VelShaan caught her breath. “VelRauthi,” she whispered.
Ronan retreated to the back of his cell and turned his body toward the wall. Her violation was as nothing to what he had endured on Aitu, but for a time he had thought her better than the Kinsmen who had selected him for murder.
“I’m sorry, Ronan,” she said, and silently walked away.
He hissed shaauri laughter and dropped his head to his knees.
Cynara walked up to the first palace checkpoint as if she were on official business, flashing her pass with the easy confidence of one who expected immediate admittance.
The woman on duty examined her and the card and called a superior, who duly sent another guard to conduct Cynara past two more checkpoints and to a third, where he put in another call. Fifteen minutes later, a uniformed attendant led her to a public antechamber in an outer wing and asked her to wait.
She waited, reviewing the events that had led her to return to Persephone with such haste. After Charis’s stunning revelation of Ronan’s trespass into engineering, Cynara had ordered the Pegasus back to Persephone. She had struggled with her anger and despair and overcome them, keeping her deepest fears to herself.
There had been no question of what must be done. Whatever his purpose—even if he had taken nothing, as the evidence suggested—Ronan had deceived her and the crew, and she had to face him down and demand the truth.
Curious that she had considered the personal first—confronting him, not immediately reporting his actions to Lord Miklos or, God forbid, Janek.
God forbid she would have to admit Janek was right all along. Once she’d seen Ronan and looked into his eyes, she would know. Then no more secrets, no more protecting the man Miklos had dared to suggest she loved.
At this moment she hated Ronan more than she had loved anything in her life.
She sprang to her feet and paced the length of the antechamber twenty times before another clerk led her into a small office, where she presented her full credentials and repeated the urgent need to speak to Lord Miklos Challinor on a matter of Concordat security. More calls, more waiting, and finally an official-looking and dignified personage appeared to conduct her into the heart of the palace.
But it was not Lord Miklos who met her. It was Janek—dressed with elegant simplicity in tunic and trousers, less arrogant and more confident than she could ever remember seeing him aboard the Pegasus. The office he occupied might have belonged to a prince.
“Captain D’Accorso,” he said formally. “I am surprised to see you returned so quickly. I understand there is an urgent matter you wish to discuss.”
“It was because of this urgent matter that I came back,” she said. “I would like to speak with Lord Miklos.”
“I’m afraid that isn’t possible at the moment.” He picked up a stylus and tapped it on the desk. “You may tell me, and I will inform Lord Miklos when he is available.”
Cynara clenched her teeth and held on to her patience. “In that case, I must speak to Ronan.”
He smiled briefly, freezing her blood. “That is also not possible. You see, Ronan is in custody for the attempted murder of the Archon.”
“What?”
If he took satisfaction in her stunned disbelief, he had enough courtesy to hide it. “It’s quite true, Captain.” He dropped the stylus. “Is the Pegasus in orbit?”
She swallowed. “I sent the ship back to Dharma without me.”
“Then your news must be urgent indeed. What is it?”
She’d been wrong before in thinking she hated Ronan more than anything or anyone else. “I think I’ll wait for Lord Miklos, Janek,” she said, “even if I have to sleep in your office.”
“I trust you don’t hope to win Ronan’s freedom,” Janek remarked. “Now that he has proven himself a traitor and assassin—”
“It hasn’t been proven to me,” she said, contradicting her own furious doubts. “Or, I presume, to a court of law.”
“We shall see. Oh, and to spare you any future embarrassment, I should inform you that my name is not Phineas Janek.”