The Shape of Surrender

Nivi escorted Tor’laen into the CIC on the High Deck, tapping the panel to shut the door behind them. It was unusual — generally the Crown Daughter sent Mikka to fetch him. However, the reason for the substitution was immediately apparent. Mikka was present, seated at the table, but not moving, face down on the surface of the holotable. Apparently hungover from the previous night, the condition still quite novel to the Ydani.

Tor’laen had also woken up with a mild headache, but nothing he couldn’t handle.

Nalyra and Vessa were also present, and clearly in the middle of some discussion. The Admiral looked ready to start pulling her hair out, while the Crown Daughter looked quite pleased with herself, even more than usual.

“Crown Daughter. Admiral,” Tor’laen greeted the two. “Am I interrupting something?”

Nalyra motioned him to take a seat.

“Quite the opposite, Ydani.” She grinned. “We were simply discussing marriage. I’m sure your people have a similar concept, yes?”

“We name it as life-partners, but indeed, the concept is not foreign to me,” Tor’laen said, taking a seat. Nivi settled in across from him, confusion plain on her face. “Have you found a suitor?”

He was mildly surprised. The Ydani had imagined the Crown Daughter’s standards for a partner would be nigh impossible to meet.

Nalyra simply smirked at him for a breath before turning her attention back to Vessa.

“As I was saying, the extra security and protection, beyond what even my Armswomen can provide, is an advantage I refuse to pass up. This solves the question of access beautifully, does it not?”

“I’m not denying the advantages. I simply do not think it possible.” Vessa shook her head. “It’s a question of legitimacy.”

“I see no problem there. My sister married her feathery prize without issue.”

“Consort Queni’la is a full citizen of the Monarchy, Nalyra. The situation is different.”

Tor’laen watched the exchange, not understanding the context.

“Is there a problem with your prospective husband?” he asked, his eye flicking between them.

“She’s talking about you, Tor’laen,” Vessa sighed.

“Me?” His gaze snapped to Nalyra. Her grin only widened.

“Yes. A political marriage.”

“Now that is a concept I am not familiar with, but I can imagine the meaning,” Tor’laen said slowly. It was an odd thing to consider. Even if it were “political,” a life-partner bond was not something to approach lightly, and yet she clearly was.

“It would give you official standing,” she purred, her eyes glittering dangerously. “Where I go, you could as well. Without question.”

“Unrestricted access for a bodyguard,” Tor’laen muttered, catching on to the implications.

“Precisely.”

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it won’t work, Nalyra,” Vessa said, a note of exasperation in her voice. “Tor’laen is still a provisional citizen. A Crown Daughter cannot take a consort that is outside the Monarchy. You know this, Nalyra.”

The Crown Daughter simply gave her Admiral a smug smile, and slid a tablet across the table to her. Vessa picked it up, curiosity warring with skepticism on her face. After a moment of reading, her gaze snapped back to her friend.

“Shield Consort, Nalyra? Seriously? That law is archaic!”

“It remains part of the Divine Scriptures to this day. It is perfectly legal.” The Crown Daughter grinned at her Admiral, even more smug.

“Shield Consort…?” Tor’laen asked, looking to the Admiral.

“It is an old law. Ancient, even. From back before our people soared the empyrean. Perhaps before we had even discovered gunpowder,” Vessa mused. “Regardless, it is mostly how it sounds — a marriage for protection. It was originally used as a way for a woman to marry another woman. Back then, the difference in psychic powers was even greater between the sexes than it is today, so a female made a far stronger bodyguard than a male. Becoming a Shield Consort bound the two before the Maker.”

“The law predates the concept of citizenship as we know it. It states that anyone may be eligible for marriage into royalty, so long as they have demonstrated uncommon valor.” Nalyra was turning his dagger over in her hands. “I would say that Tor’laen meets the requirements.”

“By the Maker, Nalyra…” The Admiral rubbed at her temples, closing her eyes as if exhausted.

“So, you’re going to marry Tor’laen?” Nivi looked even more confused than he was.

“I intend to, if he is willing. Do you have any objections, Ydani?” Nalyra’s eyes found his.

“Personally, no…” Tor’laen said slowly. He had never even considered the possibility of marriage, so he was not losing anything of importance. It would merely be a change in title for him. However, for Nalyra…

“But what of you, Crown Daughter?” he asked, the woman raising an eyebrow at the question. “What of your future prospects? Would you not be missing out on a true marriage?”

“Not at all,” Nalyra scoffed. “I’ve little use for Crown-kin or noblemen. All self-important, petty schemers by my measure. I have not seen fit to give such a match a moment’s consideration, and I am hardly alone in that among Crown Daughters.”

A small moan from Mikka interrupted the conversation, all eyes going to her for a breath.

Nalyra rolled her eyes, but the grin never left her face.

“Nivi, do go get Mikka some water, would you?”

“Okay!” The engineer jumped up and hurried off, eager to please, and perhaps happy to escape the frustration that was bleeding from the Admiral.

“Nalyra…” Vessa said, opening her eyes again. “You know what a mess this is going to cause, right? And even before that, you’ll have to get permission from the High Fortress…”

“I don’t think it will be an issue,” Nalyra replied lightly. “I think the Queen will be…receptive to the idea.”

Vessa raised an eyebrow at that.

“Is there something I’m missing, Nalyra?”

The Crown Daughter was silent for a long moment, her gaze fixed on the weapon in her hands.

“I spoke with my mother the night before last,” she said quietly. At the words, Vessa stiffened, her gaze flying to Tor’laen, then darting back to Nalyra. Even the Ydani caught it — my mother, not the Queen.

“It’s alright, Vess.” The Crown Daughter wore a quiet smile. “I think we need not fear breaches in decorum in the presence of my future consort.”

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“Nalyra…”

“Worry not. I’m sure Tor’laen will avoid doing anything that might tarnish his honor.” That predatory grin returned in full to Nalyra’s face as he nodded in agreement. “But as I was saying — my mother seemed quite pleased that I was keeping him so close. I am certain she will approve this as well. Not even Viora will be able to push back against the matter.”

Vessa simply stared at her friend for a long moment, her expression hard to read.

“Very well. I will send the necessary communications to the High Fortress.”

“Good.” A pulse of the Crown Daughter’s satisfaction brushed his mind. “Come then, Tor’laen. We have much to do this day.”

“Under the gaze of the Maker, I join together two inner worlds on this day.” Soreth’s voice was slow, solemn.

“Tor’laen, do you swear to protect the Crown Daughter for as long as your heart beats, and your lungs still draw breath?”

“I do.”

Tor’laen and Nalyra were in a small, secluded room in the Aegis’s chapel. The Ydani was down on one knee in front of the Crown Daughter, her hand resting on his brow. They were joined by Soreth, the High Priestess bestowing the Maker’s blessing upon them.

When Nalyra tracked the woman down and explained what she intended, the priestess hadn’t reacted with surprise or alarm. No, she had simply stared at the Crown Daughter as if she had grown a second head.

Still, after some convincing, and a few pointed assurances of royal sincerity, Nalyra had gotten the priestess to accept the idea.

“Crown Daughter Nalyra, do you swear to honor your Shield Consort’s faith and duty, and offer him rest and reprieve within your power.”

“I do.”

Nalyra’s voice was suitably royal, as she looked down at him, her expression cool but pleased. Still a whisper of satisfaction seemed to flow into him from her mind.

The High Fortress had sent back express permission less than a pair of bells after Vessa sent the data packet, or so Nalyra had informed him with great satisfaction. Authorization directly from the Queen’s own private console. The Admiral’s bemused frustration was obvious for all to see. However, even Tor’laen understood enough of royal bureaucracy by now to know that permission arriving so quickly was not normal. The Queen was moving the board in ways he couldn’t understand.

“From this day forth, with the Maker’s blessing, you shall be bonded. As Crown Daughter and Shield Consort, you shall share your minds, bodies, and faith.” Nalyra’s fingers stiffened ever so slightly against his brow at the priestess’s words. “Let none trespass these sacred bonds, lest they face the Maker’s ire.”

Soreth was reading the words from a massive, heavy bound tome. After Nalyra convinced her, the priestess had insisted on using the traditional ceremonial lines from the Maker’s Covenant — the same ones that had been spoken millennia before.

Nalyra had apparently intended for it to be a quick benediction but Soreth had been surprisingly insistent about the matter. The fire in her eyes had even made Nalyra back down.

“Now, consecrate this bond, under the Maker’s gaze,” Soreth ordered, her faith settling over her like a mantle.

Tor’laen wasn’t a devout believer, wasn’t even sure if he could be one someday. But he knew a true oath when he heard it. He had already sworn his honor to Nalyra, so this wasn’t that far a shift for him. However, he wondered if this was more than the Crown Daughter had bargained for.

Solemnly, Tor’laen reached up and took Nalyra’s hand, easing it off his forehead. Bringing it down, he rolled it over, and softly kissed her palm, just as he had been instructed. His mind briefly flicked back to the last time his lips had touched her, before he pulled it back to the present.

The Ydani released her hand, and regally, Nalyra bent forward. Gently, she laid her lips on his brow, exactly where her fingers had rested a moment before. Her lips were soft, and startlingly warm. She lingered a heartbeat longer than Tor’laen had been expecting, before withdrawing.

“Touched by the Maker’s love and care, I declare you Crown Daughter and Shield Consort. May your bond remain ever unbroken.”

Tor’laen sat on his cot, now moved from his former cabin, and stared out into the empyrean. He had been truly surprised to learn that an entire wall of Nalyra’s cabin was transparent, similar to the ceiling of the Observatory. It was impressive, but left him with a slight feeling of vertigo, like he could trip over something and be flung out into the void.

Perhaps just as surprising was being moved into the Crown Daughter’s own private cabin. Vessa looked utterly unsurprised at the idea, while Mikka, now sufficiently recovered from her hangover, had just laughed. Tor’laen himself had thought it some elaborate prank. Nalyra struck him as a woman who valued privacy and personal space, and his being in her cabin seemed to go against both of them.

Still, she had insisted. She had called the idea of him being her consort and living apart as “scandalous”. Even now, Tor’laen was sure that news of the Royal Hand’s marriage was making its way around the ship. As evidenced by a text message on his communicator from Saia simply reading What the fuck, man? How? Yes, he was feeling pretty what the fuck himself. He had gone along with Nalyra’s scheme, but it still felt somehow surreal. Him. Consort to a Royal Hand, a Crown Daughter. How indeed.

The woman herself was still absent, off finishing some kind of Royal Hand duty. Tor’laen hadn’t asked. He resisted the very slight urge to poke around a bit, see what kind of things Nalyra kept close to her. His curiosity didn’t come close to overriding his consideration for her privacy.

It was a good thing he abstained, as the door to the cabin slid open at that exact moment. Nalyra strode into the room, tossing her hair back. As always, her poise and confidence were impressive. Even in the privacy of her own cabin, diminished though that privacy now was.

“Tor’laen,” she acknowledged his presence with a smirk.

“Crown Daughter.” He nodded back.

“So stiff, Consort,” she teased, her voice playful. “You may call me Nalyra in here, if you wish.”

The Ydani was silent for a long moment, watching as the woman made her way to the impressive desk and sat at it. She started to pull pins from her complex hairstyle, the sheer number of them surprising him.

“...Nalyra, then.”

That got another smirk, the Crown Daughter glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

“Are you sure about this, Nalyra?” he asked.

“Oh, what do you mean by that, Tor’laen?” She turned to look at him.

“The oath I swore, earlier. I intend to keep it, do everything in my power to keep you safe,” he said seriously, locking gazes with her. The Crown Daughter’s smile slipped, the slightest bit. “But the oath you swore…and having me here in your cabin…”

“Do you imagine me so easily perturbed by your presence, Tor’laen?”

The Ydani shook his head.

“I do not, but I imagine you value your privacy.”

“Perhaps.” She turned back to the desk, continuing to dismantle her hairstyle. “But I do not imagine I will find your presence overly taxing.”

Tor’laen fell silent, simply watching the Crown Daughter. There was something different about her. Her behavior. Her attitude. He had made it his personal mission to observe Nalyra as closely as possible from the moment he had surrendered to her. It could be the single best way to help his people in the future, understanding the Crown Daughter. And now she had shifted, somehow.

“Believe me, Tor’laen.” She didn’t turn to look at him, but kept freeing her hair, speaking softly. “I had a long, torturous evening to think over the idea. On top of that, it was…trying, being back on the surface of Orphila.”

At the name of the planet, Tor’laen’s mind went back to the…incident. For a moment, hurt seemed to stretch between them, her pain becoming his, and the reverse. It was a curious feeling, and lasted only for a breath before vanishing. Still, the understanding remained.

Nalyra’s hands paused, resting on her desk. She looked over at him. The smirk was gone, her expression serious. They locked eyes once more.

“Make no mistake, Tor’laen. I understand very well what I have done this day. You are mine, now. My consort. My bodyguard. Mine.”

“I am.”

Perhaps he should have been offended. He was not. She was correct after all. More than that…there was something in her eyes, those luminous purple eyes. She would uphold her oath as well, somehow he could just tell. She would offer shelter. Rest. And he would be her shield.

Nalyra nodded, then turned away, removing the last pins from her hair. The black strands fell across her back, those fine tendrils, crownthreads, mixed in. She stood, and strode over to the corner of the room, where part of the wall slid open at her gesture. She gave him a small smirk and disappeared inside. Tor’laen knew better than to follow. He had a good idea of what she was doing.

His guess was confirmed after a short while, when she returned, wearing a silken nightgown.

“I find myself fatigued from the past few watches. Unless you have an objection, I plan to dim the lights and retire to my bed.”

Tor’laen simply shook his head, starting to pull off his uniform, stripping down to the soft shirt and short pants he wore beneath. He was vaguely aware of Nalyra’s gaze resting upon him, but ignored it. The Ydani didn’t imagine his sleeping attire would offend the woman’s sensibilities.

Nalyra continued across the room, moving to her massive bed, across the room from his military-style cot. The thing was huge by Zakkili standards, and would have been large even for him. Climbing into it, Nalyra placed something on the small table next to the bed with a clatter. His dagger. For some reason, he didn’t find it surprising.

The Crown Daughter tapped a panel on the wall, and the lights dimmed to almost nothing. Another tap, and a curious sound softly filled the spacious cabin. It sounded almost like…

“Rain?” he asked, glancing over.

Nalyra propped herself up on one elbow. Tor’laen had to quickly avert his gaze — her chest was much more apparent through the thin material of the nightgown.

“It is a recording of rainfall back on Zakkil. We have an entire season during which rain is almost constant,” she explained. “I find the sound soothing. Do you not?”

Tor’laen rolled onto his back and closed his eye. Yes…yes, it was rather relaxing.

“I agree,” he answered, remaining still.

“Mmmm.”

A soft rustle of cloth, then stillness.

“Good night, Consort.”

“Good night, Nalyra.”