“Sorry. No visits to any of the prisoners and that’s a higher order. Perhaps the order will be lifted once the attack on the base is investigated.”
“But I told him I’d come back tomorrow!”
“Sorry,” he repeated.
Over the next few days Parsons didn’t see her father much, and Calban wasn’t home either. Their army had managed to repel the attack by the Miralem and their dragons, but everyone seemed in a tizzy about it.
Without any other orders, she reluctantly returned to her job, but all day her mind wandered to the vision of Dennis' pale skin and green eyes. Her own arms seemed to ache from sympathy. She wondered what it was like to feel hungry, a sensation she barely remembered.
She dreamt about him at night. She saw him chained to the wall. You promised you would help me, said the dream-version.
In the dream, she walked closer to him and put her hands on his chest. His skin stiffened under her touch. His mouth was open just a crack so she could see his fierce teeth. Suddenly his arms were free, in the improbable way of dreams, and pulling her back against him, his fangs grazing her ear, his hands on her breasts with a rough touch that sent sparks through her. His hands dropped to her dress, gathering a handful of fabric so it squeezed her waist and she couldn’t move away from him. You’re mine now, he whispered in her ear.
She woke up in a rush of heat and embarrassment, quickly throwing off the covers. But the covers weren’t making her hot; she didn’t actually have body heat to trap under them. This was something in her head. And then, seeing her bare arms in the shadows, she burrowed under the covers again and shut her eyes.
It’s his magic, doing weird things to my head.
In real life, of course, Dennis avoided even looking at her, much less touching her like that. Good thing, too, she thought, with a forceful inner harrumph. But her skin remained hot and tingling. She struggled to sleep.
She could hardly stand not seeing him.
Calban, you ass. Why didn’t you tell the guards to let me in?
Papa finally came home for dinner as the week came to an end. “Are you staying in tonight, sweetheart? Good. I want us to have time to talk.”
He seemed very cheerful, so she expected good news as the cook brought out the meal. Since the death of Parsons’ mother, they dined in a small room that suited just the two of them, and kept the food modest. Parsons usually had a fresh roll with butter, a few bites of the main course, and a large slice of cake.
He had a sip of his drink, some liquor on ice—Parsons never paid attention to what anyone drank. “After all of these years,” he said. “They want to give me a loyalty band.”
“My goodness,” Parsons said, unsure how to react. She should be happy for him. It was such a great honor. “Why now?”
“Well, it’s my fortieth year serving the Wodrenarune. Of course, I really thought when I reached thirty years…that’s usually when the offer comes. I always wondered why I was passed over, after all the hard work I’ve put in. Well, Deckon explained it to me.”
“Oh?”
“It’s because you were so often underfoot with my work, and they know I tell you everything. My ability to work under secrecy was compromised. And they didn’t want to get in the way of me being a good father to you.”
“It’s my fault?” Parsons couldn’t help but feel guilty at unwittingly ruining Papa’s chances of advancement.
“Not your fault! Not at all. It’s just that you were a child. Now, you are an adult and they would like to offer you a loyalty band as well…”
“Me? I’m—still so young.” Parsons’ gut reaction was not pleased. A loyalty band was a commitment, a pledge to Lord Jherin that was never rescinded.
“Yes. You are young. You’d be among the youngest people to ever pledge your loyalty. To be honest, I’m not sure I want that for you so soon. Although it would certainly lead to opportunities for you.”
Loyalty bands had a dark side as well, one that no one spoke of very much. They gave you the protection of the Wodrenarune, because everyone who wore a loyalty band shared a link. It was almost like having telepathy, in a communal way. If you were in trouble somewhere, someone would be able to find you easily and teleport to your aid.
But they also made it easier to track dissent. Deeply unharmonious thoughts would be sensed by all other band-holders. If this dissent got too out of hand…couldn’t they find you anywhere in the world and punish you accordingly?
There were rumors. A Halnari telepath who was very close to Lord Jherin vanished abruptly last year; no one spoke of her anymore. One of the Horned General’s friends was assassinated under mysterious circumstances.
Don’t think about it. Everyone disagrees with the Wodrenarune sometimes. But he’s fair. You’re not a rebel and neither is Papa.
But it all made sense now, why Calban would test her with a task that made her so uncomfortable. He wanted to know if she was ready for a loyalty band.
If she accepted, what other secrets would she be exposed to? She would no longer be able to speak to Els frankly.
“Still, you should do something. You missed out on university. You’ve always said you didn’t want to get married…but…if the idea of a loyalty band makes you uncomfortable, it’s worth considering.”
“I don’t want to get married.” Just thinking about it recalled that dream about Dennis, and she started carefully straightening her silverware on the napkin, fidgeting away her fantasies.
“Mr. Samaron asked me about you the other day.”
Parsons slapped her hand flat on the table. “I said I don’t want to get married and if I did, it definitely isn't to him. He’s a skarnwen.”
“A skarnwen?” Papa looked a little flustered that she even knew such words. “I hardly think so. If he is interested in you because you’re a Fanarlem, it’s because he can’t have children and that limits his prospects.”
“Why can’t he have children? What’s wrong with him?” Parsons could practically hear Els snickering about this in her head.
“He took part in an potions experiment a few years ago and all the men who participated become infertile. Nothing wrong with them otherwise, however. It speaks to good qualities in him. I’ve heard that his father was a dockworker, but Samaron was clearly ambitious. Clearly, he used the money from the experiment to better himself. He doesn’t even have an accent.”
Only her father, Parsons thought, would think that a man who offered himself up for magical experimentation to escape the rough life of the dockside was a prime match for his only daughter. He probably saw himself in Mr. Samaron. Papa’s parents owned a small leather goods shop on the mainland and had no formal education. When their son expressed an unusual talent for equations and building contraptions, they scrimped to send him to school. Papa was eventually accepted to the university in Nalim Ima and when he was making money, he sent for his little brother, her uncle Nihem. But that was different. Mr. Samaron wasn’t especially clever, just good at seizing opportunities.
“I don’t like the way he looks at me,” Parsons said, smothering her hurt, the way she had been doing all her life. You did this to me. You wanted me to live and you didn’t think about the consequences of what I would grow up to be. You made me a woman without my permission and now you want to marry me off. Maybe you never understood, because you don’t pay attention to anything but machines.
He drained his drink, which betrayed his nerves. “You have to choose something, sooner or later,” he said, although he looked uncomfortable. He never liked telling her what to do. “If you won’t let Lord Jherin take care of both of us, well, you’ll have to find someone to marry. You need someone to protect you and it shouldn’t be me. I won’t be here forever. I will leave the choice to you.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Parsons said. How could she deny Papa one of the greatest honors of the Wodrenarune? “I need to mull it over, that’s all.”
She wondered if she could simply establish her own household witho
ut getting married. Papa had plenty of money to buy her a house of her own and send her servants along. She would keep working, an independent woman, and their lives would become separate.
But Parsons didn’t really want to live alone. While the idea of being an independent woman sounded nice, it didn’t work well when no one gave her much respect, and inevitably the Mr. Samarons of the world would always be trying to weasel their way in the door.
“Of course,” he said. “Take some time. I want you to make the right decisions. Believe me, I wish I could keep you a child for longer, but it wouldn’t be right. Someday, you’ll be glad you moved forward.”
Chapter Nine
It was easy to forget that Calban was also the Peacock General, one of the most important men in the nation—the world, even. When he was home, he seemed to be everywhere and have time and energy to spare. But in times of crisis, he vanished into the Palace of Blessed Wings to confer with Lord Jherin, and traveled to other cities to act as the Wodrenarune’s representative. Of all the four generals, Calban was Lord Jherin’s “Golden Voice”.
For a few weeks, the nation was gripped with tension and excitement, expecting the Wodrenarune would order a full-scale war on the Miralem.
Parsons was gripped with tension for other reasons. She had no one to ask what had become of Dennis. Days passed. Weeks passed.
Work grew more tense. No one knew what would happen to their jobs if they went to war. Would the men be drafted? Would all product development shift to weapons?
The Daramons had never won a proper war against the telepathic Miralem, but the discovery of the Fallen Lands had changed their prospects. Now they had airplanes, battleships, long-range artillery, machine guns—weapons the Miralem could barely dream of.This might be the war they would win.
The Miralem must have sensed this. Their two most prominent royal families requested a meeting with the representatives of the Wodrenarune. Calban and the Horned General traveled to the Miralem lands and negotiated a truce.
The truce was met with grumbling. Old anger had been stirred, young men had signed up for the military in massive numbers. Most people felt that they should seize the chance.
“The old peacock doesn’t really want to go to war. He just wants to tinker with all his projects. What do we need a national orchestra for?”
“Well, Calban’s not much of a soldier but what about the Horned General? Why would he agree to a trade deal? We had those mind-jackers on the ropes. They attacked us with dragons and our response is to negotiate a trade deal?”
“I’m sure the general knows what he’s doing,” Parsons interjected. Politics and war had always left Parsons a little bit confused, but her instinct was to defend the man she had known all her life. “He just gave his Promise of a New World speech. He said everyone would have trains and libraries and time off from work. If we went to war, it would be more difficult to keep those promises. It would drain resources.”
“Maybe you’re right, but I just want to get ‘em!” one of the younger men said. “That’s all anyone really cares about! We can build libraries later.”
Another one of them patted her head, even knowing it would infuriate her. “I’m sure you’re an expert on it, stitches.”
“Hey, go easy on her,” Mr. Solis said. “She has a good point.” He gave her a look like he had just scored a point with her. He wasn’t as bad as Mr. Samaron, but he had an eye on her too.
She kept her expression calm and returned to her desk, but her report for the day was full of typos, quiet markers of her frustration.
As she drove home, she saw Calban’s auto on the road ahead of her, pulling through his gates. She followed, accelerating up the incline as much as the car would allow, to catch him before he went into his house.
When he saw her, he leaned against his car.
“There you are!” she exclaimed.
“Here I am.” He spread his cloak. “Travel worn and weary. How have things been at home?”
She wanted to scream at him about Dennis, but she tried to stay cool. She shrugged. “I think people are a little disappointed that we didn’t go to war.”
He sighed. “Dear stars, I’m old. I remember the last war. Anyone who says I ought to be replaced with young blood should think twice. War isn’t something to wish for.”
“I never said I wished for it,” she said.
He seemed to realize he wasn’t talking to a political strategist. “What can I do for you?”
“I want to talk to you about Mr. Faraday. Is—is he still in prison?”
“Yes, but I’m sure he’s fine. He is very resilient,” Calban said.
“He’s still chained up?”
He smiled. “Well, well. You passed the test.”
“What test?”
“I was afraid that when I blocked you from seeing Mr. Faraday and left him in such a state for weeks, you would disobey orders in order to see him or set him free. But you did not. Which is exactly what I needed from you. Your father probably told you he has been offered a loyalty band?”
“Yes…” Although he seemed to be praising her, suddenly it didn’t feel like it. It had never occurred to her to disobey orders, and maybe it should have.
“Well, we don’t usually hand those out to young people.”
Parsons heaved a breath. She didn’t need to breathe but the act of sucking air down her throat still brought some odd relief. “Mr. Faraday said you lured him here by promising to help him. Does he deserve all this?”
“If I put you in charge of him and loose him on the world, do you trust him?”
“I don’t think he should be kept in prison,” Parsons said. “I think if I told him that I had convinced you to set him free, he wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
“Do you think he always has a choice to hurt someone?” Calban looked like he was enjoying this. Nothing—except perhaps the arts—delighted him like a magical experiment. Parsons wondered sometimes if he saw much difference between experimenting on a flower or a rock, and experimenting on a person.
But the stakes were high. If she agreed to be responsible for Dennis, and he hurt Papa or anyone else…
She had to bet that Dennis' human nature was greater than his hunger. If he was well fed, it shouldn’t be a problem, should it?
“I trust that he will control himself,” she said. “But—I don’t know if it’s appropriate for me to be his keeper.”
“Your mother wouldn’t say that. She had twenty men working under her.”
“That’s different.”
“On the surface, it doesn’t have to be. He could be your assistant. Having an American around product development seems like a good idea.”
Deep down, Parsons already knew she wouldn’t say no.
In fact, she wanted to say yes right away. She had a wish, bordering on a need, to see Dennis out of that terrible prison, properly dressed and fed and rested. She wasn’t afraid of him, even if he hadn’t been especially nice to her at times. She wanted to be the one to control his destiny.
“Parsons, I need to know that you can handle anything I throw at you. That you don’t question the decisions I've made, even if you aren’t satisfied with my explanations.”
Back to this again. She realized that she had lifted a hand to her throat, thinking of a loyalty band there. Since she was a Fanarlem, they would probably have to cast extra spells on the loyalty band to bind it to her. Otherwise, she could ask a servant to remove her head and take the band off.
“Say the word, and I will bring him to you.”
Parsons saw a curtain flutter in the house behind him, and she suddenly thought that Irik had been watching them. How snoopy of her.
“As long as he doesn’t hurt anyone, you won’t send him back to prison?” Parsons pressed.
“I won’t send him to prison unless he hurts a hair on your head. Or anyone else who is dear to me. I trust you to manage him. How is that for a deal?”
“Very well,” Parsons said.
&nb
sp; “The poor man has no clothes,” Calban said, taking his own sturdy leather suitcase out of the trunk of his auto. One of the servants, who had been keeping his distance while they spoke, suddenly rushed forward to take it from him. “That should be your first order of business. I’ll get him cleaned up and drop him off later. As far as your father is concerned, we never spoke.”
“I understand.”
Parsons was not sure if she had scored a triumph or made a horrible mistake as she walked away.
The doorbell rang downstairs some hours later. Parsons was in the guest rooms, quietly making sure there was soap at the sink and nothing was dusty. It was so rare that they had guests stay overnight.
Parsons wasn’t sure if Papa was home, but she heard the maid answer and let someone in. Then, the basement door swung open. Papa had been in his workshop, and then she heard the murmur of his voice and Calban’s.
Parsons quickly checked her reflection in the mirror to make sure she hadn’t gotten dusty herself and crept halfway down the stairs.
“You got my message, Trosiran?” Calban was saying. “Excellent. I can’t think of a better host for Mr. Faraday.”
“Good to meet you.” Papa sounded flustered.
“Good afternoon,” Dennis said, his tone guarded.
Parsons’ knees went a little weak now that this was really happening. She could hardly imagine seeing Dennis in her house.
“He’s going to cooperate with us,” Calban said. “In exchange for a little more freedom. It will benefit us all to introduce humans into society. I have placed magical restraints on him, and I’ll send a man over to handle the blood, so I don’t want you to worry.”
“It would certainly help us integrate human technology better if we could work alongside them,” Papa said.
“I knew you’d think so. I’d like him to work with Parsons.”
Her father was quiet for a pause. “Do you it’s safe for my daughter to be around him?”
“In fact, no one is safer than your daughter. That’s my thought. Even if Mr. Faraday loses control, she offers no temptation to him.”
The Vampire's Doll (The Heiress and the Vampire Book 1) Page 10
