by K. E. Blaski
“Sorry about that. She talks a lot, but she has a good heart.” Damen returned Amada’s bread to the basket while they waited.
Amada’s accent sort of reminded Jennica of her great-uncle. But even Uncle Ed’s Mississippi twang had mellowed since he’d moved to Indiana. With this woman, Jennica had to concentrate just to follow what she said. And some of her words still never registered. Nyima’s brain must not be wired to understand all of the dialects here. “What did Amada mean, spero cras vin . . . What is that?”
“It means ‘Hope for tomorrow, liberate us, silver-footed girl.’ She’s from Benicio,” he said, as if Amada’s hometown meant something to Jennica. “An old woman rambling. Shouldn’t worry about it.”
“Liberate?” Jennica asked.
Before they could speak more, Amada returned with a metal cup of aromatic tea. “Here you go, Nobless. It’ll give you a strong stomach. Fix’n you right up.”
The cup warmed her palms. She took a sip and smiled: chamomile. She drank down the entire brew and handed the empty cup back to Amada. “Some bread?”
“Of course, of course. Take the loaf. Hide it’n your pocket for later. Oh, so sorry—they don’t give you pockets. Well, Damen’ll hide it for you, can’t he. Take care, Nobless. Come back and see us. Take care.”
Jennica didn’t understand the reference to “us” until she noticed several small faces stacked along the doorframe, whispering, not daring to venture too close. She waved at them, and the group tumbled upon each other to the floor. She couldn’t help but giggle at the pratfall as Damen led her back through the archway.
“Nobless makes strange noises, doesn’t she?” a child’s voice asked.
“That’n she does. But strange or not, spero cras vindico nos argentum pes puella, vindico nos.”
PART 2
Beware of the Cidrans, child
They steal your body while you sleep
Rest with one eye open, child
From under the glass they’ll creep
Careful breathing
Gasping
Sneezing
For once inside you, they’ll cling tight
No one can save you from a sprite
Beware of the Cidrans, child
– Children’s Bedtime Poem
DAMEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
FLYING MACHINES
Damen escorted Jennica back to Alban’s chair. Hopefully she wouldn’t get sick, now that caltha soothed her stomach and the floor had been washed clean. She had that determined set to her chin again, which was a good sign. Her will to face Noble after what she’d witnessed was admirable. But still, he kept a steady watch on her maskless face, searching for any sign of sickness.
Noble didn’t seem to notice either of them: he was too engrossed in his usual argument. He wanted to fly. His dark scientists had been working on the task for years without success. His goal? To travel where ships couldn’t navigate, expand his realm. At first he’d wanted wings, like his hawks. His tail provided the equilibrium he needed, but his body weight required wings of such complexity and size that they were impractical. Thirteen servants of Noble’s body type, complete with new tails and wings, had crashed to their deaths while attempting flight from the castle towers. Noble’s council members, including Damen, had watched the failures firsthand.
That left machines. But gears and cogs, wheels and pulley systems lacked sophistication. Noble believed that Urion was the key—if he could harness its energy, it would carry him first, and then his armies. His scientists weren’t sure.
Damen noted that a heavy wooden chair in the conference room had been transformed into a splintered pile of scrap during their absence. It would seem the argument wasn’t going well. Noble held one of the broken chair arms and slapped it against his hand while he paced.
The moment she sat down, Jennica took up the binding and began drawing. Crude and childish sketches at first, but she kept going back and adding more details. Her lips tightened as she wrote words like “engine,” “rotor,” “blades,” and “fuel.”
He tried not to stare, but it was difficult to do anything else when it came to Jennica. A dark strand of her hair curled against her cheek. He imagined brushing it aside, could almost feel her silky skin beneath his fingertips. Instead, he grasped his robe and focused on her diagrams. Page after page of machinery, some with straight wings, some with no wings—all apparently designed for flight.
How was this possible? He knew she hadn’t planned the diagrams, or the descriptions. She couldn’t have known about Noble’s obsession until this very moment, listening in on his argument with Farrar and Hadrian. Was this “flying by the seat of your pants?”
She busied herself for at least ninety minutes while Noble ranted and his scientists soothed and coddled him. The inhibitor made them blind to her presence; she and Damen remained unnoticed. Until the room fell silent—and all that could be heard was the sound of charcoal scratching on paper.
“Wife. What are you doing?”
Jennica closed the binding and held it out to Noble. “On Earth, we can fly.”
“She lies.” Hadrian, the grouch, never believed anything unless his own team of scientists first confirmed it.
“She’s not lying,” Damen defended.
Hadrian crossed his arms and kept silent. Even a dark scientist couldn’t argue truth with a Tovar.
“Tell me. Tell me how you fly,” Noble asked, unable to mask his eagerness.
“For hundreds of years we’ve flown. With kites strapped to our backs, in baskets pulled by balloons, with wings and engines. We hover, we dive, we soar. I’ve tried to draw what I know. My great-uncle was a helicopter pilot in the Vietnam War, so I know the most about helicopters.”
Damen stood still, as did everyone in the room. Even the slaves stopped to listen.
Noble dropped the chair arm and took up the binding, flipping through the pages with a metal claw. He closed it with a snap and thrust it at the ceiling. “I knew it was possible.” He turned on his scientists. “I’m surrounded by idiots! Cassius, Farrar, leave me.” In one swift movement, he reclaimed the chair arm and hurled it across the room. The projectile just missed Hadrian’s head and stuck fast in the cushioned backing of his chair. “Hadrian, you’re lucky I’m in a good mood,” he snarled.
The men hurried out with their servants.
His tail casually draped to one side, Noble sat and beckoned to Jennica. “Nobless, come.” He patted his thigh. “Sit with me.”
She flashed a look of panic at Damen.
“Go on,” he mouthed. “Don’t make him angry,” he whispered, temporarily forgetting Noble’s acute hearing.
“How could I be angry, Damen? My wife has given me a great gift. She’s opened the door of possibility when the most learned men we know have tried to keep it shut. Come, love. Come claim your reward.”
She rose on unsteady feet and went to him. Like a child, she sat sideways across his knees. He wrapped his arms around her from behind and opened the binding in her lap to the first page. “Tell me.”
And she did. Although she looked nauseated again with Noble breathing on her neck and shoulders. But Damen was impressed to see that there wasn’t any shaking in her voice. Her eyes were lit with fire as she spoke of helicopters with spinning blades and balloons filled with hot air. She described planes large enough to carry hundreds of people from one side of her planet to the other in a matter of hours.
Noble’s face appeared captivated. Occasionally he’d look over at Damen and Damen would nod. It was the truth. All of it. Amazing truth.
Damen pulled out his timepiece. Morning already. He tapped on the glass face to draw Jennica’s attention, and on cue she broke into a dramatic yawn. “I’m very tired, husband. If you want, I could tell you about the weapons our planes can carry. Tonight, after I’ve had a chance to rest.”
In essence, she was asking Noble for another day of life. But instead of agreeing to let her go, Noble grabbed the back of J
ennica’s head and pressed his lips against hers in a fervent kiss.
Dear Aprica! Damen’s nails dugs into his palms. His teeth clenched and he couldn’t draw breath. When Noble released her, Jennica choked back a swallow of what Damen assumed must be bile. Either Noble didn’t notice, or he’d gotten precisely the reaction he’d desired. In either case, he embraced the binding.
“You go on to bed, my love. I’m not tired—I am energized. Energized!” He plucked her off his lap and set her on her feet. “Damen, escort my wife to her room.” He ran a silver-scaled knuckle under Jennica’s chin. “I hear you had an unwanted visitor in the wedding chamber. Don’t worry. I’ve told my children not to disturb you again. Since you prefer the view from Nyima’s room, you’re welcome to stay there. My gift to you.”
Jennica hurried to leave, with Damen close behind, but Noble’s voice seized them. “Oh—and Damen, after you escort Nobless, bring Coralee to me.”
A rush of breath passed over Jennica’s lips.
Noble’s words seared Damen. He thought they’d made it through the night without a mention of Coralee. He bit his tongue to physically prevent the truth from spewing past his lips. Blood squeezed from the corners of his mouth.
Jennica stared wild-eyed at his struggle—then she set her jaw, and faced Noble. “I sent her away.”
“You?” Noble’s smile faded and the metal creases in his forehead deepened.
“Tonight, when Damen told me you wanted her instead of me, I sent her away, and came myself. I am your wife, after all.”
“Damen?” Noble’s voice rose.
“She speaks the truth, sir.” His tongue felt two sizes too big. He wiped at the blood with a kerchief from his robe.
“Hmm.” Noble considered his options. “It was presumptuous of you, wife. Have her brought back. Now.”
“Sir, the inhibitor you’ve taken could last until afternoon. Do you want the girl before then?” Damen tried to reason with him. He needed more time to put together a plan for Coralee.
“Is that so? We shall see. I want Coralee back by afternoon, and in the meantime, Nobless, you’ll select someone from the staff to entertain me right now. I’ll test how long your inhibitor lasts, Damen.”
Sly Noble: trying to break Jennica’s spirit because she’d defied him. At this point, Damen knew her well enough to predict she’d never choose. Looking at her, he could tell she was horrified at the prospect. A plan. If only he’d anticipated something like this, if only he could think of something to say right now—to fly—
“I—I’ll stay.” Her face said I want to run away. “You don’t need Coralee or any other girl.”
“I don’t want you to stay,” Noble growled. “Leave. Now.”
“Come on,” Damen whispered. “Let’s go. Jennica, let’s go.” He grabbed her wrist and pulled at her.
She dragged her feet, but eventually she followed him out. He helped her slip on her mask.
They passed several servants pushing carts filled with breakfast for Noble’s guests. The women knocked on doors, delivering fresh fruits, sausages, and breads. Damen flanked Jennica to block her from their view and placed his finger across his lip to signal her silence.
When Damen decided they were far enough away from the traveler’s quarters, he nodded to Jennica, and she spoke. “How am I supposed to choose?”
Damen ground his teeth. “He doesn’t care who suffers. He’s a predator.”
“He’s worse. A predator kills to live, and consumes what he kills. Nothing goes to waste. A predator exists to create balance in nature. Noble plays with his victims, kills for fun. There is nothing natural about him.”
“Agreed.” No matter how much Jennica despised him, they’d always be allies against Noble.
She rubbed the backs of her arms even though the castle passageway steamed with heat and humidity. “I won’t do it. I refuse.”
“You can’t refuse. No one can refuse Noble. Not even you, with all your special knowledge and drawings.”
“Are you so certain? It comes down to what he wants more: the information I can give him, or the pain he can inflict.” Her eyes flashed, and he could’ve sworn she hissed.
“You have to understand. He wants both—and don’t you think telling him about helicopters and weapons is only going to help him inflict more pain?”
She paused, and recognition swept her face. “I was trying to live. Besides, no one can build a helicopter based on one of my drawings. It’ll take years before anyone will figure it out, if anyone ever does.”
“He’s resourceful.”
They finished the walk in silence. When they arrived at Nyima’s old room, it took both of them to pull open the door.
Marcis stood by the window, waiting for them. He crossed the room, took Damen by the arm, and propelled him back through the door. “I must speak with you privately.”
“But, Marcis,” Jennica said.
“Excuse us.” The door closed heavily behind Jennica, leaving Marcis and Damen alone in the hall. Marcis surveyed Damen critically. “I’m going to lie to Jennica. And you—will not—say—a word. I’ve known Tovar before. As long as she doesn’t directly ask you if I’m telling the truth, you don’t have to tell her.” Marcis poked Damen in the chest. “And if she does ask, and you tell her I’m lying? You better run, because I’ll gut you like a rémy.” Specks of dried blood flaked off his glove as he poked Damen again.
“Don’t touch me. Just tell me what happened.” Typical. Marcis was acting like every other soldier he knew: pushing people around and threatening violence.
“No. The less you know, the easier this will be. Let’s go back in. She’s going to get suspicious.”
Jennica had replaced Marcis at the window. Deep half moons underscored her eyes. Aprica’s pink morning light accentuated the hollows in her cheeks. Even tired, she still had a stubborn grimness in her voice.
“Marcis, what’s going on? Is it Coralee? Is she okay? Did the innkeeper take her in?”
“Everything’s fine. Coralee is resting at the inn. They’re taking good care of her. She’s safe because of you.”
Damen swallowed hard. The lie hung moist in the air like a fog that no one but him could see and feel. He began to chant to himself: Jennica please don’t look at me, Jennica please don’t speak to me. Don’t ask me. Don’t ask.
But she only had eyes for Marcis as he told her the lies she wanted to hear. They piled one on top of the other, nearly overpowering Damen.
“Oh Marcis, I don’t know how to thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me. I want to help.”
“He wants Coralee back,” she told him. “Noble wants Coralee, and he wants me to pick another girl to go to him now. He wants them both.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Marcis reassured her.
“But how?”
“I’ll talk to him. I know how to reason with him. I’ve done it before. Everything will be all right. Get some rest.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
Would the lies ever stop? A million tiny kasens crawled over Damen’s skin. Sweat broke out on his forehead. “We should go,” Damen tried to say, but his voice cracked. Marcis finally noticed him.
“You come with me. You can reassure Noble about my honesty.”
Marcis pulled open the heavy door, and they left.
“Don’t ever do that to me again,” Damen said once they were in the passageway. “That was physically painful.”
“Oh, you’ll survive.” Marcis picked up the pace. Damen had to jog to keep up.
“Where are we going?”
“We’re going to tell Noble that Coralee died.”
At last, Marcis told the truth.
DAMEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THE REPRIMAND
Marcis covered Camille’s nose and mouth with a jacui-soaked cloth. She immediately succumbed to the chemical, plunging into sleep. Damen moved out of the way while Marcis draped the unconscio
us girl around his neck. If Jennica could see what her benevolent soldier was really like, she wouldn’t be so quick to trust him, and she certainly wouldn’t thank him for what he was doing now.
“When Jennica finds out what you’ve done, she’ll hate you as much as she hates me,” Damen said, as together they took Camille to Noble.
“I’m saving Jennica’s life. She’ll forgive me.”
“No. She won’t. She has an illogical morality. She won’t accept someone else’s sacrifice for her own safety.”
“That might work for her on her world, but here we live by different rules.”
“I don’t get it. Why do you care so much what happens to Jennica? Is it the skin?”
Marcis lowered his eyebrows. “You—are a child. I won’t discuss this with you.” He pounded on Noble’s door. “Marcis Balázs, permission to enter with the Tovar and Nobless’s selection.” Damen squirmed with the lie in his ears.
Laughter greeted them from behind the door. “Come in, come in. Set her over there. She’s scrumptious. Tell Nobless she made a fine choice.”
“Yes, sir.” Marcis flopped Camille onto the divan. “I’ve news of Coralee.”
“Go ahead, soldier.”
“I regret to report that it’s impossible for me to bring Coralee to you this afternoon. Nobless asked me to take Coralee to a safe house in the city. On the way, the Urion in her blood took over her body. By the time I reached the safe house, her soul was gone. So I slit her throat and buried her proper.”
Noble tilted his head toward Damen for confirmation. “She’s dead, sir.”
“How unfortunate. I didn’t expect her to succumb so quickly. At least not until I could consume her soul. Such a waste.” His exaggerated sigh punctured the room and set Damen’s nerves on edge. “Now,” Noble continued, his tone sharp, “as you know, there is but one thing I ask of my soldiers. In return, you’re free to live in my castle, eat my food, bed my servants.” His claws clicked together in an increasing tempo. Damen took a step back.
