[Ra'tleihfi, ch'Rihan]
At least the fact she had dropped her basket and probably ruined the ihor berries N'alae had been so looking forward to explained her momentary outburst. And with a movement so fast and smooth she could only stand and stare like a dumb Drabhik the stranger picked up the basket and lightly placed it into her hand.
Polite. But smirking in a way that seemed to look right through her shapeless grey clothing and that no thaessu would ever dare.
"Teillh." Gentle hands led her to a chair in the back, and a glass of water appeared under her nose "You look like you saw your second Aehallh today. Are you sure the sun isn't too much for you?"
Looking up into Velal's honest face, she felt the sudden urge to warn him, to grab him by the arms that were thicker than her thighs - from hauling sacks of flour back and forth since he had been old enough to lift one, not to mention his Serona years when his stature had earned him if no promotion then at least respect - and tell him … what?
That the customer who amicably negotiated the price of a spiced flatbread with his father was dangerous? Well, he didn't wear a honor blade for nothing, did he?
But again there was that feeling of something being not quite right, as if that sword which seemed a part of this man as much as his own arms should not be worn so carelessly by his side, but strapped across his back, the night black hilt protruding over a shoulder.
Closing her eyes, Teillh forced herself to ban the image of a blazing, merciless sun and sighed. "I … I think you're right. Maybe I should have brought a hat?"
A careful, tender hand patted her shoulder. "Just sit here until you feel better. I have to help father with those feiihar."
Numb and exhausted from too much inner turmoil, the young woman nodded.
When she opened her eyes, the stranger was gone and Vrih was beaming that he had a customer who thought so highly of his own honor that he would pay handsomely indeed.
[Later that evening]
She fell on her narrow, hard couch, ready to curl up and forget this day had ever happened.
Or the ones before.
What did they expect her to do?
She was Teillh, a seamstress living above the shop where a good number of patrons favored her work above all others but who would never, ever dream of considering her an equal. Not a noble-born to whom intrigue was like air and water, and certainly not this half-remembered dream of a thaessu who struggled to find a place on her barren planet until she made a home in the vast halls of V'Shar where unconventional was an asset and a tendency towards mischief earned you only half as many raised brows.
Friends. She had had friends there.
Names, faces floating before her like so many ghosts.
Sodok, with the warm voice. T'Saar, whose mother was a gardener and always sent fresh fruit and vegetables. Verik, who could sing every verse of Falor's journey and you never grew tired of hearing it.
It had been right to warn them. It had been her duty.
But what had they been thinking? To build a ship like that, to send it away all alone, and then allow it to be taken … by him. Didn't they know who he was?
And now AAnikh was dead and if tr`Sahen would not use the ship, … the new Shiar'Fvillha would. Unless the Others took it first. Quietly.
Teillh did not know which would be worse.
I am T'Sahik!
She wanted to shout her name at the uncaring, starlit sky and didn't dare.
Finally, she gave up tossing and turning on the sheets that were much too expensive and fine-spun for someone of her standing – more proof of the favor she had earned from a merchant who considered such a skilled seamstress being dropped onto his doorstep a marvelous stroke of good luck – and remembered there was still a stick with sweet sesketh and a handful of ihor in her basket.
Well, T'Saar had always said when in doubt, a good meal was never the wrong choice, no?
Barely noticing that for the first time in years she had thought the words in the lilting, liquid language of her home, she grasped the food as if it were a lifeline … and then stared at the tiny chip that had apparently gotten caught in the basket's lining.
Her hand was not shaking when she reached for it, though by all rights it should have.
Long after the crystal clear material had delivered its message and dissolved into its compound atoms, T'Sahik still sat and stared.
Brief. Efficient. And making absolutely no sense to anyone but the person for whom it had been intended. To no one but her.
They had received her warning. Every last bit of intel that she had gathered so painstakingly, waiting for the Tal'Shiar's heavy hand to fall upon her shoulder at any moment. It had never come.
But ever since the fateful day when she had learned of the ship called Gateway, Teillh's life had never been the same.
Dreaming of windswept deserts at night and feeling the predator's breath at her neck during the day, she had started to … remember.
And wished she never had.
That night, T'Sahik of Vulcan, deep undercover agent of V'Shar on Romulus, found no sleep.
Neither did Teillh ir-Eilhaunn.
[Roughly around the same time, near the Crocton segment]
It wasn't exactly the kind of place a respected person would frequent – or even admit to knowing about. But the ale was as cheap as it was potent and if one desired charming company but had no taste for a Neth`whoishe's questionable services, this was a better starting point than many.
Several cautious and some outright unfriendly gazes locked onto the tall figure who ducked slightly to avoid brushing his not quite impeccably groomed mass of closely cropped black hair against the doorframe – but the proprietor's amicably rumbled greeting as much as a woman's gleeful shriek at the sight of the new arrival's face lessened the tension his military bearing had evoked.
"Eviess, my little sahe'lagga." One arm wrapped around the sapphire eyed Rihanha who had happily abandoned a group of now mightily disappointed males to give her full attention to him, and waving for drinks with the other, the man known only as S'Tev to the regulars steered towards a secluded table at the back of the establishment. "You have already broken my heart and taken all my money. Are you telling me that was not enough?"
Her laughter as she settled comfortably on his lap made it quite clear that no, it wasn't. Not that she bought the 'all his money' for a second. Soldiers of the Empire might not have riches to spend, but this one at least had always proven generous.
And wasn't it her patriotic duty to see to his comfort while he was home - and make sure no other woman who would take his money just as happily but not take as good care of him in return would get a chance to steal him away?
Oh, no. This time she had spotted him first. No matter how many poisonous looks Thue shot her, and how annoyed a few of the other girls would be with her.
And just for starters she would tell Durnak to take back that swill he had the nerve to call ale and bring them the rhennish he kept locked away for his special patrons.
The chuckle that started deep in his chest and turned into murmured endearments made her wonder if she was maybe starting to like this particular soldier a bit too much – but every once in a while a girl had to be allowed to play favorites.
[Later …]
Steady, deep breathing told him the pretty Rihanha tangled in silken sheets was sleeping the sleep of honest exhaustion – not that she had seemed inclined to leave in either case.
By the standards of this planet it was a balmy, cloudless night but still he felt it prudent to pull the covers over the slender frame shimmering softly in the darkness. Quiet and inconspicuous as his rented rooms were – not to mention owned by a landlady who had come to adore and spoil him despite frowning at the ever different female visitors who accompanied him with alarming frequency – they also tended to be a tad drafty at times.
Hands clasped behind his back, the tall male moved soundlessly towards the window and watched the eternal dance of foreign stars.
Somewhere in that endless void, two messages were traveling to their respective destinations.
One, a dutiful grandson's letter directed to a far flung colony world. The other, only a few words, embedded in an equally low-priority message that was bound to elicit little more than a yawn from the all seeing eyes watching the myriad of communications floating invisibly through the vast Empire.
Contact established. Recommend immediate extraction.
Darkness, scattered with diamonds. Air like silk and water, floating in through the open window.
Allowing himself a wistful smile, Sovar conceded it was a perfect night … for dreaming.
[End Log]
aehallh – ghost, nightmare
feiiha – stuffed pastry
Shiar'Fvillha – Chief Praetor
Neth`whoishe – street grade flesh peddler (pimp)
sahe'lagga – passion flower (term of endearment)
