"Why?" Naatos resumed pacing, glaring at Matthu. "You think I would take advantage of her situation? Destroy her further? Violate her even more than she has already been brutalized? What do you think I am!"
Matthu's eyes widened. "I hadn't thought about that. I just didn't want her to be uncomfortable." He pointed at AaQar. "Any chance he'll be waking up soon?"
"Not for another eight hours or so." Naatos clenched his jaw.
WroOth massaged his forehead. "You know, as much as I respect AaQar, I don't think he's really in any position to be protecting someone wounded and unconscious. After all, he's been unconscious himself for almost a full day." WroOth lifted his hands. "So it's between Naatos and me."
"All right. Fine. I pick you. I'm leaving the medical supplies here. If you can get her to drink more of this, then do. Get her to drink as much as you can. She can't eat anything for another three hours."
Naatos clenched his jaw. It was as if the entire universe was trying to keep him from his viskaro. There she was. Less than three feet away, mere metal and stone keeping them apart. Still, he reminded himself this was only for a time. And if he could not do it himself, WroOth was as good a choice for protector. "You mentioned side effects," he said.
"Her immune system is going to be pretty bad. Skelt said it's like taking down a wall. You never know what's going to get through. If she has any sort of hidden ailments, they're going to start showing up. She's not going to be able to feel as good as she did before. Nerve damage and stuff. Some other things too…" Matthu went to the cell door. Stepping out, he locked it and put the keys away before pushing down a panel in the stone wall that revealed a large metal crank set in gears. He pressed two of the gears into place and wound the crank. It grated against the metal as the bars between WroOth and Amelia's cell moved down into the floor. He then moved toward the staircase. "I'll be back for her before the third watch ends. You keep your word and keep her safe."
"I'm sure we'll see you sooner than you think." WroOth hurried to Amelia and checked her pulse. "She's still breathing. Her pulse is steady."
"For now." Naatos closed his eyes, massaging his forehead. The tension rose within him, becoming stronger and stronger. He hadn't been able to heal her. The one skill he had prided himself on sharing with her now failed both him and her. Flexing the muscles in his hand, he willed them to work.
WroOth sat on the bench beside Amelia, his hand against her neck. "How long do we really have? Before these wounds are permanent?"
"I don't know." Naatos sank back. This was not supposed to happen. Imprisonment was a mere inconvenience, but this, this was torture. He controlled his breaths. "Twelve hours. Twenty."
"This gum the Libyshans use. It's not that bad. Not as good as Vawtrian healing or Unato medicine, but not that bad. She's still cold."
Amelia's chapped lips were extremely pale. Naatos picked up the blankets and passed them to WroOth. His brother took them and placed them on the floor as close to Naatos as he could, forming a thin bed against the bars. Then, taking Amelia, he placed her on it and unfolded the other blanket over her. "Quite a way to celebrate your not-even-one-week anniversary. I don't think either of you will be forgetting this one anytime soon. I suggest flowers for the next one."
Naatos sat on the other side of the bars, his back to the wall. He wiped some of the drying blood from Amelia's cheek. "Forgetting would be preferable."
This could have all been avoided if Amelia had released them. It obviously hurt her when the Libyshans called her names and insulted her integrity. He had killed for far less. Perhaps after this, as tragic as it was, she would understand why his actions were necessary. Unpleasant perhaps. But necessary.
WroOth sat on the other side of Amelia. He folded his hands behind his head and leaned back against the stone. "This was all so much simpler before we realized who she was. Being imprisoned was just a detour. A brief diversion before we broke forth in glory and rained fire down on this miserable city." His hands slid over his eyes. "Of course, there's always QueQoa."
"He's never used a Para band." Naatos took Amelia's hand in his. "He may or may not be able to figure it out. And chances are he'll just try to use the Tue-Rah, which is not working at the moment."
"That'll be a fairly large sign that something is wrong." WroOth grinned through his fingers. "Rest easy, brother. It isn't so bad as it seems. This is going to work out somehow. Amelia saved AaQar. Her people turned on her. She'll never side with them again after this. We will, of course, find an escape, and then we'll paint the streets with their blood and ashes. I'm feeling quite artistic today."
Naatos let a thin smile reach his mouth. He studied Amelia's fingers. They were still cold, the nailbeds purple. He pressed her hands between his own. "But we take our time with the elder commander and his minions." He set his jaw, his grip tightening on her hand.
"Indeed." WroOth nodded. "Can't risk letting them be destroyed in the chaos. Though we might have to do something about our little Nalenth. She'd probably object."
"She doesn't have to know. There is no need to burden her with the knowledge." Naatos did not add that it was likely she'd remain unconscious through the retribution.
"Keeping secrets from a Neyeb." WroOth clicked his tongue. "That's going to be difficult. Particularly with that passive knowledge acquisition they have. Picking up stray thoughts like cherries. Remembering at inopportune times. It hasn't worked particularly well recently."
Naatos gave a slight shrug, but his grip remained tight over Amelia's hands. "Anything can be hidden. You just have to know how."
24
Outsmarted
WroOth tended Amelia throughout the night, giving her the medicine and checking her pulse regularly. Naatos remained beside her as close as he could, his hand over hers. He reassured himself she would be all right. Despite her pallor and slow breaths, she had not bled through the sticky gum bandages. At different points, he and WroOth spoke of what would be done when they escaped.
Approximately half an hour before the third watch, a great scuffle and shouting broke out. Loud yells for help shattered the stillness of the night before silence fell once again.
Naatos shook his head. The Awdawm boy was persistent, but he lacked the wits to battle someone as experienced as Vorec. He held up his hand, gritting his teeth as he struggled to force the transformation. Even a simple reinforced covering to his hand and bones would allow him to punch through the lock. A basic extension or simple transformation of his arm into a tentacle would let him snare the keys from the wall. But nothing. The skin remained taut, the muscles tense beneath the surface.
The tension sickened Naatos. "We need another plan," he said. "Unless you're shifting again."
WroOth extended his hand. The muscles from his wrist to his forearm flexed, but nothing changed. "As if I needed any other reason to despise the Machat." He met Naatos's gaze.
In that moment, everything was said. Absent a miracle, matters had become desperate. Neither had eaten or drank anything since Amelia's capture, but starvation was not even close to setting in and providing that final spurt of energy and strength they required. Not even the adrenal surges that came from this horror were enough to speed the immunity development to the rate they required. For now and the next several hours, they had only the negative effects.
WroOth pulled over the bags Matthu had left behind. "Books on being a Neyeb. Ah yes. Her reading device. Tablet. Whatever it was. Oh look. The fans." WroOth removed the cloth from the gold fans and unfolded them. "Excellent."
Naatos frowned. "Are they strong enough to cut through the bars?"
"No, but QueQoa will be pleased."
"Yes, that was one of my biggest concerns."
"It might be worth being a little more concerned about QueQoa's thoughts." WroOth examined the fans. He ran his finger along the blades. "We just disappeared, and the last thing QueQoa knew was that Amelia had him mutilated herself to save another man. It didn't help that she deceived him, even if she didn't exactly lie. He
isn't used to her ways. He might think she has betrayed us, and that would be very bad for her if he finds her first."
"So we get to him before that and explain."
"And if that isn't an option?"
"I don't see how the fans are going to do any good then. He's just as likely to stab her with them…" Naatos's voice trailed off as he realized there was something in her pocket. A small booklet sewn with thread. Thick slightly misshapen letters spelled out Inale. The first two pages showed a bird transforming into a man. Beneath it was some writing. "You should read this. This might be the solution we need."
WroOth took the booklet and flicked it open. For a moment, he simply stared at it before he turned it over and set it down. "I think I'd rather avoid any more emotional responses for a while. Why would you show this to me now? Son of a marskelpt." He rubbed his hand over his eyes.
Naatos lifted his eyebrows. "I would tell you to sleep, WroOth, but we don't have time for that. Not now. So bind up whatever hole is bleeding in your soul and focus on the task at hand."
"Perhaps if you told me what purpose you had in mind other than the production of unnecessary emotions." WroOth shot him an annoyed glance, then drew in a pained breath.
"Are there any quills or ink in the bag."
"Yes." WroOth pulled them out.
"Then we have two options. Guilt and warning. Your forgery skills are now necessary." Naatos tore a few pages from the booklet and then passed the rest to WroOth, leaving in the picture of WroOth and the journal entry. "I think Inale admired the elder commander when she was little. In fact, he might have been one of the few individuals she trusted. Someone whom she knew would keep her safe. And imagine how this would make the elder commander feel?"
"Ahhhhh…" WroOth nodded. "Well in that case, I believe I can be of service."
"Good. Now pass me a quill and put the ink where we can both reach it."
WroOth did so and leaned over the page. The tension in his shoulders and face slowly faded as he studied the picture Amelia had sketched as a child. "Tell me, what do you think would be more subtly offensive to a Libyshan? Making him fatter or skinnier? Shorter maybe?"
"Let's avoid offensiveness. Just draw him the way a child would see him."
"If you insist." WroOth dipped the quill in the ink. He frowned slightly. "And what are you drawing? A picture of him with his body sliced in a thousand pieces?"
Naatos studied the blank pages, estimating how much he would need. "If the first plan does not work, Amelia will be sent to Ecekom. All it will take is for them to increase the burning huanna sufficiently, and we will be unconscious for at least six hours. And if Vorec alters the Tue-Rah at all, chances are she'll be sent to the wilderness." Naatos dipped the quill into the ink and tapped the side. "And if that happens, well…"
WroOth forced a smile. "Well, if she tries debating a cabiza, it's possible it will choke on her words instead of her."
"Perhaps." Naatos refrained from chiding WroOth. The last thing he needed was another family member collapsing, and WroOth's jokes did ease the weight. "If we have not gained immunity within the next few hours, which I suspect we will, then we will be able to arrive sooner. In the worst event, she has to survive eight hours alone on Ecekom. These instructions may keep her alive."
"Yes…tell her that essentially everything will eat her and she should watch out for camels," WroOth said.
Surviving on Ecekom was a challenge, but it was not entirely impossible. If Amelia had demonstrated anything, it was that she could fight against the odds. Hopefully this time she exceeded expectations.
For the next several minutes, Naatos and WroOth worked in silence. Naatos filled three pages of notes for Amelia and tucked them into the front of her bodice. He then tore out the pocket from her dress, took the altered booklet from WroOth, and cast both pocket and booklet outside the cell. It fell just outside of the white chalk line, almost guaranteeing someone would find it. Naatos grunted with satisfaction.
WroOth lifted the gun and extra clips from the bag. "What did you learn about their weapons on Eiram? Are they rechargeable or anything?"
"Some can be reloaded. Hide them on her. It can't hurt for her to have them. Even if they aren't going to be enough to defeat most of the creatures. Put the fans on her as well." Naatos considered whether there was anything else he needed to tell her. There were a million things that one needed to understand about Ecekom. Distilling it all was difficult, and too much information could be as devastating as too little.
WroOth finished binding weapons on her in locations that the Ayamin would hopefully not discover when they moved her out. Naatos resumed working the muscles in his hands, repeating the exercises over and over. Improvements were marginal if existent at all. His only comfort was that soon this would conclude, and vengeance would be theirs. Amelia would survive. Of course she would. She couldn't die, so she wouldn't. It was as simple as that.
Slowly the night sky lightened. As indigo became pale blue, footsteps sounded outside the dungeon's interior entrance. Slow. Purposeful. Vorec was preparing to make his appearance. His final dramatic appearance if Naatos intuited correctly.
Naatos and WroOth both moved to the center of their cells.
Vorec strode down the staircase and into the dungeon. His expression was somber, his posture rigid and his neck tight. He stopped in front of their cells, his boot striking the torn pocket. "Without your shifting, you Vawtrians are nothing."
Naatos stared back at him.
Vorec crossed his arms. "I imagine it's been a long night for you both. I have not slept either. Aside from ending a misguided but anticipated…rescue party, I have chosen to stay awake in contemplation this night as well." He shifted his weight forward. The paper in the bag crinkled. Frowning, he stooped down to pick it up. His brow furrowed as he read it.
Naatos kept his face masked, not even glancing at WroOth. Awdawms were typically easy to manipulate when it came to nostalgia and sentimentality. For Vorec, little Inale was still a recent memory.
Vorec's jaw twitched as he examined the booklet. The edges and the front were stained with blood. A nice touch to drive the horror in.
Vorec drew his hand over his mouth and nodded slowly. "You know this simply underscores my point. I have been asking myself how Joseph, one of the finest Ayamin I have ever served with and one of the best men I have ever known, could possibly raise a pinchat and a traitor. I found his betrothed. I spoke with her. She insisted it was impossible for such a thing to happen. I look at those among my own men whom Inale has turned. Then, of course, there was that situation with the Truth Bringers."
Naatos listened. Good. This was very good. He kept his gaze focused on Vorec's face, marking each twitch and breath. Guilt gnawed within the Awdawm as awareness settled in.
"So…what if Inale is innocent?" Vorec lowered his gaze, a muscle twitching along his jaw. "That is a difficult question, and I must answer to the king, the queen, and the people. Most do not or will not see what I see. And perhaps I am wrong in my assessment of this woman. It is true that my treatment of her has come partially from a need to justify what I have done. What I must do." He stared at the page. "But that does not change one crucial element."
Naatos leaned forward. "And what might that be?"
"You." Vorec lifted his gaze once more to both Naatos and WroOth. "You and your brothers are dangerous. No one disagrees with that, and you have made your intentions toward us clear. We are nothing more than animals to you. My sister and her husband died in your massacre as well as their oldest son. Sia, Tul, and Riltan will grow up, if they grow up at all, not knowing either of their parents or their brother. Do you know how many children are crying themselves to sleep this night? How many nightmares? How many sorrows? How many lives forever transformed to darkness and agony? What makes it worse was that there was no reason for it. We were not your enemies. We committed no crimes against you or your kind. We have lived in peace for years now."
Naatos remained silent
and motionless. WroOth folded his arms. "It was an invasion." WroOth spoke as if Vorec was particularly stupid. "Invasion is never about what is deserved. That's what comes in the dispensement."
"The dispensement? When you drag so-called traitors and enemy warriors into your torture chamber to decide how they should die. Burned alive. Boiled. Crushed. Wasted." Vorec spat on the ground. "You hid those from her, didn't you? Or maybe you didn't. Perhaps it doesn't even matter. Maybe it all comes down to this belief: the worlds must have the Tue-Rahs to survive, so as reprehensible as you are, as horrific as your crimes, she is looking at the worlds and the future. But what do I look to? What am I?"
"A dead man if you don't release her," Naatos said.
Vorec chuckled. "Ahhh, see, that's the problem. You think your threats frighten me." He shrugged. "They don't. Sentiment is against this traitor. But even if it wasn't and even if it meant I would become the most hated warrior in my nation's history, I would do it regardless because I am Libysha's greatest advocate and hero."
"A sad commentary on your nation regardless," WroOth scoffed.
"When the king returns, I may face his wrath," Vorec said. "But I know what I know. And no matter the price required, I am willing to pay it. So make your threats, skinchangers. When I took my vow to serve my nation as a warrior of the First Armed Forces and then as an Ayamin to the royal family, I swore to give my life if that is required. I do not fear you, and I do not fear death."
Vorec glanced at Amelia, who still lay motionless on the blankets beside Naatos's cell. "And if that woman is innocent, then I will regret this. But the reality is this—her innocence is irrelevant. There are always consequences to our actions. Always. But those who pay the price aren't always the ones who deserve it. The family. They are the ones who pay. My family perished in your attacks, leaving children behind. Those children are the ones who will pay most of all, though they have done nothing to warrant such horror. And that is what happened here." Vorec lifted his gaze back to them, his expression hardening. "You three cannot be punished as you should be. You cannot be made to suffer. But she can. She cannot heal. She cannot mend. And as you care for her, in that way, you can and will suffer too."
Princess Reviled Page 24
