by K. E. Blaski
“He is unpredictable,” Damen said. He twisted his hands in his robes instead of reaching out to reassure her. He wanted to hold her. His fingers wanted to tangle in her hair instead of rough cloth, but he had to follow her lead. The last thing he wanted was to offend her.
“That’s where you’re wrong. He’s predictable. If he knows what you want him to do, he’ll do the exact opposite to show he has the upper hand. Ask him for a little mercy and he’ll be merciless. He’s Osama bin Laden and Saddam Hussein rolled into one.” She paced. She must’ve paced often. During the weeks of her confinement, she’d worn a path in the stone floor with her metal feet. “Somehow, I have to make it worth his while. Nightfall will be here soon. I have to come up with something before I see him.”
Damen jumped at the sound of pounding on the door. Jennica’s eyes widened and she turned to him for an answer. “I don’t know. Logan’s out there. You should ask who it is.”
She went to the door and waited for the second round of pounding to stop. “Who’s there?”
“Just me. Logan,” a muffled voice said back.
“Come in.”
“Good to see you, Nobless,” Logan grinned while moving closer to her and she backed away. “No, not to worry. Had my dose of inhibitor.” He poked her in the arm playfully. “See? No troubles. And I just got word from a messenger. You’ve got a reprieve for the night. Noble wants you to get your rest. Wants you in the East Courtyard at daybreak. You too, Damen. Everyone’s invited.”
“What’s going on?”
“Supposed to be a surprise, but no one can keep this under wraps. Noble’s gonna fly. How ’bout that? He’s gonna do it. Gotta take you there myself, so make sure you’re ready before Aprica. See you tomorrow.” The door thudded shut behind him.
Jennica picked up her pacing where she’d left off. “How can he fly already? My drawings weren’t to scale. I didn’t describe individual parts; I don’t even know them all to tell him. Or materials of construction. No engine schematics. I didn’t even tell him what a cylinder was—how could he make an engine that flies without cylinders? I left all the important stuff out!” Her face tensed with guilt and shame. “I was just trying to stay alive.”
“You don’t have to defend yourself to me—you did what you had to do.” His words didn’t soothe her angst, though; she continued to rant. He decided to take a different approach. “I guess you didn’t hear the good news.”
“Good news? There is nothing good about Noble flying. It’s bad news. Bad, bad, bad.” She emphasized the word bad with well-placed stomps. “Nothing good about it.”
“The good news is that you don’t have to spend the night with Noble.”
The tension drained away from her face. “You’re right.” She sat on the edge of the bed next to him. “That is good news.”
“Instead, you can spend the night with me.”
Her eyes widened.
“No, no, nothing like that. I’ve taken the inhibitor, remember?” He pretended to poke her, like Logan had.
She rubbed her arm, pretending he really did. “What did you have in mind, then?” Her eyes glimmered.
“Sign Song.”
She didn’t say anything, but she raised an eyebrow.
Deciding to take a chance, he took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Trust me.”
◊ ◊ ◊
Damen ushered her into a dimly lit room scattered with cushions and servants. He pointed out an empty spot against the back wall where she’d be out of the line of sight. He was sure the castle staff was taking inhibitor, but just to be safe, Jennica wore a brown robe that Damen had borrowed from the kitchen. The hood hid her face in shadow, but she wore a veil and gloves too.
He settled next to Jennica. She seemed wary, not relaxing like she ought to be, and he wondered what he could say to put her at ease. He wanted to put his arm around her and feel her body relax into his side. If she’d just give him a sign that she wanted him to.
“Why isn’t anyone speaking?” she eventually asked.
“We don’t want the soldiers and Noble to hear. A gathering of servants this size is prohibited.”
“We’re going to sit here in the dark, in utter silence? And what—meditate?” she whispered.
“You’ll see. Be patient.”
The lights flickered and an even deeper silence pervaded. Korvin, one of the groundskeepers, stepped up onto a makeshift stage of crates. Stripped down to an interula of brown cloth, his lean, muscular body shined, his skin painted in black swirls and stripes. He froze, poised like a predator ready to attack, and then he swayed with exaggerated movements. His arms turned into the crashing waves of Undine, his hands became twenty hares darting across a field, his legs pounded through a city road like bos, dragging a cart spilling with langor harvest.
The only sound in the room was the mutual intake of breath as the audience watched this display of body, light, and movement. Soon two other men joined Korvin. Together they were a bridge across a swift and thrashing river, a boy in a boat trying to escape a hawk. A woman joined them then, in robes dyed butter-yellow, meant to symbolize Aprica. She reached down from behind a cloud and drew the boy out of the water before the hawk came down for the final kill. She carried him safely to the stars while the hawk sulked away.
The lights flickered again, and the players bowed, the audience twisting their hands and wiggling their fingers in response. Damen demonstrated the gesture to Jennica, and he grinned as she joined in.
How would a stolen kiss make him feel? To kiss her now, feel her mouth pressed against his, taste her lips, her soft skin beneath his fingertips. He wanted to tell her the truth about his feelings, but he didn’t dare. If someone recognized Jennica and word got out, the gossip would spread fast, and his head would be spiked next to Alban’s by morning. And what if she rebuked him? What was he thinking? Of course she’d push him away. He didn’t deserve her love after what he’d done to her.
The lights changed again, and now an elder man replaced the players. A woman positioned a lantern behind him, and two more held a sheet in front of him. His hands created shadows: a polecat, a rémy, a porsha. The children had to clap their hands over their mouths to stifle their voices. Jennica did the same.
After Sign Song finished, Damen walked Jennica back to her room in silence. She didn’t seem to want to speak, and he didn’t want to spoil the mood for her. While they walked, he imagined what it would be like to live in a world where he wasn’t a Tovar and Jennica wasn’t married to a monster. A world where she could forgive him and care about him, even love him. What if he told her how he felt about her? Would that make a difference?
They found Logan stationed by Jennica’s door, and he pushed it open for them. Inside, Marcis sat on the bed, the hare snuggling in his arms.
How was he to compete? The salve, the aniello, the scars, the shower, and now Furti? The hare hated Damen; and now Damen hated the soldier who’d tamed the hare.
There’d be no confessions of love tonight, at least not from him. No, the silver-cheeked, scar-faced, hero soldier had taken over. Again.
DAMEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
THE TRUTH
“Marcis, how did you get Furti to calm down?” Jennica approached the animal tentatively.
“Furti? Cute name. You can pet him. He’s tame.”
Jennica stroked his fur.
“You want to hold him?” Marcis asked, and she nodded. He placed the hare in her arms, and a low rumble escaped from the animal’s throat.
“He’s purring.”
Scratches decorated Marcis’s hands and forearms wherever his skin wasn’t coated in silver. He looked like he’d been wrestling with a briar bush. “How did you subdue him? The hare was riled up when we left.”
“I have a way with animals. It’s always been a gift.”
Damen’s pulsed pounded in his temple. Lying, again. He’d had enough of the soldier’s lies. Marcis said he lied under the pretense of saving Jennica’
s feelings, but too many of his lies only served to make him look good. Well, no more.
“How about a round of florimel wine? To celebrate Furti’s new personality and Jennica’s release from confinement. What do you say?” Damen suggested.
“I’d be up for some wine,” Marcis said. “How about you, Jennica? Want to try some?”
Her eyes bounced from Damen to Marcis. “Okay. Maybe a little.” She held Furti in her arms and sank her chin into the hare’s fur. “But you can’t stay long, Marcis. I don’t want you to get into trouble.”
“Logan’s on lookout, and no one else saw me come to your room. Not to worry.”
“Great. I’ll call for the wine,” said Damen. “Help me with the door, Marcis?”
As Marcis pushed the door open easily, he turned to Damen and said quietly, so Jennica wouldn’t overhear, “I hope I’m not intruding. I didn’t realize she was with you.”
“Who else would she be with?” Damen said under his breath.
“Noble. She is his wife.”
Damen wasn’t going to respond, and then: “What would Noble say if he knew you were waiting for his wife in her bedroom?” slipped out before he could stop it.
Marcis glared. “He’d kill me. Is that what you want? My death on your conscience? Jennica would love that.”
“Whoa, boys. Boys.” Logan craned his neck side to side to make sure the hallway was clear. “Remember where you are.”
“What is it you want from me?” Marcis hissed at Damen.
“More truth.” Damen fingered the vial in his robe. “And a flask of florimel wine,” he said loudly enough so the servant coming around the corner would hear. She hurried off again while throwing a “Right away, sir” over her shoulder.
The wine arrived shortly on a small tray with four tin cups. “I didn’t know how many to serve, sir.”
Damen told her thank you, she’d done fine, and then he sent her on her way with some of the yints he still carried.
Logan shook his head at them. “I hope you two know what you’re doing. Life around here is getting almost too exciting.”
“You should put Furti away,” Damen said when they returned to Jennica. “So he doesn’t get underfoot.” And while Jennica and Marcis were busy with the animal, Damen poured three cups of wine—with a drop from his vial in the last cup. The cup for Marcis.
The cup of poisoned wine weighed heavy in Damen’s hand. The surface of the liquid was as smooth as the glass on a lantern, the color the deep red of spilled blood. What in Aprica’s name was he doing? This was mad. The desperate act of a jealous child. He looked for a basin to discard the tainted wine. Maybe he could toss it out the window.
Marcis slung his arm around Damen’s shoulder before he could dump it. In his surprise, he lost his grip and Marcis snatched the cup before it toppled to the floor.
“Whoa there, kid. Almost lost it. Lucretius’s blend is too precious to waste.” Marcis put the cup near his lips.
“No! Wait! We should test it first, make sure it’s not a bad batch,” Damen stalled, maneuvering himself near Marcis so he could retrieve the cup. “Sometimes Lucretius ferments it too long.” It was true. The man had drunk so much within his lifetime that he often forgot his own schedules. But before he could get the cup away from Marcis, Jennica strode over and grabbed it.
“When did you get so paranoid? You’re the one who suggested we have some.” And in less time than it took Damen’s heart to beat, she drank the tainted wine. “It’s nice. Doesn’t taste bad at all.” From the bedside table she grabbed the second cup and offered it to Marcis, and then she gave the third cup to Damen. “Try it yourself.”
Words choked in his throat. What just happened? Oh Aprica, what have I done? He couldn’t drink his own wine. Instead, he held his cup with slick and shaky hands, watching Jennica over the rim, waiting for any sign of Argathe’s dark science.
“This is very tasty,” Jennica swallowed more of the potion. “Not like the wine back home at all. I snuck some from my mother’s stash in the pantry once. Took five minutes to get the cork out. Little pieces of it floated around in the glass and I had to pick them out with my fingers. Uncouth, I know. I didn’t like the taste and it made me feel fuzzy, but I drank half the bottle anyway ’cause I was mad at my mom for ignoring me for three days. I mean, who does that to their fifteen-year-old kid? Drops out of sight, no note on the fridge, no call, not even a text, no word at all. Thought, you know, if she sees I got into her wine, maybe she’d think twice before she ditches her underage daughter. I left the bottle and the glass right on the coffee table so it’d be the first thing she’d see when she got home. You know what? You know what she said to me afterward? Not a damn thing. Nada, zip, zilch. All I got was a headache the next morning and cork bits between my teeth. She didn’t even lock the pantry or empty it out before she left the next time. Shoulda had a blowout party, but never had enough friends. I’m not the real friendly type, know what I mean? Can’t get too close to anybody these days—they’re always looking for the next and better thing on their way out the minute you let them in—so don’t let them in, that’s what I say. Even ’round here, can’t get too attached ’cause geez, the person could be in the dungeons, or dead, the next day.” She presented her empty cup to Damen. “Can I have some more wine?”
“No,” Marcis and Damen said in unison.
Jennica started another diatribe, most of which Damen didn’t understand. He caught a few names: Mom, Dad, Grandma Lorinne, and Uncle Ed. She talked about her life back home, she talked about her life here, mostly she just talked.
Marcis whispered, “Are all Rosen women affected by wine? When does she breathe?”
“No, and I don’t know.”
A herd of bos trampled his innards. He’d ruined everything, and now? Now Jennica was telling them her inner secrets, which she surely wouldn’t have done had he not drugged her by mistake. He and Marcis should leave—he was violating her privacy, like climbing inside her head without her permission.
“Come on, Marcis, we should go.”
Marcis put his hand to his mouth to cover his words. “Yes. Her talking like this, it’s not natural. She needs rest, then she’ll be back to herself.” They headed for the door.
“Don’t leave me. I hate to be alone. Everyone leaves me alone and it hurts when they go. Don’t you go, too. Damen, please don’t go. It drives me crazy when I can’t see you. I think about you all the time. Even when I don’t want to. I try not to, but you keep popping into my head. Did you know you have the most gorgeous eyes? The way you look at me, it’s like you can see right inside me to the real me. You make me feel like I’m strong and beautiful. And I know you’d never lie to me. That’s like an extra bonus. And when you touched me today in the ugly metal garden, my heart skipped. Such an ugly place and I was happy to be there with you. Isn’t that funny? It must be love. Wow, that makes so much sense now. I love you. And Marcis, I love you too. But, you know, more like a BFF. But older. You’re like the dad I wish my dad could be. You two are all I’ve got on Planet Insanity. I thought I had Joss too, but he left. And poor Amada down in the dungeons. I wish I had a mother like her. So loyal and kind. And the little boy with the fat fingers, I wish I knew his name. I want to know it. I think you all care about me . . . but . . .”
“Jennica. Jennica, listen to me.” Interrupting, Marcis kneeled in front of her. “I do care about you. By Aprica’s light, I do. And if you ask the Tovar cowering over there, he’ll tell you he cares too. But you’re not yourself right now. Maybe it’s the wine, or the confinement, but we have to go. Otherwise . . .” He paused, then plunged ahead. “It’d be taking advantage of you.”
She held him and pressed her face against his cheek. “You’ll come back?”
“Of course I will.”
“Damen too?”
“Yes,” Damen said from against the wall.
“I’m glad, Damen. I had the best time tonight. I forgot about home for a while and it still felt good. I th
ought you were gonna kiss me. I would’ve let you, but we sure would get in trouble, huh? Sign Song was wonderful. So. Wonderful. I’ve never seen anything lovelier. Well, I did see a Renoir painting at the Chicago Art Museum, it was called The Rowers’ Lunch and it was perfect, but tonight was better. Joss told me I’d see good in this world if I looked for it. I guess I just have to be open to it.”
Marcis said good night on their way out. Damen leaned against the wall, trying to catch his breath. Trying to sort through what had just happened: the horrible mistake he’d made and everything Jennica had said.
“The wine had better wear off before she sees Noble tomorrow. Could be trouble,” Marcis said, sending Damen into a panic.
If the potion was still in her body when she met with Noble, she’d tell him everything: that she hated him, that she intended to free the prisoners and the Cidrans. She’d reveal—everything.
“What’s Sign Song?” Marcis interrupted his thoughts. “And who’s Joss?” And even though Damen wanted to throw himself onto a pyre for putting the potion in the wine, he told Marcis about Sign Song and Joss, because he had no other choice.
JENNICA
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
THE HAREM
Shit, shit, shit. Jennica’s head throbbed and she rubbed her temples. Florimel wine—she’d have to stay clear of florimel wine. On Earth, it’d be labeled “Sodium Pentothal.” It loosened her tongue and left her with a nasty headache and a bad taste in her mouth. And unlike with the wine back home, with florimel wine she remembered. Everything. Every last word emblazoned in her mind.
She’d told Marcis and Damen that she loved them. With gory details thrown in for good measure.
Where was the nearest rock to crawl under? How could she ever face them again? She was sure she’d scared them both off. Just like her mom had scared off her dad.
