She touched the back of his hand. “What are you asking me, Orishok?”
“You are mine, and I long to be yours, Quinn. I want to be your...huz bend.”
She tightened her fingers over his hand, his words bringing with them a painful but euphoric ache. Tears spilled from the corners of her eyes.
“I am sorry, Quinn. I did not want to make you sad.”
“I’m not sad.” She cupped his face and rose to press a kiss to his lips. He slipped an arm around her, supporting her as they sat up face-to-face. “It’s just that, after everything that’s happened, I thought I’d never have this. Thought I’d never find someone...to love.”
She kissed him again, her mouth lingering over his as more tears flowed. It was true; she loved him. With every passing day, every small kindness, every word, she’d fallen in love with him a little more.
She placed her hand on his chest, over his heartstone. “I want you to be mine, too.”
Orishok’s skin heated beneath her palm, and something smooth pressed to her palm. She slid her hand aside to see his heartstone on the surface, casting its green-blue glow on her pale skin.
“What do I need to do?” she asked, lifting her gaze to his.
He held up both of his hands in the small space between them. The fingernail of his index finger lengthened and sharpened to a fine point. Orishok trailed it over his other palm, scoring it with a shallow groove, and placed it over her chest.
“Heart of my heart, you are mine until Sonhadra claims me.”
Warmth blossomed within her. His words were so heartfelt, so meaningful, despite their simplicity.
She held her hand out to him. He lowered his finger and hesitated, meeting her gaze. Quinn offered him a soft smile and nodded. Dropping the tip of the nail to her skin, he flicked it across her palm. For a moment, there was nothing more than a warm, faint sting. Then blood welled and Quinn quickly pressed it over his heartstone.
“Heart of my heart,” she said, holding his gaze, “you are mine until Sonhadra claims me.”
Orishok’s heartstone heated, its light glowing through her fingers. His eyes brightened, too, enough that she had to close her eyes. Quinn’s heart thumped as they sat, hands against each other’s chests. Elation spread through her.
She felt his heartstone recede, his stone-like flesh reshaping beneath her touch. His fingertips brushed over her cheek and she opened her eyes.
He was smiling at her. “Heart of my heart, my life, my queen.”
“My king,” she grinned, rose onto her knees, and wrapped her arms around his neck. “You are mine.”
“And I am yours.” He embraced her, his big arms firm but gentle, and tilted back to lift her slightly off the bed. She laughed, holding onto him tighter.
“I should take care of the—” Quinn stiffened as she glanced at her open palm. Drawing away from him, she scrubbed away the drying blood with her fingertips, revealing smooth, unmarred flesh. She spread her fingers wider, but there was no sign of the cut.
“What is wrong?” Orishok asked.
“I...I don’t know.” She sat back and rubbed her palm. It had been a clean cut; maybe the edges had come together so cleanly that it was hidden? No amount of poking or prodding reopened the wound. She raised her hand to show Orishok. “It’s healed.”
“So quickly?” Taking her hand, he leaned his head down to inspect the wound — or, at least, the spot where it should have been. “Is this the way of your people?”
“No. It should have taken days to heal, at least. Could it be because of your heartstone?”
“I...do not believe it to be so. You have not been harmed by my touch, but I do not know how it would heal you. I can only take life.”
Her stomach sank in foreboding as she stared at the remaining blood. She’d awoken in the forest her first night on Sonhadra, her jumpsuit tattered and stained with still-wet blood; she hadn’t found a single scratch on her body. When she’d run barefoot through that forest, she’d felt the pain of branches, twigs, and rocks pricking and scratching the soles of her feet, but they’d been unmarked when she returned to Bahmet.
Quinn looked around the room, her attention falling upon the weaponry displayed upon the shelves. She leapt off the bed, ignoring Orishok as he called her name, and ran across the room. Grabbing one of the knives, she slashed her palm. The pain was immediate.
“Quinn!” he called again, and he was there in an instant, taking hold of her wrists and pulling them apart as fresh blood flowed from her hand. “What are you doing?”
Blood dripped onto the rug below, but Quinn didn’t look away from her hand. She watched with a combination of sick fascination and dread as her skin knit itself together. Within seconds, it was as though she hadn’t cut herself at all.
She tore her empty hand from his grasp and clenched her chest. Phantom sensations assaulted her; the agonizing, thunderous first beat of her heart, fiery air in her lungs as she sucked in her first breath, dirt and rocks biting into the tips of her fingers as she clawed the ground.
Breathing raggedly, she looked up to Orishok. “I died.”
“What do you mean, Quinn?” he asked, but somehow, he didn’t look surprised. Didn’t even look confused.
“I died the day the ship crashed. The night I came here.”
He tilted his head, though his expression didn’t change; it gave away nothing. “I smelled it on you, but I did not know its meaning.”
“What?”
“When you first came to Bahmet, the scent of death followed you. But not the death of another person, or of a beast.”
“You knew?”
Orishok shook his head, and the naturalness of the gesture reminded her for a moment of how much he’d learned since they met. Gently, he drew her closer and put his arm around her. “How could I have known, Quinn? You are more alive than anything or anyone I have known. You conquered death.”
Quinn’s throat tightened as a fresh wave of tears filled her eyes. “It was their experiments. They did this to me.”
He brushed the moisture from her cheeks with the pad of his thumb. “And I am glad we were both changed,” he said, “or I would never have come to know you. I would have returned to Sonhadra long before your father’s father was born, or you would have been dead when you fell from the sky. But now I can touch you, and hold you, and you live.”
She slipped her arms around him, sinking into his embrace. As horrible as the experiences had been — the countless experiments, the injections, the tests, the long days spent in solitary so they could observe the effects of their concoctions while she writhed in pain — she was grateful for them, because he was right. If not for all that, she’d never have met him. She would never have had a second chance.
Quinn pressed her cheek to his chest, feeling the faint hum of his heartstone beneath. “I love you.”
Orishok leaned his head down and kissed her hair. “I know your words, heart of my heart.”
Chapter Eleven
THEY EXPLORED KELSHARN’S room together, and Quinn set aside some of the items she wanted to bring home — all for decoration except the knife, which Orishok insisted she keep. While she searched, she found a strange, circular pattern on the floor in one corner. There was a slight depression in the stone nearby, and when she touched her toe to it, the pattern changed.
The stone shifted, dropping into a spiral staircase. They went down together, following the steps around a set of central pillars that ran from the top to the bottom. At the base, they discovered Kelsharn’s private bathing chamber.
Quinn had been delighted; the warm water, paired with Orishok’s steady, strong presence, eased her nerves. It would take time, but she was beginning to accept what had been done to her. Orishok’s words had shown her the good in her time aboard the Concord. Even if she’d survived the crash, a single touch from Orishok would’ve been her doom if not for her accelerated healing.
They made love again before leaving the bath, but Quinn had no desire to
stay in the palace. Though it would forever remain in her memory as the place of their joining, and its beauty was undeniable, the place was cold and unfeeling. All of its extravagance had come at the expense of Orishok’s people. With work, they could make it something more comfortable, something more alive, but she was happy with the home they’d already made.
They walked home together, carrying the trinkets she’d selected, and stopped for some more meat along the way.
When night fell, Quinn lay down in bed. Orishok took up his customary position at the window.
“Come to bed, Orishok.”
“I must stand my vigil, and you require sleep.”
Quinn drew down the blanket and patted the sheet. “I require you beside me.”
He stared at her for a few moments before he finally pushed away from the window and walked to her. The bed shifted beneath his weight as he climbed atop it, but she didn’t feel any of the motion. He settled on his side, facing her, positioning himself so their eyes were level.
She scooted against him and rested her head upon his shoulder; it was hard, and a little uncomfortable, but she didn’t care. All she wanted was his arms around her.
“Sleep, heart of my heart. I will keep watch over you.”
SHE WAS CURLED ON HER side when she awoke the next morning, her head resting on a pillow atop Orishok’s arm. His other arm lay over waist. Stretching, she reached behind her to brush her fingers over his cheek.
“Good morning,” she said.
“Good morning, my queen. Are you rested?”
Quinn laughed, shifting to face him. He adjusted his arm to settle his hand on her hip. “Why? Do you have plans for me?”
The corners of his mouth lifted. “Only to do what I can to see you smile.”
“You always make me smile,” she said, pecking a kiss on his lips.
She pulled away and slipped out of bed before he could grab her. As she walked, naked, to the fountain, she tossed him a grin over her shoulder. She washed her face and scrubbed her teeth, grateful for the toothpasty substance she’d found amongst Kelsharn’s toiletries — for days, she’d only had the soft, suede-like bark Orishok had shown her, the same his people had used for oral hygiene.
When she was done, she moved to the clothing hung along the wall.
“Orishok?” she asked as she drew a gown over her head and slipped her arms through its short sleeves.
He’d returned to the window, and twisted to look back at her when she spoke. “Yes?”
“Could you take the clay to the square for me?”
“All of it?” he asked, slight confusion in his voice.
“Yes.” She wrapped a strip of fabric around her waist, tying it into a bow.
Orishok walked to the barrel and squatted beside it. He wrapped his arms around the container and stood.
“You have no idea how sexy that is,” Quinn said with a grin, dragging her gaze over his body. His loincloth didn’t leave much to the imagination.
“I do not, but I know how heavy it is,” he replied. His footsteps were ponderous as he walked toward the door.
Quinn laughed, grabbed a bucket, and filled it with water from the fountain. Before she followed him out, she also snagged her knife and a spare blanket.
She directed him to place the barrel beside the platform in the center of the square. He’d found a thick, flat stone slab during one of their exploratory excursions, and had laid it atop the pedestal, covering the heartstones within. It would be a perfect surface.
The mist was already dissipating in the morning sunlight, and would be gone within an hour. The heat from the sun would help aid in her work, but first...
Sweeping her gaze around the square, she settled her gaze on the broken remains of Kelsharn’s monument. She walked to it, stepping over the larger chunks, toeing aside smaller debris. If she found the right tools, she could reshape the pieces into smaller sculptures, but for now she only needed some stabilizers. She picked out two long pieces, each about as thick around as her leg, that would work perfectly.
“Orishok, could you move these to the platform?”
Gathering the chunks of stone as though they weighed nothing, he carried them to the pedestal.
She explained what she wanted, and he flattened the bottoms with his bare hands as easily as she could sift sand through her fingers. Then he stood them up — a few feet apart, just like she’d shown him — and stepped back.
“Thank you.” She kissed his shoulder. “I might need you again later, but you’re free to go. Most people get pretty bored watching, since it takes so long before it really starts taking shape...and I want to surprise you, anyway.”
He frowned, looking first to the clay, then the platform, and then to her. “You...want me to leave you?”
“Well, don’t say it like we’re not going to see each other again.”
“I know we will, Quinn.” Orishok glanced to the nearest valo, and his frown deepened. “I will tend to my tribe, and ensure they are all well. If you need me, call out.”
“I will.”
Quinn waited until Orishok was out of sight before setting to work. She stood back, calling up the picture in her mind, and compared it to her work space. Guided by that vision, she adjusted the positions of the stone blocks he’d set down — mostly by wobbling them and grunting. Perspiration had already gathered on her face by the time she’d finished arranging them. To be fair, she hadn’t done any heavy lifting in the last few years, but Orishok had made it look so easy.
She dipped her fingers into the clay, scraping out handfuls and packing them around the columns of stone. As she packed on more clay, she smoothed the creases, and molded the basic shapes — the boots and leg armor that had been part of Orishok’s form when they first met.
Though he called her his queen, she wasn’t another person for him to serve. He was the true keeper of Bahmet. He was the one who had stood vigil over the city for so long, the one who had suffered through the slow death of his people. Orishok had been the one to watch them pass on, one by one, until he was all that remained.
Quinn glanced at the nearby valos. Orishok loved them all.
She immersed herself in her work, and time lost its meaning. It felt wonderful create, to work with her hands, to gradually instill life in what had begun as a lifeless lump of mud.
It wasn’t until her stomach growled that she forced herself to take a break. Covering the piece with the blanket, Quinn stepped back and surveyed the mess she’d made of herself. She grinned at the drying splotches of clay on her clothes; fancy gowns weren’t ideal for such work. There was likely ample fabric in the factory to fashion herself pants and a top. The dresses and skirts were beautiful, but they were also a hindrance; she was constantly lifting, kicking, and shoving them aside just to keep from tripping over herself.
Crouching beside the bucket of water, she washed most of the clay from her hands and arms, flicking away the excess water when she stood.
She returned home quickly, urged on more by the time she was missing out on her work than by her hunger. There were only a few root vegetables and a handful of berries in the bowl on the kitchen table. Quinn frowned; she’d forgotten to ask Orishok to take her out to forage, having been swept up in the excitement of his gift and the chance to explore the palace.
Oh well.
It was enough to satisfy her until later.
Picking up the bowl, she brought it to the square and sat down on the edge of the platform to eat. She’d just swallowed her first bite of a root when she heard the crunch of footsteps behind her.
“Back already?” she asked, turning to greet Orishok with a smile.
Her smile died instantly.
Four strangers stood no more than twenty feet away; the three men wore the tattered, filthy jumpsuits of inmates, while the woman was dressed in the sleek, more dignified uniform of a lab tech, though she was no less ragged. Their gaunt cheeks and sunken eyes spoke of hard times. Having encountered a few of the creatures
outside Bahmet’s walls, she was amazed they’d survived for so long after the crash.
“You expecting someone?” the man in the lead asked. His short brown beard was run through with flecks of gray.
Quinn stood and moved toward her knife, which lay on the platform nearby.
“Ah, ah.” He raised his right hand, pointing the barrel of a black-cased pistol directly at her.
She halted and raised her hands. In prison, she’d seen the damage those guns could do — the guards didn’t hesitate to use them on prisoners who fought back too hard. A single shot could melt flesh and bone, could sever limbs or leave a fist-sized hole in someone’s chest. The agonized screams of prisoners who’d been shot still echoed deep within her memory.
“She’s got food, Max,” said the second man — he had short, dark hair and a jagged scar across his face — pointing to Quinn’s hand. She was still holding the root.
“I see that, Vega.” Max dipped the barrel of the gun toward the bowl. “Put it in, lady.”
“Okay,” she said, slowly bending to toss the remainder of the root into the bowl.
“Johnson. Grab it.”
The third man stepped forward. He was a few inches taller than the others, but he was lanky — Quinn doubted a couple weeks with little food had helped him in that regard — and looked younger than his companions. He grabbed the bowl and hurried back to his group.
“Not much here.” He lifted a berry and moved it toward his mouth.
“Put that shit down,” Max commanded. Johnson, red-faced, obeyed. “Where’s the rest?”
“That’s all there is,” Quinn replied.
“Lying bitch,” the woman said, raking her gaze over Quinn. “Look at her. She doesn’t look like she’s missed a single meal.”
“Shut up, Lysa.” Max didn’t remove his eyes — or his gun — from Quinn. “Look, we don’t want to hurt you. But it seems like you got something nice going on here, and it’s only right you share it with us. You understand?”
“That’s all there is,” Quinn repeated. She wasn’t going to tell them about the meat in the freezer. “It’s what I’ve found in the forest.”
Undying (Valos of Sonhadra Book 7) Page 15