Page 1 of Needed in the Night
CHAPTER 1
ISLA
“I cannot do this,”my companion said, her voice so wispy I had to strain to hear her. “I cannot.”
“Yes, you can,” I countered, also in an undertone.
Our footsteps echoed off the marble floors and walls as we made our way along the palace hallway toward the back stairs. The air reeked of wealth and privilege: the heavy fabric of fine tapestries, bouquets of flowers replaced daily to fill the halls with cloying perfume, purified air so no offending plebeian odors from outside the palace walls reached our noses. My skin crawled with the vulgarity of it all.
“Keep your head high and smile,” I reminded the woman at my side. “We’re going to get some food from the kitchen and then we’re going to your theater to rehearse, the same as we’ve done every morning for the past two weeks. Nothing’s different about today, at least as far as anyone besides us is concerned.”
In reality, today would be life-changing. Today—in the next ten minutes or so, in fact—we would either walk out of this palace and board a cargo transport bound for a distant planet,or face execution. Given the Erotovo’s brutality, there really was no third option.
“Ninety-nine percent of success is looking confident,” I added. “Even when you’re not.”
Orespeciallywhen you’re not, I thought, but didn’t say. Because the woman at my side was hanging on by a thread already.
Beautiful Novee, a long-limbed Tivoran zero-G dancer whose lithe body could take shapes and transform in midair in ways my humble human body could only dream of, took a deep breath. She plastered a performer’s smile on her face, but her cerulean skin had a sheen of perspiration that sparkled in the mid-morning sunlight streaming through the tall windows lining the hall.
Novee wasn’t the only one of us projecting calm she didn’t have. My stomach had been roiling from the moment I woke up this morning. Adrenaline? The Ngaran moth soup from last night’s banquet? Or were my instincts trying to tell me something?
Whatever the reason for my fluttery insides, it didn’t matter. Wheels were in motion, the ship delivering supplies to the palace was on the landing pad, its crew were ready for us, and there was no turning back.
Novee deserved freedom. I’d looked myself in the eye in the mirror yesterday and sworn last night was her final one in this gilded hellhole.
As long as palace guards didn’t suddenly block our path, or my shadowbat didn’t tell me to run for it, or Novee didn’t lose her courage, we were all right. We just had to make it to the end of this hallway, down the stairs, through the kitchens, and out to the cargo carrier. That was four things. We could do four things, one step at a time.
I took deep breaths to slow my heart rate, checked my datapad, frowned as if concerned about the day’s schedule, andresisted the urge to put a comforting hand on Novee's arm or back.
Forcing myself to appear uncaring was tough but necessary. The Web had inserted me into the palace household as Novee's chaperone and personal assistant after my handler had arranged for her previous one to suddenly find more lucrative employment elsewhere. I wasn’t Novee’s confidant or friend, at least as far as the Erotovo or his staff were concerned. Novee was the Erotovo’s possession, and possessions didn’t get to have friends. They didn’t get comforting touches. I knew that better than most.
I flexed my fingers and kept walking toward the beautifully etched floor-to-ceiling mirror near the stairway.
My own tastes were simple, so I hardly recognized myself in a floor-length green gown with the enormous and very impractical puffed sleeves popular in the Erotovo’s court. I’d also styled my shoulder-length dark brown hair according to his preferences, in a halo of curls pinned back from my face with clips. I hated this version of myself for how well I blended in with the Erotovo’s entourage.
As necessary as it was to wear these clothes and style myself to suit a cruel despot, I drew the line at jeweled dermal piercings in my face and upper chest. Those were popular in the court and among Ngaran aristocracy and their servants, but to me it was a sign of ownership and I couldn’t bear it, even as part of a disguise.
While my skirts rustled and my shoes made sharp staccato sounds as I walked, Novee moved silently. The very tall and willowy Tivoran woman with long, almost translucent hair wore a skintight, silver-blue bodysuit and slippers designed for practicing her artistry in the zero-gravity theater the Erotovo had built for her.
As much as he clearly enjoyed filling his palace with elegant people wearing the latest and most ostentatious fashions, theErotovo required Novee to wear dancer’s clothing at all times. It permitted him to always see her not as a person, not as Novee, but ashis dancer—and as a bonus, she could hide nothing in the suit, especially weapons.
Today she’d be leaving the palace with nothing but the clothes on her back. I wondered if she’d destroy this suit the moment she had something else to wear. I would, if I were in her slippers.
In fact, Ihaddone so, once upon a time, when it was me being secretly escorted out of my pretty prison by a mysterious operative who’d appeared in my life suddenly, and vanished just as quickly once I’d made it to safety. I’d never known her real name, just as Novee would never know mine. To her and the palace staff, I was Halena Onsulus, a hardworking recent arrival from Havel Prime with a long set of references and haughty demeanor that had led the Erotovo’s chief of staff to hire me almost instantly in the wake of my predecessor’s abrupt departure.
Two palace guards emerged from the east stairwell just before we reached it. Novee's breath hitched.
“Madame,” the taller one said to me, inclining his head. “It is a good morning.”
They didn’t acknowledge my companion at all. That was the safest choice. The Erotovo was a jealous owner.
“Masters,” I said coolly, dipping in a tiny curtsy without missing a step.
From my first hour in the palace, I had established myself as not one for chatting with other staff. Feigning extreme aloofness meant my days were lonely, but the fewer interactions I had with others, the easier it was to play my role without arousing suspicion.
Today we definitely didn’t have time for delays. Timing was crucial. Our extraction had to go like clockwork, or it wouldn’t go at all.
As the guards continued down the hall, the shorter one muttered, “Frigid bitch.”
