Starwalker | The Alura Trilogy, Book 2 [She-Ra 2018] ✔️

SNEAK PEEK

Micah and Nell shared a table in the large Talla an Làn Mhòir – the Hall of the Great Tide in Taloran. All around them, Ramish nobility and Salinean immigrants enjoyed their meals, laughing gaily. The room was outfitted with huge aquariums filled with exotic fish brought in from thousands of miles away, near the oceanic kingdom.

Tipping back in his chair, Micah sipped on a glass of apple juice. Honestly, what did they put in wine? It was little more than moldy grape juice. Though he was nineteen instead of twenty – the legal drinking age in Meya – Zeka had insisted he try a sip. Micah still felt like throwing up.

He passed a glance to Nell, who had barely touched his meal. They were on a stakeout, sure, but Micah at least took the fried mushrooms and cooked fruit when it came. Nell was still gazing down, almost introspectively, at his baked apples.

Micah spoke. "Nell, are you okay? You look a bit..." Glum was the Mystacorian-Meyan word, but it sounded weird on Micah's tongue. "Tired?" he tried, hoping it was similar enough.

Nell looked up. "Hum?"

"I said, 'you seem tired'."

"Oh." Trying to appear normal, Nell took a bite of his food. "I'm fine. Got lost in my thoughts again."

"Sounds like me in political discussions," Micah jested. "Getting lost, I mean."

"You're better at those matters than you might think." Nell gave a frown, looking past Micah's shoulder. He leaned in and lowered his voice. "Did you see that lady over there?"

Micah shook his head, turning around. Across the ballroom, at a table in the corner, a strange woman typed on a holo-pad. She must have been rich – holo-pads were still a luxury good, and only the wealthiest people could afford them. With a fancy red mask, an ebony gown, and billowing black hair, she stood out like a streak of night amidst the brighter colors.

She's a sorceress, Micah thought, biting his lip. "You think she's with the Horde?" he murmured, turning back to Nell.

"Hard to say," Nell said, taking a bite of the simmered fruit. "There are ethnic groups who wear masks. Those masks, I'm not certain of."

Micah frowned, not wanting to engage the sorceress directly. "Any way we could distract her? Maybe then I can see what's on her holo-pad."

"You're going to be the king," Nell said, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Why don't you command her to step away?"

"I don't want to cause a problem," Micah said. Looking down, he unclenched his fists. "Where's Zeka?"

"I'm sorry," a masculine voice said from behind them, "but Zeka had to go home due to her radiance overdazzling the crowd."

Micah giggled. "Zeke, that's a made-up word."

"All words are made-up, darling," the shifter said, adopting mannerisms uncharacteristic of a serving man. "But at any rate, what do you need?"

Nell had gone back to picking at his food. Nonetheless, the older man spoke, his tan knuckles gripping the fork tightly. "Micah wants you to get the attention of that lady over there."

Zeka nodded slowly with a frown. But just as he was about to go over, the sorceress rose. Micah studied her further; the ballroom gown covered nearly every square inch of her body. He had never seen someone so modestly-dressed before.

Micah shivered as she lifted her skirts, revealing a pair of utilitarian boots. The masked woman strode across the room to speak to a felinetta, leaving her holo-pad at the table.

As soon as she was preoccupied, Micah teleported across the room, grabbed the holo-pad, and made another transport back to his table. The screen still showed her notes.

My lord inquired to me about the nature of parties. I do not believe you would care for them, seeing as how you view simple joys such as babies as counterproductive to our goals. In terms of utility, parties are only tactically advantageous in that they provide one with information about one's political foes. But you will find on Etheria that there are plenty of practices not beneficial, but fun. I will think of a way to describe this word to you shortly.

The vocabulary of the writing was still too advanced for Micah – though he'd been decent with Meyan for years, there were still words that tripped him up. As he turned to get Nell's assistance, a hand rested on his shoulder, firmly gripping it.

He looked up. The woman stood above him, her mask unreadable. Micah's face burned. "Sorry. I just wanted to know what you were writing, Lady Noble."

The masked woman tilted her head. Was she foreign? Or was Micah's Meyan that bad? With a sigh, she gestured, and Micah handed the holo-pad back to her. She studied him for a long moment.

Nell frowned. "Lady Noble?"

The woman turned her gaze toward him; Nell strangled his fork. "May I ask from which kingdom you hail?"

The masked woman didn't respond for a long while. Then she tapped her mask, where her mouth would have been.

Mute.

Nell nodded, as though he'd been expecting it. "Very well; forgive our intrusion. I hope you have a good night."

The masked woman nodded, gripping her holo-pad close to her chest. Micah watched as she took the felinetta by the shoulder and led her outside. He wanted to confront her. But he didn't have enough solid proof to do so.

Yet there was a niggling feeling that they would meet again. And when they did, Micah would investigate her further.