Glimmer of Steel (The Books of Astrune Book 1)

by K. E. Blaski

  “What do you mean, strange?” The whole thing was strange—what about the coverage could make it strange enough to mention?

  “Your back, where your robe slips down, is still Rosen, but faded: a pale pink. Here along the tops of your shoulders and down your arms, it’s metal. But here, it stops, and then the metal starts again—here.” He traced her spine with his fingertips, and she jumped.

  “You’re cold.”

  “Sorry.” He curled his fingers to his mouth and blew on them. “I’m going to check the back of your neck.” Lifting her hair, he touched the nape of her neck and sent a shiver through her that was completely not related to being cold.

  “No silver,” he said. “But not dark Rosen like before.” He walked back around. “You can see it’s all over the front of you.”

  A permanent metal jumpsuit. The more she thought about it, the more nauseous she got.

  “All the skin your robe left exposed didn’t turn silver—face, hands, back of your neck—but it’s not exactly Rosen anymore, either. I wonder if exposure to light or air is affecting the process.”

  He helped her slip back into her robe. “It’ll be okay,” he whispered.

  She wasn’t so sure. “Do you think it’s on the inside of me too?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know, I guess—I wonder if the metal will keep me from having children—you know, later.” She felt silly bringing motherhood up when her immediate future was all about day-to-day survival. Until this moment, she hadn’t thought about what it meant to grow old on Astrune, what it meant to have a family of her own.

  “Did you want to have children, someday?”

  “I guess the possibility I won’t be able to makes me . . . care about it.”

  “You’re worried.”

  “I’m worried about everything.” She started to pace while she talked. “I mean, what if I survive all this, but I can never, you know . . . have a normal relationship with a guy?”

  “You mean physically?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re beautiful, Jennica. Any man would be lucky to have you. I’d be lucky. To have you.”

  “But what if I can’t? What if my parts don’t work that way anymore because of the metal?”

  “We should find out.” Damen grinned.

  She raised her eyebrows. “Thought you’ve been taking inhibitor.”

  “I have, but we could try anyway. I heard Quintus say Noble didn’t want to see you tonight. We have the whole night to find out if your parts work. And if my parts work.”

  Thinking about sex with Damen made her dizzy and alive. She loved him. He should be the one.

  But she wasn’t swept away with emotion like she’d been on the North Tower the first time Damen had told her he loved her. Right now, she happened to have her wits about her. So what about birth control? If her parts did work, birth control was a conversation they’d better have before, rather than after. Being a mom was something for her future self to consider, not her current self. What exactly did people use on Astrune anyway? Mr. Schmidt hadn’t covered that topic in medieval history.

  Ultimately though, it was the thought of Noble that kept her from going any further. Self-restraint was easier when the alternative was death.

  “Noble,” she said. “He’ll know.”

  “Noble,” Damen echoed.

  “Will you stay with me anyway? For the night? Even if we can’t, you know.” She felt suddenly fluent in the language of awkward.

  “I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

  Furti was an effective chaperone. He lay horizontally between them, stretching his hind legs against Damen’s chest. Whenever Jennica changed position, she saw the animal’s watchful eyes reflect the moonlight. She drifted off to the low rumble of Furti’s purring.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  “By Aprica’s light!” Damen startled her from sleep.

  “What?” she cried out. “I’m silver?”

  “No, no. Your face. It’s—” He grabbed a hand mirror and thrust it in front of her. “See for yourself.”

  The face staring back wasn’t silver. And it wasn’t purple, either. It wasn’t even pink. It was a warm complexion, like creamy coffee. In a cartoon, exclamation points would be floating above her head and alarm bells would be ringing next to her ears.

  “I’m not Rosen! But we . . . didn’t. Did we?”

  “No.” He sounded as shocked as she was. “I hope we would remember if we did.”

  “Then why?”

  Damen shook his head, his mouth open, eyes wide. “Could be a transition phase, before you turn silver,” he suggested. “Or . . . Argathe made a mistake. Or maybe,” he considered aloud, “maybe you don’t have to make love to change a Rosen princess. Maybe you only need to be in love,” he said.

  Heat flushed against her cheeks. She checked her arms. The metal gleamed in the morning light, stopping at her wrist. Her hands were the same tone as her face.

  “The back of your neck is silver now.” Damen peeked over her shoulder.

  She touched her face, examining her skin in the mirror. “So this is my real color. The color I was meant to be,” she said, using Lasca’s terms.

  “Do you like it?” Damen asked.

  She took in the face reflected back at her: wide eyes, narrow chiseled nose, full lips, and the skin of a Brazilian model. “Very much. How long do you think it will last?”

  “I hate to say this, but I hope it doesn’t last. If Noble sees you like this, he’ll think—”

  “But we didn’t.”

  “I assure you, he won’t verify your story before he removes both your soul and your head from your body.”

  Damen was right. Noble’s reaction would be swift and violent—and it wouldn’t just be her head. He’d take Damen’s, and then the head of everyone else she cared about: Marcis, Amada, Lasca, Fausto. He wouldn’t stop there, either; she imagined him eating the souls of everyone in the castle. What did he care if there was no one left to serve him? He was going to Earth.

  “What am I going to do? What if it’s permanent?” She couldn’t believe she actually wished she’d awakened silver.

  “Stay here, so no one else sees you. I’ll go to the kitchens. Maybe they have something to cover your skin.”

  “The moons will be full tonight, Damen.”

  “I’ll hurry.” He stopped at the door. “Would you mind?”

  She pushed it open easily. The benefit of metal arms.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  “You should wear a robe that shows off your silver.” Damen handed her a midnight blue garment. Instead of covering her like a monk, this one plunged down the front. She pulled the V together across her breasts.

  Damen took her hand away, and the robe gaped open. “Trust me, it’ll keep him from paying close attention to your face.” He attempted a smile and set to work opening the tin he’d brought. Inside, flecks of metal glistened inside a silver paste.

  “What’s in it?”

  He spread the concoction on her throat and under her chin. “Tallow, clay, charcoal; the sparkles are a piece of obsidian Korvin ground up and mixed in.”

  “Korvin from Sign Song?” The groundskeeper had many talents.

  “One of several contributors. The paste was a group effort.”

  “Did you tell them why you needed it?”

  He dabbed the tip of her nose. “They ask. I tell. Can’t be helped. But they’re on our side.” He continued to apply the paste.

  “It smells funny.”

  “You’ll have to wear a strong fragrance to mask it. I brought . . .” He pulled a teal-colored decanter from his robe and set it on the table. “Linnaea perfume. Flavia’s donation. Does the paste feel all right? It doesn’t scratch, does it?”

  “Feels like makeup.”

  “That’s good, right?” He rubbed the paste on her cheeks.

  “Fine. I hope this works.”

  He stole her strength with an urgent kiss. “Wow,” was a
ll she could manage to say afterward.

  “Can’t kiss you with your face covered. You can’t let Noble kiss you, either. This paste will rub right off. You can’t get close to him.”

  “I have to steal his transfer stone. I have to kill him. I can’t do either from a distance.”

  He kissed her again, even longer this time. She had to sit afterward. “Please don’t keep kissing me like it’s our last kiss.”

  “All right.” He covered the rest of her face with the paste, taking extra care when he got to her lips. “Give me your hands.” He held them, kissed each in turn, lingering on the one with the scar, now faded against her cocoa-colored skin. Carefully he applied the paste, front and back. “You can’t kill him with these hands, Jennica. They won’t be strong enough.”

  “I know. But I won’t need my hands. I’m trained to take a person down with just my legs and feet. I can swipe his legs out from under him. Once I get him on the ground, I’ll kneel on his throat, or kick his head.” When she described how she intended to hurt Noble, her metal skin tingled pleasantly. She continued, and felt stronger with each word. “Argathe said there’s a gap in his scales on his neck. A tiny gap, but big enough to push in a sword. If I push hard enough, I’ll be able to rip his head off.” Just imagining it made her blood rush. She was strangely exhilarated. Like right before a karate tournament. Except now she wouldn’t just leave bruises behind. Now, her kicks could kill a normal opponent. Too bad Noble wasn’t normal. “What about the Sword of Urion? The one you buried?”

  Damen’s brows furrowed. “The Sword of Urion can kill him, but you’d have to make sure no one disarmed you. It can kill you too. There, all finished.”

  She modeled her hands. They didn’t look bad—as long as no one looked too close.

  “Where are you supposed to meet with him?” The tin disappeared inside his robe.

  “The North Tower. The servants doing the setup wanted to know what color I wanted for the pillows. Can you believe it?”

  “He’s taking you to the North Tower?”

  “Yes—the transfer is supposed to happen right after we—” The words stuck in her mouth for a moment. “We consummate the marriage. Argathe said the transfer would only work up there. It’s where Nyima was during our transfer.”

  “She convinced Noble to go to the North Tower. This could work in our favor.”

  “How so?”

  “Stay along the outer edge of the tower. As close to the edge as you can get—without falling off, of course. Noble will have a hard time going near you. If he does get near you, he’ll be distracted. Horribly distracted.”

  What Damen said didn’t make sense. Noble was determined. What could possibly distract him?

  “What’s the one thing you remember most about the North Tower?” he asked.

  “Kissing.”

  He smiled. “Besides that.”

  She recalled the last time she was up there: the noisy wind, the entire city displayed below like a panoramic postcard. Then realization hit her. “The North Tower is the highest place in the castle. And Noble is . . .”

  “Afraid of heights,” they said in unison.

  JENNICA

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  THE THIRD POISON PLUS ONE DROP

  Quintus escorted her as far as the stairwell to the North Tower. “The metal looks good on you, Nobless.” He pursed his lips and gave her the once-over. “Like a shined-up buckle.”

  She thought it was intended as a compliment, so she said, “Thanks, Quintus.” Then she tried to ask casually, “What happened last night with the harem wife? The one who turned herself in?”

  “Shouldn’t tell you. The other soldiers are keeping it hushed. But . . .”

  Maybe he thought sharing secrets wasn’t a punishable offense if sharing them with someone scheduled to leave Astrune in a couple of hours. Or maybe he just felt sorry for her. Either way, he leaned in closer and said, “She and her Cidran friends tried to kill him. She busted the last of his lanterns and those light balls swarmed him. They had no effect on him though. Saw it with my own eyes. Commotion brought five of us to his aid, and we stood there and watched the Cidrans sting him while he strangled Molline.”

  “I’ll take her from here.” Damen came down the stairwell to meet them, so she didn’t have time to react to Quintus’s horrific news. Damen took her elbow, leading her away.

  “Good-bye, Nobless.” Quintus disappeared down the hallway.

  “Nervous?” Damen asked while Quintus was within earshot, then he whispered hoarsely, “When I went to get the sword, it was gone. Someone must have followed me after I stole it, saw where I buried it.”

  Panic crawled up Jennica’s throat, tightening around her windpipe like Noble’s claws around Molline’s. Molline, who died trying to kill Noble.

  “I have a plan, Jennica—follow my lead. You know I love you, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “More than anything, Jennica. I love you more than anything. Trust me?”

  The tone in his voice sent alarm bells through her brain. His eyes were too bright, his words too forced, as if that made any sense. She couldn’t bring herself to give him the yes he craved. Mostly or not completely, seemed too cruel to say. If she said yes but didn’t fully believe it, he’d know. So she turned his question inside out. “You keep asking me. Why?”

  “I sense that you don’t trust me. But, I’m okay,” he said when she frowned. “It’s okay. I understand. I know I have to earn it.” He nodded to himself. “Let’s do this. He’s to the left of the doorway, against the wall. Step to the right, and then go straight to the tower’s edge.”

  Her fingers clasped the stone around her neck. Its weight comforted her, as did the weight of Damen’s dagger strapped under her robe. The dagger was plan B. It wouldn’t pierce his metal scales, but she’d seen him up close enough to know that those scales didn’t cover the insides of his ears, or his eyes.

  If she could get to his eyes before he strangled her. Maybe she could temporarily blind him. She’d entertained the thought before. But she could go further than merely gouging his eyes with her thumbs. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to heal his eyes if she plucked them out and tossed them off the tower. He’d deserve that. The metal skin on her body sizzled in anticipation.

  “I love you too, Damen,” she told him because she could.

  “Hearing you say that . . . right now, and right here, it means everything to me. You’ve changed my life, Jennica. For the better. I wanted you to know that.” He paused, his fingertips above her mouth, grazing her lips. “Let’s go.” He let his hand fall away.

  The North Tower had been transformed into another wedding suite, except instead of an enormous bed in the center, there was an acre of pillows, and instead of lantern light, flaming torches cast wavering shadows. A table teemed with food and drink. Noble’s sardonic flower petals drifted in small dunes against the turret stones.

  “Beautiful.” Noble’s gaze felts like hands—with claws. He wore an open white vest that emphasized his chiseled metal chest. The black transfer stone hung on a cord around his neck.

  Jennica crossed the tower, circumventing the pillows, and sat on the ledge. If she and Damen were wrong about his fear of heights, he’d rush toward her, grab her, and force a kiss—a kiss that would wipe away her mask of silver paste, revealing her true skin. But if he pinned her arms with his own, she was strong enough now she could break free, snap his arms like twigs in the process. Then, she’d knee him in the groin and buy enough time to reach the dagger. She mentally stepped through her options.

  He took three steps from the wall and stopped. “My lovely, come to me.” He beckoned, his claws dark in the firelight.

  I won’t, she wanted to scream. “I’m . . . nervous,” she said even though, remarkably, she wasn’t. She didn’t have a drop of fear. Her blood steamed with her wrath, and it felt surprisingly good.

  “She speaks the truth.” Damen’s voice, from behind the table of food. “Some flo
rimel wine to calm the nerves, then I’ll leave you two alone.”

  What was Damen up to? It almost sounded like he’d lied. But that was impossible. Could she be a little bit nervous and not realize it—so when she’d said she was nervous, he sensed some truth?

  Plus, wine didn’t sound like a good idea at all. A gallon wouldn’t calm her racing heart and this growing desire to shred Noble into gecko-sized pieces. And they wanted Noble’s nerves to be paralyzed by his acrophobia, not empowered with wine.

  Damen handed her a goblet and, with his back to Noble, mouthed the words, “Trust me.”

  “Thank you.” She took the cup.

  Damen grasped a second goblet from the table and brought it over to Noble, who let loose an inflated sigh. Jennica swore she saw the corner of Damen’s mouth twitch.

  “Damen, Damen. When have I ever taken drink from you without asking first, my young truthsayer? Hmm? What do I always ask?” Noble chastised him like a parent to a child.

  “You ask me if I want to poison you, and I always say yes. Because I do want to poison you, sir.” Damen stood tall when he spoke, his shoulders back, neck lean and long. “Then, you ask me if there is poison in what I’m offering you. I can assure you, my answer is still a thousand times, no.”

  “It’s what I love about the Tovars. As always, you will drink first. Just in case.”

  Damen drank from the cup, then he handed it to Noble, who swallowed the remaining wine in one gulp. “Leave us,” Noble ordered.

  With the empty cup, Damen slowly, deliberately walked to the table. Something was wrong in those steps, in the way he clasped the cup between shaking fingers.

  “Damen!” Jennica shouted, coming toward him.

  He held out a hand and yelled back at her, “Stay at the edge! Don’t come closer.”

  She stopped and watched in horror as he seized his stomach, crumpling to his knees. “No, no, no!” she moaned. What has he done?

  “What?” was all Noble said, before he, too, collapsed to the ground. Then he howled, a guttural war cry that chilled her. “Poison? Poison will not kill me.” He snarled and forced himself to stand. He stumbled toward Damen, who curled into a fetal position under the table.