by K. E. Blaski
He turned on his heel and marched out.
Jennica slumped on the bed. Her adrenaline drained away.
“Look at you,” Damen said with a touch of admiration in his voice. “Tiny Rosen woman stands up to hulking soldier. Where’d you get the knife?”
“Madam Meilyn.” The knife was still clutched in her hand—the hand with the scar from the acid used to remove Madam’s lip print. “It’d be karma if I plucked out his eye with it, since he watched her get murdered.”
“Um . . . he’s a highly trained soldier. He could’ve deflected your move easily. He stopped because you reminded him about Noble. Some of his reasoning skills remained.”
“I wasn’t thinking. Reacting, not thinking. The way his eyes groped me. I do have clothes on this time, don’t I?”
“You should cover your head and face with a hood and veil, or put on your mask, before soldiers come in. Marcis and Logan are used to seeing your face, but even with them, you shouldn’t get too comfortable. And you should have a better knife.” He reached inside his robe and pulled out a dagger sheathed in dark leather with a jewel-encrusted handle, like something out of a pirate movie. “Trade?”
She handed Damen the kitchen knife. It disappeared inside his robes. He unsheathed the dagger and let the light play on the sleek blade. Green and red flashed from the handle like Christmas-tree lights. He presented the dagger to her, bowing knightlike before his queen.
“It’s heavy.” She turned it over in her hands. “And beautiful, too.”
“My father gave it to me the night before he was recruited to fight in Noble’s army. He died a couple of months later,” he said calmly, but Jennica saw a glint of sadness in his dark eyes. And something else. He was telling the truth—he had to—but clearly he was trying not to let his emotions show.
“It was forged on fires of Urion and will pierce metal shields, slice through chains,” he said, rattling off a list of its features and benefits.
All she wanted to know was, Could it cut through a silver-tailed monster?
“The metal scales fused to Noble Tortare were forged using the same method as the dagger. It won’t have any effect on them,” he said, seeming to read her mind.
“Are you sure you want me to have it? After all, it was your father’s.”
“You need it more than I do.”
“I wish I had somewhere to keep it on me. My robes don’t have all the cool pockets you have.”
“The seamstresses didn’t think you’d wear your robes long enough to need pockets,” he said, then he looked down at his feet. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Sometimes my Tovar tongue.” He shook his head. “I . . . I’ll tell them you asked for pockets—you’ll have new robes by the time you wake up tomorrow. In the meantime, wherever you hid the kitchen knife seems to be a good spot.”
“You’re assuming I’ll live until tomorrow. Turn around, please.” She waited until his back faced her, then she sheathed the dagger and stashed it in the crevice.
“But you will. That’s what I came to tell you. I’ve secured your safety for another night. You don’t have to go to him. You can stay here. May I turn around?”
“Really?” Could it be true? She wouldn’t have to see her foul husband tonight? “Yes, turn, please.”
“You know I can’t lie to you.”
“Oh dear God, thank you.” She flung herself at him, throwing one arm around his neck and crushing him against her with the other. “Thank you so much,” she mumbled into his warm neck.
He held her in return, nuzzling her hair, running his hand along her back through her thin robe. “Nyima,” he whispered. She stiffened, and tore away from him.
“Oh, Aprica . . . I didn’t mean . . . I’m so sorry,” he said, his dark cheeks turning darker.
“No, I shouldn’t have thrown myself at you like that. Even with the inhibitor, it’s too risky. And you and Nyima have a lot of history—it’s got to be hard for you to see me in her body.” While she excused Damen’s carelessness, she still felt . . . she didn’t know what she felt. Let down. Annoyed. Tired, she guessed. Tired of being called some other girl’s name. Of all the people she knew on Planet Insanity, she’d hoped Damen would know enough about her by now to be able to see her underneath the skin. To really see her.
“It’s not your skin. The inhibitor works fine. I reacted to the moment. I guess I still miss her. It’s a poor excuse, I know.” He bowed his head and shuffled his feet. He looked like a kid who’d gotten caught stealing.
“No harm done,” she lied. Until he apologized for stealing her soul, she’d need to be more vigilant and make sure she didn’t let moments of gratitude cloud her true feelings. “So how did you manage to keep me safe from my husband tonight?”
“I suggested he take Coralee instead.”
“You did what?”
“She’s barely alive anyway. Noble’s bite tainted her blood. This way he’ll end her suffering. She’ll satisfy him for tonight and you’ll live to see another morning.”
The way he explained it, his voice calm, his face stoic, it seemed so logical. She could almost believe it was no big deal if some other girl died in her place. He said Coralee was going to die anyway. What a relief to not have to meet Noble tonight. But why did she feel like she’d just missed the bottom step?
“Her sacrifice is for the greater good,” Damen finished.
The light from the lanterns on the wall sparkled in Jennica’s silver feet. The room had brightened so gradually, she hadn’t realized the lights had turned on by themselves. She attempted to wiggle the part of her foot where her toes used to be and considered Damen’s word—sacrifice.
“I want to talk to Marcis.” Marcis could give her another point of view. He seemed decent, someone she would’ve liked to have known back home.
“Why? You don’t need him.”
“You don’t get to decide who I see.” Honestly, Damen was a good-looking guy. The girls back home would go nuts for him. He was tall, slim and strong, with caramel-colored skin and those velvety brown eyes. Attractive in that don’t-even-have-to-try kind of way. So why did he have to be so . . . frustrating? “I want to see Marcis.”
“All right. All right, Jennica.” He said her name deliberately, like he was trying to make up for calling her Nyima earlier.
While Damen was gone, she paced. Her mind focused on moving her legs so she didn’t have to think about Damen or anything else. One foot in front of the other.
Damen returned with Marcis, who appeared disheveled, like he’d been dragged out of bed. His curly salt-and-pepper hair stuck up every which way, pillow marks etched the nonarmored parts of his face, and his blue eyes were bloodshot.
“Jennica, are you okay?” When Marcis said her name, it rolled off his tongue with ease, like the way her friends Sam and Lisbeth said it—not in the don’t-mess-up-her-name-again fashion of Damen.
“I’m fine, but I need you to do me a favor. I trust you.”
“I’d do anything for you.”
She believed him, too. He wasn’t bound to tell her the truth, like Damen, but she knew that when he spoke, it came from his heart. He’d proven it with actions before words: the salve, the aniello, the balneum.
“I want to see Coralee. If you can bring her here, or bring me to her, whatever works best, but I have to see her.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Damen said.
Marcis paused at the door.
“Marcis, please,” she said.
“I’ll bring her to you—less commotion in the castle if you stay put.”
As soon as Marcis left, Damen started in. “Why do you want to see Coralee? Why would you put yourself through that?”
Jennica said nothing. She didn’t understand her own reasoning. Maybe seeing Coralee would lift the dead weight in her heart. Maybe if Coralee volunteered to go to Noble Tortare willingly. If Coralee suffered, and Noble could end her suffering, maybe then it would make sense. “Quit interfering, Damen. I�
��ve every right to see how Coralee is for myself.”
Marcis carried the frail girl into the room and set her gently on her feet. She leaned against him for support, her eyes dazed, her skin ashen, like Noble’s zombie wives.
“Coralee?”
“Yes, Miss Nobless,” she whispered.
“How do you feel? Does it hurt?”
“It doesn’t hurt anymore, but I feel sick, miss. Real sick.” She swayed and grabbed Marcis’s arm to steady herself.
“Marcis, take her to the bed please, so she doesn’t have to stand.”
The acres of blue sheets made her look very small.
“Do you think you’re dying?” Jennica asked as Marcis placed a pillow behind her head.
“I don’t want to die, miss. I’m trying real hard. My mams, she needs me. I got to keep going, for her.”
It was decided. “Damen, you’re an idiot. I won’t let you sacrifice this girl in my place. You don’t get to decide who’ll live and who’ll die, and neither do I.” It was easier to blame Damen than to admit that she’d entertained the idea too, but with every word her heart lightened, the guilt lifted.
“What’s this?” Marcis asked.
“Damen offered up Coralee to Noble Tortare to save me for another night.”
“Damen’s right. Coralee should go in your place,” Marcis said, to Jennica’s horror.
“What’s wrong with you people?” Her voice rose. “She’s a human being. Fighting to survive.” Like me. Exactly like me, she wanted to scream.
“Look at her, Jennica—she’s already lost her color. She can’t even stand.” Damen stroked Coralee’s hair, and a handful of it fell into his hand. “By morning it’ll be over.”
“The choice between you and a slave is an easy choice,” Marcis added.
“Stop it. Both of you.” They were talking like Coralee wasn’t even there. Like she’d died already. Jennica sat next to the poor girl and took her hand. A circle of pink popped on each of the girl’s cheeks and her eyes grew round. “Coralee has plenty of life left in her. She responds to my touch—just like everyone else on this miserable planet.”
“Jennica,” Damen pleaded. “He’ll take her eventually. If not tonight, then another. When you’re not around to keep her alive anymore, he’ll pick her off. Finish what he started.”
Damen’s arguments were ineffective. She’d made up her mind. “Take her away from the castle. There must be someplace safe she can hide while she recovers. Marcis? You’ll do it, won’t you?”
“I—” He hesitated for a moment. “Yes, of course.”
“There is no safe place. Noble will track her down. Why do you have to be so stubborn?”
“Enough, Damen,” Jennica snapped.
He turned his back to her, huffing.
“There’s an inn Madam Meilyn told me about. She said the people there would hide me—maybe they’ll take Coralee. Do you know Clayton’s Inn?” she asked.
“I know it. I’ll take her there.”
“Hurry, Marcis,” she said as he scooped Coralee off the bed. “It’ll be okay, Coralee. You keep fighting. Fight like it matters.”
“Thank you, miss.” She held her hand out. Jennica took it again and felt the strength in her grip. “May Aprica shine for you, Nobless.” Coralee released Jennica’s hand. Noble’s bite glowed blue against the girl’s gray skin.
Damen and Jennica held the door as Marcis carried Coralee out. “Come on, then,” Damen said to Jennica. “Noble expects Coralee, but now I have to bring you instead.”
She grabbed a mask from the bedside table and tied it to her face. Then she took one of the journals Damen had given her from the top of the pile. “Let’s go, then.” She led the way to see her husband.
JENNICA
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE COUNCIL OF SCIENTISTS
Six men in black robes sat in oversized chairs around the perimeter of a windowless silo of stone, and it was sweltering. Underneath her mask, beads of sweat popped on Jennica’s forehead and upper lip. She tried to dab at her face with her sleeve, but she didn’t want to lift the mask away.
At least two women served each man. She recognized some of them as those who had set up the balneum and brought her food. They cooled the men with fans so flamboyant they looked like the discarded headdresses from some Las Vegas show. One girl, no older than Jennica, fed a man sections of fruit. He sucked on her fingers each time they came near his mouth.
Jennica wrinkled her nose.
“Nobless, my love, how nice to see you. I didn’t expect you tonight,” Noble Tortare said when he saw her. “Take off your mask for a moment so we can get a look at you. Go on. Only for a moment.”
She lifted the mask, then slipped it back on.
“You look well rested and radiant.” He circled the room from chair to chair, his scales rippling over his muscles. Click-click-click, like shutters opening and closing. “Please join us. Guests, rise in the presence of my wife.” The men hoisted themselves from their seats, some with wary gazes, the rest with desire stamped on their faces.
“I’d rather not—husband—I don’t feel safe with all these people. I thought—we’d be alone.” The man on her right, black-haired and pale as a ghost, had spreading spots of color on his face and . . . was he panting? He’d be the first to swoop.
“Nonsense, wife,” he said. “These men are scientists. A glimpse of Rosen skin won’t . . .”
“Have her take her mask off again. Let me touch her, Noble—once,” the pale man pleaded.
“Sit down, Alban,” Noble growled. “You touch her and I’ll tear off your head.”
Alban sat, stroking the arms of his chair, his gaze slicing through Jennica’s robe.
She stood straighter under his gaze, refusing to let this vulgar man intimidate her.
“Anyone else?” Noble flashed his claws.
If tension were a visible thing, it’d be doing jazz hands in the middle of the room. Jennica stepped back and whispered to Damen, “Do you have enough inhibitor for all these people?”
“Only two vials left.” He clinked them together in his palm. “It’ll cover maybe half of them.”
“Don’t just stand there—suggest it to Noble before there’s trouble.” Now the enslaved women had started to pay attention to her. One sniffed the air.
Damen sprang forward, the vials in his open hands. “Sir, may I suggest we all take the inhibitor? I’ve enough for the men, if you’d dismiss the servants.” Jennica saw his hands shake, but his voice remained calm and strong.
“I will decide who stays and who goes,” Noble said. “Alban, Gram, Selwyn—leave us. Take your slaves with you. The rest of you remain.”
Alban stood. “But Noble—you need me. Manticore will be here soon. I must receive the Granden from my city. And this Rosen creature. Who else can interrogate her with the—finesse—I have? How else will you know what this impudite has planned?”
Noble’s reaction was so fast, Jennica wasn’t sure she’d seen it happen, until Alban’s head rolled across the floor to rest at Damen’s feet. His decapitated body slumped to its knees before sinking to the floor.
A small moan escaped from Jennica’s lips. A movie. This is just like a movie. Pretend it’s not real. Only special effects. When she looked at Noble, a cloud of gold-colored smoke disappeared inside his mouth. Wisps escaped through his flared nostrils. Was that . . . Alban’s soul? Oh God, this can’t be happening.
“First, no one calls my wife an impudite—you will address her as `Nobless.’ Well—you won’t, Alban. Second, no one but I will interrogate her, touch her, or otherwise offend her.” He winked at Jennica and her breath caught in her throat before it could reach her lungs. “And third, when I tell you to do something—don’t argue. Do it.”
Two of the men left hurriedly with their trails of servants and fans. Jennica wished she could sneak out with them. Instead she chanted silently: not real, not real.
Noble belched. “Old souls taste sour. I need som
ething to chase away his flavor. More wine. And someone, remove his body. He’s even uglier dead.”
Damen reached down to pick up the head. “Not you, Damen. Drink some inhibitor from both vials, then give one to me. Pass the other to the rest.” He winked again, as if they’d shared a joke.
Damen did as he was told.
Logan popped his head around the doorframe. “Noble, sir, your permission to dispose of the remains.” Alban’s blood glistened dark and slick on the stone floor. “I can go get the staff. To clean up.” He turned back toward the door.
“The staff can wait. Come in, soldier. Alban lost his head in the presence of my Rosen wife—what do you make of that?”
Logan darted his gaze around the room. Jennica imagined him running through various responses, trying to guess which one would keep his own body intact. All of a sudden, his eyes brightened. “The hawks haven’t had dinner yet, sir.”
“Yes, perfect. But save the head, soldier. Stake it in front of the gateway. We haven’t had a head up there in a while. The people need reminding—that I’m a man of my word.”
“Yes, sir.” Logan slung the headless corpse over his shoulder like a sack of dog food. He snagged the severed head by the hair on his way out. Thankfully, his face held a grave expression instead of his usual grin.
Jennica turned away and kept to her mantra, because if she were to accept the reality of the beheading she’d witnessed, she’d scream. And once she started screaming, she didn’t think she’d ever stop.
“Noble. Your portion.” Damen handed one of the vials to Noble, who slugged it down.
She focused on Damen as he administered inhibitor to everyone else in the room. He acted so calm. She saw his chest rise and fall with purposeful, even breaths. She matched her breathing to his. She imagined Damen’s warm hand encircled around hers, and she clasped her own hands together around her journal. If Damen could get through this, she could too.
“Feeling better now, my love? Safer?”
Her lips tightened as she stared at her husband—a creature who’d separated a man from his head in the time it had taken her heart to beat but once. “Safe” was not the word she’d have chosen. Alban’s blood was everywhere. And no one was doing anything about it. Not real. Just breathe. Calm yourself. Like Damen.
