Songs of Love and Death

I walked back and sat down next to her. Sitting this close, I could see the web of crow’s-feet around her eyes, and the two small frown lines between her brows. We were forty-four years old, and I wondered if either of us had ever known a day of unadulterated happiness.

“Has it been so bad?”

She looked down at her hand, twisted the wedding set, and finally pulled it off. It left a red indentation like a brand on her finger. “The palace makes sure his affairs are conducted discreetly, and they vet the women to make sure they aren’t reporters or working for political opponents, and thank God there have been no bastards.” She paused and gave me a rueful smile. “Unfortunately, no legitimate children either. If I don’t whelp soon, my father may remove me from the succession.”

There was a flare of heat in my chest. If she wasn’t the Infanta, wasn’t the heir, she could live as she pleased. Maybe even with a tailor’s son. There was also a bitter pleasure in learning that BoHo was sterile.

“But look at you. Captain Belmanor. How did you come by this ship?”

“I won a share of it in a card game. It seemed great at first. Then I discovered how much was still owed on the damn thing. Sometimes I think Tregillis lost deliberately.”

Mercedes laughed. She knew me too well. “Admit it. You love it. You’re a captain, you go where you please, no orders from highborn twits with more braid than brains.”

“Yes, but I wanted to stay in the navy. To prove that one of my kind could be an effective officer.”

There was a silence; then she asked, “Were you guilty?”

“No.”

“I thought not. But the evidence against you was—”

“Overwhelming. Yes. That should always be a clue that someone’s being framed.” I sat frowning, shifting through all the old hurts and injustices.

She hesitantly touched my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I thought about doing something.”

“So why didn’t you?” And I realized that I was less angry than honestly curious.

“I was afraid…”

“Of—?” She held up her hand, cutting off the rest of my question.

“There would have been whispers.” We sat silent for a few minutes. The memory of the Star Deck returned. “Have you married?” she suddenly asked, pulling me back to the present.

“No. I never met anyone I wanted to marry.”

“Liar.” Her look challenged me. I realized that our thighs were touching, shoulders brushing. Her hair was tickling my ear and cheek. She smelled of sweat and faded perfume and woman.

“Mercedes, I’m… um…”

“You saved my life,” she said softly, and she took my hand and laid it on her breast.

I jumped up and looked down at her. “No. Not because you’re grateful. That would be worse than never having you.”

“You loved me once.”

“I still do.” She had tricked me, and I had said it. I fell back on the only defense and the source of my greatest pain. “And you’re another man’s wife.”

She stood. “Damn your middle-class morality! My life has been bound by expectations, rules, and protocol. I married a man I do not love. I became a military leader because of my father’s frustration over his lack of a son. And now I’ve led my fleet to destruction, and the very thought of me and what I represent has driven the population of an entire planet to commit suicide! But I’m forced to live on with all the loss and regret. Can’t I have one moment of happiness?” The agony in her voice nearly broke my resolve.

She turned away, hiding her tears. I gently took hold of her shoulders. “See if you still feel this way after a night’s sleep. I don’t want to add to those regrets.”

I left before temptation overcame scruples.

WE TOOK THE Selkie out to an area of open space, well away from any planetary bodies in the solar system, and folded. The ports now showed the strange gray filaments, like spiderweb or gray cotton candy, which was the hallmark of traveling past light-speed. I checked the watch implanted in the weave of my shirt. Midafternoon. I decided to check on Mercedes. There was no response to my gentle knock. Concerned, I slipped into the cabin and found her asleep, but there were traces of tears on her cheeks. She murmured disconsolately and her fingers plucked at the sheets. Feeling like a voyeur, I quietly left.

And was caught by Baca, who with unaccustomed seriousness said, “I was thinking about saying a Kaddish for the people, but I realized it was more Masada than Holocaust, and then I had to wonder if it was a righteous choice. To die rather than submit. Is that noble, or is it more noble to survive and persevere? What do you think?”

I looked at this stranger in Baca’s body, and tried to compose an answer. We had stood at the edge of a massive graveyard, and I couldn’t grasp it. All I knew was that this burden of guilt rested on the shoulders of the woman I loved. I couldn’t do anything for the battle group or for Kusatsu-Shirane, but maybe I could do something for Mercedes.

She joined us that evening for supper. With Mercedes, it was a tight fit around the small table in the mess, but we all squeezed in. Jahan had prepared a slow-simmered stew of rehydrated vegetables and lamb for the omnivores, and there was a vegetarian dish for Dalea and Jax. Like all Isanjo food, it was highly spiced, so I drank more beer than normal. Perhaps it was due more to sitting so close to Mercedes.

Once the plates were cleared, Melin brought me a reader. I was embarrassed to display this silly ship custom in front of Mercedes. I hedged. “I don’t remember where we were.”

“The chapter entitled ‘Wayfarers All,’ page 159, second paragraph,” Jax offered helpfully. I mentally cursed the creature for its perfect recall.

“What is this?” Mercedes asked.

“We read aloud after the final meal of the day,” Jahan said. “Each one of us picks a book from our species. You never really know a culture until you’ve heard their poetry and read their great literature.”

“An interesting way to spread understanding,” Mercedes said thoughtfully.

“Yes, you don’t allow it in your human schools and universities,” Dalea said.

Mercedes blushed and I glared at the Hajin.

“And what human book did you select?” Mercedes hurriedly asked me, to cover the awkward moment.

“The Wind in the Willows.”

Mercedes shifted her chair so she could better see me. “Please, do read.”

I was embarrassed, and cleared my throat several times before starting, but after a few sentences, the soft magic of the story and the music of the words made me forget my special listener.

“She will clothe herself with canvas; and then, once outside, the sounding slap of great green seas as she heels to the wind, pointing South! And you, you will come too, young brother; for the days pass, and never return, and the South still waits for you. Take the Adventure, heed the call, now ere the irrevocable moment passes!” My voice cracked on the final words. I coughed and reached for my beer and finished off the last sip. “That’s all the voice I have tonight,” I said.

There were a few groans of disappointment, but the party broke up, some of the crew to return to the bridge, others to their cabins to sleep. I escorted Mercedes back to the cabin.

We stopped at the door, and an awkward silence fell over us both. “I’ve slept a night,” she finally said quietly.

My collar suddenly grabbed my throat. I ran a finger around it. “Ah… yes, you have.”

“I believe I’ll take the wayfarer’s advice,” she murmured, and she kissed me.

I had enough wit, barely, to lock the door behind us.

LATER, WE LAY in the narrow bed. I liked that it was narrow. It meant that she had to stay close. Her head was on my shoulder, and I twined a strand of her hair through my fingers. I was very aware of the scent of Mercedes—the deep musk of our sex mingling, the spice and pine smell of her hair—her breath, which seemed to hold a hint of vanilla. I kissed her long and deep, then pulled back and smacked my lips.

“What?”

“You taste like vanilla too,” I answered. She blushed. It was adorable. She ran a hand through my dishwater