The Shape of Surrender

Nalyra walked the wide street, toward the massive church. The ornamented building towered above its surroundings — a testament to the love and reverence the people held for the Maker. Though no match for the splendor of the enormous cathedrals in the cities of the Core Worlds, Orphila’s capital church was pleasingly earnest in its design. A monument to unity between the different races that called the planet home. A shared, welcoming faith.

And the building that Taira’s body lay within.

Nalyra was wearing her finest command attire, which marked her as both Crown Daughter and Royal Hand. Not quite a uniform, not quite a dress, but something that met in the middle. The golden ornaments of her clothes glinted as they caught the midday sun, standing out from the fine black fabric. On one of her hips sat a decorated sidearm, trimmed with gold as well. At the other rested the dagger. Her dagger.

It went quite well with her attire, being almost as gorgeous as she was.

Her peacekeeper escort marched alongside her, a column on each side. Two full squads, in honor guard attire, rifles on their shoulders. She could feel the pride bleeding off the women in waves, especially the female Kelrana near the front. Nalyra had personally arranged for the alien to be placed there, at the front of the column. This was Orphila, after all. Appearances were important.

The only visible security she had brought from the Aegis was Tor’laen, the man towering over everyone present as usual. He was trailing slightly behind her, his gaze constantly roving over the crowds that lined the street.

Nalyra had been mildly surprised when Mikka had insisted she take the Ydani with her. She thought back to her Lieutenant Commander’s words when she had asked.

“I saw him go from putting slugs in terrorists to single-handedly wrestling a fucking Dorrai to the ground and pinning him there,” she had said, laughing. “Can’t get much better backup than that.”

Crowds lined both sides of the street, every eye fixed on the Crown Daughter. They cheered her, but not with the wild abandon of a festival crowd. This was relief, gratitude, and grief braided together. Word had gotten out about the previous night’s operation, and it seemed as if the entire city was breathing easier. Normally an information leak like that would have irked Nalyra, but this time she could let it slide. The citizens needed the good news.

They were getting close to the church now, as Nalyra looked left and right, bestowing her smile upon the citizens. It was only when she noticed the black mourning banners hung across the entrance doors of the building that her smile slipped, just for a moment. The Crown Daughter clamped down against the surge of grief that threatened to bleed out, forcing it deep within her mind once more. Nalyra’s hand went to the dagger, once again clutching the cool metal.

Not here. Not yet. Her time for mourning was approaching, but this was not it.

The crowds persisted all the way to the entrance of the church, and the procession stopped briefly at the entrance. She turned to face Orphila’s citizens. It was time to give the first of many speeches she would have to give this day.

Slowly, deliberately, Nalyra descended the staircase. With every step, it felt like a leaden weight was settling upon her shoulders, a little heavier each time.

The peacekeepers and Tor’laen were back in the entrance hall of the church, awaiting her return. This was something she needed to do alone, for the sake of both appearances and herself.

She finally reached the bottom of the stairs, stepping into the dimly lit room. The chapel crypt was quiet and still, the small room filled with the scent of burning incense. It was constructed in the traditional style, using cut stone for the walls, floor, and ceiling. This wasn’t the true crypt, but a small preparation room. A place for families and loved ones to say their goodbyes before a body was interred in its final resting place, and its spirit started its journey to the Maker.

Taira’s body lay on a stone dais, wreathed with hundreds of flowers.

Out of all her sisters, Taira had been the one who took after Azora the most, her appearance almost exactly like how their mother used to look. Midnight black hair, delicate features, and a mouth that laughed far too easily. If Falara was the family’s heart, then Taira was its compassion and humor.

A lump was starting to form in her throat as she approached the dais.

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“Hello, sister,” Nalyra said quietly. “It’s really been too long.”

She reached out and gently stroked her sister’s cheek, the skin smooth and cold. Taira’s face was arranged in a small smile, her eyes closed peacefully. There was just a hint of sadness in that smile, or so it seemed to Nalyra. As if her elder sister was a little regretful that she wouldn’t see the future of her world. The outcome of the dream she had dared to dream.

“They’re trying to rip your world apart, Tai,” Nalyra whispered. “They’re gazing into the empyrean without bothering to look at the stars. They remain blind, willfully so, to the future you were shepherding them toward.”

Nalyra rested her hand over her sister’s clasped fingers.

“I won’t let them. I swear it.” Nalyra’s vision blurred with tears. “I’ve already dismantled a terrorist cell. They even dared to destroy your office. All over some stupid grudge against the Monarchy.”

Her shoulders shook with anger.

“And that’s just the beginning. I’ll pull every poisoned weed in Orphila out by the roots, until all that’s left is the peace and unity you dreamed of. I won’t rest until I do.”

Nalyra’s anger burned itself out, and a sob wracked her body.

For a long moment, she held out, hands trembling, teetering at the brink of completely losing control. Despair won out.

“I…I just can’t believe you’re g-gone.” She sank to her knees, burying her face in her older sister’s shoulder. “How c-could they? What d-did you ever do to them?” Nalyra was now openly weeping, her body quivering, shoulders heaving. “And…and now you’re never c-coming back…”

“Taira…” The word came out in a gasp. For a moment, Nalyra was no longer a Royal Hand. She felt like a little girl again, crying as Taira held her close and soothed her, running a hand through Nalyra’s hair.

She knelt there for a long while, her sobs echoing around the small chamber. Crying and clinging tightly to the sister she lost. Clinging tightly to another part of her family that would never return.

“On this day, we take the time to remember Crown Daughter Taira, Planetary Governor of Orphila,” Nalyra said solemnly, looking out over the crowd. “My sister, and beloved daughter of the Queen. A woman who was full of laughter and compassion, and ever a steady source of support to those who knew her well.”

The church was full to bursting, with nearly every major political and religious figure on the planet in attendance. Around the chamber, several large holo screens had been set up in highly visible locations. From those digital windows, the figures of Nalyra’s family gazed back at her.

The situation on Orphila, even with the elimination of the terrorist cell, was considered far too unstable to even consider having more than one Crown Daughter present. The Queen Matriarch especially almost never left the High Fortress. The Monarchy was far too dependent on her to risk exposing her to even the slightest hint of danger.

“Taira was a true visionary, and a fair and just leader. Under her steady hand, Orphila grew from the minor agricultural colony it was founded as, to a shining beacon of cooperation in the Monarchy. She gave Orphila hospitals and schools, institutions and infrastructure. ”

Nalyra let her eyes slowly sweep the room as she spoke. Her mother’s face was her usual royal mask; a hint of a frown was her concession to grief for the ceremony. Her oldest sister, Leora, was rigidly still on her monitor, her gaze heavy and full of concealed sadness.

“Taira dreamed of a city, of a world where all could find their place. Not just Zakkili, but Kelrana, Dorrai, Mirathi, Sivren, and all other races as well. A society that would recognize each people’s unique gifts and weave them together into something greater.”

Falara wore her grief openly on her monitor, hands clasped as if in prayer. Zikara’s face wore an outwardly placid expression, appropriate for the situation. Nalyra could read her twin better than that, though. The woman was every bit as devastated as herself, Nalyra feeling a rare, fleeting sense of kinship with her sister.

“Know that this dream does not die with my sister! She planted her roots deeply on Orphila, becoming the strength of all its citizens. And in return, Taira left a seed of that same strength planted in each and every one of you. You need only look inward, and nurture it — fill it with hope and faith for the future!”

Viora’s makeup and hair were as immaculate as ever, her gaze haughty and proud. The only sign of her sadness was the tiniest pout of her lower lip — a habit she’d had since she was a child. The youngest daughter, Avyra, was far more obvious. Always the baby of the family, she had been spoiled countless times by Taira. Her eyes were full of unshed tears, barely disguised by the dim lighting of her room.

“That is how you may honor Taira’s legacy. Let us mourn her, yes, but know that the greatest respect you can possibly pay is to carry on her legacy. Make Orphila — the world she shaped, the world she loved — into what she one day hoped it would become.”

Nalyra’s gaze slid slowly over the rest of the crowd, finally landing on Tor’laen. The Ydani was in a centralized location, where he could see nearly the entire crowd. But at the moment, his one-eyed gaze was fixed on her. Was that…concern on his face? For her? The realization was so odd that she nearly lost her place in her speech, narrowly catching herself before she stumbled over the words.

“So today, let us pray. Let us remember Crown Daughter Taira as a governor, a leader, a visionary, a sister, and a daughter. Let us beseech the Maker to guide Taira’s spirit to Her breast. Let us shed tears and mourn for the loss of such a beloved woman. And then tomorrow, let us look to the future, and work to grasp it, together. So that Taira may watch over us from her place in the Maker. And one day, when her spirit returns from its long journey and again walks this plane, let her bask in the fruits of the seeds she planted. Let her return to find the Orphila of her dreams has become a reality.”

Nalyra paused once more, looking out over the solemn crowd.

“Let us pray.”