Chapter 1
Two men in deep blue, double-breasted military frocks ornamented with golden doobries and polished black, knee-high boots with utterly impeccable posture stood beside the heavy, round wooden table at the center of the old stone brick chamber. The windows, though mere slits in the wall, allowed ample light to fill the room, creating a sense of brightness and airiness. Along with the light, a fragrant breeze carried dusty, yellowy earth lifted into the air by the lively festivities on the street below, and with it the scents of manure and cooking meat. Trumpets blared, folk songs resonated, vendors energetically hawked their goods, and the joyful chaos of children screaming, laughing, and playing added to the vibrant symphony outside.
"Chewy," Lieutenant Thorne noted of the small, colorful confections on the silver platter set at the table. Their interiors glistened and were full of delicate, floral flavor, while the outsides had been rolled in a soft, sweet powder. Thorne boasted a tall visage framed by a cascade of long, untamed hair. His face, marked by the weathering of time, sported a distinguished gray-black stubble, adding an air of ruggedness to his countenance. Despite the rough edges, his features maintained a certain nobility, and his stature conveyed an inherent strength earned through years of service.
"As is the drink," Captain Varian noted of the viscous, brown-black liquid in the small, hammered copper vessel. Varian swirled it slowly, watching the fine dark grit that saturated the depths of the cup eddy and churn in response. The notes of its fragrance were many and varied, reminding him of such disparate luxuries and sundries he'd encountered on other worlds as lumber, confections, soil, and produce. "It's bitter, but I like it."
Varian presented a face of balanced proportions, emphasizing a sense of symmetry and poise. His preference for a clean-shaven appearance complemented the disciplined atmosphere he exuded. Varian’s hair, kept in a stylish cut, struck a harmonious balance between practicality and flair. While closely cropped, it retained enough length to manifest a distinct style, a testament to his meticulous attention even in the midst of interstellar negotiations.
Varian's gaze was drawn, momentarily, to the guards flanking the large, braced wooden door. In particular, his eye fancied the arms they carried, held at ease across their lower abdomens. They were long arms, with polished brass barrels and wooden stocks. On more developed worlds, they'd be antiques, but here, on Thalassara, they were cutting edge. These people had only taken their first stumbling steps into the development beam weaponry in the last few centuries, after all. Varian nodded subtly and approvingly to himself; he admired the simple elegance of the arms, the craftsmanship they belied.
Without announcement, the door was opened from without the room, revealing the small party on the other side: two more armed guards; a man of short and stout stature with curly grey hair, balding at the crown and spectacles perched on his nose wearing a a yellow chiton that draped him in loose folds; and a woman, brown-haired and possessing a plain, oval face, she projected a quiet elegance that defied traditional notions of royal grandeur. Her white gown, adorned with two golden stripes running from collar to hem, conveyed a simplicity that belied her station. Elara’s gaze, dark and perceptive, hinted at a keen intellect beneath her unassuming exterior. As she moved, her gestures carried a graceful authority, and her every word seemed to be chosen with deliberate precision, marking her as a figure of both substance and subtlety in the diplomatic dance.
Varian and Thorne turned and stood at attention while the short man addressed them.
"Captain. Lieutenant," he said, with a wave of his hand to the woman. "The Princess Elara."
Varian and Thorne bowed out of respect, but only so slightly as to show that they did not regard her as their superior.
"You will permit me to serve as the intermediary between yourselves and the princess," the short man announced with a self-congratulatory grin. "I've taken pains to acquire your language."
"That will not be necessary, my sir," Varian informed him, speaking Thalassarene. "I have also learned your own."
The mouth of the short, square man popped open in surprise before he caught it and shaped his face into a rankled expression. He glanced to the princess for her reaction, but she was still firmly attending to Varian, a bemused look creeping across her lips.
"You really didn't need to take the trouble, Captain," the short man interjected, trying to steer the situation back toward his being necessary.
"It was not any trouble at all. It is really a very beautiful tongue," Varian said, nodding to the princess.
Princess Elara chuckled to herself.
"I appreciate your effort, Captain, but it seems that you've studied with some rather antiquated material. The way you talk," Princess Elara waved her hand in a circular motion while her eyes searched for something above her, "it's really quite outdated."
"Oh," Varian said, his posture sinking slightly, but only for a moment before he allowed himself a laugh. "I did as well as I was able to with the material available to me."
Princess Elara shared his laugh with him.
"Thank you for coming, Stavron," Princess Elara said to the short man. "But I think we'll manage just fine without you."
Stavron hurrumphed and excused himself before hurrying out of the room.
"Not that it makes me any less pleased to make your acquantaince," Varian began, "But I believe that the delegation that preceded me met with a Princess Kyrogenia."
"Ah, yes, that," Princess Elara mused. "She and I serve the family and the people in different ways: she attends the ceremonies and appears for the fanfare, I busy myself with more administrative duties."
Varian nodded knowingly.
"I apologize for the disappointment," Princess Elara offered.
"It is no great trouble," Varian told her.
As the conversation lulled, Thorne stood beside Varian, trying to puzzle out what was being said. When Varian noted this, he turned to his comrade and summarized the conversation for his benefit.
"We should get to the framework," Thorne reminded Varian quietly, leaning in with his hand on the captain's shoulder. Varian nodded sagely.
"My lieutenant reminds me that we have business to discuss," Varian told her, speaking again in Thalassarene.
"Ah, yes," Princess Elara smiled. "The business of submission."
Her blunt contempt for Varian and his mission took him aback.
"Excuse me, I forget myself," Princess Elara said with a mirthful sneer. "Stavron would have perfumed my sentiment in kinder words, had he been here to translate. You will have to survive my unvarnished language."
"I will weather it," Varian assured her.
"Shall we?" Princess Elara gestured to the seats at the table as her guards moved to begin pulling out the four plain, heavy chairs that ringed it.
"In truth, I understand that there is a garden here in the palace, a menagerie of sorts, where there is collected flora from all over the planet and that you are responsible for its maintenance," Varian admitted. "Would you be amenable to a change in venue, so that I might see it?"
"Of course," Princess Elara said. She raised a hand to her guards and they stopped busying themselves with the table and returned to their places about her. "Please," she said, gesturing to the door.
The party exited out of the room and filed down the hall in twos, save for one of Princess Elara's guards. As they walked, Varian and Princess Elara continued their conversation, with varian occasionally turning behind him to Thorne to fill him in.
"Does the process of a world's acession to the empire always take this long?" Princess Elara asked. "I was a child when your first messengers arrived to let us know we had found ourselves in your empire's sights."
"Often, yes," Varian admitted. "As the domain grows, the more worlds it can contact does in double measure. Certain worlds are prioritized, as has been yours, but others might not hear from us again for decades after first contact."
"And the consequences for refusing your empire's advances, how long might it take before they are visited upon a world?"
"To be forthright, your highness, were your father to withdraw from negotiations, you might not see the fruits of that error during your lifetime," Varian told her. "Nonetheless, I'm sure you would rather your people not have to face them."
"Of course," Princess Elara said.
They walked a few more paces without talking, absorbing the gravity of their tangent.
"You said Thalassara has been prioritized?" she asked.
"Yes," Varian said. "This region of space needs a central world around which we can organize our administrative efforts. Thalassara has been deemed a suitable candidate."
"I'd like to hear more about what privileges might attend serving such a role," Princess Elara told him and stopped at the next door. The rest of the party followed suit.
"Certainly, Princess. But first, I might like to share some wisdom with you, as I expect you will be a quite genial partner in the coming negotiations," Varian told her.
Princess Elara shook a look surprise from her face before settling on bemusement.
"Even when you are negotiating with a sympathetic party, you must do what you can to maintain your savvy and play the game attentively, for it is a game," Varian continued. "And I have outmaneuvered you already, for you see, I have forced you to move the venue, making all your preparations for nought. You are at a disadvantage."
Varian smiled, satisfied to have outwitted the princess.
Princess Elara pouted in defeat and sighed. With no great gusto, she waved her hand to the door and one of her guards moved to open it for her. Varian looked inside and his smile fled him.
The garden, nestled within the palace grounds, displayed a meticulous arrangement of flora. Stone paths crisscrossed through vibrant beds of flowers and well-pruned shrubs. A small pond, reflecting the azure sky, hosted water lilies that floated serenely on its surface. Weathered statues adorned with trailing vines stood at intervals, providing a sense of antiquity amid the blossoming colors.
Tall trees, their leaves rustling in the breeze, offered intermittent patches of shade, creating a comfortable retreat from the sunlight. The distant murmur of a fountain added a consistent backdrop, harmonizing with the occasional chirping of birds perched on branches overhead. This garden, a blend of nature and carefully crafted design, exuded a sense of tranquility and artistry.
And at the center of the courtyard stood the very same table that had been in the chamber where he and Thorne had been made to wait.
"You see, Captain," Princess Elara began, with no small measure of delight in her voice, "I took you around the long way, so as to give my attendants enough time to move the table. My preparations still serve me, and I retain the advantage."
Varian smiled a different kind of smile. He thought he was going to like working alongside the princess.
Thorne and Varian emerged from the imposing palace, stepping into the lively bustle of the city's streets. The festivities, like a living current, swept through the cobbled paths as the sun began its descent, casting a warm golden hue over the scene.
The air was thick with the mingling scents of exotic spices, street food sizzling on open grills, and the occasional waft of floral fragrances from the colorful blooms adorning market stalls. As they strolled through the crowded thoroughfares, the distant sounds of laughter and music intertwined with the distant cheers of the ongoing parade.
Varian’s keen eyes surveyed the diverse crowd, his military instincts relaxed in this seemingly joyous atmosphere. Thorne, with his long, unruly hair and the touch of gray-black stubble on his face, moved more warily among the revelers. The locals, dressed in vibrant hues that reflected the rich cultural tapestry of Thalassara's peoples, celebrated with abandon.
Stalls lining the streets displayed an array of wares—intricately crafted jewelry, exotic fabrics, and delicacies that tempted the palate. Varian’s gaze lingered on the lively scene, while Thorne observed with a guarded awareness.
As Thorne and Varian navigated through the lively throngs, the streets gradually yielded to a covered alleyway. The vibrant chaos of the festivities was muffled by the enclosing walls, and a figure came into view leaning casually against the stone, smoking a fragrant herb rolled into paper.
The man exuded an air of quiet confidence, his dark grey hair reminiscent of silvery metal painted with oily black strokes. The worn but well-made tunic draped over him was of a whitish, creamy hue, softened by years of wear until it felt as supple as silk. Tan pants, equally weathered, hinted at the journeys they had endured, while sturdy boots spoke of practicality in the face of diverse terrains.
His gaze, obscured by a plume of fragrant smoke, lifted as Thorne and Varian approached. The alley seemed to cocoon this enigmatic figure, creating a pocket of quiet in the midst of the revelry, as if he were a guardian of a clandestine world. The man’s presence suggested a familiarity with the ebb and flow of secrets, and as they drew nearer, the anticipation of their clandestine meeting hung in the air.
Varian’s posture straightened as he and Thorne halted before the man in the alley. A wisp of smoke curled around the man’s words as he spoke.
“Varian?” he inquired, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.
“Captain Varian,” Thorne interjected, emphasizing the title with a deliberate weight, as if etching it into the fabric of the conversation. The man’s gaze, momentarily obscured by the tendrils of fragrant smoke, fixed on Varian with a mix of curiosity and recognition. The atmosphere in the covered alley became charged, a silent acknowledgment of the clandestine nature of their meeting.
“Right. Sorry,” the man remarked in their shared language, a wry smile playing on his lips. “It’s been ages since I had to bother with formalities.”
"You've been down here a long time, Arkhan" Varian noted with sympathy, almost deferent to the man.
Arkhan’s eyes held a retrospective glint as he spoke. “Twenty-something years,” he mused, a journey encapsulated in his words. With a final drag off his cigarette, he extinguished the glowing ember by rolling the roach between his fingers, letting the castings of the herb within flutter messily to his feet and flicking the spent paper aside as if casting off the remnants of the past.
Varian’s tone carried a subtle understanding as he spoke, “Staying behind after the first delegation departed mustn’t have been an easy choice.”
Arkhan offered a nonchalant shrug, his demeanor suggesting the inevitability that defined his course. “Not much of a choice,” he said with a trace of resignation. "Anyways, what's the job?"
Thorne unslings the brown leather satchel from his shoulder, and, with a firm grip, he passes it to Arkhan, a subtle exchange loaded with unspoken significance.
"There should be enough money in there to take care of any expenses you accrue," Varian told Arkhan. "Plus a kinetic projectile weapon in case you get into any trouble."
Arkhan opened the flap at the top of the satchel and glanced inside.
Varian’s voice lowered as he explained the clandestine situation to Arkhan. “The resistance, the party working to stall or outright prevent Thalassara’s accession to the empire. They’ve resorted to terrorist tactics to achieve their goals. We know they have men inside the government, waiting for the opportunity to launch a coup,” He paused, gauging Arkhan’s reaction.
Arkhan’s nod conveyed a bitter acknowledgment. “Yeah,” he grunted, his expression darkening. “Bastards got my wife’s brother’s whole family a few years ago.”
Varian’s eyes gleamed with determination. “Well, here’s a chance to pay them back,” he asserted. “You’ll be headed to Kserachora in the north, where the resistance’s strength is greatest. Infiltrate them, find out who their agents in the government are, and how close they are to the king.”
“And then what?” Arkhan questioned, casually throwing the satchel over his shoulder.
Varian and Thorne, their purpose clear, prepared to take their leave.
"And then," Varian told him. "Then we launch a counter-coup."
