by Sarah Wynde
Gaelith stopped by every day for at least a short while, usually for a meal, but always rushing in and out again. It was the dome or the farms or the house or, with a frown that grew more worried every day, the Lady Din Souza, whose baby was still a no-show. Kaio checked in, too, but never for more than a minute or two.
Meanwhile, she and Luke explored the city. Water spraying up, water spurting down, waterfalls, fountains, canals and brooks and streams, there was water everywhere. They swam every day, but they also played. Luke would splash her, she’d splash him back, and twenty minutes later, they’d be drenched and laughing.
And he taught her to fly the gliders. Elfie lectured her as she soared above the city, teaching her the rules. “You do not have the right of way in this circumstance. Remember to look up. Down is natural but it is unfair to expect height to always capitulate.” Fen loved it. The gliders responded to her without hesitation, as natural as if they were extensions of her own body.
They played with the magic, too. Luke watched, encouraging and appreciative, as Fen transformed Remy’s rooms into one space after another. Arabian nights? Done. Haunted Mansion? Nailed it. Buttercup’s bedchamber in The Princess Bride where Westley threatened Prince Humperdink with battle to the pain—she had it right down to the white and gold pillowcases and the sedate armchair where Prince Humperdink let himself be tied up.
A comfy hotel room where Luke could give her a polite peck on the lips goodnight as he removed himself so she could sleep? Oh, yeah, she had that one mastered, too.
On the fourth day, the entire city was in a party mood. It was the opening night for the Great Council. Fen thought it must be something like being in Los Angeles during the Academy Awards. Although the binding ceremony would be held at the castle and the Who’s Who list of Sia Marans would be there, everyone else would be attending parties and performances around the city. After dinner, Luke had promised to take her to hear the Choriodaki Choir, the men’s choral group she’d overhead during her first glider ride.
And after that?
It might be her last night in Syl Var. Probably not—she didn’t think Kaio would send her home the very day after the Council had their binding ceremony. But it would be soon. He’d get the Council to swear to her safety and she’d be on her way.
That meant she didn’t have a lot of time.
She and Luke didn’t have a lot of time.
They’d eat dinner. They’d go to the concert.
And then?
He was too damn polite, this boy.
Okay, not a boy, she reminded herself as she followed him into Remy’s. He looked young, but he was forty frickin’ years old. Come on, what kind of cues did he need to make a pass? She was his for the taking. The most minuscule effort on his part and she would fall into his lap.
Should she say something over dinner or wait until after the concert?
She could be straight up about it. She could say, “Stay. Fuck me.”
Luke, though, eh. He was on the romantic side.
So maybe seductive? “Don’t leave me. I don’t want to be alone.”
Ugh. She could try that, but did it make her sound pitiful?
Damn it, why did she have to be the one to figure this out? He was a guy. He was the one who was supposed to be worrying about this.
He was the one who ought to be putting his hands on her, ought to be tucking her hair behind her ears, looking longingly into her eyes, whispering romantic shit to her in a voice that was soft and sweet and nowhere near as hot as his brother’s.
Damn it.
Fen sighed.
Absently, she scratched the back of her hand as she followed Luke down the hallway toward her room.
She wanted him to stay. She did. Luke was fun and cute and gentle and…
Ow.
She looked down at her hand. The ladybug was bright red, wings fluttering madly, running up and down in scrambling circles around the back of her hand.
What the hell?
And Crashing Hard
Fen raised her head to call Luke’s name, to tell him to stop, but it was already too late. Two men rounded the corner in front of them.
She froze. A burst of agony exploded on the back of her leg and raced up her body, tearing around her, engulfing her in thorns and needles. Tears sprang to her eyes. Holy shit, it hurt. She gasped, but swallowed her scream, and turned, pressing her back against the wall.
They would walk on by, she prayed. They wouldn’t see her. Her ivy was protecting her, even though it hurt, hurt, hurt.
Her eyes were closed so she didn’t see what happened next, but she heard it.
A soft thud, a hard thud, a groan of pain and a scrabble of feet against the floor.
“What the—” Those wheezing words were from Luke.
“Get him inside, quickly.” The snapped order was in a cold voice, one she didn’t recognize.
She forced her eyes open, still trying to hold back the scream although the agony was easing.
The two men were dragging Luke into her room. She’d never seen them before. They looked innocuous, mild-mannered. No tattoos, dark hair, dressed in simple clothes, they barely even looked Sia Maran. Just plain old ordinary guys. But the grim look on the face of the man who held Luke under the arms, set lines about his mouth and eyes, was somehow as threatening as the blank expression on the man who’d offered her the choice between pills or a bullet.
Fen stuffed her hand into her mouth to choke back her cry.
Oh, help.
Oh, help, help, help.
The door closed behind them and Fen took the first breath she’d managed since her initial gasp.
She needed to get help.
She turned and tore down the hallway.
Remy would be in the kitchen. It was his favorite room. He was always there. He could—do what? He could call the guards, she told herself. The city had guards. Surely this was the kind of thing they were there for.
She burst through the door into the kitchen and skidded to a halt.
The pool of blood on the floor hadn’t reached the door.
The flush of a panic attack rushed over her, hot, cold, hot again, heart racing, and then, as if a wall of bulletproof glass slid down between her and the world, it shut off.
The blood was red, she noticed. Not the deep green she’d seen from Luke. Weird. Maybe she had been hallucinating that night or maybe it was the light. Her thoughts felt remarkably clear as she sidestepped the blood and peered over the table that stood in the center of the room, as calmly as if she did this kind of thing every day.
The knife in Remy’s chest was one of his own. She recognized it.
“Why?” she breathed. “Why?”
“Contingent upon previous information provided,” the surreally calm voice of Elfie whispered in her head, “along with current situational factors, probability that the two men observed are of the Val Kyr nears eighty percent. Assuming that your question relates to the knife currently residing in Remy Dar Elle’s chest, it may have been used to divert suspicion from the Val Kyr. They are known to kill with their hands and feet. Should they wish to disguise a murder in Syl Var, it would be an efficient means of diversion.”
“That’s Remy,” Fen whispered. A maelstrom of emotion surged behind her wall, battering it with grief and fury, but she suppressed the feelings.
“Yes.” It was undoubtedly her imagination—Fen understood now that data access patterns were tools, not people—but she thought Elfie sounded sad.
“We need to get help.” Fen spoke so softly that someone standing two feet away wouldn’t have been able to make out the words.
“The guard stationed in the Trimaji Causeway is closest.”
Fen nodded. She knew him. He had been her reluctant captor the day she’d escaped the castle. She and Luke had talked to him more than once in the past few days because he and Luke were age-mates. Security was his first score—the way he would spend his twenty years from forty to sixty—because everyone had to do one score in security
and he’d wanted to get it over with. He was counting the days until he could move into farming.
And if the stories Luke told her were true, he wouldn’t last two seconds up against two Val Kyr willing to kill to get what they wanted.
“Probability he can rescue Luke?” she asked Elfie through cold lips.
“Alone? Zero.” Elfie’s response was matter-of-fact. “He will die.”
Fen wanted to touch Remy’s cheek. To close his jacket around him. To move him out of his own blood so it would stop staining the gorgeous fabric that he had so loved.
Instead she stepped backward.
The pool of blood still spread, but she was oblivious to it.
She needed her crystal.
She wasn’t wearing it. Even around her neck, her nervous habit of playing with it meant she kept inadvertently sharing her thoughts. Gaelith had promised to teach her control, but she hadn’t had the time.
If she got her crystal, though, she could use it to call help—real help—so much help that these stupid, stupid, stupid, fucking Val Kyr would regret they’d ever messed with her.
The glass surrounding her was cracking.
That was probably bad.
She felt like she was floating as she made her way back down the hallway, as if her feet didn’t touch the ground and the air didn’t resist her movement.
She’d have to open the door. They’d see it. Would her ivy be enough to hide her from them if they were looking directly at her?
But they hadn’t shown any signs they’d seen her before. She’d been invisible to them. She’d open the door a crack and try to slip in. If they were questioning Luke, they might not notice.
And, oh, God, if they were hurting him?
All she needed to do was get across the room to the table by the window. The moment she got her hand on her crystal, hell, her fingertip on her crystal, she’d be screaming for help so loudly every crystal receiver in Syl Var would get a headache.
And it didn’t matter if the Val Kyr heard her or realized where she was—the damn town was five miles across and the gliders were crazy fast when they wanted to be. Kaio would be with her within minutes.
The door to her room slammed open in front of her.
“We were too late.” The words were a growl, the man who said them older, someone Fen didn’t recognize, his eyes deep-set, his scowl fierce. “Take care of him. We leave no witnesses.”
Fen’s hands curled into claws. She wanted to leap on him. To tear his eyes out, to rip at his throat with her teeth. But her body wouldn’t move. Her muscles had congealed, solidifying into useless mounds of butter. If he glared at her, she’d melt.
But she was invisible.
He stalked past her, cursing under his breath. His robe, she noticed with some weird hyper-observant part of her brain, was solid gold satin, covered in gold embroidery, dazzling with crystals, and tipped with the slightest hint of brown at the bottom left edge.
Remy’s blood, the detached observer in her mind told her. Luke’s would still be red. Or green.
The thought turned her body from butter into motion.
She slid sideways along the wall and to the door, peering inside.
The other man was on one knee next to Luke, his face expressionless. “On it,” he said. He held a knife in his hand, one of Remy’s, the biggest.
Fen stared. She didn’t recognize him. His face belonged to a stranger. She’d never seen him before. But his hand… the hand holding that knife? She knew that hand.
She’d seen it before.
She recognized it with the kind of scintillating clarity that impending death drew over an image.
That hand had held out a pill bottle to her.
Fen gasped. She couldn’t help herself.
The man’s head whirled around and he stood, the knife at the ready.
He looked nothing like the man who’d tried to kill her. He looked… bland. Invisible. White bread. The guy who’d tried to kill her had been gorgeous.
This guy—not so much.
But the hands were the same.
Fen clasped her hand over her mouth, feeling nauseous.
Luke looked grey. His head was bruising already, blood—red blood—trickling from it in a steady flow, his eyes closed, his face missing all of the energy and vibrancy that she so loved.
She had to do something.
She had to stop the Val Kyr.
There must be something…
His eyes scanned the room, moving from window to door, back again, up, down, like the trained predator he was.
Fen spotted the exact moment he saw it.
She looked down.
She’d stepped in Remy’s blood. It must have been when she backed up, when she turned and ran away from his body. But she’d tracked the blood from the kitchen to where she stood and there was a noticeable spot of red on the floor in the doorframe.
The Val Kyr stared at it. A muscle moved in his jaw. He looked up again and although his gaze did not directly hit Fen, it felt like it came far too close.
Fen wanted to sob.
All she needed to do was step forward. Ten steps. Just to get to her crystal. But any movement and he would find her. He would hear her. Any movement and she was dead.
No movement and Luke was dead.
She took a single step forward.
His gaze was on her.
Did their eyes meet?
Fen didn’t know. Her eyes were on his but what were his eyes saying? Did he see her? Did he not? She couldn’t tell.
And then he leaned down and placed the knife next to Luke’s head. “Done,” he called out.
He straightened and left the room without looking back.
Fen couldn’t move. When she could, she dashed for her crystal. Fumbling for it, she touched the rock within the copper. Kaio, she thought, as loudly as she could. I need you. I need you now.
Ouch. The responding thought was rueful and she could hear a grumble of other words underneath his. What is it? I’m—
Before he could finish his sentence, she pictured Luke’s grey face.
—on my way.
Illusions
Gaelith, Fen tried next.
Not now, child. Gaelith’s reply sounded distracted, a faint murmur of thought, as if she were far away or sound asleep.
“Luke’s hurt,” Fen said, tears springing to her eyes as she clutched her copper-entwined crystal harder. “I don’t know what to do.”
Oh, dear, not the gliders? Gaelith still sounded far away.
No, not the gliders, Fen responded. She crouched next to Luke. Blood streaked down the side of his face, matting his hair. What had those bastards done to him?
I’m afraid I’m in the midst of delivering a baby at the moment, but I’ll come as soon as I can. Gaelith’s mental voice sounded stronger, as if her attention had turned to Fen.
Fen swallowed hard. She wanted to say that soon would not be soon enough, but what did she know? Maybe Luke would be okay. Maybe it just looked bad. But damn, he looked bad.
“Elfie, can you help me? What should I do?”
“I don’t know.” Elfie sounded almost as distraught as Fen felt. “Healing is a specialized score. It is not Library Level One. I am aware of resource materials, but I cannot access them without a healer license that I do not have.”
A license? Fucking magic-users. What good was it to be able to transform a bedroom into the complete princess suite if you couldn’t heal the boy you liked?
Should I try to help him? Fen thought to Gaelith.
Not magically! The warning came in so loudly that Fen winced. Underneath Gaelith’s sharp tone, she caught a blend of other voices, a quiet chorus of responses.
The door to the room burst open. Surprised, Fen reached by instinct for the knife still lying on the floor next to Luke but before her fingers even brushed against it, she relaxed, sitting back.
“Piripi,” she said with relief. It was Luke’s friend, the guard. “What are you doing here?”<
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“I was sent.” He was gasping as if he’d run the whole way to Remy’s from the security station on the Causeway. He rested his hands on his knees. “What happened? Are you all right? Is Luke…?”
“I don’t know,” Fen said, miserable again. She reached to brush Luke’s blood-sodden hair off his forehead. “He’s breathing, I think, but…”
“He would have stopped bleeding if he were dead,” Piripi said, his voice pragmatic. He knelt next to them, his breath slowing. His eyes unfocused briefly and he started talking as if reporting in to someone. Another person appeared in the doorway—no one Fen recognized—and then another and a third.
Within minutes, she was sitting in a chair drinking a warm liquid while people fluttered around her and muttered to one another. Luke had been lifted to a bed and two men were in anxious consultation over his bloody head.
Everyone was being extremely nice.
Fen wished they wouldn’t.
She wanted to cry.
Luke looked so wrong. He looked so… dead. Her mom had looked more dead. There was a difference between breathing and not breathing. But when her mom had been dying, close to death, minutes away, she’d looked no worse than Luke.
“Is he going to be okay?” she asked the worried man hovering next to her.
“I hope so, miss. Are you chilled? Do you need more warmth?”
Fen bit back her sigh. Noise in the hallway, noise outside in the street… she wanted to put her head down between her knees and escape from all of this, but she couldn’t.
Kaio stepped into the room. Fen’s eyes met his and she felt a rush of heat flushing her face. He strode to her side and dropped a hand onto her shoulder. She fought back the tears.
“Gaelith is on her way,” he said, his voice doing its chocolate thing, weaving its way into her veins and comforting her despite her misery. “Tell me what happened.”
She shook her head as she exhaled a shaky, miserable breath of doubt and fury. “My bug turned red. Two men were here, waiting for us, I think. And then—” She shook her head again and her voice broke. “They didn’t see me. My ivy did something. I was invisible to them.”
Kaio drew a quick breath. “My sister’s skills continue to impress.”
