The Shape of Surrender

Nalyra’s gaze drifted to the viewports of her bridge. The Saint’s Aegis was no longer alone above Orphila. The Martyr’s Blade, Zikara’s Citadel, was locked in a synchronized orbit with her own ship, floating a mere ten kilometers away.

It was the mirror image to her own ship, identical in every way except the coating. Her sister preferred brighter colors than Nalyra did. The Blade gleamed in the light of the system’s sun, a pristine white with red accents and the ubiquitous gold trim found in nearly everything the Monarchy created. It was ostentatious. Tasteless, Nalyra would say.

The Aegis, on the other hand, had a proper gray coating, with minimal trim and accents. The sleek design of her ship, and the results it produced, were the only signs of grandeur it required.

“The dinner will begin in two bells, Crown Daughter.” Vessa’s voice drew Nalyra from her staring contest with her sister’s ship.

“Please cease to remind me, Vessa,” Nalyra grumbled, but there was no bite in her voice. Just annoyed resignation. “Zikara is certain to be intolerable, as she always is.”

“I will be accompanying you, if that is any comfort, Nalyra.” Her Admiral was wearing her finest dress uniform, the woman’s appearance flawless.

“It is. Of course, Vess,” Nalyra gave her friend a weary grin. “However, heading back to the surface…” Her voice trailed off, and her gaze drifted to Tor’laen.

The Ydani was looking out the viewport, his stare fixed on the Martyr’s Blade. Perhaps taking the rare opportunity to inspect a Star Citadel without the aid of any instruments, the relatively tiny distance between the two vessels making it possible. The Crown Daughter still got a tiny pulse of satisfaction whenever she saw him wearing her colors, her crest.

She was careful to keep her wall up, however. Careful not to leak the feeling over their Bridge.

“Nalyra…no. The Ydani cannot attend.”

Soreth, already dressed for the evening’s blessing, must have noticed where her gaze had landed.

“I am aware, High Priestess,” the Crown Daughter shot back, glancing over at the woman. Her tone had drawn Tor’laen’s attention, and he turned to look at her. “As much as he has accomplished, he remains a mere provisional citizen. My authority may elevate him on my ship and under my command, but when another Crown Daughter and Royal Hand is present, that is not enough.”

She said the words for his sake, so he could grasp the situation, as well as for her own. To rationalize a decision her instincts refused to accept. Though she would never openly admit it, the idea of returning planetside without him to guard her put a weight in her stomach.

The Ydani’s face remained impassive, but a whisper of concern, of worry, crept underneath the wall. He was likely considering the same memories she was.

“Don’t worry, big guy, you can stay up here with the rest of us unimportant common-born.” Mikka grinned over at Tor’laen from where she sat at her station, her boots resting on top of her console, hands behind her head. “It’s going to be fucking boring down there. Trust me.”

“I’m a career soldier, Mikka. Boring doesn’t bother me,” the Ydani returned. “Maybe I could volunteer to join the peacekeepers’ perimeter guard team…?”

“Unfortunately, no.” Vessa shook her head. “You are far too…distinct. Visible. It would lead to some very uncomfortable questions, or worse.”

“Yes, yes.” Nalyra pulled a single brick out of her wall, squeezing through a mild note of resignation and sending it over their Bridge. “You’ll have to find some way to keep yourself occupied. Enjoy the downtime.”

Tor’laen didn’t reply, just dutifully nodding.

Nalyra took a long pause to reset her mental poise. It was just a dinner party. Every last scrap of security Orphila had to offer would be present and alert. Vessa would be with her.

And as much as it annoyed Nalyra, Zikara would be there. Her twin was every bit as psychically powerful as she was, though Nalyra would argue the woman was less disciplined. Regardless, even an organized team of assassins wouldn’t be enough to overwhelm two Crown Daughters. Not unless they brought half a dozen of those launchers — an absurd notion. Xylaris just wasn’t that plentiful.

Not to mention, all three of them carried anti-toxin injectors, hidden under their clothing.

Yes, every logical thought pointed to her being safe upon her return to the surface. Unfortunately, traumatic fears rarely listened to logic.

“Let us make for the shuttle,” Nalyra announced, breaking out of the spiraling thoughts. All eyes turned to her. “It is early, but there are a few unfinished tasks I would like to complete in the capital building before the party.”

“Yes, Crown Daughter.”

Vessa moved to her side, and Soreth followed, her ceremonial robes whispering around her deliberate steps.

“Mikka, get in contact with the peacekeepers. Have an entourage ready to meet us when we land,” Nalyra ordered, glancing at the woman.

The Lieutenant Commander gave a lazy salute, not bothering to stand, but the woman was already bringing out her communicator.

Nalyra glanced at Tor’laen, catching his gaze for a heartbeat, then swept from the command dais, Vessa and Soreth following the Crown Daughter.

As she left the bridge, one finger found the dagger in her belt, brushing it once, lightly. Just making sure it was there.

The ceremony hall of the capital building had been completely transformed. Somewhat tasteful decorations had been hung on every wall, on nearly every inch of the ceiling. It certainly wasn’t as graceful as Nalyra had hoped, but it at least captured the mood of the evening — a kind of wish for the planet’s renewal. The new governor, a Zakkili noble of fairly reputable lineage, had been selected to guide the colony in Taira’s stead. The woman was competent enough, by the Crown Daughter’s estimation. A poor replacement for her sister, but she would do.

Nalyra took a slow sip of her wine, her eyes traveling over the room. Searching for any threats. Internally, she scolded herself — this was not how a Crown Daughter should attend a function. But still, the instinct remained.

She should have had a certain bodyguard, a Ydani, here to do it for her. Nalyra shook her head.

By the Maker, when had she become so dependent?

The Crown Daughter turned away, hiding a grimace as her twin sister drew close.

“Nalyra! It has been too long, sister.” Zikara said, sliding up next to her.

As always, Nalyra couldn’t escape the connection to the sister she had been born alongside. They both had the same shade of purple in their eyes, the same delicate features. The sisters even had the same hair color, though Nalyra privately disagreed with how short Zikara kept her hair cut.

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“Greetings, Zikara,” Nalyra deadpanned, taking another sip of her wine.

“Always so cold!” Zikara chuckled. “By the Maker, one would think you weren’t pleased to see me.”

The other Crown Daughter gestured, and out of nowhere, seemingly summoned her husband. Nalyra gritted her teeth.

The man was an Aurelai, one of the “darlings” of the most recent Zakkili uplifting. A gorgeous race, coveted by nearly all of the Zakkili noble Houses.

Zikara’s husband was taller than either of them. Though, with a strange amount of pride, Nalyra noted that he wasn’t as tall as Tor’laen. The man was around five feet tall, but what he might have lacked in stature, he made up for in beauty.

The Aurelai were an incredibly expressive race, even by Zakkili standards. Their avian ancestry was impossible to miss, plain in almost all their features. They were bipedal, but with digitigrade legs, and elongated necks. More noticeably, their large eyes, delicate mouths, and expressive faces made their emotions almost comically obvious to Zakkili nobles. Perhaps the most striking of their features, they had large feathered crests on their heads, shoulders, wrists and vestigial tails, all of which shifted and preened depending on their mood. Nalyra hadn’t fully subscribed to her sister’s bragging, but still, the truth remained — there was a strange, almost haunting beauty to these emotionally open aliens.

Privately, Nalyra compared him unfavorably to her Ydani subject, before realizing what she was doing. A provisional citizen and a Maker-sanctioned spouse were on entirely different levels. It was improper to even begin to compare the two.

Zikara drew her husband close, and his crests fluttered, happiness clear on his face.

“Quen, darling. How are you finding the party?”

“Oh, it’s rather agreeable,” the Aurelai said softly, his Zakkili carrying a moderate accent. “Not as festive as Aurelain parties, but it has a certain charm to it.”

“Oh, shush. It’s unfair to compare them to the parties back on Aurela,” Zikara giggled. “Your people celebrate on an entirely different level.” She tugged at his arm and he bent down, the two sharing a brief but passionate kiss.

Nalyra resisted the urge to gag.

It was always like this. Though the sisters had always clashed, ever since they were children, Zikara had become truly insufferable ever since she found her husband. The man had been one of the ambassadors who worked with Zikara’s emissaries during the uplift, and her sister had fallen for him at first sight. They had been married quickly — within only a few measures after they first met — and they made their love very obvious to any who saw them.

“Crown Daughter…?”

A minister had approached them, and both sisters snapped their gaze to the man at the address. Nalyra took another sip of her wine, the man’s eyes fixed on her sister, not her.

“Speak, Minister…?” Zikara commanded, looking down her nose at the man.

“Weifin, Highness.” The man gave a respectful bow. “Minister of Agriculture. I was hoping to speak with you about a certain project you might be interested in sponsoring…”

Now Nalyra remembered the man. He had made the same request to her several days ago. Brazen, to ask the same of her sister in her presence. The man was sincere, but far too young and eager for his position. Clearly, the minister didn’t quite understand the intricacies of the politics he was blundering into.

“Minister Weifin,” Zikara began, her voice pleasant, but with a dangerous edge buried within it. “Are you certain that this is the proper occasion to talk business with a Crown Daughter? The investiture dinner of the woman who will be replacing my deceased sister?” She narrowed her eyes, and Nalyra could feel the Press that Zikara was giving him, making her displeasure explicitly known. “I would recommend rethinking your current approach. It could be…unhealthy for your future.”

The man nearly scrambled away, almost forgetting to bow in his haste. Weifin disappeared into the crowd, Zikara’s eyes tracking him, her face imperious.

A moment later, and her sister’s gaze went back to her husband, her expression melting back into that satisfied grin she wore when he was near.

“Still, Orphila seems a lovely planet,” Queni’la said, smiling gently at Nalyra. “I heard that there was some trouble when you first arrived?”

One of Nalyra’s ears flicked in irritation, but she kept her expression neutral. The man wasn’t trying to annoy her, and if she snapped at him, Zikara would be furious. Still, the innocent question felt like it was picking at a still-healing wound.

“There were…malcontents on the planet. In this city, in fact,” she said shortly. “They have been dealt with.”

“That is good to hear,” the Aurelai said pleasantly. “The dream your sister espoused…it gladdens me to hear of it. Kara has told me much about Taira.” His feather crests quivered with emotion. “A place where other races may stand with Zakkili as equals…”

“My sister’s dream was noble indeed, Quen.” Zikara stroked his arm affectionately. “But it’s something you need not worry about. You stand as more than equal here, husband.”

“Indeed.” The man smiled down at his wife, but a certain amount of wistfulness bled off of him.

Nalyra immediately retreated with her mind. Uninvited mental contact with another’s spouse was near the height of discourtesy. She turned her attention back to the party instead, once again scanning the crowd, not even realizing she was doing so.

“An…interesting ornament you choose to wear, sister.”

Zikara’s voice drew Nalyra’s attention back. After a moment, she realized the woman was looking down at her belt. At the dagger. She had to fight the urge to clutch it defensively.

“It is a trophy. Fairly won, and freely given,” Nalyra said flatly, staring back at her sister.

“It’s beautiful.” Queni’la’s voice was soft, admiring. “I’ve not seen anything like it. My people never had much use for metallurgy in our history. May I examine it?”

Nalyra’s eyes flicked to her sister’s expectant gaze for a heartbeat before retrieving the weapon from her belt and handing it over, still in its sheath. She was loath to part with it, even for a moment, but it wasn’t worth insulting her sister over. Zikara had any number of ways she could make Nalyra’s life unpleasant at the moment. The last thing she needed right now was another sisterly feud.

Queni’la held the dagger up, the weapon’s golden engravings catching the light. He was clearly impressed, and even Zikara seemed fascinated by its craftsmanship.

“You always seem to find the most interesting things, sister,” Zikara chuckled. “I wonder just how you do it.”

“A woman needs her secrets, Kara. You’ve told me that quite a number of times,” Queni’la chided, smiling at his wife. He returned the sheathed blade to Nalyra, the Crown Daughter taking the weapon gingerly. As soon as it was back in her grip, she clutched it tightly, keeping the dagger at her side. Zikara’s eyes lingered on her sister’s hand, but the woman said nothing.

Vessa pushed through the crowd, coming to stand at the side of her Royal Hand.

“Crown Daughter. Crown Consort.” The Admiral bowed slightly to Nalyra’s sister and her husband.

“Admiral.” Zikara returned the greeting, nodding at the woman, her husband following suit.

“Dinner is being called. They wish for the Crown Daughters to move to their seats so the others may follow.” Vessa gestured towards the large tables, serving staff currently buzzing around them.

“Shall we, my love?” Zikara asked, and Queni’la offered his arm, which she promptly took.

Nalyra’s ear flicked once again, and Vessa shot her a tiny sliver of sympathy, the emotion cool and soothing. The pair followed Zikara and her husband, moving toward the table.

The two Crown Daughters were situated at the head of the table, with another set of chairs reserved for Queni’la and the newly instated governor. Nalyra eyed the seat for Zikara’s husband with disdain. A Crown Consort did have a number of liberties, though they felt more pronounced now, somehow.

It was certainly not Nalyra’s first public appearance alongside her sister and the woman’s husband — such was the reality of life as fellow Royal Hands — but it grated on her more than usual this time. It was getting beneath her skin far more than it should.

Nalyra sat gracefully in her seat, maintaining her poise and posture, her expression suitably imperious. Movement to her side caught her attention. She glanced over at her sister, and her eyes widened.

Zikara had chosen to sit on Queni’la’s lap. The man looked faintly embarrassed, but his crests quivered with pride, as he wrapped one arm around his wife. Zikara, on the other hand, leaned against his narrow chest, her expression a thing of predatory joy — daring anyone to say something about it.

Nalyra gritted her teeth. Despite being highly undignified, it was within her sister’s right to sit however she pleased. She had observed proper decorum through the benediction and announcements, and now the dinner itself was more of a celebration than a dignified event. Regardless, Zikara was her equal. Nalyra could hardly scold another Crown Daughter over something so trivial.

She deliberately looked away from her sister, not letting her annoyance show on her face. The new governor settled in on Nalyra’s other side, the woman radiating pride and reverence, overjoyed to be seated next to a Crown Daughter. Nalyra favored the woman with a brief nod, and the governor gave a seated bow. Thankfully, it seemed she could read the Crown Daughter’s mood enough to refrain from any attempts at small talk.

A soft giggle came from her other side. Nalyra purposefully didn’t look. It was going to be a long dinner.