by K. E. Blaski
“Thanks.” The rabbit massaged one of her pillows with its front paws before settling down. It peered up at her warily with candy-red eyes. “I think,” she added.
Marcis was beside her again, his muscular arm around her shoulder. “I have something for you too.” He took her hand, which disappeared like a child’s inside his. She couldn’t help but stare at his scars again. Three pink marks started at his brow, skipped over his silver cheek, and resumed down to his chin.
“Noble hurt you, didn’t he? Because of me.”
“These?” He touched the healed skin. “No, got them during battle training. Some overenthusiastic sparring.”
She didn’t have to ask Damen to know that Marcis was lying, but Damen piped up anyway. “He’s lying. Noble punished him for Coralee, and he shouldn’t be here either. Noble said he’d skin him if he came anywhere near you.”
“Oh, Marcis. You have to go.”
“I don’t care,” he said.
“Well I care. I don’t want you getting hurt because of me.”
“Who’s going to tell him I’m here? You, Damen?” He fixed a steely gaze on Damen, who shot one right back at him. Something was going on between them. She was going to ask what it was, when Marcis surprised her. “I’m taking you outside.”
“Outside of this room?”
“Outside of this castle. But still on the grounds—and only for a little while,” he added, seeing the look on her face. “I have something special for you.”
Excitement overshadowed everything else. “Let’s go.” She was hungry, thirsty, and smelled like month-old socks, but none of it mattered. She was leaving her prison. Even if it was for only two minutes, it was two minutes of freedom.
She asked Damen, “Will the rabbit be okay, left behind?”
“No one will disturb your room while you’re gone. Though someone should sweep up in here.” He surveyed the broken glass and bundled bed sheets.
“Are you coming too?” She wanted to hear where he’d been for the past few weeks, find out why he hadn’t written, ask him about the rebellion and whether he knew about Kornelia.
“If you want me to.” He narrowed his eyes at Marcis.
She didn’t have time for whatever testosterone-laden jealousy Damen and Marcis had brewing. “Of course I want you to. Oh, I need to grab my mask.”
“You won’t need one anymore. Let’s go.” Marcis gave her hand a shake, and the threesome filed out of her jail cell.
Applause filled the hallway. A dozen or more castle workers lined the walls, all grinning and clapping. Logan was there, hooting and stomping like his favorite team had just won the Superbowl. Jennica was relieved to see faces she recognized from the kitchen, including a small boy with plump little fingers. He waved and she waved back.
“I didn’t expect . . .” She couldn’t finish; her voice began to choke up, and she was afraid her tears would make everyone uncomfortable.
“The servants have high regard for you,” Damen said. “They’ve been feeding you under the door, so you didn’t have to eat what the hawks brought.”
All this time she’d thought Marcis had been the one feeding her. “And the notes?” she asked.
“I wrote them,” Damen said. Marcis scowled at him. “Marcis told me some of what to write.”
“You know, if you’d signed your name, I would've known which notes were from you. I thought . . . I thought you’d left me.” A misunderstanding! He hadn’t left her after all.
“Personal writing is illegal; we never sign our names to it. And I left for one day. But otherwise, I’ve been here the whole time. Making sure you were surviving. Marcis was here too.”
“So you worked together.” She raised her eyebrows.
“For you—yes, we worked together,” Marcis said. “Logan will escort you from here. He’s taken inhibitor too. Everyone has. There’s a new scientist on Noble’s council making enough for everyone. I’m going to go on ahead since I can’t be seen with you. Damen will come with me to make sure everything’s ready.”
“Inhibitor for everyone? That’s great.” She didn’t ask about the castle staff that had already seen Marcis with her, that knew he’d been giving her salve, and that had seen him coming out of her room. Maybe he’d struck some kind of deal. He didn’t seem worried about them sharing his secret. He didn’t even seem worried that Damen would tell anyone who asked with that Tovar tongue of his. Well, if Marcis wouldn’t worry for himself, she’d have to worry for him.
As Logan led her through the castle, Jennica heard the muffled sounds of conversation behind closed doors. It was good to hear people’s voices again, even if they were strangers to her. She wondered who was behind each door. Were they free to come and go as they pleased, or were some of them under house arrest like she’d been?
Then she started counting the lanterns as she passed. She‘d tallied two hundred and two by the time Logan had led her out of the castle and into a courtyard—one very different from the courtyard where Madam Meilyn had been murdered so long ago.
Hedges surrounded a large sculpture of none other than Noble Tortare, with two hawks crouched at his feet, wearing their characteristic grimaces. Flowers and trees framed the hedges, organized in mirrored symmetry. But what should have been beautiful wasn’t; what should’ve invited relaxing didn’t. The garden, and everything in it, was sculpted and twisted entirely from steel.
“I don’t like it here.” The phony plants looked like they could leap up to attack with razor-sharp leaves and petals.
“We’re just passing through. You can close your eyes if it helps,” Logan said.
She didn’t want to close her eyes. She found it easier to keep her imagination under control with her eyes wide open.
Once the metal garden was behind them, they entered a smaller, stone courtyard, where Marcis was already waiting for her. Logan grinned, offered a quick bow, and left.
In the right corner of the courtyard stood a three-sided wooden screen. Suspended above it, straining under its own weight, hung a four-foot sphere. Upon closer inspection, the sphere appeared to be made from a thin cloth filled with fluid.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Your surprise,” said Marcis.
Jennica still didn’t understand.
“Go behind the shield, for privacy, and pull the cord when you’re ready.”
“The shield?” She felt like an idiot. Marcis had put a lot of effort into his surprise, but not nearly as much into his explanation.
“In case you want to take your robe off. Like before, in the balneum,” Damen said.
“So it’s for bathing?” She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to climb up into it, but both men glowed with such anticipation, she didn’t want to spoil their surprise with more questions. She’d have to figure it out on her own.
She slipped behind the screen. Two large towels hung on a double hook embedded in the wall, and a new robe rested on another. Protruding stones formed ledges where a collection of metal vials sat. She unscrewed the cap from the closest one, and lavender filled her nostrils. Each vial had a different scent: cinnamon, peaches, and smells she couldn’t recognize but that were wonderfully refreshing.
From the opposite side of the screen, Marcis said with a hint of impatience, “Pull the cord when you’re ready.”
Slung over another hook, a cord was threaded through metal loops up to the balloon over her head. If she pulled, she worried the whole thing would crash down on top of her.
But she had faith Marcis wouldn’t intentionally hurt her, so she gave the cord a tentative yank. A sheet of cloth peeled back from the balloon, followed by a fine spray of tepid water, becoming heavier and turning into a—
“A shower! Oh Marcis, you made me a shower!” She turned her face upward, the water streaming against her skin.
Not knowing how long she had, she quickly shed her robe and poured the contents of the lavender vial into the palm of her hand. Lathering her hair, rubbing her hands on her skin,
she turned herself into a slick, sudsy mess. Back under the shower, she hummed and rinsed and enjoyed every delicious moment of it, until the last dribble plopped onto her forehead.
The fresh new robe felt silky soft—and it had an acre of pockets inside! Deep ones, shallow ones, layered—even one with a hook and eye clasp. Oh, what she could hide in them—the possibilities!
Damen was the first person she saw after drying off and slipping into her new robe. She kissed him on the cheek, delighted by his sheepish smile.
Marcis bent down for his kiss and Jennica placed it squarely on his nose. When he looked at her quizzically, she said, “With those metal scales on your cheeks, I thought you wouldn’t feel it if—”
“You’re right, I wouldn’t feel it, and the metal would be cold for you.” He touched a damp strand of her hair. “You liked your surprise?”
“Very much.” She hoped her grin communicated more than her words.
“Good,” he said. “I have to take it down before anyone else sees it. Logan is playing lookout, and Noble is occupied with a visiting delegation from Nathane, but we can’t get overly confident. Damen will escort you back—the long way. I’m sure you’re not eager to get back to your room.”
He was right. Her room was infused with weeks of bad memories. “Thank you, Marcis.” She followed Damen, who’d already started heading to the castle. From behind, she could see his shoulders tense and hunch. He had a stomp in his stride.
When she caught up with him in the metal garden, she asked, “What’s with you? You’re acting . . . crabby.”
“I don’t know what ‘crabby’ means, but I’m not acting, I’m being me.”
“Okay.” She didn’t feel like probing further and having him spoil her good mood. “Do we have to go back to my room? Can’t we go somewhere else?”
“We?” His brow relaxed. “Where do you want to go?”
She thought of the only place in the castle where she’d ever really felt at ease. “The kitchen. I’m famished.”
His full lips parted and his teeth gleamed in a spreading grin. He held out his hand.
She took it for a moment—and for that moment, her heart seemed to skip inside her chest. She was sure Damen must feel her pulse racing. Then she heeded Marcis’s warning and let go. This close to the castle, Noble might have spies. Instead, she slipped her hands into her new pockets.
DAMEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
FURTI
She’d lost weight since he’d seen her last: her cheekbones were more prominent, her wrists and fingers slender and frail. The thin bones in her neck were now visible through stretched skin, and she had a healing cut on her throat, the size of a knifepoint. He’d have to ask her about it later.
Some things hadn’t changed: her eyes, large and fiery, and the determined set of her chin. She still had that habit of tightening her lips when she was thinking. The time in solitary seemed to have made her even more resolved to survive whatever challenges Noble threw at her. Now she smelled nice, too. The shower had done marvelous things for her aroma—and her disposition. She was alight with happiness, filling the kitchen, filling the entire castle.
Filling her stomach! They gorged themselves on langor bread dipped in porsha grease, langor bread smothered in morrell jam, and langor bread served with hunks of rémy. The kitchen staff was eager to serve their Nobless, and now that they were plied with inhibitor—Argathe made it in fresh batches every morning for Damen to distribute as needed—they lingered without fear, telling her their names and describing the cities they used to call home.
His stomach full too, and his mind content. Damen hadn’t felt this good since . . . well, since he couldn’t remember when. He felt better about himself when he was with her. He was better. Everything was better. He’d missed Jennica more than he could ever say aloud.
He was glad Jennica hadn’t missed Amada and asked where she was. Damen thought the kitchen empty without the woman bustling about and chatting off everyone’s ears, but Jennica didn’t seem to notice her absence; she was too absorbed in her eating frenzy and enjoying her freedom.
That was good, because he didn’t want to break her heart by telling her that Amada was in the dungeons with a handful of other servants. He didn’t know the details, only that they had hatched an ill-conceived plan to overthrow Noble. A pathetic attempt—they didn’t have any outside support and none of the hawks or soldiers would ever turn against their master. It had been a doomed plot from the beginning.
With a basket full of rolls and buns draped over her arm, Jennica hummed as they walked back to her room. Damen carried a sack of fruit and had three flasks of water slung over his shoulders. She could have had anything she wanted to drink—florimel wine, blanda—but all she wanted was water. She’d already finished off five full flasks of it in front of the astonished servants.
He wasn’t surprised. She’d been deprived; it was only natural that she’d crave what she couldn’t have. He wondered if that was the reason she kept looking at the lanterns on their way back to her room. All of hers were broken. Another thing he needed to ask about.
“Do you want me to get you some travel lanterns for your room, until your wall lanterns can be replaced?”
She reacted like he’d offered her a cup of sludge. “Not unless you want me to keep busting them open.”
“You broke all your lanterns . . . intentionally? I thought maybe Noble had added darkness as part of your punishment.”
“I broke the first one by accident,” she said. “But once I realized there were people inside them, I broke the rest.” A few langor crumbs clung to her chin, taking the edge off her stern tone.
“They’re not people, Jennica. They’re Cidrans. You still have a lot to learn about life here. You made a mistake in letting them out.”
It was the wrong thing to say.
She clenched her fists and tightened her lips. “Why? Why can’t I free someone who is kept against his will—away from his home, his family?”
Did she identify with the Cidrans? He tried to soothe her, using logic and reason. “They’re not like you and me. They’re dangerous. We keep them shut behind glass so they don’t steal our bodies while we sleep. They can take over your body, control you—make you do things you’d never normally do.”
She seemed wary. “How do you know this?”
He had to remind himself she hadn’t grown up here. “As a child I’d curl up on the hearth. My mother would stir the ashes and tell the old stories of when Cidrans were free to roam the world, invading the living, raising the dead, commanding the animals. Every parent threatens bad behavior with the same horror stories. ‘You better go to sleep or I’ll unlock the lantern and let the Cidrans get you.’” He made a scary face and Jennica smiled.
“Besides, they prefer the lanterns. Keeps them safe from predators who might think they’re kasen and eat them.”
“You never opened a lantern to take a peek? See one up close?”
“Sure I did. I was curious. A storekeep said the Cidrans would tell tales about far-off places, even share their magic. But when I opened our lantern, there were three of them, and the things just sat there and didn’t say or do anything. I closed it back up. The lantern’s been hanging on a nail in front of my mother’s shed ever since. Still there as far as I know.”
“I’ve heard the Cidran stories firsthand and I believe them, Damen. The Cidrans don’t steal bodies—they enter bodies that want them. And they don’t take over, they merge together.”
“I wish I’d been with you. I’d have known they were lying and would’ve told you. What they said to you sounds mad.”
“Oh, and beads of light stealing your body while you sleep sounds sane? When I let the Cidrans out—hundreds of them by the way—they went back to their meadow. They didn’t fly through the castle snatching bodies. They merge with bodies that are willing and available.”
“The only bodies available around here that are willing and available belong to N
oble’s harem.”
He made the statement innocently enough, but Jennica latched on. “Yes. Damen! That’s an excellent idea.”
“What are you up to?” He didn’t like any idea involving Noble Tortare’s wives. But before he could get an answer, they arrived at her room.
“Oh my God!” she exclaimed when they pulled open the door.
The servants had made the bed with fresh sheets—but you’d never know it, because they were now shredded in a huge pile on the bed. The hare squatted in the center, nibbling nonchalantly on his front claws.
“He does not act like a bunny.” She set the basket on a new bedside table. Damen placed the sack and flasks nearby.
The floor had been cleared of glass and debris from the lanterns, but fresh hare feces and urine reeked in each corner.
“The rabbit—hare,” she corrected herself. “Needs a litter box. Soon.”
He wanted to ask what a litter box was when she proceeded to describe a low tray filled with sand or clay pellets for the hare to defecate into.
“Used to pooping wherever he wants, I imagine. That won’t work here if we’re going to be roommates.”
“I’ll have Lasca or Flavia clean your room again and make up a—‘litter box.’ And don’t worry about being alone with the servants. Everyone who’s assigned to work for you gets a dose of inhibitor. Our supplies have been greatly increased,” he said in response to her expression.
“It’s so nice not to worry about getting pounced on.”
“At least not by the staff. I can’t speak for the hare, though.” It looked ready to leap on Jennica’s back and sink its teeth into her shoulder.
She laughed when she saw the hare’s preparations: it crouched on its haunches, its back tense, its ears flattened. It sprung from the bed and she caught it in midair, holding its body away from her own as it flailed in her hands. She grabbed it by the scruff of the neck and stuffed it into its cage.
