Page 9
Once the announcement’s ending chime echoed, Roy exhaled and rubbed his hands together, resisting the urge to pick at the sensitive skin around his nails. It had been over a decade since he’d heard a warning like this.
Scratching his hairline, he opened the filter bar and typed the keyword: Eiden.
Four days had passed since Cal had fully recovered—four days spent pacing, talking to his bracelet, the agitation mounting with each call. Roy had expected a quick rescue mission, some other blue-haired aristocrats landing on Pyraxis to save the poor nobles, stranded in a seaweed harvester’s run-down home.
But none came.
Roy didn’t want to pry. Gossip had never been his cup of tea. But curiosity grew stronger with each day, and he figured that listening to public information on the interstellar broadcast couldn’t be impolite.
The first piece of news came. “The Emperor Consort has anointed new recruits today.”
Roy frowned, unable to see how that information related to the preset filter. He jammed his knife into the sharpener. Its high-pitched whine almost drowned the rest of the headline.
“He refused to comment further on possible involvement in the Eiden revolution.”
Ah, that’s why. Roy arranged the dried seaweed into one line and lifted the knife. The sharp blade sliced into the dark green strands, cutting off bite-sized squares.
The stream jumped to the next transmitter. “First Chairman of Eiden, Comrade Neval, in interview—now live!”
Whoever Comrade Neval was, he definitely possessed the smoothest voice Roy had ever heard, the type that carried natural authority and enchanted crowds.
“Glory to the people,” the comrade said. “Thank you for the opportunity to talk galaxy-wide.”
“We’re honoured to have you here. Now, would you perhaps address the rumours first?”
“I assume that would be the Crown Prince’s destiny?”
“Precisely.”
“Let me start by saying that it pains me that the spotlight still shines on the royal family. We should focus on the people of Eiden and their fight for equality.” The speakers crackled with a loud intake of breath. “But to answer your question—the crew of V-20A is presumed dead, including Caelestian. The last message the ship sent was before entering the atmosphere of a remote dwarf planet, Pyraxis.”
“Are you sending an investigation team?”
“No,” the comrade snapped. “I believe the tax money of our people can be spent more wisely than that. Such a mission would be incredibly expensive, especially without diplomatic ties to the planet.”
“Does that mean your betrothal is now officially annulled?”
“Of course. Don’t get me wrong, I mourn Caelestian deeply. Had he listened…”
Roy switched the stream to space shanties. He’d heard enough to paint a picture he’d been suspecting, and listening further seemed like spying on his guest. Had Cal wanted, he’d tell Roy the details himself.
Tapping his foot, he whistled along to the well-known tale of a mechanic who got drunk in the engine room and fell asleep with his cheek pressed to the shielding plate. Absurd for most listeners, but Roy had known a guy back in the army who still walked the planet with a bald patch on his head.
Two knocks landed on the workshop’s door. “Roy?”
Roy smoothed down his jacket. “Come in.”
Cal slipped inside, back in his jumpsuit, as if he’d noticed how Roy flinched every time he wore the borrowed clothes. His hair had turned wavy, coiled at the ends, perhaps an effect of the humidity from the sea. “Are you busy?”
“No,” Roy lied. He’d missed his vending slot yesterday. In the whirl of events in the past few days, he hadn’t prepared enough seaweed packs—something that hadn’t happened in a decade. “What’s up?”
“Well, I’ve contacted all the family I could think of, and…” His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Nobody’s willing to take us in. There’s just one distant aunt left, who’s apparently on a retreat somewhere, and I can’t reach her.”
“I’m sorry.” Roy considered reaching out to offer a hug, but brushed the idea aside.
“Yeah, um… I know we’ve been overstaying our welcome, and I’m truly sorry. But would you be so kind as to give me a few more days until I sort it out?”
“Stay as long as you need,” Roy said, returning to his seaweed-cutting duties.
