by Mara Gan
I rested my head against his shoulder, trying to relax. I knew he was crazy strong, after all. “Alright,” I said, after a pause. I still couldn’t fully un-tense, but the dizziness was making it easier. “Thank you.”
He tossed me a curious glance. “Your head must really bother you if you’re actually not fighting me.”
I tried to buffer my head against his shoulder to prevent bobbing up and down as we walked. “It’s not my head,” I murmured, my eyelids feeling heavy. “Clee and Skore made me go shopping. I’m exhausted.”
Perseus laughed in spite of himself. “They took you shopping? As in, clothes shopping? I guess that explains this dress.”
I nodded, eyes closed. “Decisions, colors, fabrics…. It was horrible.”
He stopped. “If you were shopping with Clee and Skore….” He glanced down at me, his expression turning serious. “Then why were you not with them in the clothing shop?”
I opened one eye. “Oh… uh, oops.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Yeah. Oops.” His lip curled as his grip on me tightened. “We’ll have a chat later, shall we?”
I cringed.
“If you had just chosen the clothes yourself, Princess,” Skore’s voice came from behind, “none of this would have happened.”
“See?” Perseus said, exasperated. “Do what you’re told, for god’s sake.”
I felt myself set on a portable bed and was surrounded by medics, flashing lights in my eyes and checking my vitals.
“I hate the infirmary,” I muttered.
“Then follow directions, Princess,” Synie replied, appearing next to me. She brushed the hair off my forehead and smiled gently. “It really would save us all a lot of trouble.”
“We’ll take her into the exam room now, ma’am,” the medic said to Synie, somewhat apologetically. “She looks okay, but we’ll make sure.”
Synie nodded as I was wheeled away and injected with enough sedatives to drown a cow.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“That was close,” someone said.
Sedatives and painkillers didn’t really work on me. It took around three times as many to affect me as it did the average person; Dr. Remy assumed it had something to do with my red hair, claiming something about a genetic mutation and linked traits or something.
They also wore off almost instantly, as opposed to tapering off like they did with most people. It was kind of like a tank of fuel in a ship; once I was out, I was out.
I wasn’t really in that much pain, thankfully. Pain never bothered me anyway. I’d had plenty of bruises and sprains, along with bigger things like concussions and broken bones—only the small ones, though—and I was fairly used to it. I played some pretty rough games and had never minded getting tackled. It was part of the sports I liked.
Rather than tip my hand, though, I kept my eyes shut to see what people were talking about.
“What just happened, anyway?” Skore asked. “One minute we were shopping, the next we’re subduing crazed juice vendors?”
A juice vendor tried to shoot me? That didn’t make a lot of sense. I knew only one juice vendor in that area of the Esplanade anyway, and I thought he’d liked me. No, I knew he liked me. I was telepathic, after all. Some things, I just knew.
Synie sighed. “We got lucky,” she said as I heard her slump into a chair. “Perseus, Egil, Rania, and I were going over the training schedule and Meda’s calendar, trying to synchronize times, when I realized I was overdue to meet up with you. They came with me. As we approached the shop you said you’d be in, Perseus noticed Nural on the upper level with a blaster.”
So it had been Nural. What was going on? Nural was an innocent, a harmless old man. It couldn’t have been him.
“I hadn’t even seen the princess,” Perseus said. “But weapons on the Esplanade—save ours—are illegal, so it immediately had my attention. When I saw her in his line of sight, I moved.”
“Nice moving,” Skore said appreciatively. “You saved her life.”
“Barely.” He paused and I swore I could feel his eyes on me. “It was only the flash of her bright hair against that green dress that caught my eye.”
Skore’s voice perked up. “That’s her new dress!”
“Where is Nural now?” Synie asked.
“Clee and Egil took him to the brig,” Skore said. “What’s this galaxy coming to? Nural has always been such a docile, pleasant man. He’s never wanted to harm anyone. He’s been selling juice here longer than I’ve even been alive.”
“Agreed,” Rania said. “Something doesn’t fit. Why Nural? Why now? Meda never goes shopping.”
“She hates it,” Skore confirmed. “She was extremely unhelpful.”
“Which means someone knew she was going to be there,” Perseus said grimly.
I barely stopped myself from clenching my teeth.
“That,” Synie said slowly, “is a terrifying thought.”
I could almost hear my Protector folding his arms and looking severe. “I agree.”
“Did you at least buy her something?” Synie asked. “More than one dress?”
“I bought her an entirely new wardrobe. She should make even you happy now,” Skore replied.
“I love the one she’s wearing,” Synie said. “It’s refreshing to see her in something besides white or black.” She slapped the sides of the chair. “Come on, Skore, let’s go sort through what you got. Rania, see if you and Clee can make some sense of why Nural did this.”I heard people moving toward the door as Perseus spoke. “I’ll stay.” As the door closed, he said, “You can open your eyes now, Princess.”
I cracked one eye at him. “How did you know I was awake?”
His eyebrow twitched but he said nothing. He was, however, folding his arms and leaning against the wall, just like I thought he’d be.
I opened both eyes and stretched, giving him a big smile as I rolled onto my side. “Thanks for not outing me.”
He shrugged and sat in the chair Synie must have vacated. “I saw no reason to let them know,” he said, leaning back and propping his chin in one hand. He regarded me thoughtfully. “Care to tell me why you were pretending to stay asleep?”
I studied him a moment before deciding to tell him the truth. “Synie and the Mousai tend to… not tell me everything,” I said slowly. “And while I can’t read their minds, I can tell when they’re lying. I didn’t think they would speak freely if they knew I was awake.”
“They have tried to shield you from the investigation about your would-be killer?”
I nodded. “And I hate it. I’m not a child.”
“Perhaps they think you have too many things to think about already.”
“That’s absurd,” I scoffed. “I can most certainly think about this and my duties. Keeping people in the dark is never a good idea. Ignorance is always a detriment.”
A ghost of a smile played on his lips, and I warmed upon seeing that he apparently agreed with me. “I have never been a fan of ignorance myself,” he said with a bare nod.
“So you won’t hide things from me?” I asked, unable to keep the hope from my voice.
“I don’t see any reason to.”
“That was not exactly an agreement,” I said, frowning. “I’m on to you, you know. You say things like that and make it seem like you agree, but you’re not really agreeing to anything.”
This time his smile was big enough to show teeth. “Congratulations, Princess, you’re absolutely right,” he said, winking. “But you won’t get a promise out of me. I will say, though, that I really do not see a reason to hide details of this investigation from you—and will therefore, most likely, not be doing so. Is that fair enough?”
“I imagine it’s the most I’ll get,” I grumbled. “So it really was Nural that just tried to shoot me?”
“Yes.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense. I know him. I’ve known him for years. I buy juice from him all the time. He’s very sweet and not very political.”
I regarded him thoughtfully. “You think someone put him up to it.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know what I think yet,” he replied, “but instinct tells me this is a little more complicated than it seems.”
I rolled over to stare at the ceiling. “Where is he now?”
“Clee beat him up and hustled him into the brig. Egil tells me he has no memory of any of it.”
“None?” That was odd.
“None, although,” Perseus said, stretching and stifling a yawn. “I intend to find out for certain.”
“I’m guessing your methods have little to do with talking?” He simply raised one arrogant brow and covered another yawn. “You should really go get some rest.”
He shook his head. “I’m fine.”
I rolled my eyes in exasperation. “And so am I. What on earth could happen to me here? You’ve probably not slept in days. Go get some sleep.”
I hated sleeping in hospitals and was hoping he’d leave so I could sneak out as well. They were painfully uncomfortable, smelled funny, and the proximity to all the worrying—from doctors, nurses, patients, visitors, you name it—stressed me out. A lot.
His black eyes bored into me and for a moment I could swear that he, not I, was the telepath in the room. “I don’t trust you, little one,” he murmured, studying my face. “You have the eyes of a mischief-maker, and I hardly need sleep anyway. I’ve gone far longer without any rest.”
I put my hand to my chest in semi-mock dismay. “You don’t trust me?” I wasn’t really surprised. He was right, for one thing, and he was also just not a trusting sort of man. “Really, Protector. I’ll be fine.”
“Sitting here for one night will not bother me, and I would rather be somewhere I can keep an eye on you and be sure that you are, as you say, ‘fine.’”
I eyed him. “You seem awfully concerned for my health,” I said curiously. “More so than Synie is.”
Perseus shrugged. “It’s my job.”
I shook my head. “It’s more than that,” I said. “It bothers you, a lot, doesn’t it?”
“No.”
“Why does it bother you?”
“It doesn’t bother me.”
“Is it because I wasn’t with my guard?” I pressed. “Because Skore was nearby and I really didn’t think it was a big deal.”
“Yet you’re in the hospital.”
“It’s just a little head injury—”
“And an assassination attempt.”
“A failed one. So what? What’s so—”
“Yes,” he snarled. “I hate it. Every second you’re in here scares the hell out of me.”
My mouth fell open. “What?”
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, attempting to calm himself. When he spoke again, he seemed on a different train of thought. “I’ve had enough people injured in my life,” he replied finally. “Especially because of me. I am not keen on another.”
I softened, remembering what Gi had told me about Samúö. I was amazed to see how bothered and guilty Perseus looked; he had always seemed outwardly like a man with no conscience, even though I knew otherwise, and to see him so clearly upset was rare. He seemed almost—dare I say it?—vulnerable.
It was unsettling and comforting at the same time. He was such a stoic wall of carelessness that he never seemed fully human to me.
But understanding people and talking to them was what I did best. Just because Perseus was unlike anyone I’d ever known didn’t mean I couldn’t talk to him. “I know your childhood was horrible,” I said quietly. “I’m sorry. But you needn’t worry about the same things happening here. What happened to Samúö wasn’t your fault.”
He folded his arms, his eyes narrowed. “Gi talks too much.”
“He cares about you,” I said, as the mistrust on his face grew. “And I know you feel guilty, but you mustn’t. It wasn’t your fault. Neither was what happened today.”
“I thought you couldn’t read me.”
“I don’t need to read your emotions to read your face.” I smiled. “You’re not as secretive as you think you are.”
“I am just as secretive as I think I am, little girl,” he replied, raising an eyebrow.
“You still feel guilty.”
“You can’t change that.”
I sighed. “I guess not. Would it help, at least, to know I don’t blame you, nor will I ever?”
He smiled. “No, because blame isn’t something you do. You’re too sweet for that. I’m the one who is placing blame.”
I blushed. “I’m not sweet.”
He laughed outright this time. “Sure,” he said sarcastically. “You’re a coldhearted, selfish, spoiled brat. That’s precisely why the entire galaxy is completely enamored of you. Definitely why they went looking for me to keep you safe.”
“You were the highest-paid mercenary in the galaxy.” I grinned. “When people need a job done, you’re the one they go to. Who could possibly make a better Protector than you?”
“Myrtilos?”
“Myrtilos does know when ion storms and asteroids are flying by,” I said. “Maybe I should get him to replace you.”
“There’s a thought. When someone attacks you, he can purr viciously and lick the assailant to death.”
I laughed. “Myrtilos never licks other people. He’d be more prone to attacking them. He hates visitors.”
“Why do you call him Myrtilos?”
I paused, fingering the blanket and feeling the shift in the conversation. I didn’t mind that he wasn’t open to talking about Samúö; sometimes making someone feel better was just about distraction. He knew I was willing to talk about her if and when—although knowing him, it was more likely if—he was ever ready.
But talking about my own past was not something I enjoyed. It’s not that I was secretive about it; it was just very… painful. There were no other Halians in the city for me to share the pain with, and no one was quite capable of understanding just what it was like. Survivor’s guilt, I’d been told. Except for me it was worse, because although I’d never shared my thoughts because they seemed so outlandish, I was desperately afraid the entire planet had been destroyed as a way to kill me. An entire planet for one eleven-year-old girl. It was far more likely they’d have just landed and tried to kill me one on one, right? It wasn’t like I would have been able to put up a fight. So I’d never shared this thought.
Unfortunately, Clee’s theory now supported the idea that Halia had been destroyed because of me. There was no definitive proof yet, but Clee even considering it was enough to make my survivor’s guilt even harder to bear.
But it didn’t matter, because I didn’t like talking about it much, whatever the cause. Now, however, I decided that doing so might help Perseus, so I spoke. “Myrtilos is a kind of berry,” I said finally. “A Halian blackberry. Myrtilos looked like one when he was born, so it seemed like a good name. We… also used to use the term as affectionate slang for small things that suited us perfectly.”
Perseus watched me silently, undoubtedly reading my expressions the way I tried to read his. The difference being, of course, that I had expressions.
I never spoke of Halia unless someone asked. Only a handful of people had even heard how I’d escaped. Not for security reasons, but just because I really didn’t like thinking about it.
I would have told him, if he had asked, but after studying my face, he seemed to come to the same conclusion I had: that distraction was better than digging up old ghosts. Which, clearly, we both had a bounty of.
“So was shopping really that bad?”
“Yes.” I spoke a little too quickly, eager to change the topic, and made a face of genuine disgust. “I don’t understand fashion. Books… books I understand. But shopping for clothes baffles me. Nothing looks good on me. Rania, Skore… they’re tall, tanned, dark-haired, the usual gorgeous type. Everything looks good on them.” I sighed, holding an unruly lock of hair between my
fingers. “But nothing matches my hair and I’ve never been good at matching clothes. I feel silly. I always wear gray, white, or black. It’s easy and doesn’t look too weird.”
I still wished I had black hair. My hair looked ridiculous to me. I had never seen another human being with a color like it; it made people stare at me, which I also didn’t care for.
Despite being the Heir to an entire galaxy, I had some surprising self-esteem issues.
Perseus’s eyes flashed. “You think nothing matches your hair?” he asked slowly.
I flicked the strand back over my shoulder. “My hair is too unusual,” I said, shrugging. I grinned at his frown, deciding a story about Little Meda was in order. “When I was little, around four or five years old, I thought I had black hair and green eyes.”
A small smile lit his features, and his eyebrow twitched. “Did you never look in a mirror?”
“Nope. I passed a particularly still pond one day and saw my reflection. I cried for hours when I saw my hair color.”
“Did you really?” Perseus actually laughed and I smiled wider at the wonderful sound.
I nodded. “I ran all the way back to the monastery and couldn’t stop sobbing, and the poor Moirae had no idea what I was so upset about. I could only get out words like red and not black and oh, my eyes!” I smiled, thinking of poor Ena, my primary guardian. She had been so confused and just patted my back. “I came to terms with my hair color a while ago, but it does make finding clothes difficult. I can’t seem to remind myself that I don’t have black hair and don’t look good in anything.” I shrugged. “It’s alright. I don’t like fashion anyway.”
His eyes swept me with curious intensity, making me squirm a little. I was about to make another joke about red hair when he spoke. “For the record, Princess,” he said softly, “I think your dress makes your hair even more stunning than usual.”
I froze, staring at him in shock.
Did he just pay me a compliment?
Fortunately, the doctor bustled into the room, saving me from having to craft a response to his odd remark.
“Princess Andromeda!” Dr. Remy said, jovial as ever. “I don’t think you’ve graced my infirmary for a month. I can’t say I’m glad to see you, given the circumstances, but I do enjoy seeing you.”
