It was a relief to know that she could count on her brother at a time like this. There had been moments, in the years since they’d lost both their parents, when she’d felt alone.
“How long will you be away, Auntie Jen?”
Jenna turned to her six-year-old niece, Beatrix. “I don’t know, sweetheart,” she replied, grateful to change the subject. “It depends on how long it takes to negotiate something both parties are happy with.”
Bea stared up at her, blue eyes wide. The stark overhead lights inside the landing bay made the girl’s pale skin seem almost translucent against her curly black hair. “Can I come?”
Jenna moved closer to her niece and hunkered down so she was at eye level with her. Maybe Jenna had once been excited about voyages—she couldn’t remember what she’d been like at six—but she’d long since lost her enthusiasm for space travel. Takeoff and the jump into hyperspace always left her feeling sick, and staring out at the emptiness beyond the windows was unnerving. As determined as she was to conduct successful negotiations, she wasn’t looking forward to the journey to Aura Terminal.
“Of course, you can’t, Bea,” she replied softly. “But I need someone to look after Daisy while I’m away … can you do that?”
Bea’s expression was a blend of pleased—for she didn’t yet have a droid of her own—and disgruntled. “I suppose so.”
Jenna enfolded her niece in a hug and then rose to her feet, nodding to Cathal. “Time to go.”
“Have a safe journey, Jen.” Isla stepped up next to her daughter. Reaching out, she took Jenna’s hand, squeezing firmly. “And may the Gods favor your negotiations.”
A rueful smile curved Jenna’s mouth. “They’d better.”
“Keep me updated.” Her brother’s expression was serious now. “I’ll want a daily report.” His brow furrowed then. “Don’t let them push you into anything.”
“I won’t,” she assured him. Part of the difficulty in the coming negotiations wouldn’t just be dealing with the Mir-Lelith ambassador’s demands, but her brother’s. Cathal didn’t like to compromise. “Don’t worry. When any decisions must be made, I will consult you first.”
Her brother’s face relaxed just a little before he reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. “If anyone can negotiate this ceasefire, it’s you.”
Captain Malik Mir-Draven watched the ambassador step away from her brother and his wife and continue toward the shuttle.
The clan-lord’s sister was usually difficult to read, yet not so this morning. He’d noted the flush upon her face, her rapid breathing, when he’d fetched Lady Jenna from her quarters—and upon hearing that she was leaving her husband, he now knew why.
The news shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did. The ruling-class often married for political reasons rather than love. Seeing Lady Jenna and her husband together of late, the tension between the couple was clear. However, this decision would have political ramifications.
Pelicon Mir-Barus bowed as the ambassador approached the ramp, the loose wattles that hung from his long neck swaying. “Good morning, Lady Jenna.”
She favored him with a tight smile. “Greetings, Pelicon … and sorry for keeping you waiting.”
“No apology is needed, My Lady.” The ambassador’s aide paused then before gesturing to Malik. “Captain Malik will be leading your security team on this mission.”
Lady Jenna glanced Malik’s way before giving a stiff nod. “Captain.”
“Your Excellency.” Was he imagining it, or had the news he’d be leading her security team displeased the ambassador? He couldn’t understand why. The pair of them barely had anything to do with each other.
In the fifteen years he’d served the Mir-Brennan ruling family, this was the first time Malik had ever accompanied the clan-lord’s sister on a diplomatic mission. This wasn’t his choice now either—for his place was at Cathal’s side—but the clan-lord had insisted.
Malik stepped back to allow the ambassador to climb the ramp into the shuttle.
Back ramrod straight, her chin held high, Lady Jenna carried a bag slung across her front and pulled a small, gilded suitcase behind her. She took two steps up the ramp and tripped over the hem of her flowing ambassadorial robes.
In an instant, Malik was there, catching her before she sprawled face-first across the shuttle’s entranceway. Gloved hand closing around her upper arm, he hauled Lady Jenna upright, while he caught her suitcase with his free hand. She staggered, falling back against him—and a sweet, spicy scent wrapped itself around him.
Malik stiffened, taken aback.
Desert Rose. It was the perfume of Idral, yet a scent he associated with the pleasure houses in Melor, the busy port town twenty klicks from Mir-Brennan Tower. Not with a noblewoman.
Not with Jenna Mir-Brennan.
Even so, he dragged the scent deep into his lungs. It brought back memories of his early childhood, of his mother—and of the narrow alleyways of Melor, where he’d run wild.
“Careful, Your Excellency,” he said, gently pushing her upright.
