Tor’laen picked at his food listlessly. He should have been enjoying himself – the meal was downright luxurious by his modest standards. There was some kind of braised meat, cooked until perfectly tender and bursting with flavor. Next to that was some kind of root vegetable, judging by the taste, whipped into a fluffy paste and sprinkled with a tangy-tasting herb. Finally, there was some kind of pasta-like dish, drizzled with a savory sauce.
Even on Ydan, Tor’laen had rarely eaten anything even half as indulgent. No one went hungry there, of course, but food was fuel for the body first and foremost. Taste was a very distant second. And the less that was said about the mess hall on his fleet’s ships, the better.
So yes, Tor’laen should have been happily tucking in. Instead, his gaze drifted to the viewport, sitting next to the small desk he was currently hunched over. He watched as the myriad shades of blue swirled past. The ship had been in subspace for over an entire ship-day, meaning they had to be getting close to the Zakkili homeworld. His mission weighed heavily on his mind. Within a few bells, he would likely be in front of the Zakkili Queen.
Then his people’s future rested solely on his shoulders.
The thought was enough to put anyone off their appetite, he would guess. He pushed the too small Zakkili utensil through his food. At least the Crown Daughter had been true to her word. A short time after he had woken, the tray of food was delivered straight to his little cabin by a Zakkili woman. She had been oddly interested in him, chattering away in her elegant language and sneaking glances when she thought he wasn’t looking. Tor’laen had imagined that the only things the Zakkili onboard might feel towards him were hatred or contempt, but apparently that wasn’t the case.
A flickering caught his eye, and he turned to see that the blue lights were starting to slow outside of the ship. They must be preparing to leave subspace soon. With discipline born from countless campaigns and missions, he started to shovel the fancy food into his mouth, forcing it down to fill his stomach. He had just cleaned his plate when he felt the familiar surge and brief weightlessness that accompanied the ship's emergence.
Sliding the translator back on his wrist, Tor’laen instinctively started for the door, only to grit his teeth as a wave of nausea rolled over him.
“I wasn’t trying to escape, damnit.” He muttered under his breath, Nalyra’s glittering eyes coming to his mind unbidden.
And yet, some small part of his mind must have considered it. From what he had been able to gather, his own thoughts and intentions were what the restrictions worked on. Walk over to the door with the intention just to examine it? No problem. Move with the plan to open it and wander the ship? Trembling hands and a churning stomach before he even got close.
Frustrated, he sat down on his cot, waiting for someone to come get him instead. Before too long, the door to his cell slid open, and an armed Zakkili soldier called into the room beckoning him outside.
Come, Ydani. The words flashed on his wrist.
He stepped out into the hallway to find the Crown Daughter waiting for him. She was accompanied by a full squad of her armed guards, and the uniformed, blonde Zakkili from the bridge. That must be her second-in-command, he guessed.
Tor’laen realized, with a faint jolt, that she had his dagger tucked into her belt, its ornamented hilt catching the light. She had not displayed it like a trophy. Had not hidden it away, either. It simply rested there against her regal half-dress, half-uniform. The dagger looked as if it belonged there. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
With an imperious gesture, Nalyra motioned for him to come with them, and then set off down the corridor. Tor’laen moved with the group, having to slow down his normal gait so as to not outpace the smaller women.
Nalyra said a long sentence, glancing back at him, a sly grin on her face.
I do hope you found your [berth] comfortable, Ydani. You’ll have to forgive the lack of [OnVsiL]. We usually don’t offer them to [hP1CcG]. However, at least you had [kQz!yS], yes?
Tor’laen stared down at the screen of his translator. So it was going to be like that again, huh? Well, two could play that game.
He switched to Hylec, an old Ydani trading language. He wasn’t fluent, but he knew enough of it to get by. And enough to curse in.
“The room was comfortable enough…but on Ydan, it’s not really polite to mind-fuck your guests when they visit.” He said cheerfully, grinning down at the Crown Daughter.
She stared at the screen of his translator, frowning slightly when nothing appeared. Nalyra glanced up at him, a suspicious look on her face.
That wasn’t your [normal] language, was it?
He smiled, and switched back to Ydanic.
“No, it was not.”
She pressed her lips together when she read his response, and shot him an icy glare, before returning her gaze to the front. Tor’laen resisted the urge to chuckle, his nerves doing slightly better now.
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The Crown Daughter maintained her freezing silence all the way to the ship’s hangars, and even once the entire group had boarded a shuttle. Only when the small craft had departed did she break it. She fixed him with her gaze, all traces of her usual grin gone, her face deadly serious.
Listen well, Ydani.
She waited until he checked the message, then continued once she saw that she had his full attention.
Soon you will stand before the [Queen Matriarch]. You are not Zakkili. You do not know our [ways]. There will be…less expectations of you. However, you must stay [respectful]. As much as possible.
Tor’laen carefully read the message, aware that every eye in the shuttle was fixed upon him. He looked up and nodded, matching the grave expression on her face.
The [Queen Matriarch] is powerful. [Divine]. Our ultimate [authority]. But…fair. She will listen. She will judge [impartially]. But you MUST show [respect].
Tor’laen stiffened as Nalyra’s thoughts brushed his mind. She didn’t push inside, but stayed there, lightly touching him, her mental touch radiating how important and serious her words were. He suppressed the urge to fall into a painful memory, to try and push her out, and simply answered instead.
“I understand. I will show my utmost respect.”
A slight tinge of satisfaction pulsed from her thoughts, and she withdrew. Tor’laen had to stop himself from shuddering, still more skittish than his pride would admit from their previous mental encounter.
He kept his gaze on his lap, as he felt the shuttle start to shake slightly from entering the planet’s atmosphere. Tor’laen felt the craft stabilize, then shift, easily recognizing the sensation of their landing approach. The ship touched down, coming to rest, and Nalyra gave him one last sharp glance, before moving to the exit.
Tor’laen stepped out of the shuttle into unimaginable grandeur.
The landing pad was large, and numerous small craft rested there. About half of them were similar to the shuttle craft he was used to – plain, focused on function over form. The rest were elegant, stylish, trimmed with gold, coated in striking colors, and covered in extravagant decorations. But these weren’t even close to the first thing that caught his eye.
On all sides, they were surrounded by a city of unimaginable size. Massive buildings reached towards the heavens, no two the same. Each of them reached almost joyfully towards the sky, as if the designer’s personal prayer to whatever deity these Zakkili worshipped. There were almost no straight lines in their architecture – instead, each and every building was designed in a free, flowing style, curving and shifting in a way that was intrinsically pleasing to the eye.
His mind went back to Ydan’s low military blocks, its reinforced bunkers, its cities built to survive bombardment rather than inspire. The difference felt almost obscene.
At ground level, the streets were wide and meticulously maintained, bustling with crowds of Zakkili. Occasionally, there were other aliens mingling among them, too far away for Tor’laen to make out any details. Stout trees lined the sides of the streets, their leaves a brilliant mix of oranges and reds, breaking up the artificial landscape with bursts of nature.
Various light vehicles flew lazily between the towering buildings, soaring above the crowds. He watched as one gently set down on a landing pad that extended from the side of one of the massive towers.
A sentence of Zakkili pulled his attention back. He glanced down at his translator.
Now is not the time for [sight-seeing], Ydani.
He glanced to his side to find the Crown Daughter smirking at him. With no small bit of effort, he pulled his attention away from the incredible sights of the city. He turned, only to be stunned once more.
A grand fortress, impossibly large, loomed before him. Tor’laen almost couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The palace was massive, easily dwarfing the buildings of the city that surrounded it. The architecture was a mix of gracefully soaring buttresses and imposing walls. Massive banners of purple, trimmed with gold, hung over the walls and from the tops of each spire, fluttering gently in the breeze. Each and every part of it was carefully sculpted, as if it were the face of the Monarchy itself.
After a moment, his practiced eye was able to pick out sections of the palace that clearly concealed weapon emplacements. The face of the Monarchy kept its fangs hidden, it seemed.
He jolted, as one of the Zakkili soldiers prodded him gently in the small of his back. She snickered.
Get moving.
Nalyra and her officer were already halfway across the landing pad, and Tor’laen hurried to catch up.
A pair of Zakkili women, dressed in some kind of ceremonial armor, waited for them at the end of the landing pad. Wordlessly, they moved aside, the massive doors behind them automatically gliding open. Nalyra swept past them without pause, her head held high. Tor’laen would never admit it, but he was begrudgingly impressed. The Crown Daughter seemed just as suited to striding down grand palace hallways as she did on the bridge of her Citadel.
The inside of the palace was no less impressive than its exterior. Every wall was covered by grand tapestries, enormous paintings, or just massive velvet curtains. The floors were some kind of marble, immaculately clean and polished. It almost felt like a crime to walk on them. Occasionally, the group passed luxurious offices or waiting rooms, giving him glimpses of chairs and couches, cushioned and covered in purple velvet. Gold trim was everywhere – on the walls, the furniture, even artfully laid into the marble floors in some places.
It should have felt vain, excessive. Instead, it was somehow tasteful, a suitable fit to the sheer scale of the hallways and cavernous rooms.
The small procession finally came to a stop in a huge waiting room, under the watch of a full squad of guards in ceremonial armor. Some kind of honor posting, Tor’laen assumed. The blonde, uniformed Zakkili woman and the soldiers all stepped back, leaving Tor’laen and Nalyra standing in front of a massive, ornate door.
The Crown Daughter was silent, but he felt a psychic flick against his mind. There were no words, but her meaning came across clearly. Respect. Restraint. Caution.
Tor’laen glanced down, catching her gaze. He gave an almost imperceptible nod.
One of the guards laid her hand against a small scanner, the device just as ornate as the decorations around it. A low chime sounded throughout the waiting room, and the door silently slid open, revealing the throne room.
Later, Tor’laen would remember the graceful, luminous room, with pillars of white marble that reached towards a soaring ceiling. A room filled with works of fine art, with royal banners lining the walls. A room that displayed the full grandeur and riches of the Zakkili Divine Monarchy. All of this, he would later recall.
For now, every fiber of his being focused on the figure at the far end of the room, seated upon an ornate throne. Queen Matriarch Azora sat motionless, her purple eyes already fixed on the Ydani.