Skin Dominion

by Tania Hutley

  “Yes, we know,” the imperator cuts in. He makes an impatient motion with the hand holding his drink, causing the liquid to slosh in the glass. “But why? Who did it?”

  “I believe I mentioned our civil unrest. There was a short-lived rebellion against the authority of the president, but the insurgents have now been dealt with. The president is once again in full control.”

  I keep my expression blank, but can’t stop myself from meeting Cale’s gaze. We were the ones who wiped those chips.

  “How can we be sure you won’t bring another army across the wall?” demands Prince Otho.

  “We’re here to offer those assurances—“ starts Sentin, but the imperator cuts him off with an irritated grunt.

  “If you insist on discussing these things now, we may as well start dinner.”

  Instantly, one of the uniformed waiters steps forward. “This way, please.”

  The waiter opens a door and ushers us into a dining room. A long table that looks designed to seat at least two dozen people is set with eight place settings, all well apart from each other so we’ll have to speak up to be heard.

  Several more waiters join us. One pulls out a chair for me and holds it while I sit down, and others do the same for the rest. Then the waiters bustle around us, pouring us fresh drinks, although our old drinks are virtually untouched.

  They bring out platters of food from a door that must lead into a kitchen, and one spoons some of it onto the plate in front of me. The food smells delicious, but looks nothing like what I’m used to. I stare down at some green leaves that must have been picked straight from a plant and coated in some kind of liquid. A thick white tube rests beside it, with something brown and chunky on the side. I can’t wait to taste it all, but I sit patiently while everyone is served.

  Prince Otho is sitting opposite me, and on the wall behind him is a portrait of his father, and an older man with the same beaky nose, who must be his grandfather. They were both imperators, so I guess Prince Otho is next in line to take over.

  When the imperator picks up his knife and fork, I take it as an invitation to eat. Carefully, I spear one of the green leaves and push it in my mouth. Its flavor is incredible. As is everything else. I can barely stop myself from gobbling everything on my plate.

  I’m in the process of devouring my dinner when I look up and catch the imperator watching me. The story Sentin told us runs through my mind, about the boy who ate goldenfruit and grew roots. The imperator probably thinks after we’ve eaten his delicious food, we’ll feel more like being generous.

  Holding his gaze, I put my knife and fork down, and swallow what’s in my mouth.

  The imperator’s gaze moves deliberately to Sentin. “What exactly do you want from us?” he asks abruptly. “I assume you’re going to ask for something in exchange for peace.”

  Sentin nods. “Triton would like to import some of Deiterra’s produce, and export its goods to you.”

  “Trade?” The imperator sounds incredulous, as though it’s the most ridiculous demand he’s ever heard.

  Sentin inclines his head. “Trade,” he agrees.

  “First you destroy our grain stores, and now you want the rest of our food?”

  “Our factories manufacture enough food in Triton to supply you with—”

  “You’re suggesting we eat chemicals?” The imperator’s lip curls. The legates stay silent, but their expressions make it clear they’re as revolted as their boss. The only one who doesn’t look disgusted at the idea is Prince Otho.

  “The food being produced in Triton’s factories is nutritious—”

  “Manufacturing food in test tubes goes against the principles Deiterra was founded on.” The imperator makes a disgusted sound, spraying saliva over the table. “My father would roll in his grave.”

  “It would be a temporary solution until your grain store was replenished.” Sentin sounds as unruffled as ever. “And new technology is being developed in Triton that I believe could be of great benefit to Deiterra.”

  “What kind of technology?” Prince Otho leans forward, his eyes alight with interest.

  “Plant fertilization is your farmers’ most labor-intensive task. Have you considered creating bees to do it for you?”

  “Creating bees? You mean, engineering them in a lab?”

  Sentin nods. “Our scientists grew a sabre-toothed tiger from ancient DNA traces found in fossils. They can certainly bring bees back into the world. And they can make them resistant to the toxins that drove them to extinction.”

  Prince Otho turns to his father and widens his eyes.

  The imperator looks far less impressed. “If Triton has the answer to every problem, it must be a delightful place to live.” He folds his arms in front of him. “So why do you want our food?”

  “Triton is overcrowded, as you well know.”

  “Well you can’t send all your people here,” snaps the imperator. The legates all nod, agreeing with their boss.

  “I’m not suggesting that.” Sentin puts his elbows on the table, lacing his fingers together over his plate. “I’m simply suggesting we enjoy closer relations for our mutual benefit. In order to do that, we’ll need to relax some restrictions around entry. We’ll repair the wall, but install a proper gate for easier access. Our scientists will help Deiterra become more productive, and your growers will export a portion of their goods.”

  “Never.” The imperator slams his hand down on the table, making all the plates and glasses jump. “You can’t have our food. We only have enough to feed ourselves.”

  “When you have access to our technology, you’ll produce a lot more food. Your country will prosper and your citizens will—”

  “That’s enough.” The imperator scrapes his chair back and stands up. “My answer is no. My appetite has gone, and I won’t entertain this discussion any longer.” His legates put their cutlery down and stand up too.

  “Please don’t leave.” Sentin swivels in his chair. “We have a lot to discuss.”

  “We have nothing to discuss.” The imperator fixes his son with a pointed look. “Otho?”

  The prince stands up slowly, his expression reluctant. “That was quick,” he mutters.

  “Your terms are unacceptable.” The imperator glares at Sentin, then at me and Cale. “You will reconsider your offer before we speak again tomorrow. We will not agree to trade, we refuse your chemicals, and your scientists are not welcome here.” He turns and sweeps out, followed by the legates.

  “My apologies,” says Prince Otho. “I thought the bees were a good idea.” He nods at us and goes after his father.

  When it’s just Cale, Sentin and I left at the table, I let out a loud sigh. “That didn’t go well.”

  “His behaviour could be a negotiating tactic.” Sentin picks up his knife and fork and cuts a mouthful of food. But though he’s making an effort to act like nothing is wrong, his body is tense and his shoulders have lifted. I’m either getting better at reading him, or he’s finding it harder to hide his emotions. Maybe being in Deiterra is bringing old, buried tensions closer to the surface.

  “So he didn’t mean any of that?” asks Cale. He’s sitting on the other side of the table, and like me, he’s almost cleaned his plate. Sentin is beside me, and still has half his meal left.

  Sentin lifts his fork, but doesn’t take a bite. “Negotiations will resume tomorrow. I’ll present my offer again, and eventually he’ll accept.”

  Cale raises his eyebrows. “You sure? He seems to think our food is toxic and our scientists have cloven hooves and forked tongues.”

  “Maybe he’s right about our food being toxic. Deiterran food tastes nothing like it.” I put the last of my dinner into my mouth and try to chew slowly. “It’s delicious,” I mumble with my mouth full.

  “Why are you so set on trading with Deiterra?” Cale frowns at Sentin. “And don’t try to tell me it’s for the joy of sharing this amazing food with Tritoners, because I don’t believe you.”

 
; “Trade is the first step in a very long journey.”

  I’m expecting Sentin to say more, but his eyes have gone distant as though he’s deep in thought.

  Cale and I exchange a long, meaningful glance, having an entire silent conversation in which we both share our mutual frustration over having to drag information out of Sentin piece by piece.

  “And…?” I prompt.

  Sentin focuses on me. “My eventual goal is for the wall to come down, and for Deiterra and Triton to be a single nation. The first step is a gate in the wall, to facilitate trade. Information will flow through that gate, and common ground will be found. Our communities will become more alike. Eventually, the wall will be seen as an unnecessary hindrance.”

  “How long will all that take?” I ask.

  He gives me one of his slow blinks. “Why do you persist in thinking the duration is important?”

  “Years?” I ask. “Decades?”

  “While somebody uses a Skin, their human body can be kept in a form of stasis. Assuming the Skin is regularly maintained, its user could live for centuries.”

  “Centuries?” Cale coughs out the word. “You can’t seriously be planning that far ahead?”

  “To achieve an ambitious outcome, it’s necessary to maintain a high vantage point.”

  I lean forward, meeting Sentin’s eyes, and speak in a low, determined voice so he knows my words are a warning. “But I don’t like the view from up there. Not if you can’t see Old Triton.”

  He cocks his head. “Old Triton wasn’t kind to you, though, was it? When we met, you wore your defiance like armor. Underneath it, your fear was strong enough I could have detected it even without the sensors in my glasses.”

  “That’s not true,” I protest. He holds my gaze, and my face heats. “Showing fear only attracts sharks,” I mutter.

  “When you’re subjected to a dangerous situation over a long period of time, it can rewire your brain to create permanent trauma. I was interested to see how using a Skin reversed that trauma.”

  I scratch my cheek before I realize what I’m doing. My cheek doesn’t itch, because this Skin doesn’t have any scars. It’s just that talking about my old life is making me uncomfortable.

  “You and I have always been outsiders.” Sentin is still focused on me. “But that’s a strength, not a weakness. Embrace the power your new Skin gives you. Don’t cling to old feelings toward Old Triton, or try to reverse past wrongs. Take a step back, and you’ll realize a greater perspective only comes with distance.”

  “What are you saying?” Cale sounds annoyed.

  When I drag my gaze from Sentin’s and my eyes land on Cale’s perfect New Triton face, it hits me how right Sentin is about having been an outsider. I’m the opposite of Cale. He fits in everywhere, and gets on with everyone. He once told me he’d never been in a fight. But I bet Sentin’s been in plenty.

  Cale gives Sentin a puzzled frown. “Are you trying to say that Old Triton doesn’t matter?”

  Sentin turns to Cale, and his expression shifts almost imperceptibly, all trace of emotion smoothing away. He’s the one with armor, not me. But maybe Cale was right about him being willing to let me in, and give me a glimpse of whatever he’s hiding.

  “I’m merely suggesting we evaluate events dispassionately.” His tone goes bland. “We should ensure our affiliations don’t color our perception of the facts.”

  Cale opens his mouth, then closes it again, unable to argue.

  I don’t say anything either, because Sentin’s words are going around and around in my head. He’s right about my fear. I lived on a razor’s edge for years, and my Leopard Skin freed me. Now, thanks to my new Skin, I’m both fearless and powerful.

  Maybe he’s right about everything. What did he say I was trying to do? Right past wrongs? Thinking about it that way, it seems like an impossible task. I mean, how can you change things that already happened? You can’t, that’s all. At some point, you have to move on.

  I suck in a deep breath and blow it out in a loud rush of air.

  From across the table, Cale shoots me a questioning look. Sentin is closer, and his eyes are on me too. But I get the idea he already knows exactly what I’m thinking.

  Twelve

  Dinner is long over, and I’m in the room they gave me, lying in the darkness trying to sleep, when there’s a knock at the door.

  Cale. It must be him. Who else would knock so late at night?

  I slip out of bed and cross quickly to the door, my pulse speeding up as I think of the night we spent together in the safe house. Pausing for a moment at the door, I smooth the knee-length shift I wore to bed and lift a hand to check my hair. I have no idea what kind of complicated technology keeps it looking so perfect, but my silky bob is as neat as always.

  When I throw open the door, it’s not Cale on the other side.

  “Sentin?” I blink at him. He’s still dressed in the smart black suit he wore to dinner, and the licorice and aniseed scent of his aftershave smells even better than before, as though freshly applied. He’s as handsome as Cale, in his own way. Darker and more angular. Tall, and with an unevenness to his features that I’ve come to appreciate.

  He inclines his head. “I’m going outside, and I’d like you to come with me.”

  “Outside?” I ask. “Where?”

  “There’s a bar within walking distance. You should see a little Deiterran nightlife while you’re here.”

  I resist the urge to ask aloud whether I’m asleep and this is a weird dream. Sentin never does anything without a reason. If he wants me to go drinking with him at a Deiterran bar, then I’d better go. No matter how bizarre this is.

  “Give me a minute to change.”

  I shut the door on him so I can slip into trousers, flat shoes, and a shirt. When I open it again, I ask, “Is this okay for where we’re going?”

  He holds out a strip of cloth. “Drape this over your hair.”

  I take it, frowning. “Why?”

  “Because you don’t look Deiterran.”

  Of course. I remember the hostile looks from the people who were working in the fields, and make a kind of hood with the fabric, pulling it forward at the sides so my face will be hard to see.

  As Sentin leads me down the hall, I wonder about stopping to get Cale. But Sentin walks past the door to Cale’s room, and I think better of it. Cale looks as foreign here as I do. Besides, my best guess about why we’re going out is that Sentin needs to talk to me privately. Maybe he’s worried there are listening devices here, and we’ll be overheard. Although after our dinner conversation, it’s a little late to worry about that.

  “Will the Deiterrans mind us leaving like this?” I ask.

  “Why should they mind? We’re just going to enjoy ourselves.”

  I raise my eyebrows at him, doubting that Sentin’s ever gone to a bar to have fun in his life. There’s definitely something clandestine going on.

  At least he seems to know his way around the palace. He leads me down several long hallways, and manages to find the front entrance with no problem. There are two legionnaires stationed at the door. To my surprise, he takes my hand and tucks it into his arm before we walk up to them.

  “We’re going to a bar for a drink. We’ll be back in an hour or two.” His tone is more casual than I’ve ever heard it.

  The legionnaires both salute. “Yes, sir. We’ll call you a car.”

  “No need. It’s a pleasant evening for a walk.”

  “Sir, our safety protocols—”

  “We’d like to stay unaccompanied. I take full responsibility for our safety.” Sentin leads me out the door, keeping his hand over mine, so I have to keep hold of his arm. To the legionnaires, we must look like lovers, which I assume is what he wants them to think.

  I wouldn’t have thought the imperator would let us walk out the door like this, but as we stroll down the grand driveway, nobody tries to stop us.

  Tall, ornate lamps illuminate our path. The street in front
of the house isn’t lit up, but I guess it doesn’t need to be when it’s basically deserted. There are a few houses with lights on, and the occasional car drives past, but compared to Triton, it’s a ghost town.

  Sentin keeps hold of my arm while we walk, not letting it go even when we’re out of sight of the palace. I look around curiously, my vision sharp in spite of the darkness. Besides, it’s not really dark here, not compared to the oppressive black of an Old Triton night. The moon and stars are incredibly bright. Even brighter than they are in New Triton.

  It’s cool tonight, and I shiver, wishing I’d worn a warmer shirt. When the sun goes down at this time of year, it can get cold. But it’s not winter yet, so at least we won’t freeze. At least, we wouldn’t in Triton.

  “Where are we going?” I ask eventually, when Sentin doesn’t volunteer any information.

  He shoots a quick glance behind us. “Speak softly, and don’t look over your shoulder. The legionnaires are following us, but we should pretend we don’t know they’re there.”

  I resist an overwhelming urge to look back at them. “Okay.”

  “We’re going to find out what happened to the knights, because the swarm network has gone offline.”

  “What?” A fresh chill runs down my spine. I haven’t checked whether my band is working, but if the knight’s network is down, it can’t be. “You can’t contact them? What do you think’s happened?”

  “That’s what we’re going to find out.”

  “If we’re being followed, how are we going to get to the knights without the imperator knowing?”

  “We’re going to the bar first, then we’ll lose them. It’s just up here.”

  Sure enough, there’s a building ahead with a couple of empty tables outside on the sidewalk. A sign over the door says Have A Rusty Nail. I’m not sure if it’s the name of the bar, an invitation to try a type of drink, or a threat of violence. Maybe all three.

  Inside, soft, unfamiliar music is playing. I’ve never actually been inside a bar, but this place looks a little like New Triton bars I’ve seen on the holo. It’s a medium-sized room filled with tables and chairs, and there are some booths against the wall. At the back of the room is a counter with tall stools lined up against it. A woman is wiping glasses behind the counter, presumably keeping busy seeing as she’s not serving drinks. There are less than a dozen people sitting at the tables, which doesn’t seem like many for the size of the place. I check their faces, just in case Tori’s here. A long shot, at best.