Without a word, she reached out to strike at Pryce. She whirled the staff around and hit the man holding onto Meph, and the two ran out of the alley fast.
Well, he is here, so—
"Shut it, we need to get lizard boy and Lyra and get to the ship."
If we can. Pryce might have the militia on the payroll.
"Doubtful," she said, dodging around a cart. Meph ran under it.
Why?
"He doesn't have access to the family funds that he used to. He's a trust fund kid yet—" she rounded a corner and stopped to catch her breath, "—he needs a woman to marry before he gets the big money." She should know, she was the girl, until he kidnapped her and tried to force her to marry him.
She looked around the corner, not seeing Pryce and smiled, thinking she had gotten away form him.
"Jonica. It is time to come home," Pryce's voice came from the side.
She turned to see him walking towards her, dressed in a dark suit with two men flanking him. Three more were coming up behind her, pushing her forward. He looked the same as before, the night before their wedding.
The night he kidnapped me! She felt the rage surge her forward to strike Pryce across the face. The young man took the slap and continued to smirk at her. "That smile doesn't work on me anymore."
"You still have spirit," he said. "Good." He grabbed her hand when she tried to slap him again. The hand wasn't human. She realised the vice-like grip of a prosthetic held her tight when she tried to pull herself free.
"What did you—"
"You dishonoured me, and you dishonoured the clan I was to bring you to," his voice grew louder as he dragged her closer. Then he was screaming in her face, spittle splashing her face. "You made me lose my hand."
"So, you lost your lover too?" Jonica asked with a smirk.
There was a moment of confusion on Pryce's face. Then, when the barb hit, he growled and clamped down harder on her wrist and, with his free hand, slapped her again. The bones grated against each other, the pain driving her to her knees. Pryce followed her, not letting go.
"Be the good little girl you once were, and I won't have to make sure the wedding isn't also a funeral."
"Jonica!"
Jonica turned her head to see Kesh and Lyra running towards them. Pryce’s three henchmen grabbed them before they could do anything. Both of them winced in pain from the arm holds they put them in. Lyra winced more, and Jonica swore she heard the creak of their tendons.
“Ahh, good. The young man and girl. Saves me the trouble of finding and torturing you.” He turned to Jonica. “Are you going to do as I ask? Or can I have my men start breaking fingers?” Pryce looked at one of his men and nodded. Jonica turned to see the one holding Kesh reach down. The fear that appeared on Kesh's face told her what was happening.
Jonica looked up at him, his eyes blazed with a cold sadistic fire. A shiver shot through her, her bowels clenched, and she pushed herself up. "I will go with you, Pryce. Willingly."
"Good girl," Pryce said. "I'm still going to kill your friends." He let out a small laugh at Jonica's crestfallen face.
"Why?"
"Being paid to," he said. He waved in the direction of Kesh and Lyra. "Kill them both."
"You kill me, and the Empress will destroy your clan," Lyra said. Jonica felt a thrum from the girl.
Jonica looked at Lyra, shocked at the woman's voice. There was something in her voice that made her want to listen to her. Pryce faltered for a moment as well as his men. The men looked stupefied, unsure of what was going on. They released Kesh and Lyra, as they reached up to touch their heads.
Jonica looked at Kesh. Kesh took Lyra's hand and pulled her away from the small group. The gang blinked, pulled out plasma pistols, and started to shoot at the fleeing pair. They were already dodging and moving through the crowd.
There was a spasm of pain in Jonica's left hand. She turned, letting out a short scream and saw Pryce's prostethic hand open to reveal her left wrist had been crushed to paste. "Such a shame. You did like the wrist, for your little piloting thing, right?" The small, cold smile touched his frigid eyes.
Jonica was stunned. She looked at the broken wrist, not knowing what to do. She cradled the useless appendage in her other hand, her eyes glassy and in shock.
Kesh yanked Lyra back into his arms behind an alley. He was quick enough that the goons of the guy with the metal hand ran by their hiding spot.
“We need to go back for Jonica,” Lyra said. Her body trembled against him.
“We can’t she’s—“
“Kesh,” she said looking up at him, “We have to go.”
Kesh shook his head for a second, his head felt fuzzy. He nodded. “Alright, I’m sure we can do something. What about those guys?” He asked, looking at the goons as they circled back, making right for them.
Lyra stepped out of the alley and gestured at them. The three men stopped for a moment. Lyra let out a grunt of effort, flinging both of her hands out hard. The men went flying backwards, slamming into an alley wall behind them and were stone-still.
Lyra looked at him and gave him a smile. Kesh felt a coldness squirm through him. “You getting a better hand on your Talent, huh?”
“Yep,” she said with a big smile on her face.
Kesh shook his head, fearing the little girl more and more.
They came back to where they had seen Jonica and the guy with the metal hand. They were still there. Jonica’s eyes were distant, cradling her left hand, which looked like it had been crushed. Meph wasn’t around. Meph, where are you?
Save her human, I am nearby.
Kesh rushed forward as one of the goons tried to pick the unresponsive Jonica up by her right shoulder. She cried out in pain.
Kesh grabbed ahold of the goon grabbing Jonica and punched blindly. He caught the goon in the ear at an awkward angle. His fist hurt from the blow, but it did cause him to let go of Jonica. He looked back as another goon in black went running away, crying as Lyra walked forward. There was something strange about her eyes.
Kesh looked down to see Jonica on the ground, her left wrist shattered. Meph appeared next to her, yowling. Looking around, the man with the metal hand was gone. Kesh got on his knees. "What can I do? Where'd that guy go?"
Get out of here, Meph said. Go.
"But—"
Fedrats are coming because of Pryce.
"Who is Pryce?"
Go! Meph shouted in his head. Protect Lyra.
Kesh reeled back as if struck. He took Lyra's hand and bolted from the alley. "Take care of her, cat."
Of course, human.
Twenty-Four
Kesh heard Lyra moving in the dark. After running from the Greenies, they had found a flophouse to crash for the night. He missed Blue and hoped he was fine back at the ship. Lyra was sitting up, mumbling something about a white lady.
Kesh moved closer to Lyra. "It'll be ok. Relax, breathe."
Lyra kept screaming. She flailed in his arms. "No, no, no, no, no..."
Kesh grabbed Lyra hard and pushed her down onto the bed. "Stop it Lyra. You have to—"
Something pushed him back, away from her. He watched as her eyes opened, and a reddish glow filled her eyes.
Her voice became a vicious growl. "Don't tell me to calm down. I—"
She swooned before she finished her sentence. Kesh was able to catch her before she thumped to the floor. As he did, he looked at his hand and cursed. Damn it, not now! He hadn't realized how long it had been. He felt the tingle of the tattoo start to writhe under his skin. Shit, I can't go with the place crawling with Green Jackets. His hand throbbed again, the tattoo getting a shade darker. Slag!
Looking at Lyra, he was torn. Should he go poking around the market place, hoping to find something that would work on his hand to stop his former master from finding him while leaving Lyra exposed to the chance of being caught? Or stay here, and the Eridani would show up.
He placed Lyra on the bed and bolted for the marketplace ou
tside. He needed supplies if he was going to stop it.
The marketplace was much like the ones at home, except bigger. It reminded him of the market quarter in Tharsis City, except much bigger. For a quarter mile in any direction, he saw the small stalls and awnings of market stalls. Some of them had grown and encompassed more than one stall, a few becoming proper buildings. There was a feeling to this one, like all markets. The buzz of patrons, the miasma of spices, and the faces of familiar strangers.
The tingling pain in his right hand caused him to move faster through the market. Admire later, fix your tattoo and then get back to Lyra.
There was something specific he was looking for, and he prayed that he wouldn't run into anyone who knew what the ingredients would be needed for. His prayers were dashed when the first stall he tried was operated by a Quith. The long, slender red snake-like alien were fellow slaves of his former masters and that wasn't what he wanted. The Quith were still more valued than humans and some Quith were known to be spies for the Eridani. He wanted to go when the Quith's serpentine eyes landed on Kesh, and he felt the strange hypnotic pull the race had with a question. Let's see what this one has.
"What do you want, human? Ghash has what you need." The blood-red serpent hood flared as the Quith spoke, a show of fangs that was a smile in his culture.
"How about some quorian tincture and jetter?"
He saw that the request caused the Quith to lick the air. Kesh bit his lips hard, drawing blood. He hoped that the smell of blood was enough to hide the quick lie. The only thing he needed was the tincture. It was a stop-gap until he could get back to the Runner and the rest of the ordium. The jetter was added on to not sound needy. The one thing about the Quith is that they could tell some falsehoods because of certain chemicals given off, so they said. Then again, pain was a way to mask it.
With a critical eye, the merchant hissed and took up a small vial of quorian tincture. "I have no jetter, at least not in stock. You can see the Thallis filth in the next sector for jetter. But tell him Ghash sent you. He give you discount."
More like raise the price by thirty percent. The tingle in his hand grew worse, and he flexed it to try to relieve the pain. "I shall. How much for the tincture?" He asked without thinking.
The Quith grinned, and Kesh cursed himself for asking such a basic question. Fool.
"I give it to you for seven marks," Ghash held the vial out in his slender palm. His arm not outstretched enough for Kesh to just grab it and run. Only enough to show and have Kesh bend forward a little.
"Four marks. It looks cloudy," Kesh cocked an eye, putting on his best market-day face.
Ghash jerked his head back as if struck. "This is pure quorian tincture. It isn't cloudy."
"Then, let me examine it."
Ghash handed it over. As soon as Kesh's hand took the small decorative vial, the crimson red clawed hand of the Quith took Kesh's wrist in a strong unyielding grip. "So you don't run off with merchandise," Ghash said, his fangs out more.
Kesh looked into the Quith's eyes and cursed. The young man saw the telltale flashes in the Quith's eyes. He's trying to mesmerize me, slag! Kesh's former master had taught him techniques to put aside the hypnotic quality of the Quith's eye dance. It wasn't something Kesh could stop, and part of his mind shut itself off from the flashes. He stared back at Ghash with a small smile.
What am I going to do? He'll know I have training. Slagging hells.
Ghash settled back on his long thick, trunk of a body that ended with a tail. "You tell Ghash why you need jetter and quorian."
Need to play this right. "I need it for help."
"Help for what?" The Quith took out a long pipestem with a thick bulbous end. His other hand didn't loosen on Kesh's shirt. He started to smoke it with deep inhalations, causing the hood to flare slowly in and out.
"Things," Kesh said. He tried his best to make it sound like he was giving into the mesmerism. Still, he was coming closer and closer when he'd have to act.
"What?" Ghash snarled. He reached out with an arm and grabbed at Kesh's head.
Sod it, I'm not getting caught like this. He jerked his head back, a leg coming up and kicking outward to strike the Quith's arm hard.
Caught off guard by the kick, the Quith jerked backwards. Kesh took that moment to run away from the Ghash's stall. Dodging through the market stalls, twice he felt himself lose his footing before catching himself on a stall pole or leaning down to catch himself with a hand to stop him from skidding. He looked behind him and was free and clear.
He turned and ran into a thick man with a bright green jacket. He and the green-jacketed man went down in a tangle of bodies. He righted himself, looking at the man hoping to apologize. "I am so sorry sir, I didn't know…" When he saw the face and the burnished bronze clawed hand, his words dried up like water in the badlands.
"You," the scarred man said, reaching out to grab Kesh by the collar. Kesh danced away, but three more Green Jackets were upon him in moments. Sprinting down the alley, Kesh lost them for a moment. It was all he needed to run in and out of a half-dozen hovels that backed the edge of the massive market.
With the Greenies thrown off the trail for a minute, Kesh knelt down and pulled out the tincture in an empty room that smelled of dirt and piss. He took what was left of the clay he had in his belt, added it to the tincture, and shook it hard. He eyeballed the liquid inside, and it was a wan yellowish green. This had better work, I’m not sure if I can trust that Quith. But, better a little than nothing. The tincture would purify the clay more than the water could, and his brand was coming close to fully opening and sending a beacon out to his master. On the other hand, it could also deaden the nerves, and his right hand would be useless.
He set the bottle in the injector and gave it one last shake before he injected it.
Pain sliced through his hand, then his arm and body felt numb. Slag, used too much. He opened his eyes, not realizing he had closed them, and now saw double. He tried to get up and fell onto his side and blacked out.
Twenty-Five
Katerina settled back in the bath, letting the warm water work into her body. Wynna was still in bed; Katerina's willing bedfellow needed some rest after last night. She licked her lips, still tasting the blood she had sampled from the handmaiden without the little device. She smirked at the way Wynna wanted Katerina to bite her more. Not as good as the vessels and their ilk, but she knew that Wynna would do in a pinch if she needed help with her rejuvenation treatments. The thought made her feel giddy, and she felt the tension ease from her body.
She felt the dream from last night was another reason she felt the tension fleeing her body. A plan had been given to her by a dream of the galaxy. She needed to see to the machine, and soon.
"My Empress," another handmaiden, Yvette, said, gliding her way into the bathing chamber.
Katerina looked at her. "Yes?"
"One of the heads of the families are here. They wish to speak to you about—"
The girl was suddenly silent, and her hands went to her throat. Katerina watched, bored, as the handmaiden tried to breathe. The Empress could see that something was constricting the girl's throat tight. The girl's eyes widened as she clawed weakly at her throat. Her lips started to turn a slight shade of blue.
"You can stop this," Katerina said, moving towards the edge of the large tub. "Enter, Hagen, and stop damaging my property."
The girl dropped to the ground, sucking in breath. Heavy footfalls preceded a thick, heavyset man with a long plaited beard, gold and silver rings, and filagree woven into the strands. He wore a well-tailored suit that was cut square and hung below the hip at a precise angle. The epaulets on his shoulders made of cloth-of-gold and meant little, as did most of the medals on his chest. She remembered something her father had said about Hagen. Let him have his affectations, and he will be a loyal solider for you always.
He entered and knelt, his face smiling from the sight he had glimpsed before falling to one knee. My Empress,
ever may you reign. I am here—
"I am more than your equal. You will speak with your voice, Hagen!" The Empress stood, stepping over the lip of the black marble tub. The water trickling off her body didn't stop her. She didn't fear Hagen. Six Bloodguards, females with swords or spears emerged from their hidden positions the moment the Empress had raised her voice. Katerina vibrated with anger. She was ready to let the Bloodguard cut him apart. "I detest that mind speech the Blood are so obsessed with."
"Yes, Empress. But, it was your father who—"
"Does my father still rule?"
Hagen was silent.
"Does he?" Katerina screamed.
"No, Empress, you reign. Ever may you reign."
Katerina waited a moment. When Hagen didn't say anything, she spoke again. "The reason for your visit?" her voice bored as well as annoyed.
"I apologise, my Empress, ever may you reign. It is a grave error of protocol. I have been with some of the Blood. I grew complacent. I humbly beg forgiveness," he cried out, shoving his head to the floor and took to kneeling before her. He was crying.
The sobbing made Katerina smile. At least he knows his place. She shooed the Bloodguard away with a gesture, and when they removed themselves from sight, she stepped closer to Hagen, and whispered, "You may rise. Your forgiveness is pending on your news."
Hagen raised his face to look at her, he stopped at her navel. "You are still naked, Empress," his voice a combination of shock and lust.
"Does it bother you?" she asked with a smirk. "What news will you bore me with of the Families? Besides this bizarre rule about about speaking in each others’ heads."
"The families grow restless. The Empire is stagnant. They believe that the conquests are done. They wish to have their conscripts and generals back on their homeworlds."
"The Conquest is not done," Katerina said. "Not done yet." Not even by half if the Darkness is close.
"Please, Empress, ever may you reign. I must tell them something."
Katerina touched Hagen's chin with one finger and drew his face up until he looked into her eyes. "You will tell them that the Conquest's end is in sight. If need be, let one of the weaker families break, Renard or Kizon perhaps, and let the other families play their little games and cannabilize themselves."
Blood for the Empress: Part One of the Empress Trilogy Page 12
