I wake to more pain than I have felt since the Xzerg wars, and for a moment my brain thinks that I am back there, the timelines crossing over in my head. I remember blood slipping through my hands, lying on a stretcher while one of my small squad puts pressure on the wound. There is a still a map of scarring along the joint, the pattern like a net meant to hold it in place. For what seems like a long time, I open my eyes periodically to see only a darkened room, or the blur of a doctor standing over me, flashing a penlight into my pupils. It takes many tries, and the passing of many hours, before the pain begins to ebb and my eyes are capable of focusing on what they see.

The ceiling and the walls are as white as the snow outside. The bandage wrapped snugly around my chest is white as well. I sit up slowly. The pain is less now that it has been, likely thanks to the drugs being fed to me through the line in my arm. Velorians heal quickly, and such medical advances of the last few centuries allow us to heal quicker still. Even so, my insides are still in the process of knitting together, and likely would be for another few days. There is a sharp stab of pain when I plant my palms flat on the firm mattress and push myself up; it only serves to grow worse as I lean against the headboard and begin the somewhat arduous task of swinging my legs to the side of the bed.

“You’re not supposed to be walking,” a voice says. I recognize Sovren, one of my guards, another old friend from the battlefield, of which I have many. It is one of things that make my position tolerable.

“I haven’t quite achieved it yet,” I say. My voice sounds strained, but otherwise unaffected by the discomfort. I’m relieved to see that I still remember the trick of hiding pain. It’s been a while since I felt any that was more than passing.

Sovren grunts. “Looks like you’re close. Do me a favor and lie back down, at least until I can get one of the doctors in here.”

Only a friend would talk to me in such a way. I nod, do my best to give him the same smile as usual. I do not lay all the way back, but compromise by leaning against the wall. “Whatever you say. Has the culprit been apprehended?”

Sovren’s mouth turns down. He looks at the floor below his boots and does not answer.

“Sovren?”

“The council is convinced that it’s Jari,” he says, and nothing else.

“Fuck,” I say because there’s really not another word to sum up the situation. “Who has accused him?”

“The council,” he answers. “I’m not sure what evidence they’ve cited, but they’ve already locked him up. They apprehended him at the gala, though I’m not sure on what evidence, other than the fact that no one can account for his whereabouts when you were shot.” He clears his throat. “And that he is a fire Velorian.”

Jari has always had a habit of wandering off at inopportune times. He hates any spectacle so public as the gala, and likely stepped out for some air. If they have no other evidence, then I cannot see how they hope to make this stick.

“We’ll need to speak with them immediately,” I say.

“We?” Sovren lifts one brow. His voice is still shot through with worry, but there is a hint of amusement there now, fighting to break through despite the circumstances.

“I’ll need you to drag me along if I should collapse along the way.”

We leave, against the advice of every medical professional in the building. Eventually, they grudgingly forward the recovery information to my comm device and hand me a bag of various medications that should keep the healing process speeding along, and reduce the chance of the wound festering.

Sovren and Etto make certain to remind me of the stupidity of this decision, even as they move on either side of me, taking turns assisting me in walking without keeling over. The stabbing pain that flares when I move has turned to something constant and burning. I tell myself I will be fine. The assassin missed all the vital parts, and Velorians are harder to kill than most. Perhaps he was of another species and unfamiliar with our anatomy. In all likelihood, according to Etto, he was aiming at something more permanent—my heart for instance. Sovren tells me that I moved at the last second, angling my body a bit to share a smile with Wylt.

“Where is she?” I ask as we walk. “The council respects her at least as much as me. She’d be a help at talking them out of this nonsense.”

“The council recommended she leave,” Etto says. “What with the attempt on your life, they thought your family might be in danger as well.”

Wylt’s voice would have acted as a balm. There is a great deal that we do not agree on, but she has always had the ability to lend a certain spark to any argument one makes. I consider myself to be a fair hand with words, but Wylt is an expert at using them to win a certain outcome.

I am out of breath by the time we reach the palace. Even traveling the greatest stretch of the distance via private air-car, I feel the need to sit and rest. I will be back to normal by this time next week, I know, but the feeling of physical weakness is one I have not experienced for quite some time, and I find it disconcerting. We find the council sequestered in their chamber, just as they always are in times of strife. They do not seem shocked in the least to see me limping into their midst, but they do not hide their disapproval.

The evidence they present is most certainly damning and the knowledge settles like a rock in my chest. This, mixed with the pain already lingering from being shot, makes it difficult to breathe. It is almost certainly fabricated, but it has been done so well that there isn’t much I can say in his defense without casting suspicion on myself. There must be trouble within the police force.

“I know it is hard to accept,” a council member says. “But there are always those who will take advantage of your friendship.”

I dip my head in acknowledgement of the words. “I must choose them more carefully in the future,” I say, though I do not mean Jari. “I’m afraid I’ve overestimated how much this wound can handle. I must go and rest, but I will reconvene with you about the trial in the morning.”

“The trial will not be for a week,” one says, “rest all you like.”

I turn my back and find the door, careful to walk there under my own power, without taking Etto’s offered arm of support. I will not appear weak. Such a thing is always dangerous, but more so now. “Rest all you like.”

I find Jari where I think he will be, in one of the holding cells beneath the palace. He will be moved shortly, as it will look unsavory to hold a criminal on the property of the prince. The cells have glass fronts, so that every action of the prisoner is visible, but far too thick and strong for even a Velorian warrior to crack. Jari sits facing the back of the cell, broad shoulders hunched.

“I hear the food is abysmal,” I say.

When he turns around, his usually calm, stoic face is smiling with relief. “No one told me whether you survived,” he says. “I’m glad to see you.”

He looks smaller without his armor.

“You’ll be less glad when I tell you that I cannot yet vindicate you.”

“I know,” he says. “They told me about the transmissions they found on my comm, denouncing you as the prince, wishing you dead, searching for an assassin brave enough to put a hole through you.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, voice hard as he speaks the words. A slight tunnel of steam escaped through his nostrils, and I feel as though the room is growing hotter.

“Do you think the council planted it?” he asks.

“It’s possible,” I say. “A few of the more outspoken ones have made their views about fire Velorians meddling in our politics known before, but I have difficulty believing they were all able to come together in framing you. More likely, it’s someone else who’s planting the evidence, someone solo, and perhaps they believe it to be the truth.” I pause, shaking my head. “But none of this matters. What matters,” I say, “is that I can free you. You can go far from here and—“

Jari smiles, a bitter slice of white in the dimly lit cell, like a flickering bulb. “And what? If you release me against the recommendation of the council, I’ll be ostracized. The so-called evidence will follow me for the rest of my life. My position in the military will be long gone.” I know that he’s right. With such an accusation following him around, his life on Veloria would be all but over. There are plenty of places he could go, like the outer reaches of the tundra where Wylt lives, but such a life is not for everyone.

“It will hurt you too, Takkan. You’ve never been the type of ruler who completely eschews the law. To do so now would damage your support, call your rule into question. I will not let that happen my friend—not unless the only other option is my death.”

His words are sure. Jari has always been stubborn to a fault, and I know that even if I order the door of his cell open, he will have to be dragged from the prison.

“I should have access to the evidence. I doubt they’ve actually looked into anything. We have a week before the trial.” He meets my eyes through the glass. “I will fix this and return.”

Jari bares his teeth into the best approximation of a smile he can force himself to make. “From anyone else, that would be bullshit for me to mull over while I sit in this cage, but from you—from you, I believe it for some reason.”

It would be a good time for the human custom of shaking hands, but the glass is in our way.

Sovren and Etto have the ship prepared as quickly as they can manage, calling in old friends to acquire the fuel and the weaponry instead of using the usual channels. There is no law preventing me from leaving. On paper, the prince is allowed to do as he likes. But calling attention to this will not help. If the council knows that I am heading off to find the true would-be assassin, they will likely try to dissuade me. If my disagreement with them is made public, then my people will know that there is discord in the palace, and discord in the palace can only sow the same elsewhere. I do not take extreme measures to hide my departure completely, but I would like to delay the council finding out immediately.

It is late evening by time we are ready to depart, not twelve hours since I awoke in the hospital. The pain is there still, but I have broken into the supply of medication given to us, and it is beginning to lessen into something more tolerable. With my Velorian metabolism, after another night’s sleep, I should be able to walk without pain.

My mood is bleak, and I am still having trouble believing that all of this has happened. In just a few hours, my plans and my view of the world has shifted so greatly. I knew the council was often vocal about their dislike of fire Velorians, who they called unpredictable and volatile. But I did not think their prejudice would manifest in such a way. I knew there were Velorians who disagreed with the way I chose to run things, and even with the way I chose to behave as the leader of their world. But I did not think that anyone truly wanted me dead. Surely most know that I am open to listening to reason before such actions?

Etto hears my sigh, and gives my shoulder a squeeze from behind the co-pilots chair where he stands. Sovren is in the process of firing up the ship, a second from closing the doors, when we hear footsteps on the ramp.

Sovren clears his throat. “You may want to investigate that,” he says.

“Council?” I ask.

“Not council. Could be better; could be worse.”

I leave the co-pilot’s chair and walk over the bridge, to the main quarters of the ship, where I can see Wren Stevens and Lena making their way up the ramp, both of them laden with bags and equipment.

“How did you get past security?” I ask.

Wren shrugs, showcasing the ease with which she apparently accomplished this. “Just showed them my filming permits and told them I had clearance to film the hanger. Confidence and a nametag can get you most things,” she says, tapping the card clipped to the collar of her shirt.

“Good to see you’re alive,” Lena says. “The news has been very… unclear.”

It hasn’t occurred to me before now that making a public appearance to assure the people of my survival would have been a good idea before departing, but I suppose it’s too late now.

Wren and Lena still stand on the threshold, waiting for me to deny them entrance or allow them inside. Before now, what with the hectic nature of things, I haven’t truly given thought to the fact that she tried to warn me at the gala and what it means. It means that she is not what I thought. She is not in this to somehow tarnish my reputation and has not arranged situations where it could easily be damaged beyond repair. She is merely following the drama, as any good reporter would do. More than likely, her apparent lack of recognition is genuine, and she really has no idea that we spent the opening night of the festival tasting each other’s skin. As far as she is concerned, I have no reason to distrust her, which means that my suspicion to her has looked like arrogance.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, just to hear her answer.

“You haven’t exactly been receptive to my help so far, but I thought I’d try again. I know you’re trying to find the assassin. I told you I overheard something. It’s not much, but if you hear me out, it might at least give you a lead.”

Lena cleared her throat. “Plus, you know, it’s the story of a lifetime.”

I nod, considering their words. Considering everything carefully. “Before I agree to anything,” I say, “I would like to apologize for the way I’ve behaved around you. I cannot wholly explain it, but I thought I had reason to distrust you. Had I listened to you, and warned my guards of the threat, this whole catastrophe could have been averted.”

She looks stunned for a moment, and it is obvious that the she wasn’t angling for an apology. “That’s—thank you,” she says.

“You should also know,” I begin, “that this isn’t merely about finding the attempted assassin. One of my closest friends has been wrongly arrested for the crime. I need to find evidence to exonerate him.”

“It was Jari, right?” she says.

“Yeah,” Lena echoes. “The fire Velorian.”

I blink at them, stunned myself, as the news of his arrest should not go public until tomorrow. “Yes,” I say. “Where did you hear that?”

“We’re journalists,” she says. “You think we don’t know how to dig things up? I have more contacts than I can reasonably keep track of. Between the two of us, I’m sure we can scrounge up some evidence to put your friend in the clear, or at least pin this on the right person.”

Lena clears her throat. “Besides that,” she says, “you’ll need all the witnesses you can get.” She holds up the camera. “And no one can dispute the reality of what’s captured on here.”

It is a good argument, better than the one I had expected they would give about simply wishing to make this desperate journey a part of their show. Perhaps they still do, but they wish to help as well and that counts for something. If she wanted to cause me harm, she could already have released the information to her supervisor. If she wanted me dead, she would not have warned me about the assassination attempt. Perhaps at this juncture it is still unwise, but I find myself trusting her, or at the very least wanting to trust her.

“We’ll take whatever help we can get,” I say. “My guards and I will do what we can to keep you safe, but I can offer no guarantees. The trail we follow may take us to dangerous places.”

Lena shrugs. Wren grins. “We’ve shot footage in warzones before, Prince Takkan. We can look after ourselves.”

I believe her.

I step aside, allowing the two human women to walk past me and board the ship.

As the ship leaves the atmosphere, Lena still chatting amiably with Sovren and Etto, quick to make friends, I notice Wren standing by herself. She has found the largest window on the ship and is gazing out at the ground of Veloria growing more and more distant, finally disappearing altogether as we shoot through the clouds. It is a state-of-the-art ship, and there is barely a whisper of shaking as it leaves the planet and slides smoothly into orbit.

“Etto is a good pilot,” Wren says, turning from the window, having caught me watching her. “That’s one of the smoothest takeoffs I’ve experienced.”

“He used to be horrible,” I say truthfully. “The plan as of now is to wait in orbit while I attempt to get a transmission through my friend in law enforcement. He should be able to run the numbers on the blaster they found in Jari’s things.”

She nods, turning back to the window with unmistakable melancholy. With the way I’ve behaved toward her, it is not my place to ask her what troubles her, but my lips form the words all the same.

“Is something wrong?”

“It’s stupid,” Wren says, giving me a quick glance. “I was supposed to speak with someone in the village tonight—a man who I met a few nights ago.”

Her voice sounds yearning, and I feel the first stirrings of guilt, an awful, heavy feeling that settles in my gut. In suspecting her of lying to me, I have not considered my own faults in this. The very act of working with her, of speaking to her, while I know of the connection and she does not, constitutes a cruel lie in itself. I may have made a mistake, and I don’t know how to rectify it at this point.

“It doesn’t sound stupid,” I say.

She pushes her hair back from where it has fallen into disarray throughout the excitement of the evening, and turns away from the window with a look of finality. “We barely knew each other,” she says. “He probably didn’t come.”

Away from the lights of Daru, the interior of the ship grows dark.