“You’re up early.”
I startled, swinging around in a circle to identify the source’s location. I found Elliot sitting to my right.
“What are you doing here?”
“Sleeping. Or I was.”
“On Klara’s couch?”
“Technically I think this is Captain Lind’s couch,” he said. “I wanted to stay close for Evy. How is she doing?”
“Last I saw her, she was sleeping. And it’s not like you checked on her last night.” I frowned. Elliot might have disavowed any feelings for Carina last night during the space walk, but he’d cracked a joke when I’d mentioned Klara. My stomach turned at the thought of the two of them together.
“And what are you doing out here?”
“I need coffee. We’re out.”
“Good thing the Linds have more than enough of everything.”
I raised a brow at the unusually cutting remark but didn’t respond.
“Elliot, I think I figured out—Oh.” Nora stopped short of the doorway that led to the dining room, two cups of coffee in hand. One for her, one for Elliot? “Hi, Leo.”
“Leo was looking for coffee,” Elliot filled in.
“Here, you can have this one.” Nora closed the distance between us, offering me one of the cups. She kept her gaze angled toward the floor.
“No, I couldn’t. That’s yours. Besides, I was going to grab a bag, replenish our stock.”
“But—” Nora shoved the cup my way again, shooting a glance over at Elliot, as if he could help.
“I’ll just go do that, leave you two to it.” I was already on my way to the door before I was done speaking. If I stayed any longer, I’d blurt something unkind. Questions. Accusations.
Suddenly I remembered something Nora had said to me the night of the opening ball and the terrorist attack. A “friend” had brought her champagne. Elliot had come back into the royal private public quarters from this direction. And Father had been fussing about champagne going missing. And then just the other night, Elliot had paid extra attention to Nora at the below-decks party, dancing with her.
I rushed into the darkness of the Linds’ supply cupboard, which was actually its own room, for all the supplies they kept. But that was neither here nor there. I hated the way my blood thrummed faster, how upset the prospect of Elliot and Nora made me. Elliot and anyone. I was a mess.
I needed to get back on mission. Scanning the shelves, I finally found the coffee supply, which wasn’t in its usual spot. They were down to only three canisters, and I felt bad taking one, but needs must. Odd, given that they usually had at least ten stocked at all times.
Ding-ding.
My wrist tab pinged with an incoming message. I pulled it up. It was an infuriatingly dry form response from the office of Miranda Fairfax, full of Thank you for your inquiries and Ms. Fairfax offers select walk-in hours. No indication that an actual human had read my words or given a shit. I almost fired off a snippy response but just stopped myself. I’d have to dig more, ask around, and try to get Miranda’s personal-message details. Going via her office just wasn’t getting me anywhere.
Then came a message from Carina.
Where are you? Evgenia’s throwing up again. Need to take her to med bay.
I pushed aside my questions—and dreams of a hot cup of coffee anytime soon—and sprang into action as I always did. As my aunt had said, I was reliable to a fault.
After rallying a grumpy doctor to work, I dropped Evgenia off at the med bay to rehydrate, at her insistence. I had tried to stay with her, entertain her through the boredom of being hooked up to an IV drip, but her want won out over mine. Evgenia was quite someone to engage in a battle of wills with. Besides, I was uncaffeinated and thus not at my best.
By the time I returned to our apartment, Father was up and had brewed coffee. Nothing was said about where the new canister might have magically appeared from. I didn’t press it, just poured myself a generous cup.
“What’s on the Valg agenda for today?” His tone was suspiciously light, too pointedly neutral.
“I don’t know,” I said with a protracted sigh. “Despite two days without anything on the official roster, I’ve been out with Klara and the gang the past two nights. I’m exhausted.” I could play the passive-aggressive game too, show him I’d been trying.
Father frowned. “That group hardly counts. No one there for you, is there?”
“Lukas was there the other night,” I snapped defensively, immediately regretting it as Father lit up with interest.
“Oh, the Hagens are a fine family. Very wealthy.” He always got to the heart of the matter. “Still, you mustn’t put all your eggs in one basket. Check today’s schedule. Go ahead.”
Too tired to adequately protest, I pulled up my tab and dutifully did so. “There is a wine-and-painting event this afternoon,” I read off. “I’ll pass.”
“No, no, go. Take Carina. Cultured boys will be there.”
“Dad,” I ground out.
“Don’t try me, Leonie. You need to make an effort. No resting on laurels. You have less than three weeks left, and that’s not a lot of time for you.”
“What do you mean, for me?”
“Don’t read into it—”
“What, you mean that I need more time to get some hapless fool to agree to marry me because I’m so difficult to like?”
“We both know you’re prickly.”
“Dad!”
“Your mother was just the same. Very passionate. Chatty. An acquired taste.”
I rolled my eyes. How dare a woman speak her mind? And Carina prattled on just as much as I did, just about innocuous things, like parties and people in our social circles.
“Speaking of your mother,” he continued, “I didn’t see you bring on board her prize dress collection. You girls will be needing those for the Valg Ball. Everyone will be there, and I want my girls looking their best. To be perfectly frank, I’m a bit shocked you left them on the Sofi for those renters of yours to get their hands on. My crown jewels, too. What if they steal them?”
“They’re not going to steal them,” I scolded. “I couldn’t possibly realistically bring every single one of our possessions over here for just a four-week stay. The jewels are in the safe, and Mom’s gowns are in storage. I’ll get them this week, though, if you’re really worried.”
Father nodded, frowning seriously. Then he handed me his tab. “Read that, from today’s Tribune. So you understand how serious this is.”
As my eyes scanned the words on the screen, I felt the blood drain from my face. There had been an amendment to the proposed usefulness measure. Private ships were to meet a wealth threshold or else be decommissioned and used for scrap. It was a preemptive measure as our fleet neared its two-hundredth year and several ships were beginning to seriously wear. The vote would be held next month, just in time for the Valg Season’s end. So now there was a real expiration date—I needed to either patent and license my filtration system and thus become useful, or marry rich.
“So you and Carina will be attending the sip-and-paint event?” Father asked innocently, and I just nodded.