Telemachus stepped into the small courtyard at his home. Commander Jetring seemed comfortable enough, reclining in a chaise lounge as Stasia poured him a tall glass of some cold beverage. A small tray of pastries balanced precariously on one knee.
"Is that lemonade?" he ventured, smiling brightly at her. Jetring struggled to rearrange the refreshments so he could stand and offer a salute to his superior, but Telemachus waved off his attempt at formality. "At ease, Jetring. Enjoy your danish and drink."
Stasia glanced at him with aloof indifference, not returning the smile. "Admiral Rhade."
"Dr. Theros," he responded lightly. He bowed slightly, and the amusement was still evident on his handsome features.
"You are correct. It was lemonade, freshly squeezed, but I'm sorry to share with you that the last of it has just been served to the commander. He's had a rather exhausting day, monitoring my every breath," she explained, raising an eyebrow in a slightly challenging manner.
He fought the urge to laugh. Her ire was deliciously arousing.
"Then perhaps I should relieve him," Telemachus announced. "Commander, you are dismissed—after you've finished your snacks, of course. Report here at my residence at 0800 tomorrow."
Jetring shoved the rest of the pastry in his mouth and chugged back the lemonade. He scrambled to his feet. "Yes, sir," he said quickly. With a brief bow for Stasia, he was gone in a few moments more.
"I do believe that's the first man I've ever seen move so hastily in the opposite direction from you," he chuckled. "Ordinarily, I have to be concerned with being run over by would-be admirers trying to capture your attention. Poor Jetring! I may have to recommend him for promotion in light of excellent performance under hazardous duty."
She crossed her arms and sat on a bench. "You are so petty and mean, Telemachus Rhade!" she hissed. "You imagine yourself to be quite clever, don't you? I hope you're enjoying yourself immensely with this little charade of yours. This business of keeping me under constant surveillance is hideously embarrassing."
"It's for your own good," he commented, moving closer to the bench. "I'd rather for you to be embarrassed than imprisoned for murdering the former first triumvir."
She turned and glared at him. "Do you know that he has the nerve to escort me to the restroom?" she demanded.
He sighed and cautiously sat next to her. "It'll be over very soon. Everything will be better soon. I promise."
He felt the rigid tension intensify as he slid an arm around her shoulders. "Don't make promises that you can't keep," she warned him.
"She confessed to everything," he said after a moment. "She said that she accepted full responsibility for her actions, and was prepared to meet the consequences."
"So, what happens now?"
He shrugged. "Never in our history have we had to deal with such events. In the days of the old Commonwealth, such treachery was rewarded by the death penalty. She'll be formally sentenced tomorrow, but it's merely a formality for publicity's sake."
"How will it be done?" she asked, her interest suddenly piqued. "Firing squad, shove her out an airlock in deep space, drop her in a den of starving hilderbearts, or douse her in a vat of acid?"
"Uh, none of those," he countered. "Remind me to never come to you for disciplinary action suggestions," he said lightly, trying to soften the mood. "Most likely, I would assume it would be some sort of lethal injection, or whatever method the Triumvirate decrees to be the most humane."
"What she did deserves no treatment in the name of humanity!"
He nodded. "No, but justice will be served, Stasia, and that's all we can ask."
"Perhaps our children will then at last rest in peace when their murderer draws her last breath," she whispered.
He took her hand and lightly kissed it.
"What will happen to her in the meantime?" she asked, resting her head on his shoulder.
"She'll be confined at the detention center under maximum security. She won't escape, if that's your concern, not unless she can be magically transported from prison on wings made of wishes. She'll answer with her life for her crimes, I'm sure of it."
They sat there together for a long while, lost in their private thoughts, watching the fountain percolate until the sun began to dip toward the horizon.
"It's getting late," she said. "We should go in," she suggested as she stood. She tugged on his hand, pulling him to his feet. "Would you care to share a bath?"
His eyes widened as a grin creased his face. "Are we conserving water?"
"Consider it the beginning of diplomatic peace negotiations, 'Lemachus," she smiled.
"Are you finished being angry with me?" he asked hopefully.
"Yes, plus you are ruining my nice sofa by drooling on it in your sleep."
xxxxxxxxxx
Telemachus hummed a jaunty little tune as he lit some of Stasia's favorite candles in the bath area. Warm water was filling the large tub, and he'd dropped a small vial of some scented oil into the stream. A fragrant froth began to bubble across the churning surface of the water, and he felt completely pleased with his efforts.
He stepped backed and nodded in satisfaction. "Nicely done," he muttered to himself. "The bath is ready!" he called out loudly, impatient for her to hurry in. "What are you doing?"
"Setting the comm system to auto-answer so we're not disturbed," she yelled back. "And setting some wine out to breathe. Be patient; I'll be there in a minute."
"I've slept on the couch for a week, my love. I know all about patience," he explained to the bath as he shut off the flow of water filling the tub.
"Lights down to fifteen percent," she announced, standing in the doorway.
As the lighting faded, the candles flickered and cast interesting shadows on the marble and tile surfaces. She reached up and pulled a comb from her hair, sending it spilling down her back in a luminescent tumble of golden curls. She wore a simple robe of white silk that whispered delicate promises to him as she moved closer. He felt his pulse quicken as she slid her arms around his neck to gently place her lips against his.
His hands moved for the belt tied at her waist, but she shook her head. "This is my negotiation, admiral. I have to make the first moves in the establishment of this peace accord."
"I stand corrected in the rules of this campaign, my lady. My apologies."
"You are forgiven," she murmured, her hands moving swiftly to remove the formal dress uniform jacket. "Thus begins my proposal," she announced, laying the jacket aside on the bench. She returned to dispense with the rest of the uniform and its encumbrance factors.
Moving in a slow, predatory circle around him, she scrutinized him with appreciation and a sly grin. "You may, at this time, make a counter proposal," she offered.
He slid the robe away and let it pool at her feet. With a throaty chuckle, he asked, "Are you aware that the rest of your clothing is missing?"
"You are truly a master of observation," she commented as strong arms slid around her.
Effortlessly, he lifted her and stepped into the tub. "Ooh, bubbles, candles, scented bath oils," she purred as she rested with her back against his chest. "You're well prepared, aren't you?"
"I'm always prepared," he reminded her, pulling her close for a kiss that was expectant and demanding.
XxxxxX
Hours later, she raised herself up on an elbow to smile down at him. They'd made love for hours with an intensity that defied explanation. She trailed a finger down the length of the sweat-slick skin of his back. She leaned close and nibbled his ear.
"Telemachus," she whispered, stroking his cheek. "I love you." He continued to sleep.
She glanced over at his empty wine glass next to her half-empty one. She bit her lip. "You're really going to be upset with me when that sedative wears off, my love," she said with a sad smile. "You'll probably tell me about it every day when you visit me in prison until my trial is over, if they discover that I killed her."
Soundlessly, she slid from the bed and pulled on some clothing, continuing to watch him for any sign that he might awaken.
She leaned and kissed him once more. "I promised you that I was going to kill Rakel Ben-Tzion if she was involved in the death of our children, and the Theros line has a tradition of always keeping their word. I know you'll be disappointed in me, but there's no way that she deserves to slide off into death without knowing pain and terror—the kind of pain and terror she brought into the last moments of our children's lives."
Without a last look behind, she gently closed the door and headed out into the dark streets toward the detention center.
