by Sarah Fine
And where had Takeshi gone? Had that cloaked figure gotten him? Had it been a trap to draw him away? It seemed like one person couldn’t possibly stop him. But if that was true—why hadn’t he stayed to fight? Between the three of us, we might have been able to beat these guys. Was he trailing us? Planning to rescue us? Or had he slipped away? Was he going to find a way to sneak into the Smith’s lair, as planned? All of these questions and speculations flew through my brain so quickly that it almost made me dizzy.
Ana and I were shoulder to shoulder, but it wasn’t a safe time to chat. Now that we were down to six human guards, it seemed even more likely that Takeshi could use this as a rescue opportunity. Though with every step we took toward the three-story-high steel archway that marked the entrance to the metalworks, my hope for a Takeshi ambush faded.
We reached the final block before the archway, a series of buildings where the open first floors hummed with activity. As Takeshi had described, it was a marketplace, full of glittering metal. Furniture in one building, mechanized carts in another, tools of various types in the next, weapons in the one closest to the factory, which loomed in front of us, belching black smoke into the night. The market was staffed by humans wearing collars, which marked their status as slaves. They hovered near the goods, conversing with the Mazikin who were looking over the wares in each stall.
As we passed the space where the tools were displayed, one of the Mazikin customers growled and swiped its long claws across a frail human’s throat. The poor man cried out and fell to the ground, clutching at his neck as his blood spilled on the concrete floor. Two other men ran to him, but instead of helping him, they matter-of-factly dragged him behind the display of tools and dumped him there before scurrying back to their stations.
One of our captors, a man with horrific burn scars all over his face, cleared his throat. “That’s Carlo.”
“Should I take care of him?” asked another, a dude with a giant blistered bald spot and a knotty scar of his own winding down the side of his face. His dark eyes were riveted to Carlo as we walked past the display that concealed him from the customers’ sight. The victim’s claw wounds still wept blood. Anywhere else, he would have bled to death. But here . . . Takeshi had said injuries would heal badly but wouldn’t kill.
“You’d have to wait until one of our agents is back at the gates, Phil,” snapped Nazir, giving me a little shove. “Otherwise, he might get sent to the meat factory.”
“Might as well let it heal up on its own then,” rumbled the guy who was holding on to the back of Ana’s neck, the tip of his blade pressed lightly between her shoulder blades.
Phil, the guy who wanted to “take care” of Carlo, merely grunted. I couldn’t tell if he had wanted to offer Carlo mercy or had been trying to figure out how to keep him functional enough to work.
Finally, we were escorted under the massive metal archway and along the front of the factory building, then down a long passage. The scarred posse marched us through a long, narrow room dominated by a concrete conference table and high-backed steel chairs, then along another corridor that opened onto what appeared to be some sort of showroom for weapons. Hanging on the walls were heavy battle axes, long pikes and spears, and curved blades with barbs that looked like they could rip a man’s guts out with a simple twist of the wrist—weapons made for the Mazikin by the traitorous Smith to hurt people like us. My own knives suddenly seemed useless, their effect like the sting of a mosquito compared to the bite of a great white shark.
By the time we reached an alcove furnished with goatskin-upholstered chairs and curved punched-steel tables, I realized our plan to sneak in had been pretty unrealistic. The place was a heavily guarded maze, and every person here was cautious and alert—and they all seemed to know each other. Nazir and his men pushed us farther into the little chamber. Sitting at one of the chairs at the back was a very short man. Even though he was seated, I could tell he’d be lucky to crack five feet with lifts in his shoes. His thick legs were crossed, and his boots, which had pointed toes, were a rich brown, though they seemed a little worn. He peered at us from beneath some of the bushiest eyebrows I’d ever seen, but they couldn’t hide the calculating glimmer in his eyes. He looked about forty, solidly built with square shoulders. His black hair was smoothly combed and greased, his skin a dark-olive tone.
“What have you brought me?” he asked with a low, melodious accent. Italian, maybe? Greek? Those eyebrows twitched as his eyes darted over our scar-free faces and bodies. “Did you bring them straight from the gates? Is this their first go-round?”
Nazir tossed one of my thigh sheaths at the Smith, who caught it in his meaty hand. “Nabbed ’em only a few blocks from the market, headed in this direction. They were carrying these.”
The Smith plucked one of my knives from its sheath and held it to the light. His eyes went wide. “Where did you get this?” he whispered as his gaze returned to me.
“Found it on the street,” Ana said.
The Smith’s plump lips quirked into a smile. “Liar.”
“These are hers,” said Phil, tossing Ana’s throwing knives onto the low steel table in front of the Smith. Metal hit metal with a terrible clatter, but it didn’t seem to bother the Smith. He muttered in some foreign language as he gave Ana an intrigued once-over.
“Throwing knives? Can you wield these, my dear?”
“If you untie my hands, I could give it a try,” said Ana sweetly.
The Smith snorted. “Perhaps later.”
“They came from the outside,” Nazir told him. “I’m sure of it.”
“So am I.” The Smith looked out at his scarred posse. “We have been here for so long,” he said, a hint of sadness in his voice. “But none of us has forgotten that there are worlds outside of this dome. Which means we have not forgotten that we’ve been forgotten—and all the while we suffer”—he tossed Ana’s knife onto the table—“we blister”—he pointed to the man whose entire face was badly burned—“we scrape and toil to avoid the slashing claws”—he gestured at the man with the knotted scar down the side of his face—“and we die.”
His pitted nostrils flared. “Do you know who our Mazikin masters are entertaining in the square at this very moment, Nazir?”
“Someone they call ‘the Captain,’ ” said Nazir. “All I know.”
I gritted my teeth as the Smith chuckled. “Well, let me enlighten you. The Captain in the square is not the first of his kind to come to our city. There is another. He has caused more destruction than any other human under this dome.”
Nazir’s eyes went wide. “The Guard?”
The Smith nodded. “They are mortal enemies of our Mazikin rulers. Ibram told me so himself, how much pain and fear these Guards have caused. And we all know the Guard is no friend of ours. He hides in the city while we pay for his crimes. So no, this ‘Captain’ was not the first to come here.” His eyes glittered nastily as he turned to Ana and me. “Nor, it seems, is he the last.”
The men behind us began to mumble to each other, but the Smith silenced them with a glare before returning his attention to us. “How did you get here, darlings? You weren’t possessed, were you?”
Both of us stared at him mutely.
He smirked. “And why are you here?”
Again, neither of us responded. I honestly had no idea what the right answer was. If we said we were here to save Malachi and kill the Queen, it seemed like the quickest way to get chained up alongside Malachi, and possibly another reason for them to hurt him. But there was no lie that seemed reasonable. The Smith knew who we were, sort of, and he knew we’d come from the outside.
“Are you here to save your comrades?” he asked, his voice quiet.
Ana glanced at me. “Nah, we’re just tourists.”
I knew she expected me to go along, but I couldn’t help but feel that her joking lies would only get us in trouble. “We’re h
ere to save everyone,” I blurted out as Ana’s eyes narrowed in anger. She was my Captain, and this was on the bleeding edge of insubordination. But the certainty rose up inside me—this was what we should do. I had to hope Ana would see it that way . . . sooner rather than later. “We could get you out, too, if you help us.”
Whatever he’d expected me to say, it wasn’t that. He blinked, his face reddening, and then he began to laugh again. The sound bounced off the walls, the tables, echoing mercilessly. He slapped his hand across his thigh, tears streaking from the corners of his eyes. Snot began to leak from his nostrils, and he swiped his sleeve under his nose. The men around us were silent, either too afraid or too stunned to laugh. Or maybe they had no clue why he was laughing in the first place. “Ah, that is impossible,” he said. “The Judge has sent you on a suicide mission.”
Next to me, I felt Ana freeze. The Smith noticed it, too. “You didn’t think I knew about the Judge? I wasn’t born here, Guard. None of us were. And nearly all of us had some experience with death before we came.” His voice grew louder, angrier. “I’ve been here for hundreds of years, though I have no idea how long I was in the dark city before I was taken by the Mazikin. But I saw Guards on the streets. I’ve seen the Sanctum. And I’ve heard about the Judge who presides there. For the first many years I was here, I held out hope that justice would prevail. Isn’t that what a Judge is supposed to ensure? But never has your precious Judge sent anyone to save me, let alone all the other helpless wretches in this city.”
He and Takeshi had more in common than either of them knew.
Suddenly, he rose to his feet and kicked the metal table out of the way, sending Ana’s knives flying and his own men scattering as the blades whipped through the air. He stumped toward me until his belly nearly touched mine. “I don’t believe, even for a moment, that you came here to do anything except to take care of your own,” he growled.
“Fine,” Ana snapped. “So what if that’s true? We didn’t come here to hurt you, so how about you let us go?”
The Smith shook his head. “You should have stayed far away from here. If I were to capture two Guards and then set them free, me and mine would be in the square right next to your Captain.”
“So what are you going to do with us?” I asked, trying to keep my voice from trembling.
The Smith grinned. “I will use you to draw out the Guard. The one who has been terrorizing our city for a decade. And once I have all of you, I will present you as gifts to my Queen.”
“He won’t come,” blurted Ana. “He won’t let himself be taken.”
I’d never wanted to kick anyone more than I wanted to kick Ana in that moment. The Smith, of course, looked absolutely delighted at her response. “Well then. I’ll enjoy trying to draw him out.” He turned to Nazir. “Take them to a cell while we prepare the yard.”
I crouched in the corner of the cell, my back to the wall, my eyes on the guard pacing the corridor in front of us. Ana sat in the cell next to mine, doing the same thing. I had no idea how long we’d been here, but the dude, his pointed, blistered nose leading the way, had walked by ninety-seven times. He was starting to look bored.
We’d been shoved in here with the ominous promise that the Smith would come for us when he was ready. I could hear distant sounds of construction, the clang of metal on metal, the roar of engines. The vibrations of heavy objects being shifted and dropped jittered through the floor. I imagined what they might be building—probably a platform like the one where Malachi had been chained. Would the Smith call his Mazikin friends? What would they do to us if he did?
The guard was taking his time now. We hadn’t moved since being stowed in these barred cells with concrete floors, and he was probably thinking we weren’t a threat. Finally, I heard him settle himself heavily down the hall, near an open window where he could see the construction. From what I understood of this city, the fire hour was coming soon, so I was betting they’d have to take a break and hide from the heat. And maybe we’d be able to escape while they did. I was willing to brave the fire if it meant getting back on track with the rescue mission.
“Ana,” I whispered, scooting a little closer to the bars that separated my cell from hers. When she looked over, I drew my finger along my chest in a diagonal motion. “Grenades?” I mouthed. One toss down the hall and we’d have chaos on a grand scale. And hopefully, a hole in the side of the building big enough for us to climb through to the outside.
Ana looked away. “I don’t have them.”
My stomach dropped. “What?”
Her fingers tightened over the bars. “When we were repacking to come here, Takeshi offered to carry them in his satchel.”
I grasped the bars between us. “You said you would carry them.”
“I changed my mind, Lieutenant.”
My knuckles were turning white. “So now Takeshi’s disappeared with our grenades,” I hissed. “He looked pretty damn interested in them, didn’t he?”
She slowly turned her head. “What are you saying?”
“I don’t know the guy, but let’s add it up. He said they’d get a great price on the black market, and he straight-up said he didn’t consider himself a Guard anymore. He never sounded all that interested in helping us destroy the portal—he said it would be suicide. And you gave him our only means of escape!” I shut up when I heard the guard shift and stand again. I pressed my face close, and Ana’s jaw tightened. “How do you know he hasn’t gone on his merry way to use them for trade? Or to cause more destruction that will only make the Mazikin more determined to hurt Malachi?”
She leaned toward me. “You’re right,” she said. “You don’t know Takeshi.”
“Are you sure you do? Takeshi has been gone for ten years. People change. You thought he’d be some noble leader of a resistance movement, and instead he’s been out for himself the whole time.”
“What would you have done if you were in his position, Lela? Tell me, since you’re apparently better than the rest of us.”
I sagged, defeated, and rested my forehead against the warm metal bars. “No idea. I just don’t get why he disappeared. And why he hasn’t tried to rescue us.”
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “But I do know he loves me. He never stopped. And he loves Malachi. He won’t let him continue to suffer.”
“By leaving us in here, that’s exactly what he’s doing.” I wanted to rip the bars from the wall. I wanted to knock the building down with my bare hands. Somewhere out there, Malachi was about to endure the fire hour. Chained in the middle of that square, with nothing but a flimsy metal roof over his head. His shackles would get so hot they would burn his skin. The mere idea of it made me want to shriek.
“You should be more worried about what they’re going to do to us,” she said softly. “We’re going to have to try to make a break for it before they chain us up. We need to come up with a plan.”
I sank to the concrete, my hands falling away from the bars. “I was trying to.” I bowed my head on my knees, suddenly so weary that I could no longer hold it up. No grenades. No allies. No way out. A few hours until we became a public spectacle. “Any ideas, Captain?”
Ana sighed. “None at the moment.”
“Let me know when you come up with something.”
She didn’t answer. If we were lucky, they’d decapitate us. Maybe if we appeared at the gates of the city, we’d have another chance to escape. I chuckled grimly to myself. “Lucky” took on a whole new meaning in the Mazikin realm.
As the banging and roars outside fell silent, I drifted into dreams of Malachi, hoping that somewhere in their shifting sands, I would find our path to escape.
ELEVEN
I AWOKE TO THE sound of clanking chains. Next to me, Ana was getting to her feet. “Lela,” she whispered. “Here they come.”
I slid up the cement wall, my heart starting to pound. Memories of Malach
i, covered in his own blood, his face a mask of pain, flooded back. Was that what lay ahead for us?
“Orders?” I asked as heavy footsteps clonked down the corridor.
“We’ll have to see what they’ve set up,” she answered in a low voice, talking fast. “If you can grab a weapon, go for it. I’ll do the same.”
“Sounds good,” I whispered as two men reached our cells. I might have considered taking them on once they opened our doors, but from the scuffling sound of boots I could tell that they’d brought a squad of helpers. There was only one exit from this corridor apart from the barred window, and without weapons, Ana and I were unlikely to be able to plow through all of them.
A bear of a man with pale-gray eyes lifted a set of shackles. “Some pretty jewelry for you,” he said, grinning.
Standing next to him, Nazir did not look amused. “Get them out and chained, Holloran. Don’t talk to them.”
“What are you going to do to us?” I asked.
Nazir’s eyes met mine, and in them all I saw was regret and pain, no softness. It was like everything kind or compassionate inside him had fossilized ages ago, leaving only stone. “He’ll make an example of you. He’ll put on a show for the Mazikin. And he won’t be satisfied until he has what he wants.”
Which was Takeshi, who had abandoned us. Me, I could understand. I didn’t mean a thing to him, really, and I’d never fully trusted him, as much as I’d wanted to. But I had trouble comprehending how he could have left Ana to this fate. I’d seen the way he looked at her, his eyes reflecting secret shared moments and years of want.
Nazir pulled one of those elaborate skeleton keys from a ring latched on to his belt and unlocked my cell. I held still while Holloran chained my hands in front of me and shackled my ankles. Once I was fettered, he and Nazir did the same to Ana, who stared at them with such intense hatred that it was a wonder their faces didn’t melt off.
