Prada snorted, turning around. She had no patience for those who were weak, that much was clear.
“And that is why you don't use magic, hmm?” Nathaniel asked, after a moment. “Prada, stop walking.”
She turned around, but she didn't do it patiently.
Finally, Sienna straightened, nodding.
“All right,” she answered, although she didn't seem too keen on responding to their inquires about magic.
“This is eerie,” Desmond said as they looked around. “It looks like ours, down to the last point.”
“Which means someone has been inside ours,” Nathaniel said. “And then came here.”
“Yes, of course,” Desmond answered. “There were many of us who worked on this project, before they made it clear that they wanted nothing to do with it.”
“Who else was here?” Nathaniel asked as they walked. It seemed as if no one was bothering them. No one even knew they were there. It was almost as if there was no one there.
“No one who is still alive,” Desmond answered. “Except for me.”
“Well, then…” Nathaniel said as they turned the corner.
There was a class room, as he knew there would be. As with their own academy back home, there was glass windows.
Inside, it looked identical as well. Young Tiros training in a combat class.
Except for the fact that they were not just sparring.
There were animals in the class with them, wild animals who looked terrified. They had a reason to be terrified, Nathaniel saw quickly, as the young Tiros advanced and then killed them. There used various techniques to end their life, but it was the same outcome. It wasn't long before there were bodies laid out and bleeding, life devoid of them.
The teacher clasped his hands and begun to speak.
“He's congratulating them,” Sienna translated.
“Do you notice they are not all from here?” Desmond said. “They are recruiting witches on their own.”
“It doesn't look like they are recruiting witches,” Nathaniel said. “It looks like they are training an army.”
The teacher looked up then, and his eyes locked on them. They were caught, and they realized they had little plan.
Bring me, Prada said quickly to Nathaniel.
“What?” he asked her in shock. “Bring you where?”
Bring me to them, as a student, she said. It's a good undercover way of moving forward without admitting we broke in. I'm older yes, but…
“I could try,” he said, quickly relaying their plan to the others.
“It might work,” Desmond said just as the door opened.
“What are you doing here?” came the strong voice.
“We are witches,” Sienna said. “And although it is too late for us, we bring you a student who may be of interest.”
The teacher glanced between them and Prada. She was small for her age, and Sienna sucked in her breath at the next question.
“How old is she?”
“Twelve,” Sienna said, pulling several years off Prada's age. The teacher didn't even blink, waiving into the classroom.
“Prove it to us,” he said, and Sienna translated. Desmond had been right. There were no feelings, no wavering. It was do or die.
Sienna had a feeling that it might be die, the way everyone was suddenly staring at them.
She had never been so grateful for her magic blocks as she was now. Despite the fact that she had conjured up a lot of magic a few moments ago, she had been on magical blockers for so long that it was quelled almost right away.
“They want Prada to go inside…They want her to prove that she is of their magic.”
“Do you want me to…?” Nathaniel started and then realized that would blow their cover. He couldn't ask whether she wanted him to come or not. He wasn't supposed to be her Maestro in this scenario.
Luckily, Prada showed no fear and waltzed into the classroom as if she belonged there.
One of the students seemed to understand exactly what was going on. Prada watched as he reached into a bucket, and out came a woofle. They were ugly creatures, with tusks and a rough skin quality. They were considered rodents, pests on just about every planet.
But it's appearance didn't mean it deserved to die.
The student placed it down on the ground and it squealed, panicking.
Prada watched it run in circles twice before she drew back her magic. There was no hesitation, no flicker of remorse.
Before anyone could say anything, all the remained of it were two spots of blood and dust in the air. She hadn't just killed it. She had obliterated it.
Desmond turned in shock to Nathaniel, who took it in stride. It wasn't the first time he had seen her do something like that. It wasn't a thought he treasured, but he had seen it many times before with Prada, and it no longer shocked him.
The things that he had gotten used to over the years almost saddened him.
“Where did you find her?” the teacher asked Sienna, who had to pause and think.
“She… found us. We are outcasts of society.”
His eyes narrowed and she wondered if she had said the wrong word. But then he relaxed and she realized he was simply thinking.
“You were witches?”
“We are magically adapt, some of us more than others. We are not witches,” she outright lied. She hated that she had to, but she didn't want them to think that they were connected to their school. From what she had learned during her training, negotiations were delicate.
Sienna retained enough magic to hide her thoughts for her mind, as he watched her. Then, he pointed to her face.
“You are bleeding.”
“Creator,” she swore out loud, putting her hands to her face. Her nose was starting to gush blood, a surefire sign that the magic was starting to affect her. It didn't hurt, but if she continued down this path, it wouldn't be long before it led to something else going wrong.
“Ask him if we can have access to the med bay,” Nathaniel said behind her. “Please.”
It took her a moment to find the words, but it seemed their permission was easily granted. She marveled at how quickly they had made this plan; and how quickly it had turned from battle to negotiations to undercover.
Of course, it wouldn't remain undercover for long. As soon as news of the witch attack got out near their ship, they would surely be fighting for their lives again.
They had to figure out what was being planned here, and how to possibly find a way to stop it before then.
Even the med bay looked identical Sienna recognized every nook, every crevice. Prada had been rushed along with them, watching everyone's moves as if she was going to sweep in any moment and rip their faces off.
She was terrifying, Sienna thought. In charge of such magic and knowing exactly what she could do with it. She remembered needing that much guidance, that much help. Of course, her life had been a different path, but she had more in common with the young Tiro than she realized.
“We will test your young friend,” the teacher said. “Unless you wish to be tested, as well, you will leave.”
“No!” Sienna cried, a little too swiftly. “We can't leave. She can't…she doesn't speak.”
The teacher raised his eyebrow.
“She doesn't speak?”
“She…” Sienna turned to Nathaniel. “He wants to know why Prada doesn't speak.”
“Any chance you can translate post-traumatic stress disorder?” he asked and she shook her head. “Well, that's why.”
“Trauma?” Sienna turned to Prada. “I don't want to offend. If you could tell me what you prefer…”
Tell her I can defend myself with or without my speech, Prada's words rang in Nathaniel's brain and he raised an eyebrow.
So you want me to go then? he asked. And leave you to get all the information and run the whole quest?
No, Prada was quick to answer.
I didn't think so, he replied, and turned back to Sienna
“Whatever works, little one,” he said.
“She was traumatized at a young age,” Sienna managed. “All she wants is the tools and weapons to fight back. But he is her…Father.”
Once upon a time, she would have said brother. But none of them were as young as they once were.
The teacher didn't think twice about that, and whether or not he believed a blood bond between the pair didn't seem to matter. He nodded.
“Fine. But I'm afraid you two must go.”
“Sienna, tell him we will comply,” Desmond said, obviously remembering some of his Dramoon from years ago. “As soon as you are well.”
“I think that's dangerous,” she replied, but complied with her former Maestro's orders.
They were going to have to split up, which was never recommended on a quest. Staying together meant the age old adage of safety in numbers. Sienna knew there was probably no way around this, at least not for now.
Chapter 9
As soon as her nose stopped bleeding, they were asked to leave. It wasn't with hostility, but Sienna had a feeling that it might be if they were going to stay. They couldn't blow their cover now, not with Nathaniel and Prada so deeply into things. She had no idea what was going to happen to her comrades, but she tried to not show too much emotion as they exited the building.
“And we did so much work to get into there,” she said to Desmond, who at least had the good sense to roll his eyes. “Should we go back to the ship?”
“No, we should stay in the city,” Desmond said. “The last thing I want is to lead them back to the ship. We left some alive, and they are going to remember what happened. We have hours, little one, to figure out what to do.”
“If we get an Inn, I need to call back to Jeffro,” she said.
“Sienna, you shouldn't be here if you are going to be distracted,” Desmond said. “Truly, you have to stay focused. You know what's at stake.”
“I know,” she said. “It just gives me peace of mind to know he's all right for a few more days.”
Desmond picked up on the tone in her voice right away.
“What did Nathaniel tell you?” he asked.
“Huh?” she asked, playing innocent
“What did Nathaniel tell you, about Devon? I know that tone in your voice, Sienna, you don't have to play pretend with me.”
“He said…” she paused. “That Prada could help him.”
Desmond let out a breath at that.
“And you think she's going to?”
“Why wouldn't she?” Sienna asked. “She's a witch, isn't she, and with that power? She'd be cruel not to use it.”
“In case you haven't noticed,” Desmond said. “Prada isn't exactly fond of using her magic for causes that aren't warrior-related.”
“Nathaniel is her Maestro, it doesn't matter what she is interested in.”
“Is that what you think?” Desmond asked. “That Tiros have no right to their own fate?”
“I— no,” she said.
“Was that your experience? Did we make you do things that you didn't want to do?”
“No,” she answered sheepishly. “But you did guide my hand.”
“I think he's guided her hand far more than he wants to,” Desmond replied. “I do not envy the position he's in. And who knows what will happen when they exit the school.”
“What do you mean by that?” Sienna asked.
“I don't know if you could feel it,” Desmond said. “But they were so much like her, in every way. She fits in there. And once she figured that out, Nathaniel may have more that just this quest to deal with.”
“Do you agree with their way of life?” she asked. “With their use of magic?”
He exhaled.
“I don't agree with their threats, certainly. Nor do I agree with the fact that they don't see harm in killing. But everyone sees magic in different ways. And many differ from what our school teaches.”
“Like you did,” Sienna said.
“Like I did,” Desmond answered. “Now, there is no point on dwelling on such a fact when our time is running low. You are our translator, we should focus on finding out information, gaining the locals’ trust. How Nathaniel and Prada will communicate on the inside is no longer in our hands.”
“I do remember the last time we were on a quest to gain local trust,” Sienna said, quietly, looking up at him. It had been the last quest they were ever on. Desmond had ended their training together at the end of it, creating painful feelings between them for years. He had believed it was best, but every once in a while, he wondered if he had done the right thing. Could Sienna become more than she was and they simply gave up? Or was it truly the best choice for everyone?
“As do I,” he said quietly. “I think of it often. But that time is not like this, Sienna. Our lives are separate now, and together in the moment. Shall we live in the moment?”
“We shall,” she agreed, although her mind lingered back to Jeffro. Desmond strode a few feet ahead of her to check the names of buildings, looking for an inn where they could settle their rut sacks down.
Sienna took that opportunity to flex her fingers, drawing magic into them. She knew it was dangerous, but this was a dangerous planet, and she could not walk around unarmed. She needed to be strong and defend herself, and return to Devon. She was his only hope, if Prada chose not to help.
“Here's one,” Desmond called out to her, and she followed him quickly, snaking her magic back up her veins and hoping that he wouldn't notice. She fell into step behind him, exactly as she used to. This time, though, she was braver, stronger than the last time they had been looking for an inn. “Do you want to take the lead on this, then?”
“What's to take?” she asked, shifting into the local language as she asked for two rooms, a meal and a place to meet and greet locals, to have a good time. She was so fluent that Desmond had to take a moment to stop and think. He used to be half-fluent before, when he was working here, but Sienna somehow knew more in her short life than he had picked up in two years of immersion.
“There's a bar or two down the street,” Sienna said, when they were pointed up to their rooms. “We might be able to find out more. But we'd have to make sure to clearly blend in. I get the feeling they aren't too happy about outsiders.”
“You aren't too old to pretend to be training,” he said. “And I know their Academy well enough to be training you.”
Her eyes widened.
“Are you serious?” she asked. “Does it not seem…treasonous to do that?”
“Treasonous?” he asked. “Sienna, we aren't bound by any law anymore.”
“I know, but I still feel like we are bound by their rules. I at least want them to approve.”
“To approve?” He smiled. “Where did I go wrong with you?” he asked.
She laughed at that, leaning against the door frame.
“Nathaniel wants to sit on the Jurors in his old age.”
“Yes, I've yet to figure out where I went wrong with that one, too,” Desmond said. They fell into silence for a moment, until Sienna asked him a difficult question.
“Maestro, do you think that what they are doing is so wrong?”
“What do you mean?” He searched her face.
“We've always been on about the fact that there are different paths that we could take. That different paths are not necessarily wrong ones. They are violent, Maestro, yes, but we can be so violent, too.”
“Sienna,” Desmond said, softly. “You couldn't have joined them. I know you wanted to be a warrior, but your health would not have supported either path.”
“I know,” she said. “I know, I wasn't thinking that. But Prada…has Nathaniel told you all the issues he's had with her?”
“I wouldn't call them issues,” Desmond said. “Nathaniel is doing the very best he can with a difficult situation.”
“Like you did with me,” she said softly.
“Like we did with you,” he said. “You think this could be the best path fo
r Prada?”
“She just…seems so much like them,” Sienna said. “At their core. Obviously, I don't support threatening to blow the rest of the galaxy to oblivion”
“I'm sure she'd appreciate hearing that from you,” Desmond said, without sarcasm. “Prada is not having the easiest time adapting when she's different from everyone else. You can understand that.”
“She doesn't like me,” Sienna said. “She's made that clear.”
“She may not be kind to you,” Desmond said. “And that's what Nathaniel needs to deal with. But she would appreciate hearing it.”
“Mm,” Sienna said. “Why don't I put down my things and then we'll go out and see what information we can gather?”
“Look at you, planning a quest,” Desmond said. “You have come far.”
“Just too late,” she said, heading into her room and Desmond sighed.
But as he unpacked, taking a few items out of his rut sack, her words rang true to him.
Could it be that they didn't mean harm? That they had the message wrong? Were they just trying to walk a different path and be accepted?
It was impossible to know, at least right now. He wished he could reached out to Nathaniel, to check on him. He had to trust that his former Tiro knew what he was doing.
Neither of them had very many items with them, and they met a few moments later. Sienna had changed into leggings and a tunic, her hair up and her face bare. Desmond was overcome with memories, watching her as she walked down the hall. He remembered the early days, when they could barely get through a day without a medical emergency. He couldn't count how many hours he had spent holding her hair back as she threw up, catching her as she fainted, and running down the hallway with her limp body, begging Nature to let him make it to the med bay in time. He remembered the good times as well, her laughter, her triumphs with magic, with language and with acceptance. All of those years melded together to the young woman walking beside him, and it seemed a miracle that she was here at all, yet alone self-sufficient and happy.
Or at least, she was until Devon began slipping. Now, he was worried all those years would coming bursting back in one choice she might make. He would do anything to change that, to have her slip back to where she used to be.
Hunting the Rogues (Shadow Claw Book 8) Page 71
