by K. E. Blaski
“Who said I’m hiding?”
“Then why are you here?” The Grauger was all the way on the west end of the city, and frequented mostly by Urion workers and sailors. The edges of the buildings here literally dropped off the ground into the sand, and during a storm, the surf would beat against the foundations. Soldiers didn’t come here; they frequented the pubs in town, closer to the castle, where they didn’t risk stumbling drunk into the sea and drowning.
“Taking a break. Enjoying the view. Recruiting for Noble. Take your pick.”
Damen didn’t have to be a Tovar to know Marcis was lying about the second choice; he only had to look out the window. The view consisted of dilapidated Urion harvest boats dipping and bobbing on the horizon. On the beach, haggard workers wearing masks sifted dried Urion through screens, tossing aside the sand to be redistributed by the tide, their faces and hands as gray as the thrashing sea.
“Any luck?”
“Not yet.” He took a swig of braken ale and lowered the mug with a bang. Green foam clung to his lip and he swiped at it. “Why are you here, Damen?”
“I need to talk to you. Ask you questions. Get your help for Jennica.”
Marcis nodded; his eyes narrowed as soon as Damen mentioned Jennica. “I have a room upstairs. Private. Where we can talk. Ask Carew at the bar. She’ll take you there. I’ll come up after.”
◊ ◊ ◊
Tucked under the peak of the roof, the space was awkwardly tapered, and had only one tiny window framing Durand. A chair, a small cot, and a basin of water were the room’s only occupants.
Damen caught a flash of metal from the corner of his eye and reflexively turned his head. Carew placed the tip of a knife to Damen’s throat, stopping him short. “Take your robe off. Now.” Her pale face was set like stone, and her eyes—the same tint as her skin and just as cold—held his in a fierce gaze.
“Why?” He stalled.
“Marcis don’t trust you, and neither do I. Says you been poisonin’ people.” She emphasized the word people by moving the knife under his chin. If she raised her hand an inch, the knife would come up through the bottom of his mouth. “Take off your robe.”
“You know I’m a Tovar, right? You can just ask me what I have in my pockets and I’ll tell you. I’ll even tell you without your asking.”
“Naked is safe. Give me your robe, and if your meetin’ goes fine, you’ll have it back before you leave.”
“How do I know you won’t steal what’s in my robe?”
“You always talk so much? ’Cause I’m tellin’ you so, and your little Aprica emblem says you know it’s the truth.” She ground her thumb on his Tovar seal. “And I’m also tellin’ you, Marcis isn’t going to come up and speak to you until your robe is gone.”
He was tempted to leave and avoid the humiliation of stripping down to his cutties in front of this hard woman—and even worse, the humiliation of having to stay naked in front of Marcis. However, a thought occurred to him, and it lessened his modesty. Marcis must have something important to say if he’s set this whole thing up: the private room on the edge of the city, Carew stripping me down to embarrass me. Either that or . . . “Is Marcis going to kill me?”
“You’re a funny biuri, ain’t you? ’Course he’s not gonna kill you. Unless you deserve it. Do you deserve it?”
“Yes.” For all his crimes against Jennica, the worst was delivering her into the arms of Noble Tortare. For that alone, Marcis had the right to kill him.
“Funny truth teller.” She frowned at him.
He stripped off his robe. Carew didn’t blink, just watched, one arm draped across her abdomen, the other holding her dagger, blade toward the ceiling. He handed the robe over. “A blanket would be nice.”
“We’ll see.” She left him standing in nothing but his cutties and his sandals.
In the chair, the wood chilled his bare legs, so he stood, careful to be out of the line of sight from the window. Aware of every inch of his exposed body—tall and gawky, bony knees, hairy legs—he couldn’t find a comfortable place to put himself.
Marcis arrived with a raggedy cloth. “Heard you wanted this.” He tossed it to Damen, who shook it out and wrapped himself.
“Disrobing me is overreacting.”
“Yeah, well, you’re getting a reputation for sly tactics, Damen. Putting you at ease is not my priority.” He sat on the chair and gestured for Damen to sit on the cot. “You know, I hadn’t quite figured it out until I ran into Urvan this morning. Man couldn’t stop talking—was telling his life story to anyone who’d listen. Some things that shouldn’t be repeated, things that could get a man in trouble. I had to lock him in the cellar. He’s there now. Still talking.
“Reminded me of another instance. Someone I know, sharing things she might’ve wanted to keep hidden. Talking like she couldn’t help herself. How long do you think I’ll have to keep Urvan in the cellar before what you gave him wears off, Damen?”
“Until tonight,” he said, because he had to.
“Why’d you do that to Jennica? Giving her poison in her wine. You of all people turning on her like that. I thought you cared about her.”
“I do care about her. I love her.” Each time he said the words it felt more right, and each time it was easier. “You were supposed to drink the truth potion, not her. You were supposed to tell her about Coralee and Camille and the other girls. Not that it matters, but I did change my mind. I was going to dump it out.”
Marcis nodded. “The comment you made about Lucretius fermenting too long. You tried to take the cup back. I remember. Why did you want her to know? Why hurt her more, after all she’s been through? Do you think she could’ve lived with herself, picking those women out for Noble? I did it so she didn’t have to.”
“She should’ve been given the choice of what to do.”
“Says the boy who never gave her a choice.”
Damen’s body slumped with the weight of Marcis’s words. He’d stolen away her choices, too. He’d taken her soul without her permission, forced her to share her feelings. But Jennica was a survivor. “You underestimate her. She’s strong. She can handle it. And if you’d drunk the potion, you’d have shown her your true self.”
“She already knows me, Damen. You don’t need to try and control us. You think because you can’t control your tongue you have to control everything else—everyone else.”
“That’s not what I was doing! I thought . . . I thought if you told her everything you did, she wouldn’t want to be around you anymore.”
“You’re jealous.” Marcis laughed.
Damen nodded and then put his head in his hands.
“Well, from the looks of that kiss yesterday, I’m the one who should be jealous. For now.”
Damen was glad Marcis had seen their kiss, but “For now” sounded like a challenge. “What do you mean? What are you going to do?”
“Settle down, Tovar. I’m not going to steal her from you, if that’s what’s got you worried.” He smirked. “Don’t forget, she loves me like a father, not a lover. With time, I might’ve persuaded her otherwise. But I don’t have to steal her away from you. You’re your own worst enemy.” His scar made him look ruthless. “What do you think she’s going to do when she finds out you poisoned her? And no, I’m not going to tell her. I suspect you will.”
“I won’t.”
“But Damen.” He reached out with his massive hand and ruffled Damen’s hair. “You can’t keep a secret.”
Marcis was right, of course. It would almost be better to just tell Jennica what he’d done, rather than wait for her to stumble onto a particular question that would pull the truth from him. She’d forgiven him for stealing her soul—their kiss was proof enough of that. And she’d forgive him for the truth potion. She had to. He praised Aprica under his breath for reassurance.
Then he turned on Marcis. “If you don’t think I can keep a secret, why are you here talking to me?”
Marcis trudged to the window and spo
ke as if Damen was no longer in the room. “Noble will know everything, and I’m all right with that. In fact, I want him to know. Knowledge of what’s going on will feed his panic. He’s losing his grip on Durand, the cities, the villages, even the castle, and he knows it. He’s making mistakes. He’ll do something even more rash than swinging in the air in a basket.”
He brought his full attention back around to Damen. “Know why the hawks weren’t invited to his first flight?”
Damen shook his head.
“Because there are fewer than half of them left. He doesn’t want anyone to know. He doesn’t dare show his weaknesses.”
“Where are the rest of them?”
“Dead. Someone’s been picking them off. I even witnessed it once: two of them spontaneously exploded over my head. There was a flash of blue, then nothing left but their talons raining down. Dark science.
“Losing his hawks, and now the harem. He howled like a polecat when I told him about his wives. And there’s no sign of them. How did twelve women walk out of the castle without being noticed?”
“Lasca?”
“She says she didn’t. Says she helped the Cidrans infect them, but the last she saw the wives, they were still in their room.”
“Jennica says Lasca is infected too.”
“Oh, she’s definitely infected—only way she could’ve survived interrogation. Cidrans are hard spirits to crack, and trust me, every soldier in Februus’s company tried.”
“Including you?”
Marcis scoffed. “Of course not.”
“No. I suppose you don’t have to dirty your hands when you have so many who’ll do it for you.” He didn’t know why he lashed out at Marcis. Torturing a traitor was Noble’s standard response, no matter who carried out the orders. “Sorry.” But he could see the sting his words left behind.
“Maybe there’ll be a day when torture won’t be normal,” Marcis murmured, staring at the city. “Sooner than we could hope.” He turned to leave. “I’ll send Carew back with your robe. You can scuttle back to Noble.”
Marcis stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind him. No sooner had it closed then Damen heard the sound of wood sliding against the other side of the door—like a plank dropping into place. Damen rushed to the door, pushed. It didn’t budge. Marcis had locked him in.
The room shrank around him. Damen pressed his ear against the door and heard nothing. No—muffled voices came from . . . somewhere. He stayed very still, pinpointing the sound: it was coming from underneath the cot. Quietly sliding the cot aside, he revealed a knothole in the floor. The voices were coming from the room below him.
Damen flattened his ear against the floor, covering the hole.
“Fascienne and Lombard have joined forces.” Marcis’s voice. “Their combined army is large and well-trained. Some of Noble’s soldiers have defected and are pledging their allegiance to Fascienne. She’s promised them plots in Casilda in exchange for their loyalty. Can you imagine it? Bribing soldiers with farmland instead of threats.”
Carew’s voice responded. “They’re only human. We all want peace.”
“It’s happening, Carew. We’re moments away from a revolution, and I intend to take down the metal beast myself. With a sword made entirely from Urion. A dark scientist on Noble’s staff will have the weapon finished by the full moons.”
“Argathe? I hadn’t heard.”
“No. Someone else. Getting close enough to Noble to stick him—that will be the problem.”
Carew interrupted. “Junius said Noble’ll be gone by then. By the time of the full moons, it’ll be too late. Argathe’s sending his soul to Earth. And he’s takin’ Nobless with him. Seems strange. I didn’t believe Junius at first. Why’s Noble given up on flying? He’s always been obsessed with it. Even my mams used to talk about his flight experiments.”
“Because he’s a coward. You should’ve seen him in that contraption he built. Squirming like a biuri in a trap. Wouldn’t even untether the thing. Now he’s running away.” Damen could hear the sneer in Marcis’s voice. “We have to stop him before he switches with some poor soul who’ll take the retribution for Noble’s crimes.”
“And Nobless—what about her?”
“We have to let her go.”
Damen’s ear throbbed from the pressure. He could hardly hear them but he focused, separating the thrashing sea outside from their whispering below him.
“What’re you sayin’?”
“You heard me. She doesn’t belong here. We need to send her home.”
“Some other soul will just replace hers.”
“Once Jennica’s left, I’ll kill Nyima’s body before a new soul can take hold. I’ll stop Argathe’s crazy experiment, finally.”
“Kill Noble’s body before he leaves and Nyima’s body after Jennica leaves. The timing isn’t going to work—Junius said Argathe’ll transfer them together.”
“Then convincing Argathe will be critical. I’ll need Junius’s help with her.”
“My son’ll do what he can for you, you know that.”
“Thank you, Carew, I know I can count on you. Anyway—you’d better go give Damen his robe.”
“Ha, wouldn’t want him to start likin’ bein’ naked. Skinny as a pole, that one.”
Damen quickly pulled the cot back over the knothole, taking care not to make a sound. Marcis thought he was so smart. Every condition accounted for, every nuance planned. But he didn’t think of everything.
Damen sat down on the cot.
“What if Jennica doesn’t want to leave?” he asked the empty room.
DAMEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
THE QUESTION
A storm was coming. A big one. Merchants strapped their carts together so the combined weight would keep them from toppling in the wind. They latched the window hatches on the storefronts, neighbor helping neighbor as the sky shifted from gray to green. Damen reached the castle just as the first raindrops pelted the dry ground, sending wisps of dust to his ankles.
Torches lit the passageway to his room with an unfamiliar orange glow. The castle reeked of charred oil and acrid smoke. He missed the Cidrans.
In the privacy of his room, he checked his robe for the first time since Carew had returned it. All was where he’d left it: three yint, a kitchen knife, a bereket handkerchief, his timepiece, and a small sack of delmar weed Marcis had given him for Furti. Like all polecats, Furti liked delmar weed. Marcis had admitted that the dried leaves were what he’d used to win the animal over.
Damen examined his sparse belongings. He didn’t need much: a bit of food, a place to rest, and Jennica.
Maybe Marcis was right: maybe they should let her go back to Earth. Did they even have a choice? And what did Jennica want? He wouldn’t make the same mistake he’d made before—he’d find out. Her decision, instead of him deciding for her.
He stuffed his possessions back into his pockets and went to ask her.
◊ ◊ ◊
With Logan dead, it was Quintus who opened Jennica’s door enough for them both to duck inside. Suddenly, everything Damen wanted to say evaporated from his mind—all there was, was her. A blush stole across her cheek; her lips parted with the slightest exhale, and he could barely manage to keep space between them. But unlike Logan, who’d give Jennica her privacy, Quintus was right there with them, propped against the door.
The storm crashed and churned outside. Like Damen. On the inside. He tangled his hands inside the pockets of his robe and watched Jennica use the small torch in her room to light another. Her arms were strong. And soft. He remembered.
I’ve missed you. More than I can find the words to say.
Reading his mind, she said, “I was wondering when I’d see you again.” Then she spoke the one name that sucked the passion right out of the room. “Argathe was here all morning.”
“Did it have anything to do with why Noble made me leave last night?”
“Everything to do with it.” She seeme
d excited, as if Argathe’s visit was welcome.
“Will you tell me?” He caught her looking over his shoulder at Quintus. They needed to be extra careful. If Damen had to guess where the soldier’s loyalty lay, he’d guess it was with Noble.
“It’s easier if I show you.” She smiled, and lifted the hem of her robe.
Damen’s mouth dropped open and it took a moment before he could find words. “By Aprica’s light!”
Her left foot was changed. Instead of the awkward metal boot Noble had given her, her foot was now . . . foot-shaped. He saw individual toes, the curve of her arch, even a heel. It was still covered in metal, true, but unlike Noble’s rough scales, Jennica’s new skin was luminous silver, even attractive. She wiggled her foot for him.
“You can touch it,” she offered. “You too, Quintus.”
Damen reached down—curious, yet worried. Urion was involved in the metamorphosis somehow. What if touching the metal repulsed him? Or worse? He stroked the top of her foot with a fingertip.
“It tickles.” She sat on the edge of the bed and lifted her foot without any effort. “Here. I promise, it’ll be fine.” She grinned.
“No thank you, Nobless.” Quintus crossed his arms. “Go ahead, Damen. You can tell me what it feels like.”
Damen kneeled and wrapped his hands around the silver, feeling every portion of her foot. “It’s smooth like stone, but warm to the touch.” He could even feel her pulse by her ankle. When he bent closer, he could see that her metal skin was actually a flexible mesh, each intersection in the shape of a nail-sized hexagon, moving and contracting over her muscles.
“Argathe did this to you this morning?”
“Yes.” Jennica grinned some more.
“Did it hurt?” Damen squeezed her toe.
“Yes, but she gave me something to help with the pain. Isn’t it amazing? And watch this. Quintus, take out your knife and try to cut my foot.”
The soldier looked at her like she was mad.
“Your Nobless commands you.”
