Page 23 of Into The Rift

“But why?”

“I can’t talk about it. But once again, I am not going anywhere with my parents.”

“But you were set to before all this happened.”

“Things have changed. I’m going to ask Mikol to give me asylum.”

Rakkur snorted, which I thought was totally unnecessary. “If he won’t then I’ll go elsewhere.”

“I guess you’ll have to wait for Mikol to come and talk to you then, but I don’t give you much for your chances.”

“Nonsense,” I said, swinging my legs over the side to stand up. “I’m not going to just sit here and wait around until Mikol deigns to let me know what’s going on. I’m going to go find out for myself.”

“There are Imperials outside your door. They’ll stop you.”

“I’m a royal prince and so are you. Remember what you told me about pulling rank? I’d like to see them try and stop me.”

Chapter Seven

Lord Dominiko

It was difficult to process in my mind that I was actually sitting next to Itaka and holding her tiny hand in mine, with Prince Mikol, a Tygerian royal and Colonel Tariq, of the much boasted about Imperials across from us, along with some other Tygerian officials.

This ship was so large, that when I first saw it from the viewing screens on the bridge of my ship, it had reminded me of a small space station in some ways, though of course this vessel was mobile and fully armored.

I had been brought here directly from my ship, and so far, my treatment and that of my crew had been good. So good, in fact, that I suspected a trap of some kind until I was taken into this room and saw that it actually was my grandmother, against all odds, sitting there with others of her entourage at a large conference table. I think up until that point, I still suspected some kind of trick.

It was in my nature to be suspicious—not of Itaka, though she could have been fooled into thinking she was helping me, when the opposite, in fact, might be true. But I was willing to wait and find out for sure exactly what was going on and try to reserve judgement.

Next to my grandmother sat a large, gruff man, speaking to the prince in Tygerian, though he was decidedly not one of that species. He had iron gray hair, was around middle age and had reddish colored eyes. I tuned them all out and gave my attention to my Itaka, still finding it hard to believe she was actually here, and I wasn’t dreaming. I had thought her to be a galaxy away, not gallivanting around in spaceships with a strange man who was twice her size and at least ten years her junior.

She seemed to be in excellent health, however, and very glad to see me.

“Niko,” she was saying, leaning heavily against me. Or as heavy as her slight, tiny frame permitted. “I have news and I’ve been so worried about you that I had to come find you.” She had slipped easily into speaking Touzian, her native language, and though it had been years since I’d heard it, I still understood most of what she was saying. She had spoken to me in that language when I was a child. I squeezed her hand as the big man beside her stopped talking to Prince Mikol and the others and leaned over to her.

“Speak in Tygerian, my love, so Prince Mikol can understand and not think you and your grandson are sharing secrets.”

The man spoke more softly and deferentially now that he was addressing Itaka. He was a big man, tall and heavy-set, though he seemed to be in prime physical condition. He wore expensive clothing and rich looking jewels around his throat. Power lay across him like a mantle, and the fact that he was used to being listened to whenever he spoke was apparent with his every word.

Itaka had told me he was her husband, though I still couldn’t fathom the idea. I’d thought my grandmother was still safely at her home in Touzia, in what amounted to exile, but she’d just whispered to me that she’d been living with this man—this King Anton—for some time now. The distance between Touzia and the Pton Confederacy was vast, but I had been remiss in not contacting her before this. How had so much been happening in her life and I knew nothing about any of it?

“Why have you never mentioned a word of this to me?”

“But I have, Niko. Someone must have been intercepting my messages to you,” she said, this time switching to the Pton language. “And I believe it was the emperor himself. He’s always been jealous of you.”

This prompted “the husband” to lean over again, putting his arm around her shoulders and admonishing her for a second time. “My love, you must speak in Tygerian. Prince Mikol doesn’t speak Pton.”

She turned on him so suddenly that he recoiled and fell back, quickly removing his arm from her shoulders.

“And I might remind you, Anton, that I barely speak Tygerian, so what do you propose I do?” she replied in a snappy tone that I well remembered. I was just glad she wasn’t using it on me. “Should I make hand signs to him? Use interpretive dance to speak to my grandson? Get yourself a translator in here if you need my words explained! In the meantime, do me the supreme favor of not interrupting every other word I say. It’s quite tedious. And while you’re at it, stop reclining all over me. If you’re tired, then go somewhere and rest.”

Anton, his face red with embarrassment, glanced over at Prince Mikol to gauge his reaction. He’d probably never been spoken to in such a way in his life. Or at least not since he’d met my grandmother. He should get used to it if he had plans to stay with her.

“Y-yes, of course, Itaka, my love,” he said. “I’m sorry, Your Highness. My consort is excited to see her grandson, and she’s just explained to me that she doesn’t speak your language all that well. Might we get a translator in here so she can speak to him freely and you can still understand they’re not passing secrets?”

“Yes, of course, Your Majesty,” Mikol said. “Would a Pton interpreter be acceptable? I don’t believe we have one that speaks Touzian.”

“Yes, thank you, Your Highness. And I apologize for my consort.”

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