Carapace (Aggressor Queen Book 1)

by Davyne DeSye

  CHAPTER 43

  KHARA

  Ilnok shared me freely today, and with more of his brothers than ever before. There was a frenetic energy about their play, and I take this as another sign of the growing scarcity of we human playthings. I’m sore, sticky and beyond tired.

  I wonder how much longer I can last. My patch wore off before the end of the session, but the lassitude brought on by the loss of Samuel – soon to be the loss of us all – numbed me sufficiently to endure to the end. My hatred of Ilnok has dulled in the face of my hopelessness.

  I stop at a juice vendor to wash the cotton from my mouth, easing the raspy raw feeling from my throat. I need to shower and rest, but more than these, I need Nestra. I crave the comfort she can give me and, beyond that, the warmth of her friendship. Her misery matches mine, yet our friendship still wrenches from us the strength to console the other.

  I plod and trudge toward the garden, mind slackening toward oblivion. As I approach the guarded back entrance, I shake myself into heightened awareness. As usual, I pass through unmolested.

  Keeping under the cover of the foliage, I wander the garden, searching for Diane and Tanner. I’m still unsure of their reaction, although, again, I see Tanner’s surprised – not angry – face in my mind’s eye. I recognize my neediness as I entertain thoughts that they, too, could be friends.

  Diane and Tanner aren’t in the garden.

  I look to Nestra’s oak, and feel my spirit slump with my shoulders when she’s not there. I chide myself for selfish thoughts that all start with I need . . . .

  I sit in the grass, determined to wait all day if I have to.

  As soon as I’m sitting, the smell of my own unwashed body billows up to me.

  I should’ve bathed before coming.

  My own odor becomes unbearable, and I swat at the air around me as though swishing away an annoying insect. This does nothing to clear the thick air surrounding me. I walk again, focusing my eyes and ears toward the back entrance, alert to the possibility of Diane and Tanner arriving. I also make sure to stay far from the building entrance Nestra might use, but otherwise, I wander, not paying particular attention to the peaceful beauty surrounding me.

  My path takes me toward the secret meeting place Nestra and I use when she comes. I won’t sit. I’ll just wander through that cherished place, then go back to see if Nestra has arrived at her oak.

  I’m through the bushes and several steps into the quiet bower before I think to look up from my feet. Nestra is there! With Diane and Tanner!

  I freeze, but before I can move back into the bushes, Diane looks up and sees me. Her face lights with a smile, and she gestures with large come-hither motions of her hand and arm. Her other hand rests on one of Nestra’s arms. Tanner jumps to his feet and stage whispers my name as he repeats Diane’s gestures. I’m surprised they both look happy to see me.

  I stay still, uncertain, until Nestra, too, beckons me with one of her top arms. The gesture doesn’t seem natural to her, but seems the repetition of the human gesture, which she has clearly understood. I walk toward the trio.

  Tanner smiles and waves at me, but Diane rises to her feet with grace and comes toward me, arms out to hug me, tears in her smiling eyes. When we meet, I surprise myself by returning her embrace.

  “Khara,” she says, face pressed to my shirt near my armpit.

  “God, I smell. I’m so sorry,” I say as I let her go. My eyes prickle with tears as well.

  “We’re so glad you’re here!” she says as she takes my hand and leads me to where Nestra and Tanner sit. “Samuel’s been just sick looking for you.”

  “Samuel’s dead,” I answer, and feel again the wash of pain that leadens my insides.

  “No! He’s not!” Diane turns to me and takes my other hand, holding both my hands in a firm grip, as her eyes roam my face. A burst of fragile hope puffs through my lungs. “Nestra told us what she saw and what she told you, but it wasn’t Samuel. He’s fine!” Diane is gushing with happiness and sincerity, but I can’t see her through the tears that now threaten to overflow in my eyes.

  I blink to clear my vision and look to Tanner for confirmation. He smiles at me, flicks his hair out of his eyes with a toss of his head, and says, “Cool, huh?”

  “He’ll be so glad to see you,” Diane says. Then her face is clouded by a rare show of anger, and she says, “Bell’s dead.”

  “Good!” The word bursts from me, along with a flare of righteous anger. Then the flood of relief that Samuel is alive, spurred higher by the statement that he wants to see me, overwhelms me, and I laugh through more tears.

  I wipe my eyes and nose on my shirt, then lower myself to sit before Nestra, Tanner to one side of me and Diane settling to the other.

  “Sister,” I say, as I reach for Nestra’s arm. I put my other hand on Tanner’s knee.

  “Sister-friend,” answers Nestra, and our warmth and happiness flows between us.

  “Wow. How do you do that?” Tanner asks, sensing somehow that Nestra and I are sharing to a far greater depth than they have.

  “Good as a hug,” I answer, smiling, realizing the irony of a positive statement from me regarding touching. Diane puts a hand on my arm and another on Nestra’s and, for a long time, the four of us don’t speak. I want to hear about Samuel, but we have the time now to talk when we leave. For the moment I’m happy just to be sharing with friends.

  The sensations and feelings from Nestra change in an instant from happiness and comfort – with fluttery suggestions of resignation and sadness – to deepest fear.

  “Friends,” she croaks as my eyes fly open, and then my own fear joins hers. Six ants surround us, one much larger than the others. In the susurration of leaves in the breeze, we did not hear them approach. My skin sprouts a fresh layer of sweat.

  I pull my hands from Nestra and press them to the grass beside me to push myself up. Diane and Tanner each grab my arms above my elbows, and Diane whispers, “Don’t!”

  At the same time, the largest of the ants bellows, “Do not!” It’s spoken in the ant language, but even if we didn’t understand the words, the meaning of the demand is unmistakable.

  As I lower my buttocks back to the ground, Nestra unfolds herself and walks to the large ant. She lowers herself to her knees and throws her head back, arms wide.

  “My queen,” Nestra says, voice raspy.

  Queen! Of course! She is as large as Nestra.

  The queen looks down at Nestra, pincers snapping for a moment during which I can’t breathe, then turns and strides toward the palace entrance to the garden.

  “Bring them!” she commands.

  The five remaining ants move toward us. As I stand, it flashes through my mind that we’ll fight, resist, but Diane reads the desperation in my face.

  “Don’t,” she whispers again.

  “We’re going to die,” I whisper back at her, but she shakes her head.

  “Let’s not die right here,” she whispers.

  “Let’s trust Nestra,” Tanner adds. He slips his hand into mine and squeezes my fingers, then snakes his arm around Diane’s waist, pulling her close.

  The ants move closer and surround us. Nestra, with a long low sigh, leads the way after the queen.

  None of us talk as we follow Nestra, but Tanner’s painful grip on my hand shows his fear, or maybe that he knows how tempted I am to run.

  Just as we leave the garden for the cool darkness of the entry hall, I whisper again, “We’re all going to die.” This time there’s no vehemence to my whisper. This time I feel they’re my last words. Shaking, I step into the maw of the beast.

  CHAPTER 44

  SAMUEL

  Rex helps me as I change the bandages on my thigh. This wound is seeping – although thankfully, the pain has abated to a large degree. As if in response to my thought, a strong stabbing sensation makes me wince.

  Rex ducks out to the kitchen as I finish the job, then appears again with a cup containing a bit of a clear liquid.


  He smiles as he holds the cup out for me to take. “For the pain,” he says. I sniff at the cup. It’s gin.

  My first thought is I don’t need the muzzy distraction of a drink – I’ve never liked the feeling of impairment – but it’s no more than a finger of liquid, and the pain, too, is a distraction. I toss the gin back and smile at Rex as the warmth spreads through my abdomen. I smack my lips, appreciating the piney aftertaste.

  “Drinking by noon, huh?” Jan stands in the doorway, smiling. She winks the eye that isn’t blackened.

  “Everything set?” I ask.

  “Everything on standby. Just say the word. We can go now.” She shows none of the uncertainty – gloom – that I feel about the odds we face. If our intelligence is correct, the average ant won’t resist much once the head of the organization – the queen – is crushed, but this difficult if not impossible to believe.

  “Heard anything from Diane or Tanner?” I ask. “Khara?” I add, and hope the emotion that comes with saying her name isn’t obvious.

  “Nope,” she answers.

  I heft myself from my stool, bend and straighten the knee of my injured leg to check the bandage, stoop to pull my pants from my ankles, and then limp past Jan to the kitchen.

  “How’re you doing?” she asks, as she sits next to me at the table.

  “Mm,” I grunt at her, not in an effort to avoid answering, but because my mind isn’t on her question. We are ready in spirit, and yet not ready. But the time is now.

  “Really?” she says, and her grin is mischievous beneath one arched eyebrow.

  “What?” I ask, puzzled by her expression.

  “We could waddle you over toward the garden to get a look,” she says, and places the tip of her tongue to her top two front teeth, both eyebrows now raised. “At Khara,” she finishes.

  I feel myself flush, but there’s no point in behaving like a ten-year-old who doesn’t want to admit he likes a girl.

  “Mm,” I grunt again. It’d be better for me to stay here where my people know how to reach me for last minute coordination, but her suggestion is tempting.

  “So? Let’s go now. Need a hand to lean on?” she asks, standing and holding her hand out before me, palm up.

  Her idea is terrible, but I grunt my way to my feet, smile on my face. “You are one pushy broad,” I tell her.

  “Yep,” she answers. “There’s an apology in order here. I’m always interested in helping my fellow female get an apology she’s got coming from some dipshit male.” Limping, grinning, I follow her from the room.

  ***

  Because of the buildings surrounding the capitol building, it is easy to find a good rooftop vantage. The only difficulty is climbing the stairs. My thigh aches from the walk despite the heavy walking stick I’m using; supporting my full weight on my injured left leg is not possible. I take the stairs one at a time, right leg up, lift my left to the same stair, then right leg up to the next. And again. And again. Jan is waiting on the roof when I huff up the final step.

  “Over here,” she says, gesturing.

  It takes me longer to settle down behind the low wall at the edge of the roof than I’d like. I am not going to be much use when the time comes to fight. I’m just supposed to coordinate things, but I have – had – every intention of joining the battle. The slash in the skin at my ribs burns as sweat seeps into the bandage there and my leg is throbbing.

  “Can’t see anything,” Jan says. “Shitload of trees.”

  I pull my binoculars from my pouch and hunker down to scan the garden. I don’t need the binoculars to spot a person from here, but part of me hopes they’ll assist in seeing through the thick leaves at the tops of the tall oaks and magnolias.

  “Think they’re still in there?” Jan asks after a moment more of looking.

  “Diane and Tanner would’ve reported back as soon as they left the garden,” I answer, hoping this is the case. “They’re still in there.”

  After fifteen minutes pass with nothing moving but leaves in a light breeze – a breeze I wish we could feel on this hot roof – I start to feel foolish. Like a high school boy trying to catch a glimpse of a cheerleader he likes. A stalker.

  “We shouldn’t have come,” I say.

  “Not much to see,” Jan admits.

  After another minute, I grunt and start pushing myself to my feet.

  Jan sighs, stands, and puts out a hand to support me. Her eyes scan once more over the garden and she squats again, saying, “Hold on a minute.”

  I look back toward the garden. I lower myself with such haste that a painful burning shoots through my thigh. I hope I haven’t torn the stitches out.

  Panting, I hold the binoculars to my eyes and count six ants moving toward us, toward the back wall of the garden. Toward something – or someone – out of sight from our vantage point. I want to shout a warning, but this would be foolish. Instead I focus the binoculars on the point where the ants disappear from our view, our vision blocked by the high wall.

  Not a minute later, the ants reappear, walking back toward the building. In their midst, I can make out an additional ant as well as three human figures clinging to each other, ants marching in lock step before and after them.

  “Shit,” says Jan. I can think of no more appropriate epithet.

  “Go,” I say. “It starts now. Pass the word. Right now.”

  Jan looks at me with surprise, but then her face hardens with determination and she says, “Right.”

  She straightens and takes a step before she realizes I’m not following her.

  “Whoa. What the hell are you doing?” she asks.

  “I’m staying right here. Have somebody pick me up when you get back over this way. I’ll just slow you down,” I answer. “Besides, there might be something more to see,” I continue when she does not move or speak. Then, “Go! Now!”

  “You’re not going to do anything stupid, right?” she asks. I look down at my thigh, then back up to her with a look that says her question is ridiculous. There is nothing I can do.

  “Right. Okay.” Then she is gone, running across the short expanse of roof to the stairwell.

  I wait until I can no longer hear her tread on the stairs before I put the binoculars back in my pouch, push myself to my feet, and as fast as I can – which is infuriatingly slow – make my way down the stairs, the thump of my walking stick echoing in the confined space.

  CHAPTER 45

  NESTRA

  The chemical flush of emotion racing through me makes my limbs quiver, my knees weaken. I fear for myself, yes, because the queen will kill me this day, but I feel greater terror for my human friends. The fear for them that flows through me is the bright color-scent of the fresh human blood I know I will be seeing soon. I am nauseous as this mingles with sadness, resignation, and – unexpectedly – with a stir of rebellion and disobedience.

  The humans who walk behind me seem smaller even than they appear in the garden where trees and hedges tower over them. Here, inside the building, the only height comparison is between the humans and the escorts – escorts who tower over the humans as much as the queen and I tower over these smaller brothers.

  I can taste the bright fear of the humans wafting through the air, even above my own. I want to comfort my friends, but I can do nothing. Even knowing I can do nothing, my mind works trying to think of anything I can do or say to convince the queen to let my friends leave unhurt. I am resigned to my own death, but cannot stand the thought of my only friends – the only beings who have ever shared with me – ending their lives right in front of me.

  The queen stands in the bedchamber, grand, erect, as brothers rush out the small door at the back of the room. I enter the room and step to the side, not able to bring myself to move closer to the queen. As my friends enter the room, I hear a gasped exhalation from the three. Through my side vision, I see each of them staring upward at the rapier-hung ceiling. Four guards stand as a chain behind the humans, barring the doorway, lower arms lin
ked.

  “Leave us!” the queen bellows to the guards, startling the humans who as one bring their eyes down from the ceiling to the queen’s wicked face. “Close the door. I will be . . . entertaining myself for the next while.”

  I cringe as images of disembodied humans and brothers strewn about the room flood my memory. The guards bow backward, then turn and leave the room. The door booms shut behind my friends. No one moves or speaks as the room fills with the swirling reek of crimson fear. The queen’s palpus appears for a moment and her antennae flutter as she tastes the air.

  The queen moves toward the humans. Tanner, despite his obvious fear, steps forward and pulls Diane behind him. I am filled with admiration and love as Khara places a hand on Tanner’s shoulder, and Tanner raises an arm out to his side in front of Khara, including her in his protection.

  “Majesty,” I say, and lowering myself to my knees, bow backward and open myself. I do not leave my head bent backward, because I want very much to be able to see the queen and my friends. “These humans . . . .”

  In one long stride, the queen closes the distance to my friends, and in the same moment, slashes out with one open pincer and tears through Tanner’s throat, almost to the bone at the back of the neck. My screeched objection and Khara’s cry of anguish mingle and hang in the air as Tanner sways, then topples backward, almost knocking a shocked and silent Diane to the ground as she tries to catch him.

  “Majesty!” I leap to my feet and step toward the queen, my pain at this loss of a friend mixing with the pain I know Diane is now suffering, for I have often marveled at the strong link between Diane and her bond-mate. Unable to think what to say to the queen, I shriek and screech my pain.

  When I regain control of myself and stop my long wailing scream, I am relieved to find my outburst has at least had the effect of staying the queen from further killing. She stands looking at me as Diane and Khara crouch over Tanner’s body, Diane kneeling in the growing pool of blood flowing from the ragged gaping hole between Tanner’s chest and chin.