Glimmer of Steel (The Books of Astrune Book 1)

by K. E. Blaski

  THE SILVER GIRL

  Jennica held the hand mirror to the back of her leg and twisted, craning her neck to see the horrible truth. The silver now covered both her calves and her hamstrings, stopping just shy of her butt. This morning it had showed up on her chest like a rash. Growing and stretching while she slept: an alien taking over her body.

  Her efforts to stop it seemed to make the metal increase faster, like it knew what she was up to. Last night, after she’d told Noble everything she knew about energy sources, and Quintus had escorted her back to her room, she’d pulled out Damen’s knife.

  Florimel wine might’ve helped to deaden the pain, but she hadn’t thought that far ahead. Her initial preparation had included only a deep breath, and then she’d slid the tip of the blade where silver skin met purple. A torrent of tears later, all she’d managed to do was hack up the part of her flesh that was still human. The metal wouldn’t budge. She couldn’t cut it or pry it off, and she couldn’t make it stop.

  What had seemed like a good idea at the time—trading in her clunky silver boots for feet that resembled feet again, albeit silver ones—had turned into a horror movie. When the credits rolled at the end, the monster would be played by none other than Jennica Lorinne Duncan.

  It wouldn’t be long now. Argathe had said the process would conclude by the time the moons were full. Already, Taros and Candria had been so large in the sky the previous night that she could’ve touched them with her fingertips. The old woman’s plan was well underway. Once the metal encased Jennica’s body, Noble would think it safe to have sex with her without killing her. And instead, she’d kill him. Then Argathe would send her home—her Earth home.

  That was Argathe’s plan. But there was a gaping hole in it: Jennica. She couldn’t do it. She wasn’t a murderer.

  “Don’t look at it from such a narrow point of view,” Argathe had said to her yesterday. “You’ll be protecting yourself, protecting Astrune, protecting Earth. You’re saving lives, doing a public service. Everyone will be better off.”

  When Argathe had explained it, it had made perfect sense, like killing Hitler to prevent the Holocaust. But as soon as Argathe left, all of Jennica’s doubts and fears had crashed in around her.

  By now, the storms had completely washed away Kornelia’s blood from the ground, as if she’d never existed. “I sort of killed Kornelia,” Jennica mused aloud. “Indirectly, anyway. If I hadn’t broken the lantern, I’d be the one dead right now. And Madam Meilyn, I sort of killed her too.” Furti circled through her legs, purring. She picked him up, snuggling him on her shoulder, rubbing her face into his fur, and drying off her puffy, wet face.

  She set him on the bed and lifted the lid from the small box Argathe had given her. Inside the box nestled a polished black stone, fastened to a cord. She tied the necklace at the nape of her neck. The stone lay heavy and cold against her chest.

  “You must wear the stone, or hold it, either way makes no difference,” Argathe had said. “Your soul will transfer when Taros is at the same height as Candria, but you must be touching the stone. You’ll see the moons easily from the top of the North Tower. Kill him before they align, or all is lost.” She’d waggled a blackened finger at Jennica. “Understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Noble will have a stone, too—take it from him. Do not risk sending his soul to Earth. Even his dead soul.”

  That’s all she needed: to have some paramedic on Earth revive the greatest evil ever known with a defibrillator. “What should I do with his stone?”

  “Hold on to it. Do not let it out of your hands. Whoever touches these stones is going to Earth. Understand?”

  She understood, all right. She understood that no one would be touching the stones when those moons lined up. She’d destroy them, or hide them. She couldn’t throw them away for fear someone else would pick them up. As far as she was concerned, soul exchanges between Astrune and Earth were officially over.

  Her actions would strand her on Astrune forever, and she felt at peace with that decision. If she was honest with herself, she felt more alive on Astrune than she ever had on Earth. Bit by forgotten bit, she’d been disappearing under her parents’ noses for years. They probably didn’t even recognize she was gone. And even if they did notice a difference, they probably preferred Nyima’s more compliant version of a daughter anyway.

  Did Nyima like Jennica’s world? A world where people pretended you could be anything you wanted to be, as long as what you wanted didn’t conflict with what they wanted?

  People on Astrune lived by harsher rules. Pain engulfed this planet. You could feel it, taste it, a bitter and poisonous pill. Sure, Nyima had to be going through adjustments, but she had it easier now: no more provocative skin, no more soul-sucking lizard man. A few boring classes, a few tough exams, a never-ending stream of homework—a cakewalk compared to Astrune. And physically? The worst physical challenges Jennica’s body ever endured were shoveling snow off the driveway and attending Shohan Sato’s karate classes.

  Nyima’s soul was better suited for Earth; princesses did well in Jennica’s world. Grandma Lorinne, Grandpa Paul, Uncle Ed, Sam and Lisbeth—they were the good guys, and they’d make sure Nyima was all right.

  She missed them; God knew she missed them. Just thinking about Grandma Lorinne made her weepy. But seeing them all again meant going back in some other girl’s body, trying to explain who she was and where she’d been. Worst of all, going back meant ripping someone else from her family and plopping her down on Astrune. She couldn’t let that happen.

  Sitting cross-legged on the bed, she clasped her silver knees. From the inside, they felt the same. She felt pressure, and the warmth from her hands. From the outside, the silver skin felt smooth, warm, and yielding. She could squeeze her calf, make a temporary dimple on her foot, pinch her toe, and recognize all the sensations, except one: pain. And of course, she couldn’t mark the new skin. When she dug her fingernails into her knee, she couldn’t even leave little crescent moons behind.

  When Damen felt her foot, he’d said the silver skin felt just like regular skin.

  Damen. She couldn’t go long without thinking about him. What had it been, twenty minutes?

  For the last four days, she’d only seen him when she was with Noble. At first, her anger had kept her from looking at him. He’d given her truth serum intended for Marcis, and had changed his mind too late, as if intent softened what he’d done. He hadn’t stopped her from drinking it, hadn’t told her what was happening, and had kept it all a secret afterward until she’d asked him the right question.

  But what pressed on her mind more than anything were the words she’d said while under the potion’s influence. She’d told Damen that she loved him. Would she have told him without it? Though she’d had the feelings, would she ever have voiced them aloud? And would he have ever said “love” if she hadn’t said the word first? She thought she could trust him—he was a truthsayer after all—but he’d ended up betraying her. Would her life ever be . . . simple?

  Impossible. Her life had never been simple. Even before Astrune, she’d always had her parents’ drama to contend with. Grandma Lorinne had said her parents’ relationship was doomed from the beginning because they were too much alike—both stubborn and unforgiving, both searching for better when “good enough” was right in front of them. Were she and Damen doomed as well?

  One Sunday during the first summer break after her parents’ divorce, she’d sat on the porch swing with Grandpa Paul and asked him how he and Grandma had stayed together for so long. He’d said, “You gotta learn when to be the tree and when to be the grass.” She didn’t have a clue what he meant, but she knew if she waited long enough, he’d get to an explanation. That was Grandpa’s style, slow and measured. “You see, when the storms come, the oak stands high and mighty. But the grass—it bends until the storm passes. Who do you think has the harder time of it?”

  “Don’t know, Grandpa. Never been a tree. Or grass.”
<
br />   He shook his head. “You’re missing the point, darling. Big wind comes along, can rip that tree right up by its roots. Crack it right in half. What good did it do for the tree to be so steadfast? Grass is smart: it knows it’ll dry out, bounce right back up.”

  “Paul, if you spoke in English instead of Parable, people would understand you better,” Grandma had said. She’d passed out her signature lemonade with verbena leaves crushed at the bottom of the glass.

  “Right y’are, puddin’. Right y’are. Mmm, this is good.” He’d swigged half the glass down, then winked at Jennica. “Like grass bending in the breeze.”

  “I get it, Grandpa,” she said to her empty room now. “I finally get it.” She pounded on the door. “Anyone out there? Hello?”

  “Yes, Nobless,” a man’s voice answered. A soldier, but not Quintus this time.

  “Would you ask Damen to come see me? I need to talk with him.”

  “Right away, Nobless.”

  While she waited, Jennica marked a line on her bedframe for today—her twenty-ninth line overall—and then went ahead and marked tomorrow’s line too. She reread the messages from Noble’s wives, their words both heartbreaking and hopeless. But they didn’t make her tremble with fear anymore. She wasn’t like those women. There was a reason why she, out of all the souls on Earth, had been chosen. Maybe it was because of her outstanding . . . what? Jennica tried to think of one personal characteristic that had allowed her to survive with her soul intact longer than any of Noble’s other wives. She settled on . . . resilience.

  And strength, and imagination, and smarts, a voice said inside her head. This time the voice wasn’t Uncle Ed’s, or Grandma Lorinne’s, or Grandpa Paul’s. Jennica recognized the voice as her own.

  Noble was the ultimate bully. He had physical power over her, yes. But he couldn’t drive her to despair like he had so many others. Not unless she gave him that power. She wasn’t about to hand it over to him now.

  So why did she give that power to her parents? She’d been letting them turn her into someone as resentful and bitter as they were. Letting them twist her into a copy of her mother: afraid to love and be loved. Well not anymore.

  “The divorce was their business! It had nothing to do with me!” she shouted to the empty room.

  She was finally ready. She took Damen’s knife in her hand and carved her own message into the bedframe. She dug into the wood as neatly and deeply as she could, and then she felt the edges with her fingertips. Four simple words that only she’d ever see. Because after tomorrow, there would never be another Rosen princess to read them while waiting to die on her wedding night.

  Jennica would live and stay on Astrune. She’d ruin Noble’s latest plan. She’d free Amada and Fausto and all the prisoners, and she’d release the last of the Cidrans from their glass prisons. She’d destroy all the Urion, ensure all Rosen girls stayed safe, and do something about those awful hawks, she added to her mental checklist. And because she’d be covered in Urion’s silver metal—“invincible,” Argathe had said—who could tell her no?

  At the window, a light breeze played in her hair and on her skin.

  “I am a survivor,” she said, repeating her carved message aloud.

  JENNICA

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  FORGIVENESS

  Ashen circles framed Damen’s eyes. Scruff covered his chin and jaw. He mustn’t have slept for the entire four days of her silent treatment. He kept apologizing, explaining his actions, then apologizing for trying to explain, but all she wanted was for him to be quiet and kiss her. If he had to say anything, she thought it’d be nice to hear him say that silver was an okay color for a girl to be—that reflective skin would set off her dark eyes and hair.

  When he took a breath, she squeezed in a few words. “Damen, stop. It’s okay. I’m not angry about it anymore.”

  “I wanted to tell you, was going to tell you, but I was a coward and I promise you I’ll never—”

  “Damen,” she interrupted. “I’m trying to be grass here. Let it go. I have.”

  He looked at her curiously, and extended his hand.

  She didn’t take it. Instead, she leaped into his arms, nearly knocking him over. “I’m tired of being angry.”

  His arms held her firmly, his warm breath on her neck. After a while, she was the one to pull away, but she could still feel him. He cupped her face in his hand. “Are you okay? Marcis said the metal spread past your feet.”

  Gathering up the front of her robe, she showed off her silver legs. She searched his face for a reaction. A flicker of repulsion would be a knife to her heart, but all she saw was his concern.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “No. Not physically, anyway.”

  “You’re scared.” It wasn’t a question—he knew without asking, and she tried not to let his words affect her like she was some weepy girl.

  “I’m trying to be strong.”

  “You’re the strongest woman I know.” He scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed, and she thought how deceptively strong he was and how that was something else to love about him. They crawled under the silky sheets and she nestled her head on his chest, listening to the comforting rhythm of his heart.

  “I missed you,” she breathed.

  He hugged her closer, then released. “Before you ask, I want to tell you what I’ve been up to.”

  “Okay.” She tensed in preparation. He’d chosen this moment to reveal more deep, dark secrets. He’d promised he wouldn’t keep anything from her, and he was trying to live up to his word. He told her about Fascienne and Lombard and their advancing army, about slaughtered hawks, and about the blue sword Marcis meant to use to kill her silver body.

  This last bit of news jolted her upright. “Marcis looked scared when I showed him the metal spreading, but I thought he was scared for me, not scared of me.”

  “He doesn’t want you to become like Noble. And he wants you to go back to Earth. Do you . . . ?” He hesitated.

  “Want to go back?” she finished for him, settling back down into the bed. Propping her head up on her hand, she searched his face full of love and worry. “No, I want to stay.” She placed her hand over his heart.

  “Even though it means living with silver skin?” He covered her hand with his.

  “As long as the silver doesn’t bother you, it won’t bother me.”

  “It’s not about the skin,” he said. “It’s never been about the skin. It’s about what’s inside.”

  The truth never sounded so liberating. She melted into his arms, and they kissed, and kissed, and kissed until her lips hurt, and then they fell asleep.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  Damen was still with her when pounding on the door woke her up. She rubbed the grogginess from her eyes and unsuccessfully stifled a yawn.

  “Nobless! Either answer me or I’ll break open this door.” It was Quintus, and his voice touched the edge of frantic.

  “He must’ve been knocking for a while,” Jennica said to Damen when she saw he was awake. “Just a minute!” she called out, and another round of knocking stopped. “Does he know you’re here?”

  “I don’t think so.” Damen scrambled from under the sheets and hid behind the bed. She heard his voice but couldn’t see him. “Your guards were scarfing food in the kitchen when I snuck in. Not a good idea for him to see me in your bed.”

  She ran to the door before Quintus could open it. It felt good to be limber again and not have to clunk across the room. She pushed, and the door swung open easily. She stepped into the hall and slapped the door closed behind her.

  “Hey, Quintus. What’s up?”

  “Are you okay, Nobless? I knocked but you didn’t answer.”

  “Napping. I fell asleep. Deep. Sleep.” She yawned big and wide.

  “I came to tell you: Noble won’t see you later tonight. In fact, not at all. He’s made other plans.”

  Relief! A night without the stress of Noble was a mini-vacation, but Quintus�
��s tone made her nervous—and the words “other plans” implied Noble was up to something.

  “Tell me what his plans are, soldier.” She thought she had the Nobless act down. It felt good.

  “One of the escaped harem wives turned herself in. Noble’s got her in his room and they asked not to be disturbed. You get a reprieve. Sorry to have woken you.”

  He walked away, and Jennica pulled open the door and went back inside her room, dazed by the information Quintus had shared. When the heavy door thudded behind her, it suddenly occurred to her that she’d handled the door without help.

  “What’s wrong?” Damen asked.

  She pushed up the left sleeve of her robe. Silver coated her arm to the wrist. Damen rushed to her side and pulled up the other sleeve. Her right arm was silver too.

  “It happened so fast,” Damen said. “It’s only been an hour or so.” He pocketed his watch.

  “When I sleep. It happens when I sleep.”

  “Let’s see the rest.”

  Her hands shook. “I can’t.”

  “I’ve seen you naked before—when you were bathing, remember?”

  “It’s not that.” Although it was partly that. She wasn’t in the habit of stripping for an audience, and now that their relationship had changed, nakedness carried a lot more meaning.

  “It’ll be okay. We should see how far it’s spread. Here, I’ll help you. Okay?” he asked, touching her robe at the waist.

  “Okay.” She breathed deeply to slow her racing heart.

  Together, they lifted her robe over her head. They didn’t speak as Damen surveyed her skin. Her first instinct was to cross her arms in front of her breasts, throw a hand over her pubic area, but she didn’t have enough arms or hands to cover all the parts she wanted to cover, so she didn’t even try. Besides, she was sort of wearing a skin-tight silver suit. Her pubic hair was gone. Her nipples, gone. She didn’t even see her belly button any more. Heat crawled across her cheeks and she avoided watching him watch her.

  She sensed him behind her. “The coverage is strange,” he concluded.