Picking up a silver box that resembles a viewfinder, I put it to my eyes, pressing the button. A click sounds and dust flashes in my eyes. Feeling blinded, I pull it back from my face and glance in the mirror. The viewfinder has applied some make-up to my eyes. Studying the viewfinder, I gasp as the door opens and Trey frowns at me.
He pulls me gently from the bathroom. “Kricket, this is the lavare and this,” he steers me to a door next to it, pressing the button on the frame to open it, “is the commodus. What happened to your eyes, they’re all red?” he asks, still looking irritated.
“I think I was supposed to close my eyes before I pushed the button on this thingy…” I hand the automatic make-up artist to him. Entering the commodus and finding a toilet, I quickly close the door and use it. Flushing the toilet, an automated feminine voice speaks to me from above, “You are calcium deficient. Please acquire a calcium supplement at the commissary.”
“That’s totally creepy,” I breathe, washing my hands. Rewrapping the towel around me, I step out of the commodus, finding Trey already dressed in his uniform again.
“I’ve ordered you some clothes,” he says, eyeing my towel.
“How?”
“Com link,” he states, pointing toward the door.
“Of course,” I reply, trying to cover my ignorance.
“Here,” Trey hands me a paper-thin square.
I look at it in the palm of my hand and don’t know what it’s for. “Thanks, you shouldn’t have gotten me this cute, little piece of paper. I didn’t get you anything.”
“Just eat the calcium, please,” he says, ignoring my sarcasm.
“Oh, you heard that?” I’m embarrassed that my calcium deficiency was broadcast by a creepy fem-bot.
“I’m a chameleon. I’m always listening.” A reluctant smile twists his lips.
I smile, too. “I’m rubbing off on you.”
“You’re doing something to me,” he agrees. “Kricket, I—” he begins to say something, but the door opens while a Comantre soldier waits outside the entrance to our room. Trey retrieves a package from him, bringing it to me as the door closes behind him again.
“Here, Kricket,” he says, handing me clothes bundled in tissue paper.
Taking the clothes from him, my fingers dance over the soft, silky fabric. “It’s been a long time since anyone has bought me clothes,” I murmur, hugging them to me. “I’ll pay you back.” I hate the thought of owing anyone anything and I especially hate the thought of owing Trey anything.
“You’re my consort,” Trey says, giving me a meaningful look. “What’s mine is yours.”
I close my eyes briefly, knowing I just messed up. “Of course,” I reply, trying to cover up for my slip. Tentatively, I rise up on my tiptoes and give him a light kiss on the cheek. “Thank you.”
Turning, I go to the lavare to change. After I unwrap the package, I lift a pair of form fitting black pants and hold them up to me. As I pull them on, they fit as if they’re tailored to my exact measurements. Next, I slip on an ultra-stiff, white cami with built-in support that has a corset-like feel to it. It pushes everything in and up, making my curves even more dangerous. A long, tailored white jacket is included. It has two rows of black buttons down the front and a slim black belt at my waist; the collar is straight and stiff, reaching to just below my ears. There is a cowl-like hood that can be worn to cover my hair.
Looking at myself in the mirror, I whisper to my reflection, “Who are you?” because I look urban glam. Leaving the hood down, I brush my hair again before stepping out of the lavare.
“Who’s this?” Jax asks when he sees me. His eyes scan me like he’s never seen me before.
“They let you out!” I say, seeing Wayra next to him as he studies me, too.
“Kitten, we’ll be able to leave soon,” Trey says, using his nickname for me to remind me that we’re still being monitored. “The consulate has stepped in to facilitate replacing your lost identification. They’ve sent an escort.”
“That was fast,” I murmur, feeling goose bumps rise on my arms.
“Yes, it was very quick,” Trey agrees, looking concerned.
“I had expected it would take longer. We must be very lucky,” I add, thinking of all the bureaucratic red tape humans have to juggle when creating new documentation for someone.
“We’re more important than we thought,” Trey’s reply makes me shiver.
Gideon arrives then, stepping into the room and saying, “Well, everything checks out now. Your escorts from the consulate have arrived with your identification, Kricket.” He hands me tags with my assumed name and numbers on them. Holding them in my fist, I smile, feeling my heart racing. “Your father must be a very powerful man in Rafe to have expedited all of this.”
“He is,” I agree, feeling my hands shake, “very powerful.”
Gideon smiles at me, nodding. Trey intervenes then, “Remember, Gideon, if you’re ever in the Valley of Thistle, please visit my family. Just ask for Trey Allairis.”
“Yes, I’ll do that, many thanks, Trey. And by the way, I was wrong. You’re a very fortunate Etharian,” Gideon says with a smirk. “Well, this way then.” Seeing Gideon smile at me, I blush, thinking maybe he was listening to us in the shower.
As we’re led from the room, Gideon shows us to a cavernous main lobby that’s bigger and more ornate than Union Station. Amid all the chaos of really tall people going about their business, five elegantly uniformed men with dark hair and violet eyes stand by the outer doors, waiting silently for us to come to them.
“Regent secret police,” Wayra whispers to Jax. “What are they doing here?” he asks grimly.
“I don’t know,” Jax whispers back. “They look like a bunch of knob knockers to me.”
“Shouldn’t they have sent more Cavars? Why do I feel like I’m about to deliver a sloat to the butcher?”
They look as ominous as crows to me. Their tunic-like uniforms are black emblazoned with a gray shield. An intricate, violet saer on his hind legs breathing fire is embroidered on the shield.
Feeling someone take my hand, I look down to see Trey’s warm fingers entwined in mine. He squeezes them gently, but he’s looking straight ahead at the men by the door. As we approach them, they all go down on one knee, using a sweeping arm gesture before rising again. The slender one in the middle says, “Trey and Kricket Allairis. We’re here to escort you back to Rafe. Your transport is just outside.”
“Fine,” Trey says in a dismissive tone, walking right by them and ushering me through the doors. Just outside the doors, in a diplomatic parking area, sit two gleaming, white crafts that resemble smaller versions of Stealth Fighters.
Ushering me to one, Trey places his hand on the small of my back as I climb the stairs. Inside, the cabin looks like a posh living room equipped with sofas and large recliners. Trey leads me to a seat near a window. I sink into the large chair and Trey sits next to me.
Pulling out his communicator thingy, Trey begins barking weird words into it, like a code. Then he says, “Ateur Victus Allairis, message: Need to speak with you. Urgent. Contact immediately.”