by Auryn Hadley
She chewed at her lower lip. I'm just kinda scared.
I am too, he admitted, passing her a blue envelope. I try not to show it, but I am. My mind says this will be ok, though. All of the options are still open. So kiss me, then go read a book or something.
She did. The kiss was gentle and sad, and she turned to the door with a sigh. He followed her. Unlocking the pin, he held it open.
The first full night of sleep I've had in a long time, he teased before saying "If you have any questions about your orders, Lieutenant, see General Sturmgren."
"Yes, sir," Sal told him, nodding professionally. She turned, and walked down the long hallway without looking back.
Chapter 30
Sal tapped the envelope against her hand, staring at the door. She glanced at the one next to it: her own room. Rooms that she'd never used. Her things were stored there, but she'd spent less than two hours in them since the Black Blades had arrived in Prin. She debated which door to use for only a moment, then tapped at Cyno's.
"Come," he called.
She turned the handle and walked in, smiling when she saw his weapons properly stored. "You cleaned."
"Yeh," he said, sitting at a small table. "I had warnin' I'd have company this time."
"Blaec gave me the orders," she said awkwardly, holding up the envelope.
Cyno gestured to the chair beside him, smiling up at her shyly. "Want anythin', Sal? I've got coffee and mead."
"Coffee, actually."
"Black?" He made his way to the kitchenette.
"I'll drink it just about any way."
He held up a carafe and a small pitcher. "Real cream?"
"You trying to impress me?" she teased.
"Nah. It's a weakness a' mine. One a' the servants in the mess brews me a pot of strong coffee at sundown so I have somethan when I'm readin'."
"How'd you convince him to do that?"
Cyno tried to hide his smile. "Her." Sal's ears flicked back as she glanced away, and he grinned. "She refuses ta take no fer an answer."
"Sorry. I can't control my damned ears half the time." She refused to look at him.
"I'm jealous. I wish I had yer ears."
"Really?" He just nodded, so she pushed for more. "Why?"
"They're beautiful and expressive. I always know what yer thinking, and ya can pick up so much more than these things that are stuck ta the side of my head." He shrugged, turned his attention to the coffee, and said softly, "Sometimes, the sunlight hits them jus' right and shines through the thin skin at the top, makin' them look like gossamer."
"What's gossamer?" Sal asked tentatively.
"Ever seen a web, covered in dew, in the mornin' sun?" He glanced at her and made his way back to the table, "That. Delicate, like it's from somewhere else. The servant keeps trying, and I keep saying na, Sal. I will na refuse the coffee and fresh cream, though. I'm na stupid."
She laughed and accepted her cup from him. "I don't mean to be jealous. I'm sorry. I have no right."
"Ya have ever' right. If she does it when yer around, ground her."
"We'll see. What are you looking at?" She desperately tried to change the subject.
"Anglian history. Read those orders so we can get a better idea of what we're workin' with."
Sal opened the envelope, surprised to see it encoded. "Jase, you have the fourth codex?"
"Maast," he whispered, glancing at the orders as if they were toxic. "That's a big deal. Yeh, I got it." He grabbed a small book from his saddle pack beside the door and flipped it open. Back at the table, he handed it to her.
Sal, able to transcribe the orders now, was impressed. "Ran did good. Short version, the orders state that myself and another Black Blade of Blaec's choosing are to be sent to Anglia to remove the current king and install one that shows an interest in forming an alliance with the Conglomerate of Free Citizens. That's it. There's a lot of stuff about how I'll need to make decisions based upon the information I am able to obtain in the field and crap like that."
"Remind me ta shake his hand," Cyno said. It was not a casual compliment coming from him. "Ok," he said, tapping the book in front of him. "Here's the thing. Valmere's a bastard's son. He's been raised a bit diff'rent from most nobles."
"Explain that?"
"Typically, Anglian nobles are raised ta think they are better than those around them. Their positions are inherited, na voted on, so bloodlines matter. This one, though, his dava was Jensen's bastard, who managed ta marry the daughter of the former Valmere. Since females can na inherit up there, that's the only way for Valmere to keep its seat in the family."
"Ok. So what do we know of the current Marquis?"
"Single, liberally minded – for Anglia – has romanticized notions about democracy, and quite a few comments about his interest in our kind. Seems they treat iliri as a myth up there."
"Really? I know we purebreds are rare, but don't they have crossbreds?"
"If they do, they do na understand them. Skin color is na a thing in Anglia, and they do na check teeth. I'm guessing Dominik Jens – that's the current Marquis of Valmere's name – is gonna do well fer us. He wrote a paper about the strong women in iliran mythology. Prolly did na realize it'd get published."
"How bad is it?"
Cyno laughed. "It's pretty bad. Granted, looks like he was 'bout sixteen when he wrote it. Primary graduation thesis. Kinda reads more like some human's fantasy than anythan' close to our culture, but it's certainly favorable to iliri." He chuckled. "Ya do na wanna read it. Ya'd kill him."
"So, how do we get rid of the rest?"
He looked up at her, a feral spark in his eyes. "What do ya know of poisons?"
"Only what you've taught me."
"Ya sure we're going fer the bastard's kid? Or do ya wanna check out Eriwald first?"
"No," Sal said. "Ran was pretty adamant that Eriwald is anti-iliri. We'll put Valmere in the chair."
"Throne," he corrected. "K. So, we hit the brother and his boy first. I've got some long-acting poisons. We'll need ta use the jakentrons and hit them traveling so we can make it look natural. They will get real sick and wither. May wanna consider hitting a few of their companions as well, ta make it look like a contagion."
"Nice. Very nice. No wonder you have the reputation you do."
He smiled at her proudly and continued, "Hit them before anyone knows we're in the country, then double back. Make a public appearance in Bysno. Rumors say he likes pale-skinned, dark-haired, married women. That will give the country a time line fer where we are."
"So, that's like three free kills. What about Eriwald?"
"Leave Bysno and make it known we are going ta Dorton and na used ta traveling in the snow. We are na, but we can plan fer it."
"Snow?" Sal asked. It was hard to think of snow in the middle of summer.
"Three months ta get there. It's a lot higher elevation and further north. Late fall brings snow ta Anglia, and a lot of it."
"Ok. I haven't really seen snow before, except that bit we got two years ago in Ft. Landing."
"It's lovely, Sal." Cyno's face grew distant. "It makes the world different, ya know? Smells are more intense and sounds sharpen, but the world is in shades a greys, like at night. We should be able ta leave Bysno, hit Eriwald, and be in Dorton before our detour is noticed. We're gonna need ta plan fer the horses, though. Cold weather means extra forage, and snow packs in their hooves if they're shod."
"And we need shoes for the fourth load. Fuck."
"I'll talk ta Tilso about it. We'll need ta have them worked on while we are out, anyway. Sal? There's one thing ya need ta know about Anglia."
"What?"
"They do na like women there."
"Kinda like being iliri here?"
"Nah, nothing that bad. Women breed and cook and stuff. They can na own things. They do na even get the right ta live on their own. I mean, it's better than it used ta be, but, it's na like here."
"So what do they do?"
"Get m
arried and produce heirs."
"So how do we convince this bastard that we can help him if he won't listen to me?" she asked, flipping open one of the books on the table to occupy her hands.
"Well, either ya try ta be submissive ta me, which prolly will na work well, or we teach them about our people?"
"You think they'll listen? You know how humans get! They think they know something and nothing will change their damned minds." Sal growled and flipped a few more pages, glancing down at the pictures.
"I think this one might. He's likely ta fall in love with ya, kitten."
She paused, and smiled. "That is something I can work with. Is it going to bother you if I play this man?"
"Na. It's the job, Sal. Ya seduce him and make him love our people, and it's na but good for us in the long run. I think I can hold my jealousy for a while longer."
"Longer?"
Cyno clenched his jaw and looked away. "I should learn ta think b'fore I speak."
"What happened to males not feeling jealousy within the pack?"
"I may have used the wrong words. I'm envious but na hateful. LT's family, but I can na stop wishing I was him, ok?"
"Don't," Sal told him, touching his arm gently. "I don't want you to be him. I kinda like this. Together, planning things. It feels..." She sighed. "I don't know the words. I need this though, ok?"
"A strategist?"
"A man who can keep up with me," Sal corrected.
"Oh." Her words were clearly not what Cyno had expected. He nodded, then asked, "Ya know iliri do na try ta avoid things like humans, right? We tend ta just talk it out, or fight it out."
"One of the things I love most about the Blades, actually."
He nodded, staring at the open book before him. "So, does that mean I'm na fuckin' this up?"
"That's exactly what it means. I'm not sure what I'm doing, but Jase, you're probably going to need more coffee, and I don't intend to talk tactics with you all night."
He closed his book and pushed it away. "So what did ya wanna learn about instead?"
Sal tapped the picture in front of her. "I want to know where I can get a set of these." She flipped back a couple of pages and tapped at another picture. "Or these. I've never seen anything like them."
"It's iliri gladiator armor. In the 2700s they used ta set us against each other. Purebreds, usually. They'd have specially made armors – most of it was as much weapon as defense – and they bet money on which one would live through the fight. Winners were given their choice of mates, and the offsprin' were sold fer a small fortune. The females were the most aggressive, of course, and their gear shows it."
"Could you imagine having something like this?" Sal asked, pushing the book in front of him, moving to stand over his shoulder. She flipped a few pages and pointed out the sets she liked the most. "Those are cutting edges on the forearms, and hooks at the wrist. Backhand someone and you'd slash him open."
"Or catch on yer partner's pauldron," he teased, looking up at her.
Sal caught his eyes, the dark blue always shockingly beautiful, and glanced down shyly. "I'd never do that. Besides, you're too fast to get caught."
"Then maybe I need ta learn ta slow down," he said gently.
Sal trailed her fingers down his neck. "Or I need to learn to move faster."
"Ya move as fast as ya can, kitten. I'll wait for ya. I do na understand why ya do the things ya do, but I accept ya fer who ya are."
"Why?"
He chuckled, "Ya would na believe me if I told ya. Na yet."
"Try me, Jase. Things are changing around me fast enough, that I'm willing to accept a lot right now. Besides, I'm sure you have a book about it."
He grinned. "I do, but ya can na read it."
"Then read it to me."
"Really?"
She nodded. "You get the book. I'll move the coffee closer to the couch."
"I can do that," he whispered, moving to a stack of books and rummaging through them.
Chapter 31
Sal grabbed the carafe and the pitcher of cream, set it on the table next to the coffee, then ducked into Cyno's sleeping chamber to get the pillows from the bed. When she returned, he was flipping through a book, sitting on the couch. Sal tossed the pillows against the arm rest. She gestured for him to recline, then sat by his hip and pulled off her boots before laying against his chest.
"Now I can see without breaking my neck."
"Yeh, but ya'll break my arm there," he teased, then grabbed her and pulled her over his leg. With her back to his chest, he rested his chin on her shoulder. "Now I can see as well."
"So tell me why you put up with all the shit I keep putting you through."
"It's because yer perfect, Salryc Luxx," he whispered in her ear as he opened the book. One finger traced the lines he read. "Iliri have a tendency ta be a superstitious people. Males often believe that they are destined fer a specific female. Upon exposure ta her scent, these males become lifebonded, unable ta find attraction in another female. The iliri have multiple words fer their mates, each of which has very specific connotations and societal implications."
"Mates?" Sal asked, pointing to a symbol.
"Yeah," he said, moving his finger to a new line. "The iliri refer ta these dedicated males in vague terms, which is at odds with the rest of their language. They simply say the male is meant fer, or intended fer, that female. This has been explained as being due ta the female's preference for choosin' or rejectin' his courtship. Rejection rarely cures the males of their dedication. No one has yet clarified who or what they blame fer this phenomenon, as the iliri lack deities."
"What's a deity?" Sal asked.
"A myth or legend, I think. Somethan that does na seem ta exist, but it effects the culture regardless. We do na have anything like that, but humans used ta, many thousands of years ago."
"And you're meant for me?" she asked, scared of the answer.
"Yeh. Blaec, too."
"Is that how it always is?"
"No," he said, pronouncing the word carefully. "It is na so rare as the book makes it out, but it tends ta happen more in diverse populations." He moved his hand to another line in the book. "The iliri believe it's a biological signal that we'd be a good breeding match, as offspring from such pairings tend ta be superior ta those of typical matings. Because we rarely have control of our own movements, it's rare fer a female ta meet two males who are genetically suited for her."
"I have no interest in having children, Jase," Sal told him. "They would be born slaves."
"That has na to do with it, actually." He breathed in the scent at her neck. "It's how ya smell. Does na matter if we ever have kids, it matters that I can smell ya, and it messes with my head."
"Not the most romantic thing you've ever said," she teased.
"Nah, its na, but ya asked how it works."
"What does it feel like?"
"Hm," he murmured, leaning back. "Ya know how Blaec makes yer heart beat faster and ya smile when ya look at him? How ya think he's beautiful? Even his scars?"
"Does that come through when you touch me?"
"Some. Most is what I see. That is just how ya look at him. That is how it is fer us, too. When I took yer papers that first day, and ya lifted yer chin but forced yerself ta look down, I was impressed with yer spunk. When ya looked at me after I fought that arrogant prick? Ayati, Sal. There ya were, the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, and ya were looking at me. Me. Like I was special."
"I'm not beautiful, Jase. I'm a midget, built like a stick, with a head like a mouse and the ears to match!"
"Nah. That is na what I see." He pulled her hair away from her neck and kissed the thin edge of her ear. "Ya look deceptively fragile, like a deer, but yer solid muscle, a perfect predator. Yer agile and graceful, and ya do na walk anywhere, but glide, as if the ground gives way ta ya. Yer skin is as pale as fresh snow, and yer hair, it's like some metal I've never seen, white, shiny, and priceless. Yer eyes." He chuckled. "Ya dunno how many t
imes I've thought it'd be worth it. Ya'd put me in the ground, but it'd be so worth it ta just get lost in yer eyes. They are na completely white, ya know? They're like clouds, hints of color reflected back ta me. And I love yer nose. Humans always look like someone hit them in the head with a pipe. Ya don't. Yer nose," he chuckled again. "Yer face is sleek and elegant, like a work of art, kitten. Ya look like someone sculpted ya."
"And didn't finish," Sal said.
"And got it right," he corrected. "Sal, just look." He rested his hand against her arm, and she could feel him pushing a memory toward her. She took it and looked.
It was her in training, curled into a chair, waiting for her session with him. She was leaning over some book, hugging one knee against her chest, the other tucked under her rump, with a hand holding her loose hair away from her face. The sunlight from the window lit her hair into a golden halo, and he paused, struggling to take in the beauty as his heart pounded in his chest. Her delicate ear flicked toward him, acknowledging his presence, but he couldn't look away. Her profile was streamlined and sleek, her figure was seductive. Like a cat, everything about her was made to kill, every line refined and immaculate. She looked up at him and he felt as if he could fall into the pale abyss of her eyes.
The memory faded, and Sal looked over her shoulder. "That's how you see me?"
"Yeh. Always. I know how ya see yerself, and it is na the same." He grinned. "Yer just gonna have ta accept that I'm right and yer wrong this time."
She laughed. "Ok. I'll try. I like your impression more than mine."
"Sal?" he asked, his voice insecure. "The man from the 112th? I know why we need ta put on this show, but it's just a show?"
"It's just a show."
"I am na sure what I will do. I try ta stay away from humans, ya know. I do na do well with them. Ya are gonna have ta stop me."
"How?"
"I'll listen. Just make sure I hear it. I will try na ta, but do na trust me, ok?"
"You're not feral, Jase."
"I am na far off. We used ta eat them, Sal. That's how I got conscripted."
