neck of his tunic
along the way. As he activated an underground fuel vent, Jani gathered wood and leaves and heaped them around the outlet. After she finished, Niall activated a 'stick and tossed it on the pile. The fire sputtered, then caught when he increased the fuel flow. He and Jani lowered to the seat offered by a convenient log, and watched the flames.

“Haven't seen you much these past few days.” Niall braced his tietops against the fire containment ring. “How are you?”

“Fine.” Jani uncovered a stick that had been buried in the sand and poked at the fire.

Niall picked up a pinecone and tossed it from hand to hand. “When my love swears that she is made of truth, I do believe her, though I know she lies.”

Jani racked her brain for the titles of all the books Niall had lent her that she'd never read. “More Keats?”

He mimed throwing the pinecone at her head. “Shakespeare. Sonnet 138. I keep meaning—”

“—to lend me the sonnets.” Jani scooted nearer the fire and rubbed her cold hands. “There was one thing of his that you lent me that I read, and it stuck with me.” She raised one finger like an instructor's pointer. “Exit, pursued by a bear.”

“That's from
The Winter's Tale.”
Niall emitted a bear-like growl himself. “That's not what I had in mind.”

“No, but it is remarkably descriptive of my life thus far.” Jani stared into the flames, the heat pulling the moisture from her films. “It just might remain so.”

Niall made as though to speak, but before he could, something in his tunic beeped. “Excuse me.” He pulled out his handcom and listened, then muttered an “Out” and stashed it away again. “We're going to have company.”

Jani let her head drop between her knees. “You want to hear me whine like Angevin, don't you?”

Niall smiled. “Oh, somehow I don't think you'll mind.” He rose and walked toward the water.

The lights began as pinpoints far to the south. As they neared, Jani picked up the blue sidelights, as well. Lakeskimmer lights. She rose to join Niall. “You called him?”

Niall turned around and tossed the pinecone in the fire, where it sizzled and flared. “I thought you could use some cheering up.”

The lakeskimmer drew close and slowed to a hover. Tsecha stood up in his seat while next to him, Dathim worked to hold the craft level.
“Nìa! It is pretty damned cold out here!”

“It's warm by the fire!” Jani swatted her head of security when he burst out laughing. They stepped out to the water's edge to grab hold of the skimmer and guide it ashore. As Jani walked around to the pilot's side, she looked up at Dathim. He stared back, the arrogant cast of their first meeting absent. Then he nodded, once, a motion so slight as to be almost undetectable.

“I have not sat at a fire such as this since I schooled at Temple.” Tsecha clambered over the side of the skimmer and strode along the sand. “We would sit and tell one another of our homes, and the cities from where we had come.” He wore a shirt that matched the blue sidelights in color and brightness, dark green trousers, and covered it all with the same brown coat he had worn during his first city expedition with Dathim. He had wrapped his head, as well, with a length of green cloth. “We shall do that,” he said as he dragged another log seat closer to the fire. “We shall talk of the cities from where we came, then we will talk of the cities to which we will go.”

And so they did, until the rising sun backlit the lake horizon. Every so often, sparks shot up from the fire and spread across the sky, like new stars looking for a home.

To my newsgroup regulars, for keeping me motivated and making me laugh when I needed it.

To Julia Blackshear Kosatka, Dave Klecha, and Secret Dave, for First Readership above and beyond the call.

As always, to my parents, for their understanding and support.

And finally, a postscript…

I've been asked how to pronounce my idomeni names and places often enough that I felt I needed to do something about it. I've therefore added a Pronunciation Gazetteer to my webpage, which is located at
www.sff.net/people/ksmith
. There, you'll find some how-to's, along with a few whys and wherefores.