by Anna Argent
“They will not intend to, but we are desperate. Your duties will call the moment you set foot on Loriah. There will be no delay, no quarter, no comfort.”
“What are you trying to tell me, Warrian? Are you saying I should stay here? I thought you wanted me to go.”
“You must go. But there will be no one there to protect you.”
“What, they’ll just toss me into an arena with some Dregorgs and hope for the best?”
“It’s not the Dregorgs you should fear. It’s the council. They will demand things from you.”
“Like what?”
“They will demand you power the cannon.”
“That’s the whole reason I’m going, right?”
“There is more.” He hesitated even mentioning it, but she deserved to know what she would face. “They will expect an heir—someone who can take your place if you fall.”
“If I die, you mean?”
“Yes. That.”
She shuddered as if racked by cold. “So am I walking into some kind of arranged marriage?”
“Marriage is unimportant to the council. Feelings are unimportant. They will send men to you—men chosen for their service or station.”
“Send them to do what?”
“Create an heir. Only your offspring can power our defenses. And then only if you operate it while you are with child, so it can recognize that life.”
Her spine straightened and anger twisted her mouth. “Then I’ll send them right back. I’m not sleeping with a string of strangers just so some council can get their magical cannon-operating baby.”
“You don’t understand. Powering the defense will drain you. The men will come when you are weak. When you are sleeping. They will do what they believe must be done, because to disobey in a time of war is a death sentence.”
Her pale hair swayed as she shook her head. “No. No freaking way. I’m so not jumping through some window with a bunch of rapey dudes waiting for me on the other side. How could you even think that would I’d agree?”
“Rapey dudes?”
“Men who will wait until I’m unconscious or too weak to fight before they rape me? That is a crime where you’re from, isn’t it?”
“Not when the imperial heir is at stake. Not when it is ordered by the council.”
She leaned forward and grabbed the sides of his face, her words coming out between clenched teeth. “Promise me you won’t let that happen. Promise me you’ll guard my bedroom and keep all the raping assholes out.”
He could make no such promises. His duty was here, his orders to find as many of the children sent here as possible, even those who were not from House Loriah. “I’m sorry. My orders will not allow me to go with you.”
“Can’t I override those orders?” she asked. “I am your imperial martyr or whatever.”
“Majyr. And once you return home and are inside the palace, you will be guarded by members of the imperial guard.”
“And these guards? Will they do what I say?”
“They answer to the council. They will not go against the council’s wishes.”
She flung his hands away and scooted back. “Then I’m not going. Your entire rapey planet can find another empress to run their cannons—one who doesn’t mind being forced against her will.”
Warrian had ruined everything. Not only had he not offered comfort, he’d also changed her mind about willingly helping Loriah. He should have kept his mouth shut and stuck to combat. At least that was something at which he excelled.
From the corner of his eye he saw one of the perimeter alarms begin to flash.
“When is Radek to arrive?” Warrian called out to Talan.
“Not for another hour at least.”
He pulled the empress from the bed as he stood. “We must flee.”
The empress’s skin paled. “What’s going on?”
“We’ve been found,” said Warrian, just as Talan shouted out a warning of, “Dregorgs moving in!”
Chapter Eight
Isa froze in place with fear. She didn’t know if she was supposed to run or hide or look for some kind of weapon.
Warrian’s body tightened, and his expression shifted to the same one he’d worn as he’d killed the Dregorg. “Get down.”
One second, Isa was standing there, feeling the cold surge of adrenaline fill her. The next, he gathered her in a hug that lifted her from her feet and toppled her to the ground beneath him. A split second later, the wall of the house exploded.
He jerked atop her, grunting in pain. Something had hit him, but her face was pressed against his chest, leaving her blind to what was going on.
Yellow light flared to her left. She thought it might be fire, but she felt no heat, smelled no smoke.
“Go!” shouted Talan. “I’ll hold them.”
A horrendous screeching, crunching sound plowed into her ears so hard it left her dizzy. She felt strong hands lift her up and realized that Warrian had set her on her feet. His face was right in front of hers, creased with pain. But his stance was confident, his grip sure and unwavering. He pressed the keys into her palm. “We run for the truck. Don’t stop no matter what.”
She gave him a shaky nod and lifted the hem of the cloak. As she turned toward the door, she saw that it was missing. A huge, gaping hole stood where the wall had been. All that remained was kindling and shards of broken glass. The farmhouse was completely destroyed, as if a giant fist had plowed into it.
Dust filled the air, creating a yellow haze. It hadn’t been a fire at all that cast that light. Instead, there was a shimmering, two-foot-wide globe held aloft in Talan’s hand. By that light she could see shapes moving in the distance. One Dregorg charged, and a shard of arcing yellow lightning shot from the globe right into the creature, tossing it back on the ground.
Warrian grabbed Isa’s arm and began bodily lifting her over a pile of debris, forcing her to keep up with his rushed pace. The man’s legs were long, and nothing slowed him down. He moved over the exploded remains as easily as if they were smooth, plush carpet.
Isa wasn’t so lucky. She stumbled, trying to keep the cloak from tripping her up worse than the lengths of jagged two-by-fours and chunks of plaster. Finally, after nearly falling a third time, she tossed the cloak off her shoulders and let it fall off.
What point was there to masking her scent when she’d already been found? And what point was there in being warm if she tripped and impaled herself on a giant shard of glass?
Cold air wrapped around her, squeezing her tight. Her bare arm—the one she’d injured—went icy as freezing rain hit her skin. The thin cotton shirt did nothing to hold her body’s heat in, and the ripped back seam of her skirt gave the cold wind another entrance.
But that was the least of her worries.
A hulking form charged in from their left, outside the reach of the yellow light. She could feel the rumbling impact as the Dregorg’s feet hit the ground, or maybe that was simply her heart hammering in her chest.
Warrian’s hands glowed blue as the garala sparked to life. He took one leaping step and launched himself off what was left of the front wall of the farmhouse. As he went airborne, the blue light reshaped itself, changing from a wide web into a thin, nearly solid rope. He flicked his wrists, lengthening the rope until it lashed against the charging Dregorg’s skin like a whip.
The creature screamed. The flesh along its arm gaped open where the whip hit.
Warrian landed, using his momentum to spring back up. As he flipped over the Dregorg’s head, the bloated, gray mass rolled off, leaving the creature decapitated. Twin red blades fell from huge fists as the body toppled.
The whole thing had taken only a few seconds, and in that time, another Dregorg had appeared from the shadows.
Isa picked up a section of exploded two-by-four and held it in both hands like a baseball bat. From the corner of her eye, she saw a smaller shape step to the edge of the yellow glow.
He was the size of a human, but with pale, ne
arly gray skin the color of old snow, and school bus yellow hair. He was skinny, almost frail. He wore no visible armor, had no visible weapons, but he moved as if he had an entire army at his back. Complete confidence radiated from him, confusing her with his conflicting appearance.
And then he saw her, and she understood why he was so cocky. As his eyes met hers, pain consumed her world. Her whole body felt as if it were going up in flames, her flesh blistering and peeling away from her bones. She froze, her mind too seized up by pain to function. She couldn’t even breathe. All she could do was stand there in agony, without enough breath to scream.
In that moment, she would have given anything to make it stop. She would have done anything. But he wasn’t asking for anything from her, as if all he wanted from her was the pain he could pull from her bones.
Isa’s body contorted. Her muscles clamped down, reshaping her back into a rigid arch. Joints popped audibly, adding to the searing burn of pain. The edges of her vision wobbled and went gray. She begged to slip into unconsciousness and welcome its black embrace, but that respite never came. She could almost sense the man’s amusement in holding it off, trapping her inside the ravenous torment.
And then Warrian’s face appeared in front of her, blocking her line of sight, and all the pain evaporated in an instant. She sagged as her joints loosened. A huge, frigid breath filled her lungs. She couldn’t think. She knew there was something she was supposed to do, but the relief of being released from that pain was too huge and welcome for her to care about anything else.
Warrian lifted her up and practically shoved her into the truck, climbing in behind her. He pulled the keys from her clenched fingers. The engine roared to life, and he floored it, driving right over the overgrown lawn.
She sat there, simply breathing. Her body vibrated in the wake of the pain, as if some kind of energy was shimmying out from between her cells. It left her feeling boneless and stunned as the truck lurched up onto a gravel road.
Isa turned in her seat, staring out the back window as more yellow lightning streaked through the darkness.
She finally found enough air to speak. “Is Talan going to be okay?”
“Yes. He is a strong and capable warrior. And if he dies, his name will go in a place of honor as one who shed blood for House Loriah.”
“I’d really rather he stay alive.”
“Talan is equipped with the best technology the Builders of House Imon have to offer. He will survive.”
Warrian kept driving. Isa watched until the battle behind her was only a faint glow. If Talan didn’t make it out safe and sound, she wasn’t sure she could ever forgive herself. And he was just one man—one who didn’t even seem to like her all that much. How was she going to feel if she turned her back on an entire planet, even if some of them were raping assholes?
She began shaking with fear and rage. “That was one of the bad guys, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. He was one of the Raide.”
“And that thing he did to me—making my whole world light up in pain—can all of them do that?”
“Yes. You must never look them in the eyes.”
“Wish I’d known that before.”
“I apologize for not preparing you better, Your Imperial Majyr.”
“Forget it,” she said. She had too many other things going on to worry about past mistakes. In the blink of an eye, she’d gone from being certain she would never step through that window, to fighting the need to kill every last one of the Raide she could find.
Isa couldn’t think straight right now. She was still reeling from the sledgehammer of agony she’d endured, along with being scared to death. She was shaking with both fear and cold, her mind stuck in a constant loop of emotional overload.
When she’d been in the grip of that pain, she would have done anything to make it stop. Is that how those Dregorgs felt? Is that why they fought for such vile creatures? Or were they doing it to save the lives of their children?
Any being that could so easily inflict pain and enslave entire planets deserved to die. But was Isa going to subject herself to her own personal hell in order to dole out some much needed justice?
The question was too big to face right now, so she reached over and turned up the heat to drive away her chill. That, at least, was one thing she could fix easily. “Where are we going?”
His lips went tight and hard for a second before he seemed to regain control of himself. She couldn’t tell if it was pain or anger that had crossed his face. “The Raide are likely to have troops spread out all over the region. You are not the only one they seek. By now, they will have shared knowledge of your scent, and all will be hunting you.”
“Great. So no matter where we go, we may be moving closer to a Dregorg who can find me as easily as we could be moving away from them?”
“Correct.”
He turned the truck, and as he did, something about the movement caught her attention.
Warrian had been the personification of fluid grace, moving in a way that almost seemed to defy gravity. But just now, when he’d spun the steering wheel, his actions had been tight and jerky. Clumsy.
And then she remembered that rigid jolt that had shot through his body as it covered hers the first few seconds of the attack. He’d been hit with something. Flying debris, a weapon—something had slammed into him. It seemed like it had happened days ago. The pain had stretched time out in a way that only blazing agony could, clouding her mind and shrinking her world down until it didn’t extend past her own skin.
The more distance she put between her and the Raide, the better her brain seemed to function. At least she had the sense now to realize that something was wrong with Warrian.
“Are you hurt?” she asked.
“I’m fine.”
The coppery taste of deceit filled her mouth, like an old penny.
“You can’t lie to me, remember? Where are you hurt?”
“It is unimportant.”
That time he hadn’t been lying. He truly thought his injury didn’t matter.
Maybe it was all the pain and running-for-her-life stuff talking, but Isa was getting truly pissed off. She’d been jerked around enough tonight. She’d had too much thrown at her. Normally, she let things slide off, rolling with the punches. But not this time. “You’re the only thing standing between me and another Raide attack. If you think your health is unimportant to me, then you really don’t care whether or not I make it to that window tomorrow.”
“I care deeply.”
“Then answer my damn question. Where are you hurt?”
His jaw clenched, but she didn’t know if it was because he was mad at her or suffering from his injury. “My back. There is something lodged between my ribs.”
“Something…lodged?” she asked, horrified by the notion.
“I don’t know what it is. I haven’t had the opportunity to look.”
“Lean forward,” she commanded, using his stupid ideas about her being some imperial something to get him to cooperate.
He did as she asked. She turned on the dome light and saw that he was bleeding. She also saw the head of a rusty nail and a shard of wood protruding from his bloody shirt.
She cringed at the sight, then shuddered as what she had to do now sank in. “There’s debris in your back. It has to come out.”
“As soon as you’re safely through the window.”
“Really? That’s how you want to play this? You want to walk around, bleeding and in too much pain to fight? What happens if a Dregorg finds us before the window opens?”
“I have never been in too much pain to fight.”
“Awesome. A tough guy who doesn’t know his limits.” She poked his arm. “Listen to me, tough guy. As your imperial doohickey, I command you to pull over at the next store where I can get some bandages. And maybe a pair of pliers to pull out that nail.” Even the thought left her queasy, but she was just going to have to suck it up and do what needed to be done.
“
As you command,” he gritted out between clenched teeth. His skin had gone pale, and a line of sweat had formed along his brow.
“And don’t you dare pass out behind the wheel.”
“No, Your Imperial Majyr. I am in no danger of passing out.”
As the taste of old pennies hit her tongue, she knew they were screwed.
Chapter Nine
Talan held the glowing yellow globe for as long as he could. The lightning strikes it had flung at their enemies had worked, but at a cost. His body was shaking with the force of serving as source for so much power, but there was no other choice.
Isa had to be saved, no matter how badly suited she was to the task waiting for her. If the seas of Loriah became impassable—if they were ruled by the Raide—hundreds of thousands of people would die. It would then be only a matter of time before his own country fell.
And that was not something Talan was going to let happen.
The people under the rule of House Imon were Builders. They designed and created fabulous things, but they were not a self-sufficient people. Few farmed. Few raised livestock or fished. Without trade, their nation would starve before they even had the chance to be overtaken by the Raide.
Besides, Talan was a warrior—a destroyer among creators. His life was less important than the people he fought for. If he died here tonight, another warrior would take his place. Another would be sent to find the children of House Imon. Life would go on without him.
But that didn’t mean he was going to die easily.
Talan pulled a stack of sheengs from his vest, snapping the thread that held them in place. As the globe failed and the first Dregorg closed in, Talan flicked his wrist, launching one of the sheengs at his enemy.
The small, wickedly sharp, flat disk sliced through the Dregorg’s fleshy hide, cutting right through its neck. The sheeng had been crafted by a master Builder. Its aim was true, its force strong enough to sever the enemy’s brainstem. The creature went down, landing hard enough to shake the ground.
Exhaustion bore down on Talan. He’d given too much of himself to the globe, and it had left him weak. He needed to get to Isa’s car and get the hell out of here before it was too late.
