Glimmer of Steel (The Books of Astrune Book 1)

by K. E. Blaski

  “Can we go somewhere else, Marcis? To talk privately?” Damen said.

  “Sure. Ascelina, Molline, if you’ll excuse us.”

  “Of course, Marcis, Damen,” Ascelina said. Molline bowed.

  Concern for the wives lingered as he and Marcis made their way to the metal garden. The effect they had on him didn’t wear off right away. He kept wanting to go back to make sure they were safe.

  There was nowhere comfortable to sit in the garden, and the metal sculptures reflected the heat, making the courtyard unbearably hot. The perfect place to avoid everyone. Marcis and Damen stood by the garish statue of Noble and his hawks.

  “Jennica doesn’t want to go back to Earth,” Damen blurted out. “She wants to stay.”

  “I know,” Marcis said.

  “You talked to her?”

  “Earlier. She came by to show me her foot, said she was having the other one done today. She met the wives.”

  Damen sensed something important weighed on Marcis’s mind, and he resisted the impulse to prod.

  “They thanked her for rescuing them. Embraced her like family—weren’t affected by her skin, either. Useful information,” he finally said. “Resistance to Rosen skin can help us identify Cidran souls in human bodies.”

  “Why do you want to single them out?” Damen fingered the Aprica symbol on his robes.

  “Look, Damen,” Marcis snapped. “I want to know who I’m dealing with.”

  Damen could understand to some degree. They’d all been raised to be suspicious of the Cidrans. What he didn’t understand was why Marcis was so fanatical about it. “You don’t think they’ll get in the way of the rebellion?”

  “No, of course not. Wait. How do you know?”

  “I listened to you and Carew through a hole in the floor of the room you locked me in.”

  “One of Noble’s spies, are you? Have you told him yet?”

  Damen let the insult slide. “No. He doesn’t know to ask me anything about it.”

  “For now. Well, the Cidrans happen to hate Noble too. Look at Lasca. After she helped Jennica release the Cidrans in the harem room, they infected her, and then she became an assassin. A servant girl. With no weapons training. If anything, the Cidrans are helping to move the revolution along.”

  Poor Lasca. How many Cidrans shared her body with her? They’d changed her into someone he didn’t recognize. She’d always displayed high energy and a sharp tongue, but she wasn’t a killer. Not until the Cidrans got a hold of her. Maybe Marcis was right: it was better to know who you were dealing with.

  “How would you’ve known Lasca was a Cidran mix if Jennica hadn’t told you?” Damen asked.

  “That’s the problem, isn’t it? I wouldn’t know. Pure Cidran souls have gold eyes, but the Cidran-human mixes don’t. And unlike the harem wives, I haven’t felt more protective of Lasca while she’s been imprisoned than I do anyone else. Just the opposite, it seems: there’ve been quite a few times already where I’ve had to fight off the urge to throttle her.”

  Damen raised an eyebrow. A day hadn’t gone by where he hadn’t wanted to throttle Marcis. “Well if that’s how I’m supposed to identify a Cidran mix, then I’d say you’ve got Cidran in you.”

  “Ha—as do you, Damen, as do you.”

  They looked at each other suspiciously for a moment.

  “Does Lasca know she has them inside her?” Damen asked.

  “I guess I should have you come down to the dungeons and talk to her. She says no, and I can’t tell if she’s lying or unaware. But there’s no question she’s different. The Lasca I knew was . . . kinder,” he said.

  Might not be the Cidrans. Torture will steal the kindness right out of a person. But Damen kept the words to himself. He examined the palms and backs of his hands. Did Lasca even remember the Cidrans entering her body? Would anyone? “Maybe that’s the only way to tell. The victim’s personality changes.”

  “Yes—that makes identification so much easier. Thank you for the insight.”

  “Just trying to be helpful. I didn’t want to talk to you about Cidrans anyway.”

  “I know. So let’s talk about Jennica. She says she wants to stay, but it’s up to us to persuade her to leave.”

  “No.” Damen had learned that once Jennica had her mind made up, there was no convincing her otherwise. Besides, he was done forcing his will on other people.

  “Hear me out. You’ll change your mind.” Marcis paused as though searching for the most persuasive words. “Argathe’s silver is spreading.”

  “Spreading? She’s had her feet done.”

  “I told you she showed me her left foot? Well, when I saw it, the silver extended in a strip all the way up her calf, and ended on the inside of her knee.”

  Damen curled his hands into fists. He could strangle Argathe for using her dark science on Jennica.

  “Are you listening, Damen? It’s spreading. If she stays here, she’ll be entirely silver. Do you honestly think that’s what she wants?”

  “Well . . . what did she say about it? She had to notice too.”

  “She’s worried. Said she’d talk to Argathe about it—”

  Damen interrupted. “But did she say she wanted to leave because of it?”

  “No. But how can she stay? What woman wants her flesh covered in Urion and metal? And what man . . .” he trailed off meaningfully.

  Damen knew what Marcis was trying to say. What man would want a metal woman? It was hard to contain his annoyance. “I don’t care if she’s silver. I love her. And you shouldn’t care either. What’s wrong with you? Wasn’t it you who said it’s not about the skin?”

  Marcis turned toward the statue of Noble. “It’s all about the skin when Urion is involved.” He said it so quietly, Damen wasn’t sure he heard him correctly. There was more in the spaces between the words than the words themselves.

  “What? Quit sidestepping and just say it.”

  Marcis faced him, his brows furrowed, his facial scars pink and raw. “I do care about her, Damen. I want what’s best for her, and what’s best is for her to go home. Urion and metal are combining with the flesh and blood of the body she inhabits. Urion is insidious, Damen: it eats away at your morality until there’s nothing left. Our most aggressive soldiers are the ones covered with the most scales. It will change her. She must leave, and leave that silver blasphemy of a body behind.

  “If she stays, she’ll be like Noble—invincible. With her body encased in metal, nothing will be able to destroy her. Think of the arrogance that comes with power like that. He’s making her in his own image. Mortality keeps us humble, Damen.”

  Damen shook his head. “Noble might want her to be like him, but she never will be. This is Jennica we’re talking about! She despises Noble and everything he stands for. She’s willing to risk her life to keep him away from Earth.”

  “And you don’t think that’s selfish? It’s fine for him to terrorize Astrune, but threaten Earth and now she wants to do something about it?” He suddenly took Damen by the shoulders. “She has to go back to Earth. And then I will kill her silver body with the Sword of Urion so no other soul can come back to it. Do you hear me?”

  “Do you hear yourself?”

  “Then I won’t count on your help, Damen. You’re too emotionally involved. Just stay out of my way. Do not interfere.”

  Not likely. Damen’s plan did not include killing Jennica’s body, whether or not it was silver. And now he knew he couldn’t rely on Marcis—Marcis had his own agenda. Maybe Marcis was infected with Cidrans. What else could account for his single-minded determination to remove Jennica from both their lives?

  He headed out of the courtyard, but stopped and threw a glance over his shoulder, consumed with the desire to lash out at the man who claimed to love Jennica one minute, then wanted to send her away the next. He held back the urge to tell Marcis it was his scale Argathe had used as the seed for Jennica’s new metal.

  No. He wouldn’t tell him. He was done wasting
time on childish jealousy. He had to get to the Sword of Urion. If Marcis didn’t acquire the sword, he wouldn’t be able to murder Jennica’s body. Damen would hide it somewhere Marcis would never find. Damen knew the perfect spot.

  DAMEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  THE SWORD OF URION

  The most obvious place for a sword made from Urion was the Urion room. The dark scientist who’d created the sword would’ve had access to as much Urion as he needed. But the room was guarded day and night: only the scientists and Noble were allowed entry, and Noble rarely went inside, preferring to have Urion brought to him in manageable doses when he needed it.

  It was a good in-plain-sight hiding spot and where Damen decided to look first.

  But the closer he got to the Urion room, the more his confidence drained away. He told himself that he’d survived once for Nyima; he could do it again for Jennica. But this time, he didn’t have a Rosen princess to distract the guards. This time he’d have to use a different approach, where he was the only one put in harm’s way.

  “Aprica watch over me,” he prayed. Then he spoke to the small lantern in his hand—one of Noble’s last remaining Cidran lanterns. “I need your help to protect Nobless. Distract the soldiers long enough so I can get in and out of the Urion room. A few minutes, and then you can go on your way.”

  He felt like a fool talking to the lantern, but Jennica had insisted he could trust the Cidrans. He was doubtful. The wives with Cidran souls were truthful enough, but they were also manipulative and troubling. And of course Lasca would never be the same. But the ones in Jennica’s room . . . those Cidrans had saved her life. Hopefully whatever loyalty the Cidrans had for Jennica would temporarily extend to him.

  “Do you understand?” he asked. “We need your help. Nobless needs your help.”

  The lantern glowed brighter in response—a good sign. Jennica told him they heard and saw everything that went on in the castle, but they couldn’t speak from behind the glass. If he wanted to hear what a Cidran had to say, he’d have to let him out.

  Damen struck the lantern against the stone wall. The soldiers guarding the Urion room reacted immediately to the noise. Shouting, one charged around the corner and stopped just short of crashing into Damen.

  “What’s going on here?” Thick fingers grabbed Damen around the neck, lifting him off his feet.

  “I broke the lantern to release the Cidrans,” Damen squeaked out, looking around frantically. Where did they go? This was such a terrible plan—they’d left him. They’d disappeared. Gone.

  “Why’d you do something like that? Are you the traitor who’s been breaking them out?”

  Damen’s mouth opened to tell the truth, but the only sound he could make was a strained gurgle as the soldier squeezed. Red spots darted in front of his eyes. So this is what it feels like to choke to death. His peripheral vision shut off.

  Suddenly the pressure subsided and Damen slumped to the floor, his lungs gasping for air. The soldier who only a second earlier had been squeezing out his life now sat lifeless on the floor, a sword stuck through his middle, its blade poking out from under his ribs.

  The second guard grabbed Damen’s hand and pulled him to his feet. “We need to hide the body. Then I’ll guard the door while you’re inside.”

  “Are, uh, you, the Cidrans, inside uh—you?”

  The soldier’s eyes flickered gold then back to gray. “We don’t have much time. A new rotation comes through soon. We can put his body in the Urion room.” The Cidran soldier grabbed the back of the dead man’s tunic and dragged him around the corner.

  “Did you have to kill him?” Damen followed down the passageway. The dead soldier’s eyes were locked on his, accusing him.

  “He would’ve killed you otherwise.”

  They opened the door to the Urion room, and the Cidran soldier hid the body inside. But they couldn’t hide the trail of blood.

  “Get what you came for. I’ll keep a lookout.”

  Careful to avoid stepping on the dead soldier, Damen slipped inside. A small mountain of Urion, its blue glow pulsing like a heartbeat, towered toward the ceiling. A headache stabbed him between the eyes.

  “Give me the body,” a voice thundered in his head. “Fresh blood, flesh still warm.”

  Damen shuddered. Yearning ached through his chest. His fingers encircled the dead soldier’s wrist. He tugged and pulled, dragging the body forward toward the Urion.

  “That’s it. Closer. Closer.”

  The Cidran outside pounded on the door. “Hurry, Damen! A servant saw the blood.”

  Startled, Damen dropped the soldier’s hand. The sword. He was here for the sword. He made a picture in his mind of a sword and focused.

  “Forget the sword—you want the blood . . . you need the blood.”

  “Get out of my head!” Unlike the last time, Damen knew better than to get anywhere near the blue dust. This time, he’d stay in control.

  There, on a stone table against the wall—the sword. The blue blade glowed against a silver hilt encrusted with blue stones. The most beautiful weapon he’d ever seen. It looked finished, too. Whichever dark scientist had made it must’ve lied to Marcis about the timeline. Snatching the finished sword was even better than stealing a work in progress; but either way, the important thing was that Marcis wouldn’t get to it first and use it against Jennica.

  Damen opened his robe and slid the sword into a scabbard strapped to his waist. The sword felt surprisingly light, as though the blade itself were constructed of air and the entire weight came from the hilt. He’d hide the sword in his robes until he could place it in its new hiding place—safe from Marcis.

  “Put the sword back, Damen.” This voice was not inside his head. Farrar, Noble’s metalworks scientist, stood next to the dead soldier, his dagger drawn, his face grim. He must’ve followed the blood in the hall and come inside to investigate.

  “I’ve worked too long on that sword for you to just walk in and take it.”

  Before Damen could decide what to do, Farrar clutched at his head. “Damn Urion. I forgot to bring my helmet. Can’t stay here for more than a minute. Put down the sword and come with me, Damen. We’ll talk—away from here.”

  A helmet! So that was how dark scientists managed to work next to so much Urion. The helmet must shield the mind. The sword, the sword, the sword. As long as Damen kept focused, he could shield his mind like a helmet and keep the Urion out of his head. Farrar was an old man used to protection. Damen had been in the Urion room with only his wits to keep him safe before. He would outlast Farrar. “No,” Damen said. “The sword is mine now.”

  Farrar rubbed at his temple, the dagger shaking in his hand. “We have to leave Damen, before . . .” His dagger clattered to the floor. He dropped to one knee. “Get—out of here.”

  Damen didn’t know if Farrar was speaking to him or to the Urion invading his head. He didn’t wait to find out; he rushed for the door.

  “I saw you take the sword. I’ll come after you,” Farrar groaned. “Right after I feed it.”

  As the door started to swing shut behind him, over his shoulder Damen saw Farrar grinning and drooling while he dragged the soldier’s corpse toward the Urion. Dammit. He couldn’t leave him.

  Barreling back into the room, Damen kept his focus on his new goal: grabbing and dragging that crotchety old man to safety. The grabbing part was easy. The dragging part was not. Farrar wouldn’t release the soldier’s corpse. Damen finally threw his arm around Farrar’s neck and yanked backward with all his strength.

  Farar went limp and fear shot through Damen. Dear Aprica, did he just break the old man’s neck? Damen’s concentration cracked.

  The Urion poked and prodded Damen’s mind, like it was testing the new weakness. “Bring them both to me,” it commanded inside his head. But the voice was still small yet, and Damen could ignore it for now. Getting out of this room—with Farrar—was all that mattered.

  “Come on, Farrar.” The scienti
st was lighter when he wasn’t struggling. Damen threaded his arms underneath Farrar’s, locked his hands across the old man’s chest, and hauled him backward across the room. Farrar slipped when Damen switched his weight to one side to open the door, but Damen was able to recover him before the old man hit the floor. With a few grunts and a final heave, they were outside the Urion room.

  Damen laid him on the stone passageway and squatted beside him, searching for signs of life.

  Farrar’s eyelids fluttered and he groaned.

  So he hadn’t killed the old man after all, but Damen wasn’t eager for him to wake up and reclaim the sword, either.

  The Cidran soldier who was supposed to be guarding the door had disappeared. Then Damen noticed the servants clustered around the trail of blood drying on the stones. They must’ve seen Damen coming out of the Urion room.

  Damen ran.

  A female voice called out after him, but still he ran. He took the back passageways, ears tuned for the sound of following footsteps. Finally he slipped out of the castle under the gatehouse hidden behind several rubbish carts. When the carts split off toward the city waste pits, Damen sprinted again. Through Durand, he ran along the edges of the darkening streets.

  Tired—no, exhausted—his lungs screamed, his muscles quaked, but still he ran. He ran to clear his head from the fog of Urion, he ran to shake off the scent of blood. The leather of his sandals rubbed through his old callouses. He ignored the searing sting, focusing only on his next goal. He’d hide the sword so Marcis could never use it against Jennica. No one would ever use it. He didn’t slow down until he reached the black wood behind Argathe’s cabin. At last he stopped at his father’s grave to bury the Sword of Urion.

  JENNICA

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN