"… No doubt much will be written about that fateful day. Legends, myths, a hundred fables and a thousand songs. It should have been just another ordinary day, one not deserving of mention or remembrance. There were no omens, no divine prophecies, or signs from the heavens. And yet, I could feel it. A tension I could not name, a silence in the Veil, as if the universe, itself, held its breath in anticipation of what was to come.
That was the day I first laid eyes upon it. That cold, dead rock. Their homeworld. Terra. Earth-That-Was..."
- From the memoirs of Valyra Thay Rynn
~~~~
The Council station spun lazily in the cold, black void. It was, by all accounts, a crystal palace in the sky, its spokes and spires of spun glass weaving together to form an intricate shape that resembled an impossible snowflake more than it did a space station. Designed to awe and inspire as much as intimidate its beholders into submission. To the humans, it was a symbol of their subjugation, of the inevitability of Council rule, a painful reminder of their humiliating defeat eighty of their "years" ago. Utopia station, the name a final touch of cruelty, considering the fate of the world which it orbited. To those aboard the graceful dreadnought that was approaching it, it was just another Council station, identical in layout and design to all the others like it.
For the 'Lightfall Upon Still Waters' was no ordinary dreadnought. It was the royal flagship of the Alvari Dominion, the Phoenix House, holders of the Crystal Throne at the High Table and the most powerful of the Great Houses. It was a graceful thing, its crystalline hull all predatory, supple curves that resembled a bird of prey in mid flight, covered in weapon emplacements that looked deceptively elegant and delicate, yet which could shatter entire fleets in seconds. Along its hull, one could spot no seams or faults, so precise, so perfect was its engineering, that it was as if it had been sculpted out of a single block of amethyst or woven by magic, rather than crudely assembled by a mechanical shipyard. And every inch of the colossal, seven kilometer-long dreadnought was a work of art, covered in murals carved by hand, depicting the long and storied history of the Alvari people. The two Terran battlecarriers flanking it in ceremonial escort, looked like children's crude drawings by comparison, or, perhaps, something cobbled together by a particularly clumsy ape, out of discarded refuse one might find in a junkyard.
Aboard that impossible warship, princess Valyra Thay Rynn, heiress to the Crystal Throne, cast her iridescent ice-blue eyes upon the holographic image projected onto the bridge, an image of the cold, dead planet below. It was, she knew, the other reminder of the Council's victory over the humans. This one, a reminder of the price of defiance and even from where she sat, her psionic senses could feel the painful echo of its destruction. Personally, she thought the Dra'var'th had gone too far in their subjugation. Then again, the Dra'var'th, the Dragon House, were not known for their restraint.
Her features were a mask of perfect serenity and grace, of the very personification of nobility. Her echo on the Veil, a blazing star of perfect composure, imperiousness and control. Such was expected of her, of the royal bloodline, of the one who stood to inherit the most powerful title of the most powerful civilization in all of history. There was nothing in her posture, not a single hint in her psionic presence, to betray the troubled thoughts coursing through her mind. As she gazed at that glassed marble of a world, she felt... something... pulling at her senses, a faint echo, a subtle tension hanging at the outer edges of her perception. It was something she could not find a name for, this feeling. And that left her feeling troubled, thoughtful… almost hesitant.
As the voice of Ilvandar Vael Raevorin, her adjunct, dragged her attention back to reality, back to the here and now, she pushed that troubled feeling – and the thoughts which came with it, aside.
"You honor these unruly primitives with your presence, your highness. Yet, I can not help but feel that it is an honor they have yet to earn, especially considering the… security concerns," Ilvandar addressed her softly, his posture bowed, eyes downcast, reverent, the very image of a prim-and-proper lesser noble who knew his place in the Alvari hierarchy. Yet, she knew of his ambitions, of his desire to shed the title 'Vael' and see it replaced with 'Selyr,' the honorific reserved for those whose bloodlines belonged to the high nobility. It was a dangerous ambition, borderline treasonous, even, yet that very same lust for power was what made him loyal to her and so very useful on many occasions, for he had bound his fate to hers, hoping to ride the coattails of her ascension. Today, however, his arrogance had clouded his usually sharp mind. Today, he was most certainly not useful.
"Primitives or not, they are the leaders of the Pact," Valyra answered in a tone that made it clear she would brook no further argument on the matter. "We need the resources of the Lesser Species for what is to come and a royal visit is a small inconvenience for me, if it ensures their cooperation is an eager one."
The Pact. A nebulous, informal political block within the Lower Seats on the Council, held together by a convoluted web of alliances, commercial treaties and scientific exchanges, with the intention to secure and promote the interests of those Lesser Species that collectively made up the block's member base. Theirs was also a dangerous ambition, though of a different kind, the Pact's aggressive assertiveness often bordering on intransigence, without outright crossing the line. It was that very same ambition that she was looking to exploit.
And Valyra knew better than to let her sense of superiority lull her into a false sense of security. Lesser Species or not, the Pact was not to be taken lightly. Despite their status, the species which made up that alliance had demonstrated a certain kind of shrewdness, especially the humans, whose opportunistic cunning had founded it in the first place. Less than a decade ago, the humans were still embroiled in a bloody civil war over the remnants of their subjugated civilization. Now, they stood at the head of a rapidly growing coalition, after somehow clawing their way back from the very brink of collapse.
Right now it was those humans, more than the Dra'var'th who were supposed to rule this sector, more than any of the other Great Houses, who had her on edge. For they had demonstrated two qualities that made up a potent combination. An uncanny resilience that saw them somehow claw their way back up from the humiliating defeat they had suffered, a defeat that should have forever shattered their spirit, their will to fight, their burning, seemingly unquenchable ambition. And yet, instead of adapting to their place in the universe by way of servility and humbleness, they had employed that second quality that seemed to define their kind, a nebulous thing she couldn't quite name, yet in her studies of their culture, she had found was best embodied by that saying they had, 'to play both sides against the middle.'
"Make sure to stay sharp, Ilvandar," the princess commanded. "Everything we will encounter here, will be a carefully choreographed spectacle made up of only those things they want us to see."
~~~~
The air in the cavernous chamber of hangar bay twelve, was as shallow and artificial as the rest of this station. A curated blend of oxygen, nitrogen and artificial refreshers that never quite managed to hide the acrid, metallic tang that was the tell-tale indicator of Terran atmosphere recyclers. Oh, the station might have been built by the Council, but beneath its elegant, spun-glass exterior, its guts were human. The High Table would never in a million years entrust their subjugated vassals with their vaunted technologies, not even for such basic things as air scrubbers.
Kainan leaned lazily against one of the bulkheads, looking every bit like the bored Council security officer that he was supposed to be. Clad in that blue-and-white uniform that served as a daily reminder of his Lesser Species status, his role was mainly ceremonial. Meaning, he was supposed to be the proxy through which the high and mighty relayed their orders to their subjects. One of his standing would never be trusted with handling any actual security policies or tasks.
Steel-gray eyes swept over the assembled crowd of sycophants lining up to bow and scrape before that Alvari princess whose shuttle was due to land any minute, now. There was Prime Minister Jordan Mason, his balding head covered in a sheen of sweat, whose portly form looked like he'd gorged himself on an entire cargo hauler's worth of food rations. At his side, stood that ditsy secretary of his, whose name no one seemed to bother to remember, along with all the other cabinet members that made up the Terran Federation's executive, all of them looking like clueless, clumsy, bumbling apes who couldn't collectively figure out how to tie their own shoelaces. He cast his eyes down to hide his smirk and ran a gloved hand through his unnatural-looking hair, a metallic silver color that was the result of a military genetic engineering program which became redundant decades before he was even born.
Not that anyone was dumb enough to assume the Alvari wouldn't see right through that false display of exaggerated incompetence, even though they'd never give an indication of it, or any other hint of just how much and what they truly saw.
The shuttle that slid into the hangar looked not so much built, as grown, all flowing lines and organic curves, with no visible engines, seams, or moving parts. It hovered silently without emitting so much as a hum. The effect was eerie, more like watching a hologram rather than a shuttle landing. Or a bird of prey gliding in for the kill. A ramp slowly hissed open, then reconfigured itself into a set of stairs that looked like they were made of quicksilver rather than a solid material. As for the figures that descended upon it, the holos didn't quite do them justice.
The Thalanar Veytharin, the royal guards that humans had dubbed paladins, were all clad in silver armor polished to a mirror finish, each plate elegantly engraved with a subtle filigree that refracted the light as they moved and looked more like sculpted light than alloy. Their helmets were shaped like the head of a bird, the mythical Phoenix that was the totem of their House and showed not a single visible trace of the advanced cybernetics within. Over that, they wore garments that were somewhere between a robe and a hooded cloak, with sleeves splitting into ribbons that flowed ethereally with every movement, in a color of deep, shimmering aquamarine. In battle, Kainan realized, those ribbons would serve to further confuse opponents and mask the guards' movements. And at their hips, fastened there by no visible sheath or clasp as if attached by magic, were the Eryndai, the crystalline shardblades wielded by those who practiced the secret art of Rinathay. Elegantly-curved and slender that looked more like shimmering crystal glass, or, perhaps, an impossible mixture of dreams and sunlight, than like a solid objects, yet even the lightest touch from those psionic weapons could cut through solid steel as if it were paper. Yet, it was their ward that truly caught Kainan's attention.
Princess Valyra was a living, breathing paradox. A heart-shaped face that looked like it came from a painter's fever dream, crowned by a mane of silken hair the color of midnight which cascaded down to her hips and seemed to flow with an unseen breeze, as if underwater. Her body, lithe and slender, was clothed in a pearlescent bodysuit that seemed to hug every graceful line and curve of her body, a display of impossible perfection that seemed intended to both captivate and shame the beholder. Once again, there were no seams, clasps or zippers that his eyes could see and over that, she wore an outer robe spun from what could only be described as starlight, shimmering with each movement and shifting in a way that saw it turn from opaque to translucent, depending on the angle of the light. Like the guards', hers was also split into a thousand, flowing ribbons that drew attention away from the movement of her limbs and seemed to float behind her with each step.
And her eyes… those iridescent eyes the color of a clear summer sky that seemed to capture light and command attention… There was a power in those eyes, something more profound and greater than that given to her by her station. It was as if she could look directly into one's soul and strip every secret bare.
She seemed to float rather than walk. Or, perhaps, dance. Kainan wasn't quite sure which, but she moved with the lethal grace of an apex predator, reminding him of the great cats of Earth-That-Was, nearly extinct now, aside from a few carefully preserved in zoos across the colonies. And as the Terran delegation of officials began the ceremonial display of grovelling and prostrations, those eyes somehow found his, across the bay, across all the assembled crowd of guards and bureaucrats kneeling, or standing at attention depending on what the ritual demanded. He should have looked away. He should have cast his eyes down in a display of humility, it was the smart thing to do, the thing that didn't draw attention. And yet, he didn't. He held her gaze, cold and impassive. The immovable object for her unstoppable force. He could sense it, a slight tingling in the back of his skull, the telltale sign of her psionic aura seeking to strip his mind bare and he clamped shut his thoughts, replacing them with the image of an ashen waste, of grey dunes swept by a howling wind and an ashen sky. The moment seemed to stretch on forever, as if time itself had stopped, as if the entire universe held its breath and yet, that fleeting moment passed and it was she who tore her gaze away, her attention now captured by a fellow Alvari that appeared at her side, an advisor of some kind, judging by his robes.
The brief connection left Kainan unsettled, his mind a storm of thoughts, even though he knew what to expect and had prepared for it. So much so that he almost didn't hear his name when the Prime Minister summoned him.
Pushing off the bulkhead, he crossed the distance with long, heavy strides, his boots clicking on the floor of the hangar, his features a mask of guarded neutrality except for that one moment when they drifted to the dead, grey marble of a world that rotated into view beyond the forcefield that separated the hangar from the cold void of space. Then, the mask slipped, replace by a look of profound, solemn reverence and his gloved hand rose to his chest, index and middle finger tapping his heart. "Commander Kainan Wolfe, your highness," the Prime Minister intoned. "Head of security here on the station." So, this was the proxy dog, the princess thought. And probably their spy. She tilted her head in Ilvandar's direction, a subtle gesture that few would have even picked up, yet the advisor immediately drifted back to her side. Her lips parted, though the movement was too faint for any human lip readers to pick up on the meanings of her whispers, even if they somehow managed to learn the High Alvari language, the forbidden tongue reserved only for the court. "Find out everything you can about this one," she commanded and Ilvandar answered by way of a deep bow, before stepping away and disappearing back amongst her assembled entourage of maids, servants and bureaucrats.
The Prime Minister, seemingly oblivious of the exchange, went on. "He will serve as the liaison while you continue to grace us with your presence and make sure your every want and need will be catered to." Kainan halted and snapped at attention, heels clicking together in the traditional fashion of a Terran military officer and deep down, he was grateful he wouldn't be required to bow and kneel, not yet at least. "Your chambers have been prepared for you to rest before the reception ball tomorrow," Prime Minister Mason continued.
Again, Valyra's eyes found Kainan's and again, he felt that tingling at the back of his skull, that psionic pressure and as close as he now was, it was almost unbearable. But he kept his thoughts in order, mind clamped shut and focused on that ashen plain of Earth, his expression an indomitable mask of professional neutrality and calm. The princess raised an eyebrow, a subtle gesture that was more than anything she'd shown since she arrived.
And behind her regal expression, her thoughts raced like a whirlwind. There was something about this man, something that unsettled her profoundly, in a way she couldn't name, like the echo of a dream she couldn't quite remember after waking. There should have been nothing, he was just a human, a primitive, whose echo on the Veil flickered like a candle next to her blazing star. And yet, she could not read him, could not see any thoughts of his beyond that ashen wasteland that he kept holding in his mind. Such mental discipline, to resist even her own vast power… It should not have been possible. Once again, the humans managed to surprise.
Up close, she managed to take a good look at him. He was tall, taller than her by half a head and broad-shouldered, his frame covered in thick, corded muscle that the navy-blue Council security uniform didn't quite manage to conceal. He was Kalidani, she realized. A genetically-engineered supersoldier from a project that had been mankind's last, desperate attempt to resist their inevitable subjugation. A warrior, a real one, not like the parade of generals and admirals the humans had presented earlier. A strange choice for a liaison, a glorified butler. Or for a spy.
She acknowledged him with a nod, not bothering to share words with him. And he did not respond to her with any more than a curt nod of his own, the gesture mirroring her own in a way that drew frowns from her entourage. There it was, that human insolence, that a lowly servant would dare to greet their princess, the heiress to the Crystal Throne, as if he were her peer and not an insect beneath her gaze.
As if summoned, that advisor appeared at her side, the shifty one. Kainan thought he looked like a rat in silks and when he spoke, he sounded like one, too. "Know your place, primitive. Keep your eyes on the floor, where they belong." Kainan didn't respond. Didn't react in any way, he spared Ilvandar a fleeting glance, then, as if deciding the Alvari diplomat was beneath his notice, he shifted his attention back to the Alvari princess. Ilvandar let out a low hiss, his fingers twitching just an inch towards the shardblade at his waist before a gesture from the princess stopped him and some silent command passed from her to the advisor. He bowed, low and slow, then returned to his place among her staff.
When she finally spoke, it was not to him, but to the Prime Minister and she did so in a voice that had a soft, lilting quality to it, which seemed to reverberate across the cavernous chamber of the hangar bay. Her accent was thick and rich, exotic in a way Kainan couldn't quite identify, but her grasp of the Colonial human language was shocking to a degree that even he could not hide, his professional composure breaking for just a moment, just long enough for her to see it. "Your subordinate's etiquette training is… rather lacking, Prime Minister," she said. "I hope you have prepared my chambers with greater care than you have given to preparing your servants."
Without waiting for a reply, she walked past the human delegation, her guards and entourage trailing in her wake. "That was a dangerous thing you did, Wolfe," the Prime Minister spoke once she was out of earshot, his tone low and nervous. "Do you think they bought our little show?"
Kainan just smirked. "Oh, not sure about her entourage, but she knows it was a show. Though I have to admit, Prime Minister, you do a good impression of a bumbling, grovelling politician." The Prime Minister frowned. "What's important is that she doesn't figure out what's really going on. Not yet, anyway," Mason continued before tapping Kainan's shoulder with a meaty hand. "I'll let you get back to your duties, commander. No doubt she'll be summoning you soon. Be careful around that one, she'll try to throw you off guard and squeeze as much information as she can, out of you."
Kainan nodded. "I'll just have to make sure all she gets from me, are only the things we want her to know."
~~~~
The summons did come, as expected, a few hours later, delivered by a scowling paladin who looked like he had better things to do than trade words with one of Lesser Species stock. And that it was for the purpose of summoning one such as Kainan into the presence of his liege lady, only made the Alvari guardsman's irritation even worse. Kainan paid him no heed, though.
Utopia station's Amethyst Suite was exactly what he'd imagined it to be. Every floor tile, forged from precious metals painstakingly engraved by hand, every piece of furniture a perfect fusion of natural materials from a thousand conquered world and technology that bordered on magic. The first thing he noticed, was that there were no doors. Instead, the crystalline bulkheads themselves, flowed open, unfurling like the petals of a flower. Every wall panel, fashioned from that same arcane material, decorated with murals which depicted fantastical landscapes from the homeworlds of the Great Houses, the artistry so lifelike, that one would be forgiven for mistaking them with the real thing. There were no visible light fixtures, consoles, or interfaces he could see, the light seemed to simply come from nowhere. Even the air, here, was fresh. Gone was the metallic tang of the human sectors, as the suite's life support systems were designed to psionically read their occupant's mood and preferences. It was a palace in the sky, indeed. One so lavish that it made even the most imposing edifices on Old Earth look like mud huts by comparison. An impossible edifice straight out of a fever dream, one only Council robots and visiting officials from the Great Houses were normally permitted access to. The Terran Intelligence Directorate had long ago learned the hard way that any unauthorized intrusion would set off a hidden security system that would simply vaporize any unwelcome guests. And even with all the efforts made to circumvent that enigmatic defense, to this day no intruder had ever come back alive.
Currently, the atmosphere was configured a combination of a summer mountain breeze he could somehow feel on his skin despite the apparent lack of air vents and a bouquet of alien flowers he could not name. An interesting detail about the princess' personality, one he filed away in the labyrinthine recesses of his mind.
He was led into what was the suite's equivalent of a garden, a holosuite that was the size of a medium-sized building, which could render hardlight constructs of anything its occupant wanted it to, the tactile illusions so detailed as to be impossible to tell apart from the real thing, at least with the naked eye. Currently, it was depicting a forest clearing from Kalaris, the Alvari homeworld, crystalline trees glittering in a thousand colors he had no words for, swaying in a way that didn't quite match the rhythm of the simulated wind, as if their motions were driven by some arcane internal energy. The ground was covered in a carpet of bioluminescent flowers, aquamarine grass and lavender-colored mosses that pulsed under each step, like ripples on a pond.
And in the center of it, below a cloudless, alien sky illuminated by unfamiliar stars and a pair of moons, one golden and one that seemed made of amethyst, the princess… danced. It was the only way he could describe the motions he saw her performing.
She had changed into a two-piece outfit consisting of a top that seemed to have been spun from silver spidersilk which left her shoulders, back and midriff bared in a way that displayed those swirling patterns of azure, psionic light which now seemed to cover her from head to toe, along with a flowing skirt made of the same material, that was partially translucent in the lower portions, without exposing more than a hint of her impossibly perfect figure. Her feet were also bare, her ankles decorated by iridescent jewelry that jingled softly which each graceful leap and step, matching similar pieces on her wrists. And again, those flowing ribbons which spun and trailed behind her every move.
It was, Kainan realized, an impossible paradox, somehow managing to be both modest and shockingly revealing at the same time, yet without even the slightest hint of vulgarity or gaudiness. Just like the woman who wore it. And in her hand, that crystalline sword of hers, her Eryndai, spun faster than his eyes could track it, tracing graceful, deadly arcs that wove a swirling pattern in the air with its glowing afterimages, a display that was as hypnotic as her graceful motions.
"Leave us," she commanded her paladins in that lilting, sing-song language of her court, without stopping her deadly dance, or acknowledging them in any other way. The guards bowed and turned without a word, though Kainan could almost sense their hostility and disapproval of his presence as they left.
For what seemed like an eternity, she let him stand there as she carried on her exercise in bladesmanship. He stood and waited, statuesque, his posture and expression a perfect mask of military discipline. He knew what she was doing. Everything about this display was designed to both fascinate and intimidate him in equal measure, to put him in an unfamiliar setting that unsettled and disarmed him, leaving his mind exposed to her psionic probing.
She flowed, rather than moved, her every step a display of perfect grace, each leap and pirouette a show of impossible reflexes and balance which seemed to defy the laws of physics. She moved in a way that could only be described as almost sensual and hypnotic, in the deadly way of an apex predator. This was not a social dance, but a battle routine. It was what her body was built for, deceptively lithe and slender in a way that concealed her real strength. Her kind had more flexible joints than humans, spinal cords with more vertebrae and muscles that had evolved to grant her a precision that no other species in the galaxy could match. She would be as much at home on the battlefield, as on the ballroom floor.
"This is the Rinathay," she finally addressed him, in that same accented Colonial she had used earlier, in the hangar. "The Willow Dance, in your language, although the translation doesn't quite convey its full meaning." She spun and twirled, her shardblade tracing another lightning-fast pattern through the air. "It is an ancient, sacred art, one which few humans have been graced with the privilege to witness and walk away alive. Tell me something, commander Wolfe… How much do you know of the Alvari bladesigner's art?"
It was a deceptive question, a trap designed to probe just how much mankind had learned about psionics and her kind. And in equal measure, to see how honest he would be with her. Kainan answered her in a raspy voice that sounded like gravel, his tone as steady and level as the gaze in his steel-gray eyes. "It is a psionic martial art developed by the Temple of the Crystal Boughs, if that is the correct translation of the name. Created by ancient seers who studied the motions of psionically-active trees from your homeworld. Using your psionic senses, you can read an opponent's intentions and react before he even begins his move."
"Close enough," Valyra said, her movements slowing, as if she was about to wind down from her exercise. "It is what makes our warriors unrivaled and unbeatable. Why the Thalanar Veytharin, the paladins, as you call them, have not lost a single battle in over a thousand years. I have been studying it since my eighth summer," she continued. Then, she moved, though to him, it was more as if she had teleported. One moment she was five meters away and the next… she was right in front of him, her shardblade at his throat, the tip pressing against his jugular in a way that would spill his lifeblood on the floor if she moved so much as a millimeter. By Earth's old rivers, she was fast, thought Kainan… His heart hadn't even had the time for a single beat in the time it had taken her to reach him.
"You understand High Alvari," she said and it was not a question. Her eyes, those beautiful, aquamarine gems, held his gaze as she waited for an answer. Kainan did not flinch, he didn't even blink, just… stood there, his features holding that same mask of guarded neutrality that had been the only expression she saw him wear, aside from that one brief moment when he cast his gaze towards the dead planet, back in the hangar bay. She had intended to surprise him, to shatter his composure by triggering that most base, survival instinct that each living being had. Yet, there he stood, as motionless as a machine. Once again, it was Valyra herself, who was surprised.
"How did you figure it out?" he answered her, not bothering to try to lie to her. He knew she'd be able to tell and knew the consequences for that would be far worse than if he just admitted to breaking one of the Council's laws.
"You are very good at warding your mind against the Veil, commander," said Valyra, her full lips twisting in a little smirk. "But not good enough to ward yourself from me." His admission seemed to satisfy her, at least for now, for she lowered that deadly blade of hers, letting it rest at her side. She circled around him like a feline sizing up a mouse, her delicate fingers reaching up to trace a line across his back, from shoulder to shoulder. "You are a peculiar choice for a spy. A genetically engineered supersoldier, a relic from a time when your kind wrongly hoped they could defy the Council. Proud in a way that borders on illegal, without quite crossing the line in a way that would cause a diplomatic incident and lead to your untimely death," she mused in a playful, almost seductive tone, her aquamarine eyes looking more intrigued, rather than indignant. And as she completed her circle, her expression again snapped to the cold imperiousness of Alvari royalty, as did her voice. "Your gloves. Take them off," she commanded in a way that made it clear she would tolerate no excuses or hesitation to obey.
He did just that, slowly pulling off the white leather coverings to reveal a pair of calloused hands that were marked with surgical scars… and fingers that were tipped with implanted steel claws. "A former gladiator, a Dra'var'th arena slave. Somehow now serving as a Council security officer, yet not an agent of the Dragon House," she spoke, raising a delicate eyebrow as she confirmed what she already suspected. "You are an interesting puzzle, commander Wolfe. And I can't quite decide if you might be a boon for my purposes, or an irritant to be removed."
"And you, princess, are very perceptive," Kainan answered her. "As for what I am in relation to your plans, your highness, that would depend entirely on your decision."
Valyra smirked. It was a perfectly neutral answer, one which feigned just the right amount of deference without fully hiding his defiant spirit. More annoyingly, it revealed absolutely nothing. And somehow, her telepathic probing still couldn't read his mind, not beyond the most shallow, surface-level thoughts that he had already demonstrated an uncanny control over. "Not many would manage to stand unflinching while having a bladesinger's Eryndai pressed against their throats. And among the Lesser Species, especially here in the Dra'var'th sectors, I could think of but one kind of people with the discipline required to stare calmly into the face of death."
"Learning the languages of one of the Great Houses is a capital offense under Council law," she continued, her tone again shifting to that teasing, dangerous edge from before. "And with your admission, I could have you killed for that, right here and now."
Kainan scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Princess, if you wanted to, you could stroll right into the Prime Minister's office and run him through with that sword of yours on a whim. And I think you and I both know no one would so much as bat an eyelash at you for doing that, let alone question whether or not you had legal justification for your actions."
"And yet, here you still stand, still proud, chin held high, despite the danger" Valyra answered him. Nevertheless, she sheathed her blade, then reached for a pair of practice swords carved from an alien wood the color of lavender. She tossed one to him. "I find myself in the mood for a sparring partner," she said, a playful glint in her aquamarine eyes, issuing a silent, yet clear challenge to him.
Kainan caught the practice weapon with a lazy motion of his hand, then spun it twice in his grip, testing its weight and balance. It was light and flexible, yet concealing a surprising strength. Just like her, he thought. "Is this wood from your homeworld, princess?"
Valyra nodded, a genuine, warm smile tugging at her lips. "Yes. From Kalaris. It is… a remarkable place where you can't quite take five steps without finding yourself gazing at a wonder. A pity no human will ever see it in person, commander." And with that, she lunged. Just like before, she moved faster than his senses could process and reacted before his muscles even began the move he'd tried to execute. One moment she was standing across from him, the next, he was lying on the false grass floor, her practice blade pointed at his chest. "You will have to do better than that, commander, if you are to adequately carry our your duty of catering to my needs," she teased. "Stop holding back. I know you're a better fighter than you let on, you would not have survived the Dra'var'th arenas, otherwise."
Kainan smirked, then sprang to his feet in a swift and sudden motion and their wooden blades clashed again. This time, he parried her first strike, a downwards, diagonal slash that suddenly shifted direction in the well-known manner of the Rinathay arts, of deceptive feints and motions that were never quite what they appeared to be. Her second strike, a lunge that followed a graceful pirouette, grazed his ribs. He struck back, a back-handed, arching swipe that would have struck her wrist numb and made her drop her practice rod, that is, if her hand had still been where it should have, after that lunge she pulled. However, she once again reacted before his muscles even registered the signals from his brain, recovering from her lunge with a grace and speed that could almost be described as supernatural. She leapt backwards, somersaulting through the air and smacking the practice weapon from his hand before her feet even touched the ground.
"Better," said Valyra, flashing him a grin that was both triumphant and playful at the same time. "Again." And as Kainan reached once more for his practice sword, he couldn't quite hide his smirk. He knew what she was doing, of course, what she was really looking for. This exchange had nothing to do with either entertainment, or exercise and more than just a sparring of blades, it was a sparring of minds. He could feel it, that faint tingling behind his eyes, her psionic aura trying to slip through his mental wards and pick apart everything he kept there.
And he couldn't keep her out forever. Even with his iron discipline, she was still powerful, an unmatched talent, even among her kin. Continuing to keep his mental wards up as they were, would only lead to complications that were best avoided. So, he did the next best thing. He let her through, into a deeper layer of his mind, where he showed her exactly what she was looking for, but only gave her as much information as he wanted to give. No concrete, detailed plans, of course, just the nebulous outline of a scheme, an intention, to play the Phoenix House against House Dragon, Alvari versus Dra'var'th, not far enough to risk accusations of treason should their schemes be revealed, just enough to secure whatever political advantage they could. It was the age-old human approach to politics when one was the underdog, a playing of both sides against the middle.
It was true enough to avoid making her suspect deception, while still keeping the truly important elements concealed.
Whether or not the trick had worked, it was then that the princess decided to conclude their little game. With a final flourish of her practice sword, she sent his weapon flying from his hand, while a second swipe knocked him off his feet before his mind could even register the loss of his blade. As Kainan pushed himself up, Valyra flashed him a conspiratorial, knowing grin. A genuine expression, rather than a performance, matched by the glint in her aquamarine eyes. "I believe that will be enough for today, commander. I shall let you retire for now, to nurse the bruises you undoubtedly have in the wake of our exchange. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, at the reception ball."
This time, Kainan did offer her a respectful dip of his head, though not a bow. Never a bow, unless she directly ordered him to, though she appeared to be in high enough spirits to allow him the preservation of his pride. She'd earned his respect, though, with her cleverness and sharp, perceptive wit. "Thank you, your highness. May you have a pleasant evening, then," he responded. And with that, he turned sharply on his heels and departed.