I pause and glance at Aeson, and he nods, with a reassuring smile.
“And of course there’s my sister Gracie and brother Gordie who Qualified also and came here with me—”
“Both of them will be here tomorrow morning,” he interrupts. “I made the arrangements this afternoon.” And his smile widens, as I react with a happy sound.
“They’re coming! Oh, thank you! Do they know? I mean, do they know about us?” I say breathlessly.
Aeson watches me in amusement. “They only know enough to arrive without being worried. They were given a sufficient reason why they must be here—that they have been assigned here and are to report to Poseidon, and that their sister asked to see them as soon as they arrive. I left it for to you to divulge the real reason.”
“Oh, good!” I say, with much relief. “Because I’d really hoped to be able to explain it to them myself first, before anyone else did, and minimize the shock, especially to Gracie—”
“How old is Gracie? Is she near Manala’s age?” the Imperatris asks. “My daughter is twelve and a half, which is approximately sixteen Earth years.”
“She’s a little younger than Manala,” I say. “Gracie is thirteen in Earth years, close to fourteen. She’ll be fourteen in about two months. And my brother Gordie is fifteen and a half—almost a half, I believe—”
I start talking in a slightly nervous rambling manner, telling all kinds of random and slightly useless things about my siblings and the rest of my family, while the Imperatris listens without interrupting, and occasionally exchanges brief indulgent glances with Aeson, who comes to sit at my side.
As soon as Aeson sits down next to me, I feel a wild rise of warmth, and then feel him against me—the whole side of me, my thigh, hip, and shoulder pressed against his large body—and it kind of takes my breath away, so I lose track of what I’m saying, and have to recover. Aeson’s strong hand comes to lie over mine, squeezing it possessively, and now I am overwhelmed by his proximity, while his mother looks at us both, as our hands connect and stay entwined. . . .
Soon, the dea meal is served, and we relocate from the sofa to sit at the small comfortable table, as various Atlantean aromatic dishes are placed before us. There are unfamiliar vegetables and creamy sauces, tasting of smoky rich pungency, with pleasant textures and savory flavors that I find delicious. Some of the foods I recognize from what we’ve been served aboard the ark-ships, but these are far more sophisticated versions, beautifully presented and obviously intended for the Imperial table. Now that the imposing Imperator himself is not here to ruin our appetite, I find myself ravenously hungry, and eat without holding back.
“My Husband eats very sparely, and at odd times, and prefers to eat alone, especially during the fourth meal of the day—the Ghost meal that is taken after midnight,” Devora Kassiopei says, setting down her eating utensil in order to focus on me, at the same time as it occurs to me to wonder. “Gwen, I regret that you had such a difficult first meal here with us this morning. . . . With time it will get better.”
“Oh . . . thank you,” I say, unsure how to respond, while the Imperatris continues to look at me with meaningful intensity. She does not say more on the subject—especially considering that Palace servants are present and listening—but her sympathetic eyes speak volumes. For a few more seconds our gazes lock, and then she smiles lightly and resumes eating.
“By the way, where is Manala?” I ask suddenly, pausing in the middle of taking a bite. “Should she be eating here with us too?”
Aeson takes up his glass of qvaali after it is refilled by a servant. “Manala is hiding,” he tells me, raising one brow.
“Hiding? Why?”
“My sister came to me just before mealtime, worried out of her mind, and near tears, and informed me that she ‘talked too much again’ and told you some things she shouldn’t.” He pauses to take a drink calmly. “And then she told me what she told you—about my Fleet Cadet school friendship and my feelings for a certain young girl, Elikara Vekahat.”
My pulse starts to pound. “Oh, Aeson!” I say, dropping my utensil. “I’m so sorry! I wasn’t going to bring her name up, not yet, not until we’ve had more time—oh no! I’m so sorry—”
“Gwen,” he says, and his gaze caresses me. “It’s okay. It happened a long time ago. We were children. Yes, we were good friends and I had a crush on her, and then some bad things happened. The sad details of it are the things I would prefer not to talk about now—maybe some time later. But I have no problem discussing Elikara herself, my childhood friend and first attachment. Right now I want to make sure that, instead of walking around for weeks with this burden of doubt in regard to me, you know up front that you have nothing to worry about. Even if Elikara had been alive today, there’s a better than good chance my crush would not have lasted—a normal thing for all of us growing up. Just consider your own first crush.” And he gives me a subtle smile.
As soon as he says it, I think about Logan Sangre, and my face flames with embarrassment. Oh dear God, what must poor Aeson think about all that?
I’ve been such a selfish idiot, obsessing over this dead girl for less than an hour, while Aeson has been patiently coping with my own long-term “thing” with Logan, all these long horrible months, an entire relationship playing out right before his eyes!
I put my hands up to my cheeks and feel the blood drain out of them, while a wave of cold hits me to replace the flush. “Aeson, I’m sorry . . .” I say, barely able to endure the caring look in his lapis lazuli eyes, because it pulls at my heart. “I am so stupid. I—I don’t even know what to say right now.”
“Simply forget it,” he says with a soft sound of laughter. He is laughing!
Relief floods me. “Okay. . . .” I glance at him and then at his mother, with all kinds of awkwardness.
“And don’t worry about Manala either, she’ll come around,” he adds, after taking another long sip. “My sister has a very vibrant, dramatic memory for emotional things, and sometimes remembers them as perfectly now as they were a long time ago, because it does not seem to fade for her. . . . It can be a good thing, but sometimes it can make life difficult. In this case she remembered how upset I was back then, a boy, and she was barely older than a toddler.”
“Wow . . . I see.” I let out a deep breath, pick up my eating utensil again—a peculiar two-pronged deep spoon that is called a bakvi in Atlantean. And then I put it in my mouth.
About half an hour later, we are done eating. After the last dish—a sweet, cold dessert that is vaguely similar to honey ice cream, except it’s non-dairy and tastes like frothy heaven—we get up from the table.
“What a lovely meal, Aeson and Gwen, thank you,” the Imperatris says to both of us. “And now I must leave you to yourselves.”
She turns to me. “Gwen, my new daughter, I am delighted with you. This has been your first full day on Atlantis, and now you need to rest well before an even longer day tomorrow. Aeson—do not let her stay up too late. I am told that most of your wardrobe will be ready very soon, and some of it will arrive in the morning, including your formal dress for the Imperial Court Assembly. Enjoy this quiet evening with my son, and we will meet for another meal very soon—one of many such, in the coming days.”
“Thank you, My Sovereign Lady, I really enjoyed getting to know you.” I bow courteously, but with absolute sincerity—the Imperatris puts me in awe, and in the best sense possible.
Devora Kassiopei leaves, and the servants take away the last of the meal service. As soon as we are finally alone, I turn to Aeson. . . . But he is already there first, taking me in a hard embrace, so that I lose my breath and then start to tremble as wild electric charges race along my skin.
“Gwen . . . oh, Gwen,” he speaks in a rush, in a muffled voice, and then his lips move warmly against my forehead, my cheeks, my throat, his fingers buried in my hair, as he brings my head closer, until he finds my mouth.
The moment he does, and we connect, there is no se
nse of time until we start gulping for air.
Finally he lets go of me, almost roughly, and takes a step back. “Sorry . . .” he gasps. “If I don’t stop now, I—”
“I know,” I say to him, breathing fast and raggedly. “I feel the same way. We—better stop.”
Aeson’s eyes glisten with intensity. He passes one hand through his long metallic gold mane of hair, moving it back, calming himself. . . . “Oh Gwen, what am I going to do? About you, about this?” He exhales harshly, and then laughs. “Our first day, and I am already undone by you.”
“The night is still young,” I say, laughing also. “We can look at the stars, go for a walk in the gardens. We can talk about a million things and get to know each other. Or we can pretend we’re an old married couple and go watch some silly Atlantean TV shows as we sit on the couch.”
“Yes,” he says. “Except that is not what I want to do. You know what I want—”
“Well, My Imperial Lord, at this rate, you’re definitely not getting a good-night kiss tonight, is all I can say,” I say sternly, barely suppressing a smile.
Chapter 10
In the morning everything seems to happen all at once. I wake up around sixth hour, having gone to bed very early the night before, since Aeson insisted I get that extra rest—last night the two of us just hung out together in his Quarters talking and looking at each other wistfully for a couple of hours, so it was just as well.
This time I remember to close the curtains, so the intense morning glare does not shock me awake. Instead, what shocks me is the sight of mountains of elegant boxes of all sizes sitting in my room near the door. Once again, the Palace servants must have come in during the night or early morning to deliver these things while I was sleeping. . . . Seriously, is there no privacy ever in Atlantis?
Anyway, apparently, this is my new wardrobe. Or at least a portion of it.
I get up feeling much better rested this morning, even though the pull of additional gravity is an ever-present annoyance. Curiosity takes over, and I open up a few of the boxes, only to be amazed at the high-end fabrics and beautiful colors—most are my favorites, in different shades. There are even boxes of accessories and shoes. All kinds of shoes. . . .
Okay, as a card-carrying hopeless nerd and fashion dork, I know nothing about shoes, except that they go on feet. But even I know enough to think, wow, these are kind of nice. There are shoes with minimal heels or no heels at all—for which I am thankful indeed—with laces and buckles and ribbons and jewels and golden inlay, made of various interesting materials, textures, and styles. A few look like they could be athletic shoes suitable for walking or running, similar to Earth sneakers, with shoelaces. Thank goodness, comfortable stuff!
As I go through boxes of fabulous jewel-encrusted golden accessories, high fashion dresses, and even Earth-style pants and jeans and comfortable T-shirts and sweaters, there’s a quiet knock on my bedroom door.
“My Imperial Lady, may I come in?” an unfamiliar female voice sounds from the workroom, speaking in Atlanteo.
“Just a second!” I hastily pull on my old jeans to make myself decent, then say, “Okay to come in!”
The door opens and a girl enters, dressed in the Palace staff uniform. She is slim and tall, close to my age, with neatly pinned-up golden metallic hair, dark skin of a river-red clay shade, and a stern but pretty face with pale grey eyes outlined in dark kohl. Seeing me standing over an open box, she gives me a neat businesslike bow and says, this time in strongly accented but proper English, “My Imperial Lady, I hope I did not wake you, but I waited until I heard the sounds of movement in your room. I am Aranit Liwei, your personal maid. I am here to help you dress, and to help you in any way with your new wardrobe.”
“Oh . . . thank you.” I stand looking at her, having no idea how to respond.
But the maid takes my silence for whatever is expected, and heads directly for the boxes. “I will now put your new clothing away in the closets for you, and organize it for your convenience,” she tells me in an efficient manner. “If you would like to proceed with your morning routine, I will first assist you, of course. I am fully trained in all aspects of a lady’s personal needs including the arrangement of your hair, skin treatments, proper application of Face Paints, and wardrobe adjustments and tailoring.”
“That’s wonderful,” I say, feeling awkward. This poor girl has been waiting outside my bedroom door, lord knows how long!
But my feelings of sympathy cool down somewhat. I notice the critical almost disdainful scrutiny she is giving me and my ratty old clothes, including the old sleeping T-shirt I’m still wearing over my faded jeans.
“I am going to take a quick shower now,” I tell her nervously, mostly because I just want to escape. “I don’t really need help with dressing right now—maybe later tonight for the Imperial Assembly. Would that be okay? Do you mind stepping outside for a minute while I get out of these clothes?”
Aranit the maid’s expression is cool and superior as she nods politely. “My Imperial Lady, I will do as you ask. What should be done with the clothes you remove? Should I discard them permanently?”
“Oh,” I say. “Please just leave them here for the moment, I’m sorry—let me think. . . .”
Aranit bows silently and steps outside, while I rush into the shower. Moments later I hear her return and start moving boxes.
When I finally emerge, hair dripping wet and wrapped in towels, the room is almost entirely cleared of boxes, most of the clothes are hung, and even my bed is made. Wow, this maid is fast! I was maybe in the shower for fifteen minutes. . . .
“Oh my goodness, thank you!” I tell her, as the maid moves around the room straightening my things. I note that the old clothes I just took off are lying neatly folded on a chair.
“Please allow me to dry and style your hair,” she says, pausing in her work as soon as she sees me.
“It’s okay, really.” I start to protest.
But Aranit shakes her head at me, literally ignoring my answer. She moves out a chair and points me to it. “Sit,” she tells me sternly. “Your more suitable clothes for the day are laid out on the bed, three choices for today, since I am not yet familiar with your preferences. Look at them, while I do your hair. Now, sit!”
“Okay. . . .”
This is nuts, I am being browbeaten by an Atlantean lady’s maid, I think. And then in a surreal moment I think, Wait, what? I have a maid?
While Aranit dries and brushes my hair, I stare at the lacy underwear and the three outfits she has laid out for me. One is a pale lavender dress of shimmering layers of gauze fabric in various shades of faint blue to bring out the lavender underneath. It comes with matching embroidered slippers. The second outfit is a deep violet pantsuit with a silk jacket embroidered in gold, with similar matching stockings and low-heel pumps with ribbon trim. Finally, the third is an Earth-style pair of pants that looks very much like jeans, and a deep blue sweater with intricate purple patterns resembling fractals, practical socks and matching sneakers.
It’s easy to guess which one of the outfits I pick—door number three!
Almost as soon as I am done dressing—having politely refused Aranit’s help—I hear more sounds outside my bedroom, all coming from Aeson’s side of the suite, or possibly just the office workroom that separates our two bedrooms.
It’s now close to seventh hour, so I am guessing it’s the two Imperial Aides coming in to work. Only, why are they being so incredibly loud? And why do I hear a familiar female voice arguing energetically with someone . . . Gracie?
Oh my God, my sister is here!
I spring up out of my chair, with the shortest “excuse me” on record, so that my maid who is putting the finishing touches of light makeup on my face has no time to protest, and I rush out of my bedroom, wearing my wonderful new sweater and jeans. . . .
It is indeed Gracie. She stands in the middle of the workroom, dressed in her white Cadet dress uniform and red armband on her left sleeve,
holding two very familiar bags, a duffel and a backpack, and arguing loudly with Anu and Gennio.
My sister looks extremely sharp and all grown up, with her long dirty-blond hair pinned up in a tight military bun, Atlantean-style kohl eyeliner highlighting her blue eyes, and an alarmed angry expression of full-blown outrage.
“. . . He is completely cleared to use it anywhere in the Fleet, and he needs it to get around! How do you expect him not to bring it up the elevator—”
“Gracie!” I exclaim, and rush toward her.
“Oh my God, Gwen!” my little sister shrieks, dropping her bags like rocks and flying into my arms as if she hasn’t seen me for months. “Damn, these bags are heavy—this gravity is killing me. . . . What is going on, Gee Two? They said we had to come down on the very first shuttle and see you immediately, and that you were here! What is happening? I was so worried you got sick, or something awful happened! I mean I know you were supposed to be assigned to work here in the Palace, being an Aide and everything—”
A few feet away, Anu makes a loud snort.
“Oh, I am so glad to see you! Everything is fine, don’t worry about it, sorry you got scared, it’s all fine here—” I speak hurriedly, squeezing Gracie warmly, then patting her on the back and running my hands up and down her arms in a soothing familiar gesture. “You look really good, sweetie, so sharp in your uniform, I love it!”
“So, what is going on then?” Gracie steps back and stares at me with some amazement. “And wow, you totally look different—you look great! These clothes, they are super nice! Where did you get them? Oh my God, I want that sweater! So they give you all nice new clothes too? Lucky you! Now I wanna work in the Palace too!”
“Gracie,” I say. “Where’s Gordie?”