by Anna Argent
Talan took one. “That’ll work.”
“Head west,” Warrian ordered.
Talan nodded his intricately marked head, and sprinted out into the night.
Radek from House Soric held out his hand to receive the other strand. He wrapped it around two fingers, gathered it up and tucked it beneath the wide leather cuff around his wrist. “I’ll head north.”
Warrian nodded his agreement. The storm was worse in that direction, and Radek was most able to tolerate the cold.
“Are you sure those things are going to be able to smell me from just that one strand of hair?” asked the empress.
Warrian pinched the fabric of her puffy coat and tugged on it to get her moving toward the truck. “I am. We need to hurry now, Your Imperial Majyr.”
A book slipped out from beneath her shoe, causing her to stumble. Warrian grabbed her to steady her, and his hand accidentally found the slim curve of her hip. He should have pulled back, releasing her royal person, but they still had another mountain of books, a shattered glass door and an icy stretch of roadway to overcome before reaching the safety of the truck. So instead of doing what was proper, he did what was necessary. He tucked her against his side, tightened his grip on her body and sped toward escape.
The fact that every male instinct within him perked up at her closeness was an inconvenience he was going to have to ignore.
As close as she was to him now, her scent wrapped around his head. He dragged it in, reveling in the way it reminded him of warm ocean breezes and sun-drenched beaches. It had been a long time since he’d experienced the luxury of such things—not since the Raide had invaded Loriah and turned their world upside down. War had a way of driving all the good away, but here in this moment, he remembered the peace of his childhood, and silently thanked the empress for the pleasant respite from pain and death.
“I’ll take the bike,” said Radek, grinning at the thrill of the chase. He lifted a two-wheeled conveyance from the back of the truck and mounted it. The growling engine sparked to life, forcing out a billow of steam behind it.
The empress stopped in her tracks right in front of the bike. “You’ll freeze to death on that thing. You’re not even wearing a freaking shirt. And where’s your helmet? The roads are icy deathtraps.”
Radek’s smile widened at her ridiculous claim. “I’ll be fine, Your Imperial Majyr.” He thumped his chest and winked at her. “Good bloodlines.”
Warrian ignored the veiled insult at his own bloodlines and took the empress by the arm to help her up into the truck. She stifled a hiss of pain, clenching inward to favor her shoulder.
“Did I injure you?” he asked. He’d treated her roughly, tackling her to the ground as he had. He’d done it to save her life, but if he’d damaged her…
“No. That fleshy gray guy did it.”
A feeling of relief trickled through him. As selfish as it was for him to worry over such things, he was grateful he hadn’t hurt her. “I’m pleased that the Dregorg is dead, then. I would kill him for you again if it were possible.”
“Uh. Thanks. I guess. We’re good. Besides, I’ve never had anyone kill for me before.”
That wasn’t true, but he doubted she remembered much from the night of her escape. Warrian had been only ten at the time. She had been a baby, still mastering the art of walking. She’d wobbled past him, hand in hand with her sobbing mother, as she and the other children from House Loriah were rushed into hiding—sent to this distant world that no Raide knew existed. At the time.
And now all of those children needed to come home. Loriah and all of her people depended on it.
“How badly are you injured?” he asked.
“It’s not good, but I’ll live. Let’s just get out of here before company comes.”
He reached behind the seat to where his cloak lay and set it in her lap without touching her. “Put this on, covering as much of yourself as possible.”
“Why?”
“To mask your scent from the Dregorgs.”
She pulled the soft green cloak around herself as she asked, “How is a little fabric going to help when a single hair of mine is enough for those things to track?”
“Because I wear that cloak often and it smells of me. The fabric is a tight weave. It sheds water and deflects wind. Perhaps it will help.” And it was imbued with a substance the Builders had created that masked scent, but telling her that would only create more questions when there was time for none.
“Perhaps is better than no perhaps, I suppose.” She folded her legs on the seat, and draped herself completely. Only her face remained free, pale and pinched with pain and fear.
The urge to draw her against his chest and offer the comfort of his embrace was nearly overwhelming. He remembered how she’d melted beneath him, going boneless and relaxed as he’d breathed into her. Perhaps that had been shock, or the relief of feeling her lungs expand with air, but there was an instinct in him that whispered of something else, something deeper. It demanded he surround her with his strength and hold all enemies at bay.
Instead, he shut her door and climbed into the truck. He would see to her injuries as soon as it was safe, and in doing so, he’d once again have reason to touch her. Until then, Her Imperial Majyr was to stay out of his grasp.
Warrian turned the truck around slowly, cautious of the ice. There were no visible signs of Dregorgs approaching, but Talan was an excellent scout. If he said they were coming, then they were.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“We will keep moving for a while, then we will stop.”
“Way to be specific, Warrian. Care to try again?”
He was shocked by her use of his name. Most guards were only referred to by their position, if at all, especially by nobility. Her familiarity hadn’t been purposeful, but like her unbound hair, it was one more intimacy meant to fool him into forgetting his place.
He tightened his hold on the wheel and kept his gaze focused on the road ahead. Maneuvering these streets while coated with ice was much more difficult and slower than usual, which gave him all the reason he needed not to look at her. “I will drive until I’m sure that no more Dregorgs are on our trail. Then I will take you to a place of safety while we wait for the window.”
“What window?”
She wasn’t ready for that step of their journey yet. He could tell she was still suffering from the stress of the assault as well as her injury. “Are you hurt anywhere other than your shoulder?”
“Not really. And how did you know it was my shoulder?”
“Because I was watching you.” Too closely, but at least the lack of self-control had served him well in this case.
“I think I may need to have it x-rayed.”
Warrian glanced at her, hoping to figure out what she meant. “I don’t know this word, x-rayed.”
“Really? You’ve never had a broken bone with all of that tumbling, leaping, flying, rescue-fighting stuff you do?”
He put the pieces together, determining that this x-rayed had something to do with broken bones.
“You think your shoulder is broken?” The pain must have been more serious than he’d thought, though he should have expected it. The reduced gravity of this world had weakened her, leaving her prone to damage.
“I don’t know,” she said. “That Dregorg thing yanked on it pretty hard. It could just be dislocated. Either way I’m going to need a doctor.”
“I will provide what you need.”
“So you’re a doctor and an acrobat?”
“I am neither. But I will tend your injury as soon as it is safe to stop. I’m sorry it can’t be sooner.”
“I’m fine. Just keep driving away from those things and I won’t complain.”
“It is your right to complain as you wish, Your Imperial Majyr.”
“Imperial what? That’s not the first time you guys have called me that. Why?”
Perhaps he should have been more cautious with his words. Apparently sh
e had no idea who she really was, or that this was not her world. His commander had been unsure if her permanent guardian would have told her the truth, assuming the woman had survived long enough to do so. The Raide had found this planet, and there was no way to know how long they had been lurking here.
Warrian’s orders were to deliver all information to the empress carefully, easing her into her role. Barring that, he was simply supposed to deliver her to the palace, handing the job of education over to someone more capable than him. Likely the council, who would shape her into an instrument that suited their goals.
Warrian’s face heated with frustration and a sense of failure. “Forgive me. I am much better in battle than in conversation.”
“You called me imperial something. What the hell does that mean?”
She wasn’t ready for the truth yet. And he clearly wasn’t capable of enlightening her gently. His only viable option to maintain the integrity of his mission seemed to be to lie to her—something he was loathe to do. Still, since it was for her benefit… “I misspoke. I apologize.”
“Liar. Try again. Why did you call me that?”
“What would you like me to call you?”
“Isa works. Ms. Telwyn if you’re nasty.”
His spine straightened with indignation. “I assure you I am not nasty.”
She sighed. “Okay then. That’s settled. Now about this imperial stuff…”
Warrian was trapped. Lies and evasion were not working. He could sit in silence, ignoring her questions, but that chafed against his sense of duty. She was undoubtedly confused, and if the trembling of his cloak was any indication, afraid. She’d been attacked by something she’d never seen before, nearly crushed beneath a truck, and whisked away by a stranger. She was injured, her body was frail, and the least she deserved was for him to answer her questions.
He pulled in a long breath as he checked for signs of danger. There were few vehicles out on the streets. The farther they went, the worse the storm became. Dregorgs or not, they were going to have to stop soon or risk dying on the roads.
“I was sent here to find you,” he said. “This place—this world—is not your home. But at your home—your real home—you are nobility. If my guess is right, you are daughter of the previous empress.”
“And since my mother is dead…”
“That leaves you empress now.”
Isa sat in silence for a while, staring at him. He could feel her gaze against the side of his face, warm like the fleeting brush of sunshine in a forest. Finally, her voice came out, quiet and uncertain. “You’re not lying. If you were lying, I’d know.”
“It was rumored that your mother could taste a lie.”
She sucked in a shocked breath. “So can I. It’s all metallic and icky, like old pennies.”
“Does that mean you believe me?”
Her head fell back against the seat in defeat. “Do I have a choice? It seems like the only other options are that I hit my head and am experiencing some kind of concussion-induced hallucination. Or I’m dead and the afterlife is an insane place filled with hot men with braids and scary, giant, dog-faced monsters.”
A little wave of pride puffed him up. He didn’t understand why people here used temperature to describe attractiveness, but he did understand her meaning. She found him appealing, which was both flattering and concerning.
She didn’t truly understand her station. She didn’t understand that she was supposed to see him as a tool—one meant to pry her from this place and carry her home. She was seeing him as an equal, which, while exhilarating at moments, was dangerous for both of them.
Warrian could not forget his place. He would not forget it. She ruled. He fought. There were no intersections between the two beyond orders given and obeyed.
His phone rang. The human devices were handy for communication, and while Loriah had its own kind of communication technology, it worked poorly here.
Talan’s voice came through the device. “One Dregorg is trailing me. The other was tracking Radek. He killed it.”
“There are none following us,” said Warrian.
“Okay. I’ll take this one out and we should be good.”
“Of course you should be good. You are a man of honor.” Talan had lived here long enough to have picked up the language better than Warrian had, and he was often left trying to determine the other man’s meaning.
“No, I mean I’m going to kill him.”
“I like your plan. You may proceed.”
“Glad it meets your approval. Where are you?”
“The empress is in need of repair. I will take her to the southernmost camp where I will mend her. We will regroup there.”
“Sounds good. Bye.”
“By what?” Warrian asked, but Talan had already ended the connection.
“You’re going to mend me?” the empress asked, her sharp tone stating clearly that she was not fond of the idea.
“You object to this?”
“I object to you not taking me to a medical professional.”
“I don’t trust anyone to repair you as efficiently as I can.”
“You know, words like repair and mend make me think of duct tape and electrical wire. I’m not letting you get anywhere near my shoulder without proof that you know what you’re doing. It already hurts enough.”
If there hadn’t been a thread of pain weaving her words together so tightly, he would have complied with her wishes. But she was in pain, and that alone was enough to push him to argue with her—something of which he never would have thought himself capable only hours ago. Before meeting her. Before seeing just how fragile this world had left her.
“There will be no wires, and less pain than the needles and knives your doctors use.”
“No needles?” she asked, her tone hopeful.
“None.”
She deepened her voice and gave it an artificial roughness. “I like your plan. You may proceed.”
He’d said those same words to Talan only moments ago. “Are you mocking me?”
“A little. But you’re man enough to take it, and it gives me something to think about instead of the pain and the fact that there may be monsters chasing us.” There was an edge of vulnerability in her words that made him wish he could sweep her away from here sooner.
“I will not let the Dregorgs find you.”
“And if they do?”
“Then I will kill them.”
She turned away from him and stared out of the window. “How much trouble am I in, Warrian?”
The Dregorgs could still find her, but they weren’t the only threat. They were beasts of burden, war slaves of the Raide—the true threat. From now until the empress stepped back through the window, her life was at risk.
And then, when she did return home to the battle waging across Loriah, her safety was even more in question. If there were any other way of protecting their people from the Raide, Warrian would have left her here in peace. But there was no other way. Her people needed her, whether or not she knew it. Whether or not she wanted to be needed.
He wasn’t sure how to answer her question, and he knew that if he lied, she would sense it. After some silent thought, he settled on, “The trouble you are in is large, but there are many who would give their lives to keep you safe.”
“I don’t want that. All I want is for you to take me to a hospital where I can call the police or animal control to deal with my little infestation.”
“Your life has changed course.”
“But I didn’t do anything. I didn’t ask for this.”
“You were born the daughter of an empress. That’s all it takes to map out the course of your existence.”
Frigid rain hit the windows, mixed with the faint click of icy pellets. Heat was blown into the truck’s cabin, but he could feel cold air slinking in all around them.
“I hate it that I know you’re not lying,” she said. “If I didn’t know, then I could pretend that you were some deranged Comi
c-Con escapee.”
“I don’t know this Comic-Con thing, but I understand that lies are sometimes easier to bear. For burdening you with the truth, I am sorry.”
She continued staring out the window, and he found that he disliked not being able to glance over and read her expression.
“G’ma always said I was special. But all grandparents say that. I never thought it was anything more than pretty words—at least not once I was old enough to know there was no Tooth Fairy.”
Warrian wanted to ask about this fairy, but his focus had to remain on the empress. “This woman—your G’ma—was sent here with you. She was your guardian, charged with your protection and preparation.”
The empress let out a harsh laugh. “Prepare me? She told me stories of ocean kingdoms and warring lands brought together by a common enemy. She went on and on about beautiful places that don’t exist, lush island paradises, giant ships, and a way of life destroyed by greed. The only thing I’m prepared for is telling really great bedtime stories.”
She was wrong, though he refused to say the disrespectful words aloud. She never would have been entrusted to a guardian who would not have prepared her for her duty. There had been only one heir to the throne. The late empress would never have risked her entire empire by sending her only daughter away with a guardian who did not understand the magnitude of her responsibilities.
An entire world rested on Isa Telwyn’s slim shoulders. If she had not been prepared for her duties, then there truly was no hope.
Chapter Three
Kemp, Battle Lord of the Third Arm of Force Dimas, surveyed the damage his Dregs had left behind. Paper books and glass littered the scene, along with the powdery pale remains of failure.
He turned to Oc, the lumbering giant looming nearby awaiting orders. “Where is the Loriahan?” he asked, his voice quiet.
This Dreg was less offensive than most, garbed in scented robes that masked his pungent odor. For that reason alone, Kemp tolerated his proximity.
“Gone,” Oc answered. “Carried away. Protected.”
“By whom?”
Oc closed his brilliant orange eyes as he reached out to his people with his mind. All Dregs shared an intricate mental link that Kemp’s kind had yet to unravel. No matter how many subjects they tested, or what portions of the Dreg’s brains they removed, there had been no advancements in understanding. So the Raide were left leaning on a race of creatures who lacked intelligence, but had strength, stamina and a built-in system of communication.
