by Toni Kerr
“They’ll let you have food and water after the trial.”
“No they won’t and you know it. Help me up.”
“They’re not that bad—” she cut herself off, grimacing. “Okay, so they’re being a little harsh.”
“A little?”
“At least you’re getting better at not electrocuting yourself. That’s good!”
“The only thing they want is for me to suffer a long, painful death.” The pressure lessened on his shoulders and wrists when he could take the weight on his feet. “This trial is a sham.”
The door opened, spilling more light into the room. “Shaely,” scolded a man from the doorway. “He does not require your assistance.”
“I’d better go. Don’t forget what I said earlier about provoking.” She mouthed a silent kiss and walked away, bowing slightly at the man as she passed.
Tristan watched warily as the lights overhead went out. The man stayed silhouetted for a long moment as the door swung shut. He let out his breath, grateful to be alone.
When a hand covered his face, his mental shields flew up automatically. Sparks from the band lit the man’s eyes. Singed hair wafted around them.
“It’s okay with me if you want to defend yourself.”
Tristan forced his mind to relax and shut his eyes, waiting for the inevitable.
“The only reason you’re on trial is because some of us feel guilty about the last one we killed: Nicodemus Something-or-other. But some of us like the hunt and making the kill.”
A fist struck him in the gut, propelling his feet off the ground. Tristan pulled his leg upward as he swung back toward the man, half curling in on himself, half intending to do damage if he could.
The man grunted on impact and Tristan could only hope he’d doubled over. He swung his knee up again, with much more force, and managed a second lucky shot to the man’s head.
That’s as far as he got though, he froze as a sharp pain stabbed through his stomach, all the way to his spine. His muscles convulsed around a long blade as it twisted its way out.
“You’re an abomination to the human race and I hope you bleed to death before lunch is over. Is that quick enough for you?”
The door opened, letting in a burst of light for a moment. The man stumbled into the hall, clearly hurting at least a little by the gait of his steps, and then the door swung shut, sealing the room in darkness.
Tristan spat a bit of blood to the ground in front of him and grinned.
For some reason, he was past feeling any pain. His wrists didn’t even hurt. Neither did his ribs. Or face. He began shaking at the realization, suddenly cold. “Molajah?”
I am here.
He tugged at the chains, desperate to break free. What’s happening? Even the knife wound seemed insignificant, but maybe he was just in shock?
We’ve been speculating. Twice now, they might have declared you dead, had they been paying attention.
Tristan shifted his weight, determined to stand for as long as possible to save his arms. Who’s ‘we’?
The Seraphim Council. Jacques belongs as well, on a lesser level.
Is he still alive?
Yes.
Nicodemus?
Gwenna Winters’ husband. He was transporting the emerald at the time.
Was he a dragon?
Yes.
It made no sense that people could also be dragons. His heart raced. Why am I still alive?
We believe it is because you made contact with the emerald. The Valkyrie. It is what one would call...Warfare Advantage.
I don’t understand. His pulse beat strong. The only real pain came from the band attached to his skull.
Let us call it...a bit of immortality.
“No!” Tristan tugged at the chains again, reopening the wounds at his wrists. “That can’t be true.” Knowing his luck, he’d be tortured for the next twenty years and no one on the outside would know he was still alive.
He had to get away from this place.
Why didn’t the emerald keep Nicodemus alive?”
He never attempted direct contact.
An image of his father came to mind, from a time when they were obviously running away from something. Were the slayers after my father, too?
No. We were. But he misunderstood our intentions. You see, he was judged unstable at a very young age, as were you, before you were born, along with all of Jacques’ previous descendants. However, at this point, our options are becoming quite limited and we all must...how shall I say...give up some standards.
“Screw you!” Tristan refused to hear another word and tried transporting himself home. Sparks showered over his eyes, burning pinpricks on his skin.
30
- A PRICKLY PLAN -
“AT LEAST LET ME SPEAK,” Tristan managed, bracing for impact. No one noticed the healing under layers of dried blood, but it didn’t mean the new wounds didn’t hurt.
A masked man in the audience held up a hand.
Tristan tightened his grip on the chain as only air smacked against him. The man swinging the wooden plank had held back just in time, and retreated to a nearby wall.
Tristan sagged in the chains. The shift of pain to his wrists woke him with a start and he blinked, wondering if time had passed.
“Do you confess?”
“No.” He would if he thought it would end everything, but what if he couldn’t be killed?
“Do you now deny drawing this insignia?”
“I don’t know any insignia.” Tristan glanced at the copy of his drawing on display. Shaely must have taken the picture with her phone. “I was hallucinating at the time.” He gripped the chains, prepared for the hit, remembering belatedly that he’d been granted some sort of reprieve for the time being. Although, he wouldn’t be surprised if there was a second person behind him, ready to step in.
“But you don’t deny drawing it.”
“Doesn’t make me a dragon.” Tristan glanced warily into the darkness for Molajah. Where was he?
“And you simply found the artifact garment.”
“It was in a suitcase of art supplies.”
“The Makai gave it to you.”
“No one gave it to me. I found it!”
“Lies!”
The man lunged into the ring of light with his board on a backswing. Tristan tried raising a knee to block the blow, only to find his ankle cuffs bolted to the floor. When did that happened?
“I’m not a dragon! I have nothing to do with dragons, and it’s wrong to punish me for what happened a thousand years ago.” Tristan caught his breath between hits. “When was the last time anyone saw an actual dragon? Are you so desperate, you’re willing to kidnap innocent kids off the street, just so generations of training won’t go to waste?”
The last blow hit him square on the back of the head. Both shoulders snapped as he fell forward.
Tristan awoke lying on his back with an oxygen mask on his face. His chest ached, both arms, outstretched on the stone floor, were completely numb. He couldn’t tell if he was moving his fingers or not.
“Tristan? Oh, Tristan. I’m so sorry.”
He winced as he cleared his throat. “Stop apologizing and get me the hell out of here.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“Then leave me alone.”
“You don’t mean that.” She used a wet washcloth on his eyelids until he could open them. “You really shouldn’t antagonize them like that.”
“Shaely—”
“Quiet. Save your strength for the trial.”
“You’re not taking this very realistically.”
“And you’re not even injured! How do you explain that? What aren’t you telling me?”
Tristan shut his eyes, attempting to think of something fast. If he got on her bad side now, she might not be willing to help him with his plan, now that he had one.
“I was trusting that you were telling me the truth. Do you think I’m a fool? What are you?”
“I’m not anything and I don’t think you’re a fool. I’m...healing myself.”
“That’s impossible with that band on your head. You’re lying.”
“No, Shaely. It only gets triggered when I project thoughts outward, but healing myself is an internal thing.” The words made perfect sense. Tristan smiled to himself, cracking his lips, but relieved to have a more logical explanation than being immortal.
“You’re cheating?”
“There are no rules here.” He fought against his rising anger. “I’m doing the best I can.”
Her face softened and Tristan held his breath, tensing when she resumed cleaning his face. “Does it hurt?”
“Yes. I have a favor to ask,” he whispered. “It won’t get you in trouble.”
“Ahh.” She blushed and held back a giggle. “I knew you still cared about me.”
Tristan shuddered at the thought. “Do you live nearby?”
“Of course, silly. We all do.”
“Good. Do you have any houseplants?”
Her playful smile diminished. “Are you making fun of me?”
“No, Shaely. You’re the only friend I have in this place.”
She nearly batted her eyelashes. “I have a plant or two. Why?”
“I want to see a real, potted plant as soon as possible. Before I die in this dungeon.”
“You’re not going to die. They’ll let you go when the trial is over, and then we can keep seeing each other like we were.”
He couldn’t remember any redeeming qualities that had made him want to date her, other than she seemed normal and interested. “You can’t be serious.”
“Why not? My brothers won’t have anything against you once they know you’re innocent.”
“Shaely—” His mind reeled. He certainly couldn’t break up with her now, if she actually thought they were still dating. “They’re not letting me go. The trial will last until I’m dead.”
“You’re just being dramatic. They’re nice people! I swear!”
“They are not nice people. Nice people don’t kidnap and torture their little sister’s friends just to see if they’re good enough to date.”
“That’s not what they’re doing and you know it. Besides, we’re already dating. You even kissed me. Twice.”
Biggest mistake ever. “All I want is a houseplant.”
“You’re delirious, that’s all.” She brushed his matted hair from his forehead. “Things will be better soon.”
“Please. I just want to see one up close. What harm could it cause?”
She sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Now, Shaely. As soon as possible.”
“Now you’re just getting demanding.”
He studied her face, unsure if she was being sarcastic or not, and gulped.
“What?” she asked, exchanging the irritated scowl for a bashful smile.
If she turned on him completely, he’d be as good as dead.
“Just tell me. What are you thinking?”
“I don’t understand you,” he whispered, unable to think of a lie. “How can you stand by while your family does this?”
“You should be thanking your lucky stars they’re giving you a trial in the first place! Don’t you realize I’m the only reason there isn’t a unanimous vote?”
“How often do they vote?”
“They haven’t, but we discuss it every day.”
“How many days have I been here?” Without food or water. He didn’t dare point at possible clues out loud.
“Look,” she said, tossing the bloody rag into the bucket. “I know you’re tired and hurt, and that you want out of here as soon as possible. But these are the proceedings and I’m doing my best to make sure you’re taken care of. Do you see anyone else going through this much trouble?”
“No.” Tristan let his eyes close. “You’re the best thing in my life.” It wasn’t a lie, but he didn’t dare look at her.
“Aaahh.” She kissed his forehead and patted his cheek. “Anything besides a plant?”
Tristan shook his head, shivering against the sudden chill in the room. “Can you leave the light on?”
“They want it left off. Sorry. I’ll be back.”
The light died when she left.
“Molajah?”
He tested his arms, finding them unmovable, and panicked. If he could just sit up, or turn, or move in any direction...he sought out the cuffs with his mind and pried with all his strength.
* * *
“Oh, Tristan. Honestly. When will you learn?”
Tristan opened his eyes, blinded by the hanging bulb. At least he was still on the ground.
Shaely set a small clay pot with a cactus beside him and wrung out the washcloth from the bucket, dropping to her knees. His wrists were covered with fresh blood, but she went for his face.
“I need help,” Tristan whispered, ignoring Shaely.
“I brought you a plant, just like you wanted.”
Tristan didn’t dare speak mentally. He stared at the prickly cactus and waited for Shaely to leave, but she didn’t appear to be going anywhere. How loud would he have to talk for the plant to understand him?
He couldn’t risk waiting any longer and asked his favor in a rushed whisper. “I need a message relayed to Dorian.”
Dorian was the only person he knew who could speak with the plants. Or, she at least had some way of translating their thoughts.
“I can’t send any messages,” Shaely said. “I thought you understood?”
“I didn’t mean that.” Tristan squirmed. “I’m not asking you to do anything, I promise.”
“This is stupid.” She scooped up the cactus and got to her feet.
“No!” Tristan winced as he tried to move toward her and the plant. “Please don’t take it yet.”
Shaely eyed him suspiciously, shaking her head.
“Please, Shaely.” Tristan kept his eyes on the cactus, flooded with relief and pure joy when a tiny bump between spines expanded into a bright pink flower.
Shaely cocked an eyebrow and glanced the thorny ball, not noticing the new flower, and almost dropped the pot when the flesh between her thumb and index finger got pricked by a thorn.
“Thank you. If there’s ever anything —” Tristan froze as something Molajah said popped into his head.
What did the man mean about the trees outside? Could he ask the plants for favors, and have them physically respond to his requests? Could they behave like an army, and literally tear a building apart?
He redirected his attention to Shaely with his mouth gaping open. “I mean...I know I can’t repay you, but thank you so much for sneaking it in. It’s beautiful. I have so much to think about.”
Shaely’s frown grew deeper. “I’ll ask if I can give you water. Maybe that will help keep you from losing your mind completely.”
31
- CONFESSIONS -
“DO YOU CONFESS to being a dragon?” asked someone from the audience.
“Why do you need a confession?” Tristan held his breath, but the blow to his ribs never came. He might have confessed to anything, just to end the suffering, but now he had something to live for if the little cactus could get a message out. The people on the island probably wouldn’t do anything to save him, but if Dorian contacted the Makai with the information, they would come for him as fast as possible. “So you can sleep better when I’m dead?”
The swing came from the front instead of the back, causing his grip on the chain to slip as he fell backward. Sometimes it was worth provoking them if they left the room for a while, assuming him to be unconscious.
He let himself hang limp and replayed the message he’d given the cactus. He should have been more specific, but with Shaely listening.... What if Dorian still hated him? He could picture her ignoring the message.
If it even made it that far.
How far was he from the Pacific?
What if she couldn’t literally talk to plants? He’d go
tten the impression that she could. At least, she believed she could. He hadn’t really believed her at the time.
Technically speaking, anyone could talk to plants. But how would a person know if the plants could understand what was being said?
The crowd of people sitting along the wall remained seated.
“The last person you killed—” Before Tristan could finish, the board struck his hip and he lost sensation in his legs. Was there a limit to the amount of damage he could take? He needed a backup plan. Quick. “What made you think the last person was a dragon?”
The hand halted the next blow. Tristan breathed a sigh of relief.
“There was a time when the dragons were obvious targets, but they are shifty devils. Some of them took human forms to hide among us. And then they had the nerve to breed with us. It became imperative that we stop the spread of polluted genes at all costs. So you see, it isn’t a personal thing that we choose to kill you. We simply seek to purify the human evolution.”
He is partially correct, said Molajah. Those who could shift successfully did hide among the humans. Those without the ability were quickly captured and executed.
“From the Forest of Darkness, we know that so long as the blood of dragons remains among us, the world will suffer disease, famine, and evil....”
It was almost word for word what Shaely had said, like some sort of regurgitated cult doctrine they’d all put to memory.
“Our mission is to save the integrity of the human race, no matter what the costs.”
“Even if your mission wasn’t insane, it’d be impossible. Like tracking down every person with a Viking heritage. What proof do you have?”
With a flick of a wrist from the someone in the audience, the man with the board struck his right side.
Tristan choked on the blood coming up his throat in convulsive waves. One of his shoulders dislocated, allowing one knee to reach the ground. “These proceedings are being recorded and soon enough, we will have our proof.”
“I hope your recordings are used as evidence against you in a real trial.”
When he came to, both eyes were swollen shut. A hollow voice echoed around the room in slow, hypnotic tones. He didn’t pay attention until he was done throwing up, finally able to rise to his feet to relieve the ache in his arms. Though he could tell he wouldn’t be able to fix his shoulders without help.
