Duty? Over my rotten, mangled, partially-devoured-by-green-beetles, liquefying corpse. Heat flared up her cheeks. “All?”
The woman tilted her head to the side, pushing the food around on her plate. “You don’t know? There are twenty-seven felanas in his harem. We’ve been waiting since he left. We are to bear his children.”
The noise Klym made could only be described as a snort. She’d never made that sound in her life. It sounded like a cough and a sneeze combined, it happened in the back of her throat, and it burned and boiled, just like her raging blood.
Oh, if they were back on the ship right now, she’d pick up her plate and fling it down the table like a discus. With any luck, it would land squarely between his lying eyes.
Her fingers tightened around the fork. Or maybe she’d manage to get in one good stab before he overpowered her. Right in the thigh. She would love to see his exuberant blood.
21
Those glittering eyes
TOR LOOKED down the table at Klym. Under the rosy light of the starflies, she sparkled. Golden hair and honey skin. His mother had conspired to separate them. He wouldn’t allow it to happen again.
She should be up here beside him. The ornately carved chair was enormous, intended to seat both the regio and the selissa. He considered moving her, but it wasn’t a bad idea for her to get a little space from him. Have a chance to miss him.
As he watched, she leaned in close to speak with a felana, their heads nearly touching. Bright spots of color gleamed on her cheeks, and her gaze flickered to his, bright with some emotion. He raised a brow at her in silent question.
But she shook her head slightly in a gesture that said she was fine. It made him uneasy, her discussing anything with the felanas. It would make her look weak and him look stupid if he stormed down there and moved her now.
Gaspart leaned in close and jerked his chin at him pointedly. “So, how will you begin?”
Tor wrapped his hand around the armrest. She’d find out eventually. “As regio?”
Gaspart nodded, and Tor let his gaze be dragged from Klym’s glowing face and studied him.
He stroked the plant on the table. “Who do you report to?”
Gaspart jerked a round shoulder. “You. I’m older than you, and I’m not a Prime. I was never going to be regio.”
Tor took a long sip of wine, looking around the banquet hall. Dinner on Vesta was always a celebration, one he’d missed after a decade of frozen rations. “Round up the ambassadors and officials, then. I want to meet them.”
Beating drums and spicy food. He was home indeed.
Gaspart nodded absently. “I knew you would. I set up a meeting. They’re coming here for a feast. But not for twelve days. You need to solidify yourself first. You’ve been gone a long time. The men will need to be convinced.”
Tor almost laughed. Twelve days. Klym’s last night. They’d have a celebration. And then he’d make her truly his.
He sipped his wine and watched Klym take an overlarge swig from her goblet. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes glittering. “Who do I start with?”
“You could start by fucking the woman you call wife, but isn’t.” He chomped down more elias.
Tor tapped his boot against the leg of the banquet table, and called on the same patience he’d needed when he’d had to wait on a mark. Regios’ lives were public. “What else?”
Gaspart made a face. “Windio. He is trusted. Convince him. The others will follow.”
“Set it up.”
A crafty smile played at Gaspart’s mouth. “He’s coming tomorrow.”
“Good. And contact the media. Tell them that I’m sending the felanas home to their fathers.”
His eyes narrowed, arm frozen mid-reach, elia held between his thumb and forefinger. “Can’t you just add her to the harem?”
Tor took a bite of savory meat spiced with sasprilla. It tasted like his childhood. “Argenti don’t share mates.” He narrowed his eyes. “And neither do I. So you can stop looking at her like that.”
Gaspart’s mouth tightened. “You want to piss on the Alliance. I get that. Fine. Parade around, take her touring the countryside, sing her praises, plaster her offworlder face on every digi on the planet, but if you send back those felanas, you will alienate every foreign dignitary and ally we have.”
“I can sway them.” Tor grabbed an elia for himself and tossed it into his mouth. Salty and tart. “We can end the Alliance.”
“So, it’s not about her?”
Tor smiled. “You’ve known me a long time, brother. What do you think?”
“The old Tor would have pissed on the Alliance just for shits and fucked an alien for fun. But I don’t know you anymore. Dillan wouldn’t have done this.”
Tor bared his teeth. “I’m not Dillan.”
Gaspart shook his head fast and waved a hand through the air like he was brushing the thought away.
“The Alliance can come. Let them try to take the Selissa of the Roq away. I won’t even have to fight. Every man on Vesta will do the job for me. If the Alliance can take a selissa from a regio, they can take anyone, do anything. Nothing is sacred. It would mean civil war.”
Gaspart leaned back, wiping his hands together, spraying salt and spices. “Is that what you’re after?”
He popped another elia. “Freeze exportation of grain from our farms. That grain goes to the people of Tamminia if they need it. The nobles can get on board with my plan. Or we’ll have an internal war they can’t win.”
Gaspart made a face like he was thinking it all through, all the while tapping an elia on his plate. “Tread softly. Not everyone will like you sticking your dick in their business.”
Tor leaned back and took in the banquet hall, filled with humanis, felanas, and a rare
