Chapter Two

            The past few days had dragged unmercifully for the Mursa. The mourning ceremony had lasted for two days. Don’la had been bombarded by questions, requests and politics throughout the whole thing. Her lifelong training kept her from reaching out and touching someone.

            Queen Ylonna had not left her rooms. She had not attended the ceremonies. She had effectively blocked any thoughts of Deljin from her mind, conscious or subconscious. Ylonna’s world was centering on Nea. As sad as it was, Don’la thought it was for the best and better yet, it helped her plans immensely.

            In the week since her Queen had given birth, Don’la had spent many sleepless nights tying up loose ends. She had waited for Ylonna to bond deeper and deeper with Nea. In remaining so focused, Ylonna cared little for what was going on around her, making it easier for Don’la to finalize her plan.

            As she packed a few last items, she took one last look around the room she had spent most of her adult life in. Being a member of the Mursoi was the thing she had wanted most in her life. It broke her heart to betray her rank, her Queen and most of all, the people who had grown to respect her.

            Don’la shook her head at the thoughts plaguing her. She did what she did for the good of the universe, even though it wouldn’t be apparent for a long time. Ya-leese, the Queen’s son, would be returning to the palace, shortly. Don’la couldn’t help but wonder how that would effect Ylonna’s treatment of the fragile princess.

            Ylonna was truly obsessed with her son. Ya-leese would certainly grow into a handsome young man, but he was mean-spirited and cruel. Even as young as he was, his dark gray eyes would flash maliciously at someone else’s pain or misfortune. Personally, Don’la prayed that he would be accountable to Chae-Doge and that he would not survive. The ‘Coming of Age’ ritual had been known to kill many of the Lioneese people and even though Ya-leese was only half Lioneese and a male at that, he could very well still have to experience it. There was no guarantee one way or another, so Don’la did what she felt she had to do.

            Don’la’s thoughts returned to her packing as she closed the bag and tightened the straps. She couldn’t take much with her, as she was only supposed to be making a weekend journey home to see her daughter. Little did anyone know, but she wouldn’t be making a return trip.

            Picking up her bag, she left the room entering the hallway of the barracks. Don’la had an office in the main palace, but had always preferred to keep a private room close to her guards. That had been almost unheard of in times past, since the main job of the Mursa was to protect the Queen. Ylonna had never cared one way or another. This was a time of peace, after all.

            “Peace…” Don’la muttered to herself as she walked the last few steps of the hallway. She knew that Ylonna had never known the efforts of the Mursoi to keep her realm at “peace.” The young Queen rarely, if ever, involved herself in matters of state.

            Don’la wanted desperately to slow her pace and drink in her surroundings for one last time. It would be out of character for her to do so, therefore she continued on with a steady pace. She nodded to her subordinates as they passed and acknowledged their wishes for “a safe trip.” Don’la stuffed her regrets deep down inside, hoping they would stay buried.

            She made her way out of the barracks and toward the shuttle that would take her to the palace’s landing pad. She still wore her uniform, although it wasn’t necessary since she was taking leave of her duties ‘for a few days.’ The high-collared, tailored jacket was a rich burgundy, trimmed with gold braid. The wide cuffs hugging her wrists detailed her rank with detailed embroidery. Her jacket was high-waisted by her request, although Ylonna had ordered the rest of the Mursoi to wear jackets with high, ruffled collars and a flared, pleated, thigh length version. The rest of the ranks also were unfortunate to have a dusty rose color chosen for their jackets and knee-high burgundy boots. Don’la had refused to wear anything but black boots, cut to an inch or two above her ankle. She didn’t mind the dark navy tights that were standard issue, but she personally hated the overall color scheme that the Queen had chosen for her troops. She thought it too flashy and definitely not suited for warriors.

            Don’la preferred the practicality of the past. The Mursoi were first and foremost warriors. In days gone by, they were allowed to wear ‘uniforms’ more fitting – loose, comfortable garments that could hide weapons, if need be, and allowed more freedom of movement. When ‘peace’ became the standard a few centuries past, the Queen of the time decided that her troops needed ‘dressed up’ – something more befitting a royal showing. That’s when the high-fashioned disaster began.

            Don’la’s trek to the landing pad didn’t take very long. She knew the path by heart, just as she did every inch of the palace grounds. She actually knew quite a bit about the whole planet and several others – it was just part of her job. She felt little remorse about leaving this place, other than the upcoming reaction of her troops. She knew that history would consider her a traitor, at least for a very long time.

            Reaching the landing pad, Don’la stowed her bag in the small hold and took her seat to begin the launch sequence. She would make a quick pit stop before she actually went home. There was still a small bundle she had to retrieve from the Meddi that had attended Ylonna during childbirth.

            She forced thoughts of the dark-haired baby from her mind as she concentrated on getting her ship into space. This ship was her personal possession, a gift from her mother just before she’d died. Sharla could have commandeered her flagship for the trip home, as it wasn’t being used for anything. Rarely did the Mursoi even go out on maneuvers anymore.

            “Things will be changing” she said to no one. “Definitely changing.”