A Pet For Lord Darin

by Hollie Hutchins

  “I mean, yeah,” I said. “Drugs are way cooler.”

  Sol-dam laughed. Darin grew visibly tenser. I heard myself say, “Hey, are you okay?” and reached out to touch his arm. He shrank back.

  I drew back my hand, feeling cold. Why the fuck did I try to touch him?

  “Sorry,” I said.

  He shook his head and stood abruptly. “I have something to attend to,” he said, and he rushed out, knocking over his chair as he left.

  Sol-dam sighed and gave his head a small shake. He tilted back in his chair, balancing on the back legs. “Shall we?” He held up a single flashcard.

  I was staring after Darin. My stomach was trying to swallow itself. “What’s up with him?”

  “A great many things,” said Sol-dam. “Not the least of which is some great gala he intends to host for his colleagues.”

  “The bad ones.”

  “He doesn’t have good ones.” He grinned. “Unless you count the two of us, but I think we safely qualify as extenuating circumstances.”

  I made a vague “heh” sound and inhaled deeply.

  “We won’t be here forever. I promise.” Sol-dam reached across the table and squeezed my hand.

  “Yeah.”

  “He may never manage to be wholly civil, but it is not because he dislikes you,” he said. “You are simply a creature he cannot reconcile.” He shrugged. “And he was never much of a people person in the first place. You are hardly the first person he hasn’t known how to interact with. Now…”

  He let go of my hand and turned a flashcard towards me. Disil: home.

  “What does this mean?” he said.

  I laughed through my nose. “That’s a good question.”

  ***

  A man came to see us that night; to see Darin, obviously, but this time I was out and about, free to sit and listen from a corner with no bars.

  The man in question had a congenial smile and robes of glimmering black fabric, drowning in an excess of glitter and shining embroidery. He entered the library as I was absently going over flashcards, curled up in a wide flat couch by the window, a small pillow behind my back. The sky was, predictably, full of clouds, and somewhere far beyond them the sun was setting and turning their topsides a burning pink. Shafts of colored light arced through breaks down to the water where they shone like mirrors on the waves. I was staring at the late light on the paper when the door creaked its way open and he strode in, Yita on his tail.

  “The Luras will be back soon,” said Yita. The man nodded, looking around the library and adjusting the Sarchan equivalent of cufflinks: a thin ribbon of red silk tied through the ends of his sleeves like shoelaces.

  “Thank you, Yita. A dorsilia, if you please.”

  Yita nodded and ducked out to prepare the drink.

  The man’s eyes traveled through the room and, eventually, found their way to me.

  “Hello, little friend,” he said, his voice high, the way you’d talk to a small dog. “What’s your name?”

  I said nothing.

  “Hmm.” He crossed his arms and scratched his chin. “Pretty little thing, in your own strange way…”

  Something about the way he said it made my skin crawl. I glared at him and looked down. My legs were drawn up, the cards resting in my lap. He couldn’t see them. He was staring at my knees, though, and my calves, and the rest of me with a voracity I didn’t appreciate. I resisted the dual urge to shrink back and clock him as hard as I could.

  He reached forward to touch me. His hand found my leg and it stayed there, and I pulled back – and the notecards spilled out of my lap.

  He lifted his hand and looked at them. He frowned and picked one up, examining both sides. “Now what on Sarchaia…”

  “Luras Kolar.”

  The man dropped the card and turned to see Darin standing in the door, flanked by two burly body guards he didn’t need.

  “Evening, Luras Darin,” he said, and they bowed to each other. Darin approached with his fists clenched and his tail twitching, and he kept looking at me.

  “Come,” said Darin, “sit.” He gestured to the two broad chairs by the massive black hearth, one of which was substantially wider to accommodate his considerable draconian bulk. His wings opened and closed, a nervous tick of his no one else seemed to notice. If anything, it made him look more imposing, flexing the parts of himself that made him so frightening. Kolar hesitated briefly, like they all did, before walking to the chair and sitting rather stiffly, hands poised on the plush red arms. Darin sat across from him. His guards – Milam and Pershix, two of his more congenial grunts – stood behind him, their shadows drowning beneath Darin’s wings. The way he sat, half turned away from the fire, his red eye catching the flickering orange light…it was a calculated decision, sitting like that, with the sun slanting through to give the entire room the arcane glow of amber in a cave. Kolar was turned away from me now, but I could see the side of his face and his arm, brittle as rusted iron: tense, shivering, ready to split any second.

  Darin had that effect on people. It was fun to watch.

  Darin smiled, exposing an array of white teeth and peculiarly sharp canines. Sarchan canines were, as a rule, sharp, but Darin’s teeth were especially keen. Kolar’s entire head shifted slightly as he swallowed, and his cheeks moved as he broadened his smile.

  “It is an honor,” he said.

  “Certainly,” said Darin. He sat back in his chair, dragon hand gripping the wrist of his grey hand, shoulders angled: perfectly aloof. There was a pause. “I’m a busy man, Kolar.”

  “Right, yes, of course,” said Kolar, slapping his knees like it was funny. “I represent—”

  “The Rasiri family, yes, yes, go on.” Darin made a rolling moving with his hand – his clawed hand, catching the fire like a diamond at dusk. Kolar watched it in earnest and didn’t speak until Darin’s hand was in his lap again.

  “As you know, we have been developing a new tonic, the kasili borm.” Borm being a kind of liquor meant for the kinds of parties where people get completely and utterly smashed. Darin sometimes drank it after a particularly taxing meeting. The stuff stank to high heaven, but it served its purpose.

  “And you want…?” Darin quirked his brow and gave Kolar the look of an amused parent waiting for his child to ask for something he already knows he won’t get.

  “The digiporous,” Kolar blurted – and blurting it was, because he immediately tried to backpedal. “Rather, the involvement of you and yours in our endeavor to make the borm more—”

  “Palatable?” said Darin, half smiling.

  Kolar swallowed again. Even the most stern and impossible people were cowed by Darin’s presence. There was something about a smiling dragon that was so much more disturbing than a scowling one. A scowling dragon is hungry, angry, but a smiling dragon might want anything in the world. He might want your bones for a necklace, or your skin for a coat. There was no telling.

  “Erm, yes, sir,” Kolar stammered, rocking forward and back only slightly. I could barely tell from here, but Darin saw it and his smile broadened.

  “But not only for taste, oh, no, we have labs for that kind of thing—not that we don’t want our business for exactly that purpose, but we believe beyond the scope of palate, we could be of use to one another…”

  He trailed off. Darin said nothing. Kolar cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter.

  “Digiporous is a key ingredient in the medication Dorstatl, as I’m sure you know.”

  “I do,” said Darin, chuckling. The funding for the original project was his doing.

  “Yes, and we all know, of course, that this medication, due to the explicit nature of the plant, is illegal in the Arkang provinces.”

  “It is.”

  “But, but kasili borm will not be.”

  Darin cocked his head. “I’m listening.”

  “I propose we implement, quietly of course, elements of your flower into the manufacture of the borm in such a way that they can
be extracted across the borders and used for whatever your doctors abroad require of it.”

  Darin nodded slowly with a smile of recognition. “A partnership,” he said. Lots of people were after him for that.

  “One that would benefit both of us immensely,” Kolar insisted, leaning forward. He kept his hands on his knees, resisting the animal urge to jump up and down just to expend his energy. “We, of course, would have your business, and you would receive a spectacular discount on our services, substantially less than what you are currently paying those ruffians in Arsula.”

  “Those ruffians have done a fine job of transporting my assets for close to a decade,” he said.

  “Yes, yes, but they have been caught, yes, because they represent small businesses and lack the means to conceal the plant in something like a borm. They carry it in sacks and boxes, hidden beneath other sacks and boxes, and this, this is too exposed, I think, but I’m sure you realize that. I would like to offer you a less expensive, more streamlined solution, more expedient, I believe, and certainly safer for your product, with our considerable sway in Arkang and our numerous, relentlessly helpful contacts therein who would love to assist us with this noble cause.”

  “The transport of borm.”

  “The transport of digiporous borm.”

  Darin considered a moment. “And I suppose you have digiporous farms you expect me to buy from you?”

  “No, nonono, of course not. What we want from you, exactly, is to pay us a small fraction of your current transport expense—”

  Jesus Christ stop saying transport.

  “—to, erm, embed the digiporous in the borm, help us take it across, ah, hostile borders, and extract it on the other side, whereupon we shall return the digiporous to you to do with as you please.”

  Darin was nodding slowly, pursing his lips. His elbow was on the arm of the chair, his fist hovering close to his face, fingers rubbing together. It sounded like a good deal to me, which meant I was almost definitely missing something. This was Darin’s no-way-in-hell face. He was going to refuse.

  Darin sat up and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You,” he said slowly, deliberately, clipping the end of every word with his teeth, “do not want my business, Kolar.”

  “I, I beg your pardon—”

  “You want my protection. You and the Dasyls aren’t getting along so well anymore, are you?”

  Kolar stammered wordlessly. “I, I don’t see how that—”

  “Quite of few of them in Arkang now, aren’t there?”

  Kolar clamped his mouth shut. He was silent for several long seconds. “I…yes. I suppose there are. They have been moving, recently, to better real-estate. For several months now.”

  Darin chuckled, a sound like dark chocolate and distant thunder. “Better real-estate.” He shook his head and looked away, biting his lip. “Kolar, how stupid do you think I am?”

  Kolar paled. “No, I don’t, I don’t—”

  “Don’t you? Because you seem to be dragging me into your little family feud with a promise of smugglers I already have and relentlessly helpful contacts I don’t need.”

  Darin stood, stretching himself slowly to his full height. The fire caught him from beneath now, sending talons of orange light snaking down his arms and reflecting off the muscled insides of his wings. His eyes were lost in shadow. Kolar didn’t move.

  Darin leaned forward putting one hand on either side of Kolar’s chair. Time slowed around him, the whole world tacking precious seconds onto his movements. His tail whipped around and dragged itself slowly down Kolar’s thigh. A thin crimson line appeared in its wake, soaking through his clothes and into the upholstery. I wondered if that was why everything was red.

  “Find a different shield,” he said, and he smiled. He sat back down, resting his chin on his knuckles, legs splayed out. “Have a nice day.”

  Kolar twitched. “I beg your pardon?”

  Darin shrugged, lacing his fingers together. He wasn’t smiling anymore. “Have a nice day.”

  “I…I, but, we…” Kolar stammered. He gave a sharp sigh and stood. His words were short and sharp, splinters firing from a breaking tree. “Very well. A pleasure speaking with you today, sir, thank you so very much for your time.”

  Darin nodded once and said nothing.

  Kolar spared me one last curious look and left in a flurry of black silk – bumping into Sol-dam as he came in.

  “Excuse me, sir,” said Sol-dam. He was wearing, as he always did, the baggy white bodysuit full of pockets. At the sight of it, Kolar froze. He didn’t move for several seconds.

  “Sir?” said Sol-dam. “Are you unwell?”

  Kolar blinked at the doctor, and then slowly turned to me. His eyes flicked down the notecards I still hadn’t picked up. “Dr. Sol-dam,” he said, still looking at me. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” He turned to smile at him. “Are you, ah, working in this household? Or perhaps here on call?”

  “I am the resident physician now, sir.” Sol-dam kept his voice carefully level. “It is a great honor to serve such a prestigious family.”

  “You are, perhaps, the veterinarian?”

  “I am many things.” Sol-dam had seen him look at me, and his words had gone cold.

  “I see, I see.” Kolar angled himself at Darin, only half looking at him. “Did you know my cousin Orin has gone missing?”

  Darin didn’t miss a beat. “I did,” he said. “My condolences.”

  Kolar waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, there is no love lost there. I do wonder what happened to him, though. The Dasyls are absolutely distraught.”

  That was definitely a threat, but that wasn’t what I was worried about just then. Oh my God, that’s what Orin was here for. The Dasyls had been moving to Arkang for a few months. They might have started right around the time Orin was here. Orin was coming to offer us a partnership that would have tied us directly to Arkang. Maybe in an effort to undermine his significantly less composed cousin Kolar.

  So, for those of you keeping score, we’ve killed Orin of the Dasyl family and accused his cousin, who also made them angry somehow, of trying to hide from them behind Darin’s substantial economic girth. Which meant we were two for two with pissing off crime families. Fun for everybody.

  At the door, Kolar was bowing to Darin and Sol-dam. His bow to Sol-dam lingered just a moment too long. Darin and Sol-dam exchanged a look.

  Kolar stood, adjusted his cuffs, said, “A good day to you both,” with a peculiar smile, and left.

  We heard the door close downstairs and Sol-dam turned to Darin, a very human look of bewilderment on his face. “What was he doing here?”

  “Offending me,” said Darin. “And threatening me.”

  “Sounds like fun,” Sol-dam said uncertainly. “Brittany, are you alright?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “He was getting handsy before Darin came in, but…” I shrugged. “Whatever.”

  “He what?” said Darin, visibly bristling.

  “Tried to touch me,” I said. “He didn’t. For long.” I turned to Sol-dam. “He saw my cards.”

  “Your notecards?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Is that a bad thing? It feels like a bad thing.”

  “It might be,” he said. “But we won’t know for a while. He has cursory connections to slaving families, but he’s a small fish.” He put his hands in his pockets and wandered over to the window. He stood there a moment in silence, staring at the sunset, wrapped in the silence of spinning mental gears.

  Darin stayed by the door, his arms crossed. He looked like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself.

  “Are the Dasyls a big family?” I said. I wanted him to talk for some reason, use his voice for something other than scaring the piss out of his business associates.

  Darin seemed startled by my question, or maybe it was just the sound of my voice. He looked up suddenly and his mouth popped open, but for a moment he didn’t say anything. “I’m sorry?”

  “The Dasyl
s,” I said. “The ones moving to Arkang. Are they a big family?”

  “Oh.” He looked down at the carpet, shifted as though steeling himself, and looked back at me. His eyes found mine and locked themselves down, invisible claws of cold iron burrowing into the space between us to keep him from looking away. “They’re less of a family and more of a syndicate, if that makes sense. Many of them are related, but only tangentially.”

  “Like cousins to cousins.”

  “Yes.”

  “I take it they’re from different factions?”

  “Who?”

  “Orin and Kolar,” I said. I sat up and started picking up my scattered notecards, black ink flashing in the pale light. “Different factions? Or syndicates, families, whatever. They’re rivals of a kind.”

  “They are,” said Darin. “How could you tell?”

  “He said Orin was his cousin, and he really made it seem like he knew Orin was killed here,” I said. “He said the Dasyls were distraught about Orin’s death, which means he was one of them, and we know they’re on bad terms with Kolar, which is why he wanted protection crossing the borders. And I’m pretty sure Orin was here to offer you something similar, a tie to Arkang.”

  I thought he’d have come to the same conclusion by now, but his eyes went wide. “You’re certain?”

  “I said ‘pretty sure’, so no, I’m not,” I said, “but it’s a fair guess. Orin said the Dasyls started moving to Arkang several months ago, right around the time Orin was here, probably to ask if you wanted a cross-border partnership or something. He died, Orin’s…faction or whatever heard about it, realized the Dasyls sure as hell weren’t going to ask you again, and came looking for whatever protection detail he thought you could provide, knowing that you knew he and the Dasyls were enemies and you’d maybe be inclined to help him just to piss them off. You killed one in your house, what’s another dead Dasyl on the road?”

  Sol-dam was nodding, pacing, hand on his chin, but Darin was just…staring at me. His expression wide and open, something just shy of confusion. “You…” He laughed through his nose and shook his head. “How the hells could you know all of this?”

  “I don’t, I’m just guessing,” I said. “Politics is politics no matter what planet you’re on.”