by Mara Gan
“Oh, and Princess?” I glanced back at him as he gave me a small smile. “Try to remember that I’m not the target.”
I feigned surprise. “There go all of my evil plans.”
He snorted.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
I was getting used to the carnage Perseus was capable of inflicting, but the string of bodies he left behind him on our way to the ship still stunned me.
I had been responsible for some of them, true; I took down nearly half of them with the blaster before the power cell died, but Perseus was incredible. I could barely follow him, he was so fast. I don’t think anyone had even been able to touch him.
As he dispatched the final handful of soldiers, I darted out from behind the doorway and ran to the ship. Reaching the switchboard of controls, I tossed aside the dead blaster and tried to make sense of the panel. I pushed a few buttons, noting lights switching on and off, then found the remote switch to unlock the clamps holding my ship down. Pushing it, I made sure they released before resuming my search for the remote switch to activate the gangplank of the Corvax. Finding it, I pushed it and watched the gangplank lower, then started to run toward it.
Perseus slammed me against the wall, covering my body with his own, as the roof was flooded with more blaster fire.
He shoved me toward the gangplank, shielding me as we went, and we tumbled into the lower deck of my ship just as more soldiers erupted onto the roof.
Perseus slammed his hand on the switch to retract the gangplank and turned to me, expression furious. “Pay attention, Meda,” he snapped. “You could have gotten yourself killed there.”
We dashed into the cockpit and I was grateful that my ship’s hull had armor that Callie had recently insisted on reinforcing. I could hear the blaster fire, but so far it seemed to have done little but scratch the outside. Perseus got the ship to take off in record speed as I used the ship’s weapons to fire several warning shots at the rooftop below.
Within moments we were lifting into the atmosphere and hurtling into space.
I sat back and breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, that was exciting.”
He turned to glare at me, his face sour.
“What?” I asked, as he got up and moved back to the wall panel to slide off the med kit. He came over and squatted by me, his jaw ticking as he slowly peeled back the fabric from my shoulder wound. It had crusted somewhat with blood, and ripping the fabric away, even gently, stung a little, but I was exuberant from our escape and didn’t care.
He glanced at my face as he pulled out the antiseptic and dabbed it on my shoulder. It burned slightly, but in that soothing way that told me it was healing.
“So…,” I said, searching for something to break the icy silence. “How about we stop off at Guerra and showcase our skills there next?”
Perseus shook his head, cracking an eyebrow at me. “No, thank you,” he said dryly. “I’m afraid that was enough excitement for one millennium.”
“Really? You had to have had more exciting escapes than that.”
“None with a princess in tow.”
“Have you ever had to escape through more soldiers than we just did?” I asked curiously.
“None with a princess in tow,” he repeated, still swabbing the wound with antiseptic.
I eyed him. “Why do you always do that?”
“Do what?”
“Deflect my questions,” I said, frowning as I studied him. “You never answer anything directly. You always turn the conversation back to me, change the subject, or make a joke.”
“Mercenary habits,” he replied easily, shrugging.
I shook my head. “It’s more than that. You don’t play the mercenary that much anymore.”
He smiled. “What, can you read me now?”
I scowled again. “No. But you just did it again. It’s very frustrating.”
He was silent for a few minutes as he cleaned my wound. I waited, knowing that silence could be its own weapon. “I am not used to showing emotion, little girl,” he admitted finally. “Where I’m from, showing any emotion other than anger is considered a sign of weakness. Weakness can get you killed. In my line of work, putting on a façade is necessary for survival.”
This was perhaps the most he had ever revealed about himself in one string before, and I hung on every word. Every tidbit of information about himself was music to my soul.
“So does it hurt?” he asked, face grave.
“Nah.” I tried to smile, but I was sure he could see that my shoulder did pain me. He was every bit as adept at reading expressions as I was, and I was a terrible liar. I opted for a little honesty. “Actually, it stings like hell.”
“Dear me, Princess, did you just swear?”
“I believe I did.”
He cracked a smile. “Walking the wild side?”
I grinned. “I also run with sharp objects.”
“What a coincidence. That’s in my job description.”
“Are you jesting with me, Protector?” I said, my hand to my chest in mock surprise.
His face grew serious as he turned back to me. “Don’t ever do that again, Meda,” he said quietly.
Sigh. So close. “Do what?”
“Put my life before yours,” he said, his voice husky. “I had a heart attack when I saw that blast hit you. If it had been a little to the left—”
“But it wasn’t,” I said, confident. “I’m alright.”
Perseus leaned back, scrutinizing me. “My life is nothing, Princess,” he said harshly. “I am just a lowlife mercenary. You are the pure soul destined to save the universe. Your life is the one that matters.”
“Blah, blah, blah. That’s crazy. I am not special enough for anyone to die for.”
“I disagree.”
“Why does it matter, anyway?” I asked, searching his eyes. “I thought you didn’t believe in all the Prophecy stuff. Would it… would it bother you if something happened to me?”
He looked at me, our eyes level with me sitting in the chair and him on his knees. His gaze turned intense; it was so hard to read him, with eyes as black as the space between the stars, and control of his emotions to rival Kos’s. But I could have sworn I saw… something—
Something churned deep in his eyes as he gazed at me. He looked like he was warring with himself.
“Perseus,” I breathed. “Perseus, would you not like it, then, if I died?”
Part of me burned to hear the answer, and part of me hated that I wanted him, so badly, to say I did matter to him.
His eyes flickered again, burning hotter than before. I could almost feel the heat rolling off him. He smelled so, so good, and he was so incredibly handsome; if I leaned forward just a little, I could remember what it was like to—
He turned away, putting materials back into the kit. “Of course,” he said lightly. “I’d be out of a job.”
I sighed a little and studied him thoughtfully as he sifted through the medkit for a bandage. “Where did you get the scar on your eye?”
“From worrying about princesses who don’t follow directions.”
I rolled my eyes. “Seriously.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
He gave my favorite half smile. “Would you believe me if I said I got it while fighting the most notorious warlord in the galaxy?”
I considered, studying him. “No.”
“What if I said I got it rescuing orphans on Lozha?”
“No.”
“Saving endangered seabirds?”
I shook my head.
“In a drunken stupor after a night of indulgence on Siren?”
I laughed. “Now that I’d believe.” He smiled, finding a bandage and opening the package. “So which story is true?”
“Who said any of them were true?”
I groaned. “I hate mercenaries.”
“For such a strong distaste of my former profession,” he said, “you sport a lot of qualities that would make you a good
one.”
I grinned. “Well, if this Heir thing doesn’t work out, maybe I’ll look into it.”
Perseus smiled. “You know, I can’t imagine you joking about such a thing a few short months ago.”
“That’s probably true,” I reasoned. “So I suppose I have you to thank for making me more open-minded.”
The ship rocked and we had to grip the chair to keep from falling on the floor. I glanced at the console’s flashing lights. “Heads up,” I said, straightening. “There’s an asteroid field ahead.”
“I see it.” Perseus slid into the pilot’s chair and deftly maneuvered the ship through the flying rocks. He muttered a curse. “This is a thick one.”
“I’ll get a few out of the way,” I said, swiveling in my chair and flicking the targeting scanners on.
“Careful,” he warned. “Too close and you’ll singe us too.”
“I am aware of that,” I murmured. I zeroed in on a medium-sized boulder flying at us and blasted it, leaving a few small chunks to bounce harmlessly off my ship.
“Nice,” he commented. “Aim for that one over there. I won’t be able to miss—”
I blasted it while he was talking, leaving him to stare at me in surprise. I winked. “You’re welcome.”
We cleared the asteroid field and I glanced at him sideways as he maneuvered the ship.
I couldn’t help but notice how beautiful he was. He was always so gruff, so dangerous, that lately it was difficult to remember he was also extremely good-looking. His strong features certainly held plenty of appeal for the women in the city, however, so I knew he must not appear so frightening to everyone.
Perseus put the ship in a holding position and turned to look at me. “Let me finish putting your bandage on now.”
“Meh, it’s fine.”
“Shut up, Meda, and let me tend to it.”
“Oh please. You’d think I had been attacked by an army of kobaloi or something.”
“An army of kobaloi, hm? I must have been asleep when that happened.”
“No, they knocked you out and used you as their surfboard for the yearly wave competition.”
“Fascinating. Anything else happen while I was supposedly unconscious?”
I considered. “A ship full of Dina’an witches arrived, wanting you to be their King and Royal Procreator, but I said you already had a job.”
“Dear me,” he answered, pulling out the healing cream. “I do hope they at least offered you something for such an exchange.”
“Oh, they did,” I said as he dabbed it on my shoulder. “But I don’t need money.”
“Tsk, tsk, Princess,” he clicked his tongue. “For someone who wants to be a mercenary, you’re already doing rather badly at it.”
“I never said I wanted to be a mercenary,” I replied. “I said I was jealous of the freedom you had in being one.”
He rolled his eyes. “Pardon me.” He swabbed more cream on my cut and I winced. “You would have made sheer profit off me. First rule of being a mercenary: profit.”
“Maybe the merchandise was worth more,” I said softly.
Perseus paused in his swabbing. He had been holding my chin with his thumb and index finger, keeping me still while his other hand worked to treat my shoulder wound. Now his hold on me softened and I thought I saw something flicker deep in his dark eyes—
But then it was gone, and he released his hold, turning to the med kit. “I thought you took issue with the mercenary penchant for dishonesty,” he said lightly.
“Penchant for dishonesty?” I echoed. “You mean disdain for the truth?”
He shrugged. “Truth is a liability.”
I shifted and he pushed on my knees. “Stop fidgeting,” he ordered, frowning.
“I always fidget,” I countered. “I couldn’t stop fidgeting any more than you could botch an interrogation.”
His eyebrow raised a little, but otherwise he gave no indication that he agreed with me. “I’ll get you something for the pain.”
“I’m not in any pain.”
“Are you sure? I found some of that cherry liqueur you’re so fond of in the back closet.” He grinned and handed it to me.
Cherry liqueur? I had to wonder who that belonged to, since I had never had any before that little episode at the bar. I rolled my eyes and figured it had to be Clee, since most odd things could be attributed to her anyway. My vice was caffeine, not alcohol.
Boy, did a Mathan Fog sound good about now.
But that cherry liqueur was awfully good.
I smiled my best survivor smile, uncorked the bottle, and took a deep swig. “This stuff is super strong,” I approved. “Good enough for me.”
Perseus was tapping the controls, looking frustrated. “I can’t get the ship to move faster. All we have is basic propulsion.”
I tilted my head back and closed my eyes, listening to the sound of the engines. Something had sounded off since we left Kapak, and now I knew why. “The FTL drive is out.”
He glanced at me. “How do you know that?”
“It’s been a while, but I can hear it,” I replied, opening my eyes and eyeing the readouts on the console. “Something’s clunky. My baby’s felt off since we boarded.”
Perseus muttered a string of curses, but I didn’t even flinch. I guess I was used to it. “That is going to make the trip home really long.”
“Really, really long,” I agreed. Probably over a week.
“I’ll send a message to Galaxia,” he said, opening the communications monitor and tapping out something. “They could get here faster than we could get there.”
I pondered the stars for a while, wondering idly how long it would take for the Mousai to come get us. Eventually I attempted to make halfhearted conversation, but my Protector had turned confusingly and maddeningly reticent. He kept turning pensive glares at me, his fathomless eyes burning with a mixture of more emotions than I could sort through, given all the liqueur and pain running through me. But if I wasn’t mistaken, he was still feeling the aftereffects of the Rage that had almost gripped him earlier.
That had been hours ago. How long did it take for that to subside?
“Perseus?”
He dragged his eyes to meet mine, looking unsettled and almost physically ill. “Yes?”
“Are you….” I hesitated. “Are you alright?”
He snorted bitterly. “You almost died, and you want to know if I’m alright?” he muttered. “That’s rich.”
I frowned at him. “You’re… radiating a lot of tension,” I explained, studying him. “It’s hard to pinpoint exactly what you’re feeling, but none of it seems good.”
“Your empathic powers are back?”
“I don’t know,” I said, studying him. “I can never feel anything from you. But your eyes…. You look upset.”
He uttered a foul curse. “I’m fine, Princess.”
“Are you sure?” I asked. “Would you like some of my liqueur?”
He shook his head. “Not on duty.”
“You’re hardly on duty now.”
“I’m always on duty with you, Princess.”
“I thought liquor didn’t affect you much?”
“Still don’t want it.”
I gave an exasperated sigh. “Talk to me, then.”
“Not a talkative person.”
“Then tell me a story.”
“Not a storyteller, either.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Fine. Tell me about your childhood.”
“Another time.”
“Why not now?”
“Because I’m busy.”
“You don’t look busy,” I pointed out.
“Appearances can be deceiving,” he replied.
“We’ve got days until anyone could reach us,” I said. “Talk to me. What about your eyes? What color were your eyes before the Rage?” I’d always wanted to know.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I bet you had beautiful eyes,” I said softly. �
��They’re beautiful now, of course, but what color were they before?”
“I said I didn’t want to talk about it, little girl.”
I eyed him thoughtfully. “Why not?”
“Don’t push your luck, Princess,” he said curtly.
“I’ve pushed my luck my whole life,” I said dismissively. “I want to know why you’re so secretive about your past.”
“If I told you, it would hardly be a secret.”
“Secrets aren’t always good, you know. Sharing personal history can be a good way to feel comfortable with other people. Feel a sense of camaraderie. Security.”
“I don’t need security.”
I scowled. “Why won’t you tell me—”
“I was a slave, all right?” he snapped.
My mouth popped open. “What?” I whispered.
He sighed, leaning back and staring out the window, seemingly surprised by his outburst. “My mother died before I was even a year old,” he said after a long silence. “I have no memory of her. My father sold me into slavery to pay the bills.”
“That’s awful,” I breathed. “Is that… is that why—”
“Why I have no last name? Yes. And why I consider myself an orphan. Real fathers don’t do such things. As far as I’m concerned, my father died when I was five. I don’t even know, or care, what happened to him.”
“What happened to you?”
Perseus closed his eyes. “My… boss’s name was Eier,” he said, seeming lost in the memory. “He was a merchant. A rich one. One of the few rich men in our city. He was a pathetic excuse for a man. He used and abused everyone he came across. All three of his wives cowered in fear of him. His servants were little more than punching bags for his Rages.”
“He beat you?” My eyes flashed. “But you were only a little boy!”
He laughed bitterly. “That hardly mattered to one such as Eier. Even as a five-year-old, I was rebellious, and my tongue regularly got me in trouble. I was almost always being tied to the post for whippings, locked in the closet for days, or getting my feet beaten.”
“Your… feet?”
“The feet are extremely sensitive, Meda,” he explained. “So many nerve endings for such a small area of the body. And whenever I stood, all my weight would rest on the wounds.”
