“Some would say this gift is no good thing,” Hirianthial replied. “At best, neutral.”
The Faulfenzair glanced at him. “This seems unbelievable to me. Also, asking for sorrow. Why invite sorrow? Life is long enough to contain enough without asking for more. You should know, yes? You are a little longer lived than us.”
“A little?”
“Soly—how long do I live, in your years?”
“Eight hundred, I think? Seven?” Soly paused, consulted her map. “This way, we’re almost there.”
“Seven hundred years!” Hirianthial said, stunned.
“Not so alone in the universe after all, eh?” Sascha said from behind him.
Shaking himself, Hirianthial hurried after the others.
The battlecruiser’s armory was not as large as Hirianthial had expected; apparently the vessel did not have a single centralized facility, but scattered them throughout. There was light armor here, little more than a padded tunic, and of heavy armor nothing; but there were weapons, and even the swords. He accepted one and a tunic; the rest of the party armed themselves, and they found the nearest Pad station.
“You’re going to walk over this into Engineering,” Soly was saying. “Give us ten minutes to secure the bridge, then move out. Do what you can. Report at intervals. And try not to leave too much evidence.”
Narain snorted. “I’ve been through the training, arii.”
“You have, but the rest of them haven’t.” She smiled and swiped his shoulder, which he ducked. “Take care of them, Spotty.”
“And try not to tickle too many groins with your tail,” Tomas added. “I’d hate to see you lose it.”
“Awww, and all this time I thought you found my tail-tickling annoying….”
“I do, but it doesn’t change that they’re my tail-tickles to be annoyed by. I’m not letting any pirates steal my prerogatives.”
Narain grinned. “Good luck.”
“See you on the other side of it all,” Soly said, and led the rest of the team out.
“And now we wait?” Sascha guessed.
“Ten minutes,” Narain agreed. He considered Sascha. “Long enough for a little fun to get us through the next few hours of blood and gore?”
Sascha pursed his lips. “Someone might walk in on us.”
“That’s what your Phoenix’s claws are for….”
Sascha started laughing. “I like you. You should meet my sister.”
“She pretty?”
“Just like me, but a girl.”
“Promising!”
Hirianthial leaned against the wall, arms folded, and listened to the banter, the way it smoothed out the auras of both Harat-Shar, bled the tension out. Bryer was unflappable, as always, crouched alongside the Pad and staring at the door from the side of his head. It left him alone, to his thoughts of an alien race that treated its ability to burn others as a gift from a God who wanted them to have some defense. Against what, he wondered? He had not asked. Creatures, like the monsters that had beleaguered the Eldritch settlers? Each other? Aliens? Did the target matter?
What he’d said to Lune had been only truth: no matter what gods the Eldritch purported to worship, they began with themselves. All good things rose from within, like the engineering that had set them apart from humanity on the voyage out from Terra. All evil, also. Hirianthial considered his fingertips, imagining flame licking them. At his shoulder, Urise seemed to wait, an ineffable presence. A man who believed; no question there, not with the ocean of the priest’s experiences filling him. What would it be like to believe oneself the recipient of a divine gift? Did that lead one, inevitability, to pride and cruelty? Or to a responsibility to use the gift with respect, because it had been bestowed with love?
Of course, his people had already descended to pride and cruelty, bigotry and xenophobia, entirely without the excuse of belief in a god. Their whole religion was a sham, a way to swaddle the killing of the talented in the raiment of legitimacy. The way, no doubt, Surela was attempting to swaddle her own reign. What was it about his people that they were prone so to this error?
“We lost him,” Narain said.
“It happens.” Sascha bent down until he could look up into Hirianthial’s lowered face. “Hey, arii? Still with us?”
“I am, yes. Is it time?”
“It is.”
“Let us go, then.”
“Right. And remember… as much as possible, let us do the work, Lord Hirianthial. If we need you, we want you to be topped up.”
“Understood.”
It took exactly five hours for Malia to get worried enough to beep her. Irine touched the telegem at her ear and tapped back a ‘fine’ response and immediately started looking for cover. She was hugging the palace’s basement beneath the balcony that led to the lake; there were sunken windows along its edge that suggested a way in, if she could find one that hadn’t been shut tightly enough. Guessing that Malia was going to want words with her, though, she found the deepest corner and cuddled up into it, puffing out white breath. While she’d been sneaking back she’d hardly been aware of the cold; now that she wasn’t moving, it felt a lot more acute.
Hopefully the conversation wouldn’t take long and she could move on. She hugged her knees and bent her head into them, scanning the lake’s edge. There were scrapes in the snow where the bodies Hirianthial had left had been pulled away—into a pile, in fact. Why hadn’t their graves been dug yet? Maybe the ground was too cold to get a shovel through?
The telegem hissed to life in her ear. “Irine! Where in Iley’s name are you?”
“Under the ballroom balcony.”
“What!”
“I’ll be fine,” Irine said. “We need to get off this channel before someone hears us.”
“Irine, you’ve got to get back here!”
“And I will. When I’m done here—”
“Irine! If they take you and someone reads your mind to find out where everyone’s gone….”
That she hadn’t thought of, and it put her fur on end. She clenched her teeth against their sudden need to chatter. “I guess I shouldn’t get caught then.”
“Come back. Right now. Before you blow operational security to the moon and back.”
“I can’t.”
“Irine, they killed everyone at Jisiensire! They’re not going to bat a lash adding you to that count!”
Her heart lurched. “Everyone?” Irine asked, fingers tightening on her shins. “All Hirianthial’s kin?”
“Everyone. We just heard. And that army’s coming back this way. We’re going to get word to the rest of the allies. Tell them to start heading north….”
“Sounds like you’ve got work to do,” Irine said. “I do too.” In the distance, the pile of bodies seemed to waver. Was it snowing? She blinked to try clearing her eyes. “Angels with you, Malia.”
“Wait, Irine--!”
She shut the telegem off manually and tucked it in her pocket. She couldn’t afford to let Malia dissuade her. Her vow had been to Reese, not to the Tams, and not to the Swords. And Reese needed her. She crept out of her hiding hole and skirted the edge of the palace, grateful for the lack of technology that had deprived the building of the sort of external lighting that might have exposed her. All she had to worry about was the moon and starlight, which, granted, was reflecting off the thin snow… but then, she was used to that. The sand near her house was nearly white too, and on a moonlit night it could be blinding.
She checked the next window, found it solid and sneaked to the next. On her way, she glanced toward the bodies.
One of them was moving.
Irine froze. For a moment, she thought about zombies and the uneasy dead and her adrenaline spiked… and then, through the uncertain light, she saw someone lift his head, short hair swinging around shoulders streaked dark in the chiaroscuro of the evening.
“Val?” she hissed, shocked. Checking the windows for lights and finding none, she darted across the distance as light
-footed as she could run, her tail low to scuff the marks behind her. As she approached, the smell became more obvious… not as ripe as she’d expected, but still unmistakably blood and gore. And there, on top of the pile, was Val, struggling weakly against the bodies on top of him. “Angels on the battlefield! Val!” She lunged for him and dragged him out of the pile, falling backwards with the Eldritch in her arms. He didn’t move… just dropped his head on her chest and breathed, hard.
“Fur,” was the first word he said. Then, “Smells good.”
“Not what Reese told me a few hours ago,” Irine said, sitting up. She glanced at Ontine, found the dead between them and easy view… good enough. She propped him up and cupped his cold cheeks in her hands, looking at his face, frantic. “Are you hurt? Badly?”
“Nowhere you can… can see,” he managed, hanging against her. He groped for her arm, caught it and leaned. “Goddess… God… Lord and… Lady… damn it all. Damn it!”
She shook him gently. “Talk to me. What happened?”
“Baniel!” Val snarled, panting. “Baniel has a protégé and is sucking power from him. I expected to find him as he was, not augmented!”
Irine’s mouth dried. “You mean you’re out here because….”
“Because he nearly killed me. Thought he had, or he would have finished the job.” Val shuddered. “The cold nearly has.”
“And Reese,” Irine whispered.
“Safe, for now.” Val slumped. “In his care, but untouched. He will use her to bait the trap for his brother. Because they love one another, don’t they.”
“Yes,” Irine said, all her fur standing on end. She swallowed. “Okay, well. We’ve lived through situations this bad before. We can do it again.”
He peered at her. “And I find you here why, Lady Tigress?”
“I’m Reese’s girl,” Irine said. “And Reese is in there. I don’t care about anyone else. I’m going after her.”
“And it’s true, that Lord Hirianthial is on his way? Your captain and our enemy both seemed convinced.”
“Battlehells, yes.”
He nodded slowly. “Then maybe the two of us can put ourselves to use on his behalf. Do some reconnaissance. Ah?”
“You don’t want to send me back?” Irine asked, wary.
He snorted. “What would that accomplish? You will only wait until you think I’m not looking, then creep back. I can shield you from notice. And you—”
“Yes?” she asked. “What can I do?”
He winced as he staggered to his feet and almost fell. Startled, she leaped to her feet and put her shoulder under his before he could topple.
“You can help me walk,” he said. “God, but he nearly tore the soul from my body and it’s not convinced it wants to come back.”
Irine tried petting his arm gently, and when he didn’t object said, “You feel unsteady to me, Val.”
“I am,” he said. “Let us hide under the balcony then, while I catch my wind.”
“Right,” she said, and looked past the mound of bodies at the achingly white expanse between her and the palace. She grimaced. “It’s going to be a long trip.”
“Make it now,” Val said, head against her shoulder. “No one’s watching.”
She glanced at him. “Sure of that?”
“Achingly.”
“Huh.” She resettled his weight against her shoulder. “Maybe we’ll make it out of this alive after all.”
“I can’t recommend the alternative, having nearly experienced it.”
“I bet.” She started off. “Hold on, Boss. We’re all coming.”
The candle had long since burned down and left them in darkness when the door opened again. Even blinded by the sudden light, Reese scrabbled to her feet and launched herself at it, only to be thrown to one side. Shaking herself against the disorientation, she prepared for a second attempt, only to find the door already shutting.
She was alone. They had taken Surela.
No loss there, she told herself, sinking to the ground again and rubbing her aching head. Probably changed their minds about needing her for something. She fisted her fingers in her braids to keep her hand from shaking. How long were they going to leave her here? She’d never been afraid of the dark—she was a merchant trader, for blood’s sake, she spent her life plying a dark far more abyssal than this—but something about the closeness of the room and the pressure of Hirianthial’s impending entrapment and the memory of his body lying on this very floor….
How had he borne being hemmed up like this so many times? Was imprisonment something one got better at with practice? Or was it just a matter of his extended lifespan? Maybe it brought patience. Reese scrubbed her eyes. She could be patient. Damn it all. She could live through this. They hadn’t hurt her. She had all her faculties. She just had to wait for the right moment.
The next time they opened the door, she vaulted for it and got a quarter-power palmer shot to the leg for her trouble. She fell abruptly and was pushing herself up when they shut the door again. They’d left another candle this time… and Surela.
And Surela.
“Blood and all hell!” Reese scrabbled over to the other woman on her hands and one knee, looking over the body. Some blood but not a lot. The dress was a mess though, and there were bruises… Reese had ample experience with how badly Eldritch skin bruised. She hovered over Surela, grimaced, chanced a touch on one of the tattered sleeves. “Surela?”
The woman’s lashes parted, just enough to gather the candle’s gleam. Then she jerked upright so abruptly she smashed her head into Reese’s.
“Blood in the—damn it, that hurt—wait, wait, it’s just me!”
Surela had pushed herself to the corner, her back to the wall and her arms wrapped tightly around herself. “Don’t—!”
“I won’t, I won’t touch you,” Reese said. “I just wanted to make sure you were still conscious.”
“You were… trying to help me?” the other woman asked, the last word ending on a squeak of disbelief and, Reese thought with a flinch, hysterical tears.
“I want you to stand trial,” she said finally. “And if Liolesa decides you need to die for what you’ve done, then I want her to kill you cleanly. I don’t hold with torture.”
“Is that what that was,” Surela whispered.
Reese glanced at her, at the way she was holding herself, at the bruises, the torn dress. “Yes. I know. I’ve seen it before.”
That made the other woman look up at her, and her face held something other than hysteria finally. Confusion?
“With Hirianthial,” Reese said.
Surela shuddered. “To a man!”
“Bad things happen to men too.”
“Not the same,” Surela whispered.
“Looked pretty bad to me—”
“A man,” Surela hissed, “can’t be gotten with child against his will.”
Reese leaned back, shocked. “Your own guards…? They attacked you?”
“No!” Surela pressed her face into her hands. She was trembling violently enough for Reese to see from across the room. “No, they would not dare. Even now.”
“I can’t imagine Baniel….”
“No. No, it was the pirates.” Surela glared at her. “As you should have guessed, given what you are to your paramour.”
“My….” Reese stopped, then frowned. “Hirianthial’s not my paramour. Who the hell has a paramour these days, anyway?”
“Your lover then—”
“He’s not that, either! And what on the red earth does that have to do with children, anyway?”
“Because, you idiot, humans can get us with child,” Surela snarled.
Reese stopped short, her skin gone cold beneath her long sleeves. In the silence, the other woman began to weep into her knees.
“Oh, hell,” Reese muttered and rubbed her face.
So the next time they opened the door, Reese threw herself not at it, but at Surela, and put herself between the Eldritch and the guards
that had come for her. Her act startled them enough that she managed to get one good swipe in… but then one of them pinned her. She fought, stamping on his foot with hers and managing a glancing blow. She used the slight lessening of the pressure on her arms to pull free and knock the other guard to one side, and that’s how she earned herself a half-power palmer stun. To the side, this time. She fell heavily and even then she tried to grab for an ankle. “No!”
They kicked her to one side and dragged an astonished Surela off anyway. Crumpled on the ground, Reese wept, and wasn’t sure if it was frustration or horror or pain. She hated Surela, but she was so tired of the bad guys winning. How had Hirianthial managed the patience? Was she failing him by not being up to it?
Next time, she would try harder. At what she wasn’t sure. Something. Everything.
CHAPTER 15
They walked over the Pad and into two pirates, both of whom fell to Narain and Sascha’s palmers before Hirianthial could so much as lift a hand—and that was for the best. Because all around him, the walls felt alive. He wanted to touch them, because he knew there would be a heart-beat in the metal and he wanted the tactile proof of it on his fingertips. To rest them against a wall and then to his lips, to smell the blood-quick brightness of it.
Things that are loved live, a voice whispered, raising the hair on the back of his neck, now so exposed.
“Hey, Hirianthial? You with us?”
“Yes,” he said. “Yes. I was just.…” He paused because both Harat-Shar were watching him, their worry palpable, like shrouds of cold fog. “This part of the ship feels very different to me.”
“Lots of enemies, maybe?” Sascha asked, careful.
“No. No, it feels… there is power here.”
“Lots of that,” Narain agreed as he checked the door, palmer at ready. “Clear here. We can move. You done with the prisoners?”
Sascha said, “Just let me get something to tie them up wi—”
“Done.” Bryer rose, the talons on his feet bloody. The auras deflated with the spill of blood, and Hirianthial wondered at his calm at the sight: no, not calm. His own pleasure.
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