I've gotten back into a weekly update groove, it seems! Who knows how long I'll be able to keep it up...
This chapter really starts that downhill slide to the climax. Oh, I can't wait for y'all to read it! And as always, hope you enjoy.
Soundtrack - The One that I Love: "An Hini a Garan" by Tobias Southcott, from Harp Portrait, Celtic (2004) ... If you only listen to one "soundtrack" song for this story, let it be this one. Unfortunately it was taken off YouTube (grrr) but it is on Spotify. This is the one soundtrack song that truly ties into the story - you'll see how, promise.
CHAPTER TWENTY
PERFORMANCE
10 - 01 - 2506
Dread itched at the back of Inara's neck.
The whole day, she'd been torn between hoping to find a moment alone with her father, and wishing that she never saw him again.
She hadn't found her chance yet. He'd been locked into close conference with his campaign team all day. They'd taken over one of the two small libraries on the first floor, glued to their Cortex screens and tablets, watching the results trickle in from the Electoral Councils of each district on all 14 Allied planets. The final numbers wouldn't be tallied until the wee hours of the following morning.
Solomon's private study remained untouched by the spread of his campaign work, out of his own principle. Whenever Inara passed by its doors, bile rose up her throat. The previous night pressed into her skin: the tablet, the numbers, the names of places marked for destruction.
But after, after, in the barn, in Mal's bunk. A sliver of joy that Inara held close to her chest. A handful of minutes no one could take from her.
"Miss Serra?"
Inara blinked. One of the dressers who'd been hired for the week, a slight woman about Inara's age named Bette, was looking at her curiously.
They stood before a full-length mirror, in the room set aside for Inara's daily preparations. Another dresser fussed with the golden tiara on Inara's head, affixing it with invisible pins so that it appeared to rest there by magic. Tonight they'd pulled Inara's hair only half-up, with a gold clip in the back. The rest tumbled over her shoulders in loose, shiny curls. Inara touched one, absently.
"How does it suit you, miss?" Bette asked. "Are you comfortable?"
Inara looked at the gown. A masterwork in gold, pearls and sequins, with an open neck and jeweled cap sleeves. The trailing skirts rippled like water in the slightest breath of air. A long, sheer golden cape spread out from the neckline along the back, attached to strands of jewels around each of her wrists.
It was the most elaborate of all the outfits Inara had worn that week. And the heaviest. The bodice cinched in her waist, making every breath shallow and difficult.
"I'm fine." Inara managed a smile, and added more warmly, "It's perfect. Thank you."
A knock came from the door. "Inara?" Her father's voice drifted in.
Her heart dropped into her stomach. "Qǐng jìn," she called.
He swept into the room, sending the dressers scurrying out of his way.
"Ah. Look at you," he cooed. "My bǎo wù."
Golden embroidery twined along the lapel and sleeves of his black three-piece suit, intended to complement Inara's dress. His eyes filled as he looked at her. Inara looked away, anywhere but at his face.
The dressers ducked out of the room, leaving the two of them alone.
"You are a gift from the heavens. I can't blame anyone who falls in love with you tonight." He stepped closer, and frowned. "Is something wrong?"
Inara hesitated. Before she could answer, he was already filling the silence.
"I know exactly what the trouble is." He drew to her side, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Your final evaluation before the Guild is the day after tomorrow. It's perfectly normal to be stressed-"
"No." Inara wrenched herself out of his grip. Her hesitation crumbled, replaced by something cold and iron-like. She put it into her voice. "I heard you and the Vice Minister arguing last night. I know about your plans to attack the Border planets."
Solomon went still. He was silent for one second too long.
Then he jerked his head back, blinking. "What?" He breathed out an empty laugh. "You must have misunderstood-"
"No. I didn't. You're planning to drop bombs on the Independents. Innocent people will die."
"No, no no no." Solomon lifted his hands, furrowing his brow. "My darling, no. Here, sit. Listen."
Inara didn't want to sit and listen. But before she knew it, her father had pulled over a chair, and pressed her down into it, gentle yet insistent. He knelt in front of her, careful not to tread on her gown. He took her hands in his.
"First and foremost, remember that the Independents are not innocent. They are terrorists. They lack any sense of right and wrong. I blame it on their culture, quite frankly. They are an uncivilized and lawless people."
Inara kept silent. On the inside, she burned, with everything Mal had told her the night before. What the Alliance had done to people on the Border. What they had taken.
"It is for the safety of everyone in the Core, in the entire Universe, that we must eliminate the Independent threat." His voice was aflame, unwavering. "But there will be no bombs. No innocent lives lost. I promise you."
Inara pulled her hands out of his. "You're lying," she breathed.
A part of her wanted so much to believe him. The part that remembered the man who had let his little girl drag him through the gardens every Sunday, who helped her up onto her first horse. The man who had rented an entire planetarium to give her a 'tour of the Universe' for her tenth birthday, and had wept openly on her twelfth, the day she became a Companion-in-training.
"How can you lie to me?" Heat flooded her eyes, and she blinked against it. "How can you do this?"
Solomon reached out to her, and Inara jerked to her feet, tipping the chair over with a clatter. She twisted away from him.
"Inara." His voice took on an edge. "This is stress, and nothing more. You can't afford to give into it. Not tonight. You have guests to perform for."
She crossed her arms, gripping her shoulders tight. "I won't."
"You won't what?"
"I won't perform for them." She held still. As far as protest went it was on par with a child stomping her feet, but she couldn't think of anything better. "I refuse."
Her father's nostrils flared, eyes locked in hers. For the first time, a burst of true fear opened in Inara's chest.
But the next moment he softened, shoulders relaxing. He let out a breath. "My dear. I know how difficult the past week has been. But this is the last night. You're at the finish line. In two days you'll present yourself before the Guild, and receive your license, and months from now you'll look back and know that all of this was worth it." He lifted his mouth in a grim smile. "We all must sacrifice. This is yours."
Inara shut her eyes, and drew a long breath through her nose. She let it out.
Downstairs, hundreds of the richest and most powerful people in the Core were waiting for her. Truth told, she didn't care at all about disappointing them. She never had.
But Priestess Song was waiting, too. The thought of letting her down tied Inara into knots.
She held herself still. An unheard scream tore through her body. But when it cleared, the answer had settled inside her, steady as a prayer stone. An alternate option.
"Alright." Inara composed herself from the outside-in, and lifted her eyes to his. "I'll perform."
/*/*\*\
"You're so quiet. Are you nervous?"
Inara could barely shake her head. Riz linked her arm with Inara's, murmuring in her ear as they entered the ballroom set up for the performance. Rows upon rows of seats filled the floor in neat lines, facing a stage constructed solely for this night. Inara's harp stood in a spotlight, waiting for her.
Guests had already filled most of the seats. The last few trickled in from the edges, chatting, adjusting the copious fabric demanded by current fashion trends. The indoor staff slipped in after everyone else, to arrange themselves in standing rows along the back of the room.
"If you're nervous, don't be," Riz kept chattering away. "You're going to be luminescent. I can't wait to hear your piece. I still think it's silly that you had to practice in secret, even from other trainees. Like, what's the big deal?"
Inara hummed in agreement, barely listening. She and Riz walked along the side of the room, toward their reserved seats in the front row. Someone in service uniform ducked past them, a black-and-white blur.
Something in the person's movement made Inara stop. She turned around.
She watched as he sidled up to the end of the first line of staff. He stood like the rest of them, stiff and straight-backed, hands clasped behind him. His face was perfectly blank, staring straight ahead.
Inara gaped. Surely this couldn't be happening. It couldn't be real. Unthinking, she began to move toward him, before Riz pulled at her arm.
"What is it? What's wrong?"
"Mal," Inara let out in a breath. "He's here." At Riz's baffled look, she added, "The stable hand."
Her eyes flew wide. "Bùhuì ba." She whirled to scan the staff. "Where?"
Inara jerked her wrist, hissing, "Riz." Then, "He's at the end of the first line. Closest to us."
Riz stole a glance. Her brow shot up. "Oh." She turned to Inara, lips pulled tight against a grin. "I see why you risked expulsion for him. So would I. Whew."
"Don't joke, please." Inara bit her lip. "This is a disaster."
Riz let Inara pull her along, toward their seats. "Why?"
It all came out in a whispered rush, much as Inara tried to stop it. "I went to him last night, and we kissed, and we almost laid together, and I've still never told him I'm a Companion-in-training and now he's going to find out. If he hasn't already."
"How- what- you-!"
"Shhh." Inara squeezed her friend's hand, hard, as they reached their seats. Riz sat down slowly, mouth still hanging open. On the other side of Inara sat Priestess Song, who gave her an encouraging smile.
Inara returned it, and tried to contain the panic expanding in her chest.
Last night had been the one thing she thought she could keep safe, no matter what happened. But now it would be taken from her, too. Tainted by the knowledge that Mal would never think of her the same way again.
He would never forgive her.
Her father ascended the stage, and cast a glowing smile over the crowd. He spoke into a slim microphone in his hand. "Dear friends, distinguished guests, honorable officials. It has been my honor to receive you all into my home."
The ease in his voice sent a chill down Inara's spine. Onstage, he was in his element. He held his audience in the palm of his hand.
How could she ever hope to challenge him here?
"You didn't come from all corners of the Universe to listen to an old windbag like me," he said with a wry smile. Laughter rippled through the crowd. "But as long as your patience allows, I would like to say a few words to introduce the jewel in the crown of House Madrassa, the one you've all come to see. My daughter, Inara Serra."
Inara froze. The applause from behind her was like needles on her skin.
"It has been my greatest pleasure in life to watch Inara grow into the poised, intelligent, and lovely woman she has become. And I know," he stumbled for the briefest moment, "that her mother's spirit is with us, and she is just as proud as I am."
Again, Inara wanted to scream. She held it inside her, held herself still.
"My dear." Solomon turned his eyes to her, with a smile. "You will soon ascend to the most treasured rank of our society. The rank of Companion." He flashed a grin to the crowd. "I think we can all agree that Companions are the true backbone of Parliament, if not every intellectual industry in the Core. Without them, no work would ever get done."
Applause and laughter resounded throughout the room. It flushed Inara's entire body white-hot. Her fingernails dug into her palms.
"Her service is not only to her clients, but to the Great Alliance itself. She shall help with the work that builds a better Universe. Her grace and talent is the mark of a noble cause." Applause began to build, but he held up a hand. "With that, it is my profound honor to bring Inara Serra to the stage."
Inara could barely hear his words over the ringing in her ears, and the applause filling the hall. She stood shakily, and ascended the stage. Her father gave her a smile, as he handed over the microphone. A spark lit his eyes: a reminder of her duty. Almost, but not quite, a threat.
He left the stage, left her standing alone, under the hot white lights. Inara blinked, as her eyes adjusted.
If she strained, she could see Mal, in the back corner of the room. The faint outline of his face, stone-still, staring at her.
The silence lodged in her throat. Her father took his seat beside Priestess Song, and they both gazed up at her. A flicker of concern crossed Min's brow.
Inara swallowed. "Thank you, Councilor." Her palms were so slick she feared she might drop the microphone. "I extend my deepest gratitude to everyone here tonight. I'm humbled by your presence, and I hope my music may convey what words cannot."
She stopped. She was only supposed to introduce her piece, a traditional song for Breton Celtic harp from the time of Earth-that-Was.
Her hands shook. She tried to still them.
"But I must speak about something else, first." She didn't dare look at Solomon as she said it, nor the Priestess. "You all know that this celebration comes at a fraught time. We live in uncertainty. Under the tenuous peace granted by a treaty which is nothing more than a promise, and at any moment may be broken."
The faces in the crowd lost their comfortable, bored glaze. Tension pricked the air.
"That is why I dedicate my performance to the people of the planet Shadow."
She let the words sink in. Guests shifted in their seats, murmuring to each other. A clump of society reporters by the windows perked up like tigers at the scent of blood, adjusting their cameras.
Inara risked a glance at her father. His face had fallen utterly still. A stillness with rage inside it. Inara didn't stop.
"I imagine many of you have never set foot on Shadow. I haven't." She tightened her jaw. "But all of you have heard its name in the news, in headlines decrying violent acts committed by the Independents."
This sparked a few exclamations, mostly from aging Lords. Inara grew her voice. "We are eager to condemn their violence, while we refuse to acknowledge our own. I beg you, friends and honored guests, to look around you. Look inside yourselves. The Alliance has done great things, but- it's done terrible things, too. And we can't stay silent. We must dare to value human life above any one vision of the Universe."
She was burning under the lights. The threat of tears laced her words with something raw. "I dedicate this song to Shadow's blue sky. And to the people who live beneath it, who work and dream and deserve our empathy."
Her eyes sought the place where Mal stood, at the back of the room.
He wasn't there.
Inara gripped the microphone tighter, held onto the fraying thread of her voice.
"My song is called An Hini a Garan, which means…" Her voice caught, and splintered into a whisper. "'The One that I Love.'"
A strange sureness spread through her, then. As the room sparked and grated with whispers, Inara sat down at the harp. She placed the microphone inside the stand, and pointed it toward the strings. She adjusted the pedals to the proper key, spread her dress carefully, and readied her hands.
The first chord rippled out, strong and anguished, demanding attention. All fell silent.
Inara didn't think while she played. She was only a channel. The chords spun from her chest, through her veins. Everything she had pressed down, every swallowed scream and word, all rose to the surface and bled into the music. It was aching, pulling at every piece of her, tearing her from the inside out.
The last chord found her fingers stinging, her breath ragged. Her cheeks were wet.
She stood up, and stepped forward to receive her applause. It surrounded her in a brittle shell of sound. She was alone inside it, hollowed out.
An emcee glided up onto the stage, to introduce the next act. Inara didn't stay to hear it. She descended as quickly as her dress allowed, and rushed over to Riz. Inara pulled her out of her seat, into a fierce embrace.
"If anyone asks where I've gone, tell them I've taken ill," she whispered in Riz's ear. "Don't let them follow me."
Riz blinked, stunned. Her mouth fell open. But Inara was already turning away, to slip out of the ballroom. The whispers began to rustle behind her. This was unheard-of behavior for a soon-to-be Companion at her own debut. Borderline offensive, even.
But there was only one person whose opinion Inara cared about, in that moment.
She had to find him, before it was too late.
translation:
Bùhuì ba - No way
YEP. I think you all know what's coming. Ohhh boy.
I cannot wait to post the next chapter, and I hope I'm able to do so sooner rather than later. But before that happens, please consider dropping a word or two of response to this chapter, to feed a lonely writer's soul? Interestingly, I did not start writing this one with the intention of giving Inara a speech, so I'm really curious to hear what you all thought of it... And until we meet again in Chapter 21, stay shiny!