Chapter Fifty: A Quiet Dinner and Lingering Shadows
Chapter Fifty: A Quiet Dinner and Lingering Shadows
The dining hall was warm, flickering with soft bioluminescent lights suspended in floating glass orbs above them. A long table stretched down the middle, adorned with silver-edged platters of roasted meats, glazed root vegetables, and elegantly folded napkins shaped like sea lilies. Everything smelled faintly of clove and citrus.
Kehan raised his goblet of shimmerwine toward the trio seated with him. “To new ventures and recycled allegiances,” he grinned, “and to Prince Axirlon’s very real, very intact face.”
Rexan quirked an eyebrow. Greon just gave a gruff sound, busy stabbing a roasted clump of something vaguely tuber-shaped.
Axir allowed a small smile to break through as he lifted his glass. “And to our generous host for the hospitality—and the sarcasm.”
“Oh, the sarcasm comes free of charge,” Kehan quipped. “The wine? Not so much.”
They drank, and for a moment, the room was filled only with the sounds of clinking utensils and low, pleasant chatter.
Kehan dabbed at the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “Now, down to business before we’re all too full to walk straight. I’ve been instructed—quite insistently—to take you to the Miralay Vaults the day after tomorrow. Think of it as Nimoa’s version of a showroom. Rows of elegant, wildly overpriced prototypes and old trade secrets brought out just for our finest… ‘clients’.”
Rexan leaned back, skeptical. “You expect us to believe you’d show us anything with real value?”
Kehan looked offended—mostly in jest. “My dear Commander, would I ever withhold treasures from guests so charming?”
“You’d definitely hike the price just to watch us squirm,” Greon muttered into his plate.
Kehan raised his glass again. “Now that’s the spirit.”
Axir cleared his throat softly. “We appreciate the gesture. I’m looking forward to seeing what your vaults hold.”
“And I,” Kehan replied with an exaggerated bow, “am looking forward to impressing you.”
They lingered for a while longer, trading light conversation and subtle jabs. The tension that followed them into the estate hadn’t entirely lifted, but for tonight, it was dulled—wrapped in good food and the illusion of civility.
Eventually, Axir rose. “Thank you, Kehan. I’ve enjoyed tonight’s dinner. But I think we’ll turn in early. We have much to prepare before the tour.”
Kehan stood as well. “Of course. Rest well, High Prince. I’ll be retiring early myself—age is cruel to bones like mine.”
Axir gave him a polite nod before turning toward the corridor. Rexan and Greon followed, exchanging a brief glance between them.
Kehan remained behind just long enough to see them disappear around the corner.
A few minutes later, Kehan knocked lightly on a carved wooden door at the end of a quiet hallway. It opened slowly to reveal Vorkesh, seated near the window, propped up with pillows. His bruises had faded, but shadows lingered under his eyes.
“Well, don’t you look marginally less like death,” Kehan said, stepping inside.
Vorkesh gave a weak smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Kehan moved to the side table and poured him a glass of water, setting it within reach. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” Vorkesh said, flexing one hand. “The aches are dull now. Bones knitting.”
Kehan nodded thoughtfully. “Do you have any plans once you’re back on your feet?”
Vorkesh’s eyes flicked to him, calm but guarded. “My subordinate is en route. Once they arrive, we’ll be on our way.”
Kehan took a long breath. “Good. I’d rather not host uninvited guests longer than needed.”
Vorkesh dipped his head slightly. “And I appreciate your hospitality, even if it’s reluctantly given.”
Kehan turned toward the door. “Then rest up. Heal faster. And try not to start any secret uprisings in my courtyard.”
Vorkesh chuckled faintly. “No promises.”
Kehan slipped out and walked slowly through the silent estate. His feet, instead of carrying him toward his chamber, veered toward the nearest outer terrace.
The air was cooler outside, tinged with the earthy scent of the orchard groves. In the distance, parked discreetly near the outer walls, was the Zytherion ship. Its hull glimmered darkly under the estate lights, matte and silent—but it felt alive somehow, like it was watching him.
He stood there, arms folded behind his back, a slow unease settling in his chest.
Something didn’t sit right. It had been nagging him ever since Axir arrived. Not their mission. Not the overly professional behavior of his guards. But something… more delicate. Something unseen.
He stared at the ship, his brow furrowing.
Who did you bring with you, Axirlon?
He couldn’t shake the feeling that someone—something—important remained inside that ship. Not a weapon. Not a spy. But something far more dangerous in a different way.
He told himself it was probably nothing. Just a diplomat’s gut talking. But the feeling lingered like smoke.
Maybe it was time he asked Axir to allow him a tour of the ship. Just to satisfy curiosity, of course. Just to admire the famed Zytherion technology.
And maybe… to find out who he really brought to Nimoa.