Context Read Online Free

Elva had chosen
well: Xyenquil was more than capable of implanting regrowth factors while
combating a life-threatening infection.
     
    Damn you —
     
    Tom’s fist (his proper fist)
tightened, and for a second killing rage swept through him. Then it was gone,
and he turned away, deliberately relaxing the hand, trying to recall the way to
his apartment.
     
    I have to talk to Elva.
     

     
    She
was performing triceps dips, hands on a glassine chair and heels on a desktop.
Purple dark-stained leotard top, revealing creamy skin: athletic shoulders,
strong upper body. Sweat plastered strands of hair across her forehead; her jaw
was hard with determination.
     
    Her long trousers were baggy,
pale grey, and her feet were clad in training slippers. A discarded skipping
rope lay in twisted loops upon the black polished floor.
     
    ‘Don’t stop,’ said Tom, standing
in the chamber’s archway.
     
    She pumped through the remaining
repetitions, her core muscles tight with strengthening tension, in perfect
form.
     
    ‘Not bad.’ Tom smiled, a little.
     
    ‘Thank you.’
     
    Icy words, as exact and correct
as her exercises.
     
    I never realized how disciplined
you are.
     
    He’d known she spent less time
than he on endurance conditioning, but had not factored in the intensity of her
workout period, and the daily weapons training. She had been his chief security
officer, back when he had a demesne to command—a shorter rule than most—but in
those days he had appreciated her intelligence work (and her eidetic memory)
more than her warrior attributes.
     
    When he had met up with her again
in Darinia Demesne, five tendays ago, he realized just who it was he had always
depended on, however much Sylvana’s unattainable beauty had entranced him.
     
    And the last forty days, spent
travelling in each other’s company, had shown him her true sterling worth,
wrapped up though he was in the misery of his hurt.
     
    ‘I hope,’ he began, ‘you weren’t
worried when I—’
     
    ‘My Lord can spend his nights’—with
an unaccustomed flatness to her tone—‘wherever he pleases, of course.’
     
    ‘Perhaps it pleases me to
explain.’
     
    ‘Sir.’ Standing at ease, her chin
raised. ‘But Grand’aume Security informed me of your whereabouts, when I
considered initiating a search.’
     
    ‘I—That’s good.’
     
    ‘Their having you under constant
surveillance? A double-edged sword, if I may venture an opinion.’
     
    ‘Elva...’ Tom was exasperated. ‘Of
course you can speak freely, whenever you like.’
     
    ‘Thank you.’
     
    Silence rebounded off the cold
elegant walls.
     
    Chaos, this is hard.
     
    Aware suddenly of the closeness
of the chamber, the slick highlights of her sweat-damp skin, her
exertion-soaked tight leotard top. And her infinity-gaze—pale grey eyes: strong
and unambiguous—directed away from him.
     
    He took a deep breath, then asked
the question he could no longer contain.
     
    ‘Elva, what did you do to me?’
     
    ‘I’m sorry?’
     
    ‘I thought—’ Tom shook his head,
turning away. ‘Xyenquil’s achieved ... more than I intended.’
     
    ‘And you’re not—’
     
    What? he wondered. Pleased?
     
    Very softly: ‘So was his
femtoregime to your specification?’
     
    ‘Sir.’ Her tone was formal, and
pulled him round. ‘I ordered full healing capabilities, regardless of cost.’
     
    After a moment, ‘You’re not just
my servitrix,’ Tom said. ‘Don’t call me sir.’
     
    But she was hurt, and a scowl
lurked beneath the controlled mask of her features.
     
    ‘Yes, my Lord.’
     
    Damn it!
     
    ‘For Fate’s sake, Elva. You think
I haven’t had the chance for cell-regrow before?’
     
    ‘What?’
     
    ‘Lord A’Dekal, did you ever meet
him? No... Crusty old bastard, presided at my ascension ceremony. Offered me
the use of his med facilities, at a price.’
     
    Elva said nothing.
     
    ‘He wanted,’ Tom continued, ‘my
support for his