AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Nia smiled broadly, broadcasting to all that she was so thrilled and delighted. She leaned over the arm of the chair, crowding into his space. Baris’ posture, however, was stiff, like this was a trial. Nia fluttered her hands and tossed her head back, laughter drifting above the noise of the crowd.
Disappointment she couldn’t understand wedged itself in her chest. Baris was her friend, and he was allowed to do social things, like sitting in a private box at the theater with a pretty woman. He needed a queen. He told her as much: how the council would select suitable candidates for his consideration. This was part of the process. The further along it went, the more she’d see him with other women. She had to accept that fact.
Lenore didn’t have a claim on Baris. Too bad her twisting gut didn’t get the message. Jealousy burned in her, sour and bitter, and she didn’t like it one bit.
The lights dimmed, a hush fell over the crowd, and a figure strode out onto the stage wearing a bedsheet.
Okay, that was harsh. She didn’t know anything about fashion, on Earth or Arcos, and this was a historical play, so that was probably a historical costume. Still, it looked like a bedsheet tied around the waist with a golden cord.
Lenore didn’t follow the story. People spoke very prettily, but it was flowery and obfuscated the meaning. Context didn’t help. The actors stood stock still, only raising their arms to make a dramatic gesture between soliloquies. Then, in an unexpected burst of action, one stabbed another. Scarlet red confetti exploded from the other actor’s chest in a glittery cloud.
Lenore laughed. She shouldn’t have, but it was so ridiculous. Unfortunately, she was the only one laughing.
“What’s the matter with you?” Lydia whispered. “This is classical theater. It’s serious.”
Lenore muttered an apology and sank into her seat.
BARIS
Raelle Frostwing was a liar and a meddler. She swore no matchmaking, yet he shared the private box with her eligible granddaughter.
“Mother sends her apologies. She was not able to make it tonight. I hope you don’t mind that I took the ticket,” Nia said, dipping ever so gracefully into a curtsy.
“Not at all.” He was Raelle’s guest, after all. She was the ticket holder.
And the schemer.
He should have made some excuse and stayed in. He ignored the warning signs of a flare-up, an aching head, and trembling hands, and now his entire body ached. He felt like he was burning from the inside. The lights were too bright, and the audience too loud.
Nia prattled on about something, giving her karu an affectionate scratch under its beak as she spoke. He wasn’t listening; instead, he focused on the karu.
Soon, the lights dimmed, providing some relief. He shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable, but his skin crawled. He felt sweaty, cold, and too hot all at the same time.
He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. The play was adequate, he supposed. It was political. This particular play was always political. An egotistical queen making her children fight amongst themselves to be named her heir. In the end, the children killed each other until the queen was the only one left. How could that be anything but political?
It was ancient, written in an archaic form of the language that was nearly indecipherable to a modern speaker. Acting was stiff and wooden, if it existed at all. All ancient plays were delivered in a flat affectation as if a thousand years ago, people were automatons with no sense of humor or inflection. He couldn’t stay, obviously. If he left early, some might read deeper meaning into it.
He hated this. His condition.
Days and days would pass without an incident, sometimes weeks, long enough to convince himself that it was over, and the tremors would return without fail. Sometimes, a headache preceded the episodes, but it was unpredictable if it would be mild or something more serious, more difficult to conceal. The tremors could be minor, a shake in his hand, or they could be whole-body spasms. Fevers came and went, leaving him weak and exhausted. Pain lingered. His body was stiff, battered from constant assault.
Worse, he no longer felt like himself. His body belonged to this dying thing, the symbiote in its death throes determined to drag Baris along with it.
This was a miserable experience from beginning to end, and he had to pretend that he was immune. That he felt no pain and that he was not achingly lonely from the absence of his karu. The death of the symbiote that bonded them was the last insult, dragging out the karu’s murder into a never-ending nightmare.
This was intolerable.
“Pardon me,” he said as he lurched to his feet, gripping the back of the chair to steady himself.
“Is anything the matter?”
Rather than spout a pleasant lie that he needed air or would return shortly, he exited the box.
Kenth, the captain of his guard, waited in the corridor. “Your Majesty?” she asked, concern in her tone.
“I need—” He pointed to the facilities and stumbled through.
LENORE
