by Eve Langlais
Charlotte nodded. “It’s okay. I can already read, and I like doing this more.”
“Knowledge can be as strong as a blade.” Something she recalled hearing Benny say.
“Knowing about stuff doesn’t protect you if a bad person wants to hurt you.”
“True.”
The girl glanced over at her. “Who taught you to fight?”
“My brother. And what he didn’t teach experience did. Getting my ass handed to me in fights was a good way to learn.”
“Your parents?”
Casey shook her head. “Never knew them. I was Incubaii made.”
“You were born in a tank!” Charlie’s eyes widened.
“I was, and I spent my early years in a Creche.”
“What’s a Creche?”
“Where the Emerald Kingdom used to send its babies.”
“Who took care of you?”
“Strangers.” She didn’t remember that time. Too young. But she’d learned since then how the Creche were run, with hugging banned and strict rules. Was it any wonder she had a hard time letting people get close?
“My papa is the one who mostly takes care of me. He loves me, but he’s so worried they’ll take me away like they took her.”
That seemed rather specific. She glanced over at Charlotte. “Took who?”
“My mama,” Charlotte said softly. “She died when I was little. The bad people from the city on the ocean came and killed her. They would have killed me, too, but Papa saved me.”
The story wasn’t an uncommon one in the Wastelands. Only the tough survived. Still…
“I’m sorry about your mother.”
Charlotte shrugged. “I don’t remember her. I’ve only seen pictures. She had beautiful hair. Long and the same color as mine.”
Her death probably explained Roark’s rabid need to protect his child.
“Your father is much stronger now. His kingdom better protected.”
“It won’t stop them when they come to take me away.”
She turned to look at the princess. “Don’t be so sure. They’ll have to go through me first, which, I can assure you, is not as easy as it sounds. So long as I’m standing, you’ll be safe.”
“I guess I’m not right now since you’re lying down.” Said with a giggle.
“Brat,” she rebuked with a smile.
Midafternoon, a variety of guards arrived, each to take their turn having their skills tested. Most proved barely adequate. Only Anita showed any kind of ability, much as it galled Casey to admit. She almost managed a sweat by the time they were done sparring.
With a nod at the woman, she said, “You’ll do, but only within the castle. Excursions outside of it with the princess are to be with me only.”
Anita took offense. “I’m the best one here.”
“Other than me. And Titan. And possibly the next person who comes after the princess.”
Anita’s gaze narrowed. “Who do you think you are, coming here and acting as if you’re better than us?”
“I’m the person who’s going to keep your princess safe.”
“Good to hear.” The single clap had her whirling to see the king had joined them. Wily bastard, she’d never heard him approach.
The princess threw herself at him and hugged his legs. “Papa! Casey threw a knife at me, and I caught it.”
To Casey’s credit, she didn’t wince at the admission, and the king only showed a slight widening of his eyes. “That’s a new skill. Good job, stinkweed.”
“And she showed me where to stick it if they’re bigger and stronger than me.” Charlotte giggled. “It’s a bad spot.”
In that moment, the princess was all child, with none of the maturity she sometimes displayed.
“Don’t need a knife to hurt them there,” Anita confided. “Come, let’s go get you bathed for dinner, and maybe if you’re quick about it, I’ll show you how to punch them just right.”
Given Casey had just offered her approval to Anita, she couldn’t exactly refuse even as she didn’t want to remain alone on the roof with the king. She couldn’t have said why. He’d done nothing. Yet, seeing him…her heart beat faster.
Roark didn’t seem in a hurry to leave. He paced closer, stripping off his jacket, revealing a different shirt than the one he’d worn that morning. “How did the sparring go this afternoon?”
“Well enough if you ignore the fact your guards need more training.”
“My men didn’t used to be soldiers. Most are still learning.”
“I’d recommend daily lessons, grouped by ability. Practice is key.”
“Now if only we had a decent sparring instructor.”
The noise she uttered held quite a bit of disparagement. “Not me. Not happening. Not ever.”
He laughed. “It was worth a try. I don’t suppose you could recommend someone?”
“Titan.”
“Is already very busy.”
“If you don’t mind someone older, I know a person in Haven who might no longer wield a weapon but might be able to teach.”
“I’d like that.”
The spurt of pleasure made no sense. She went to move past him. “Since we’re done here, I should bathe before rejoining the princess.”
“Not yet. I’ve need of you a while longer.”
Abreast of him, she halted. “You don’t tell me what to do because you’re not my main concern. Charlie is.”
“Duly noted. However, it is you, not I, that claimed you wanted to see if I could fight.” He spread his hands as he took a step back. “Here I am. Test me.”
“You don’t have a weapon.” No holster sat at his side.
“Because I rarely need one.”
She scowled. “You are not using your mind tricks on me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. But I am rather proficient in hand-to-hand combat.”
“Most people will attack with a weapon.”
“Then use a knife. Two if you’d like.”
Before he’d finished speaking, the first went spinning, too high to actually hit him, and it was as if he knew. He never even ducked, just lightly angled his head to watch it sail closely overhead.
“And now you’re down to one knife.”
“That’s what you think.” The third one came out of her boot, and he smiled.
“I wonder how many more you have hidden.” He crooked his fingers, beckoning. “Shall we play?”
“This isn’t a game.”
“And yet I’m having fun.”
“Not for long.” She dropped into a half crouch, ready to take the smug look off his face, except they were interrupted.
“Your Highness,” a voice half squeaked.
Roark sighed as he turned. “What is it, Borax?”
“Um, er. It’s a delicate matter, sire.”
“Can it wait?”
“No.” The man looked at Casey then back to the king, his meaning obvious.
She waved. “Better go before Borax completely bursts with his news.”
Roark’s lip curled as he glanced back at her. “Shall we call it a draw?”
“Please. It’s obvious I would have won.” She said it on purpose to antagonize him, and he knew it. Which was why, when he scowled, she smiled and waggled her fingers. “Buh-bye.”
“This isn’t finished,” he grumbled, striding to meet with Borax. They slipped through the door, and she had a moment to decide her next move.
Given she’d just sent Charlotte off with Anita, she took a chance. She sheathed her knives, and once she reached the stairs going down the tower, she slipped into a shadow to follow and listen.
Because knowledge was power.
Borax talked in a hushed and yet animated tone, his voice peaking every so often. “—came through just a moment ago that the inhabitants of the Snakeswallow Hamlet captured some strange crew coming toward the city.”
“Strange how?” Roark asked. A good thing because a certain eavesdropper was curious, too.
&nb
sp; “For one, they aren’t from around here.”
“How can you tell?”
Borax shrugged. “You’ll understand when you see them. They’re dressed oddly. Speak with an accent, and of the seven, only two can pass as human.”
Minor deviancy in the genetics of Wastelanders was normal. Extra limbs, fur, abilities, but most tended to at least remain human appearing.
“What are the others then?”
“Something else,” was the truly sober reply. “One of them might even be part demon.
Except it can handle daylight.”
The very idea almost made her stumble from the shadow into Roark’s back as he abruptly halted his descent.
“That’s not possible.”
Casey understood his incredulity. The demons were what they called those shadow creatures that could only come out at night. Gnarled, vicious, she might even call them evil. Monsters had only one thing in mind when they came across anything living.
Kill it.
The idea a demon would have stopped and raped a human… Or was it the other way around? It seemed impossible. How could they be genetically matched? Which was when it hit her.
A breeding program. Would she really put it past certain depraved kingdoms to attempt to mix and match genes?
Caught in the implications, she missed the man’s next words but heard Roark’s reply. “Where are they being held?”
“Downstairs, Your Highness.”
“Stop calling me Your Highness, Borax. I’ve known you since this place was little more than a pile of rubble.”
“You’ve done well, Your Highness.” This time there a hint of good humor in the reply, and it brought a short chuckle from Roark.
“I assume someone told Titan.”
“He’s already with them and said to tell you he’s increased security going over access points in the castle. Everyone is on alert.”
Roark resumed, practically skipping down the stairs, moving rapidly, a man of action. Borax did his best to keep up, but Roark waved a hand at him. “I’ve got this. Keep an eye on the main level for anything odd.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Roark went a few more steps and around a corner, eschewing the elevator that would have moved him quickly and without much effort. Only when they passed through a door that unlocked when he entered a sequence of numbers did he pause and say, “You do realize I can see you.”
Who? She glanced around, looking for someone, yet they appeared to be alone. She returned her gaze to the king to find he stared right at her, though she stood in shadow. Even Cam couldn’t find her if she hid well. How powerful was Roark?
“Might as well stop wasting your power.” He beckoned.
It seemed stupid to keep hiding. She stepped into the light. “Your Highness, imagine running into you.”
For some reason he thought this funny and snorted. “I’m flattered you were following me. Kind of makes me wish I’d gone for a shower first. You could have washed my back.”
“Who says I was following you?”
“Are you really going to play that game?”
She shrugged. “I was curious.”
“So am I. Your ability allows you to hide in plain sight.”
“Not exactly. I was in a shadow. Makes it harder for people to see me, but you did. How?”
“A disturbance in the force.” He rolled his shoulders. “It wasn’t so much see, as sense and scent.”
“Meaning I do need to bathe.” Her nose wrinkled. She’d have to stop underestimating the man.
“What else can you do?” he asked, apparently not in a hurry to go through the next door.
They were in what was probably a checkpoint room between sections of the castle. A good idea if you wanted to trap someone. Not so good if he didn’t open a door soon because then she’d have to hurt the king. That would probably get her in trouble.
She smiled. “I’m just a bodyguard who’s good at blending in.”
“There is nothing just anything about you. You are interesting, Lady Casey.”
She blinked at him. “Excuse me? What did you call me?”
“You are displaying a psionic talent. Meaning you are Aunimaa, one of the chosen ones the Enclave favors. Given I’m still building my court, and you are one of my subjects, I am giving you a rank.”
Her mouth snapped shut, and she shook her head. “You cannot make me a lady.” Only too late did she frown as she realized her words.
“Actually, I can. I am the king, and I declare you Countess Casey, protector of the royal family.”
She almost felt ill at the ridiculous title. “I refuse.”
“You can’t refuse an honor.”
“That’s not an honor. It’s a reason for my friends to mock me. A lady.” She sniffed.
“Are you a snob, Countess?” He pretended affront.
She bestowed upon him a most regal scowl.
The jerk had the nerve to laugh. “Would it help if I said that, as a lady and protector, you would be allowed to join me in questioning certain prisoners in my dungeon?”
Trapped! She felt the jaws snapping as he neatly tipped her in. She lifted her chin. She’d get him back. “Fine, make me a lady. I still will not call you majesty, although I am starting to be partial to royal pain in the ass.”
He laughed. “Oh, the faces of my staff if they hear you. Shall we, my lady?” He drawled the last two words as he held open the next door.
They went down another set of stairs and halted at yet another locked portal. The concrete appeared rather old. The metal rimming the doors as well. The patches of newer smoothed stone stood out in sharp contrast, and faded signs reminded her of other warnings she’d seen when they lived in the Humps in a hangar buried partially underground.
“What is this place? This is ancient.” She placed her hand on the damp concrete.
“This connects to the tunnels.”
“The same ones Titan told us about?” she queried, looking back at him.
A nod was his reply. “There’s a network of them running under the marshes, although many of them have since collapsed. These ones don’t actually go anywhere anymore.”
“I’ve heard say humans lived underground after the Fall.”
“They did. It’s why the network extends so far along the continent. Most of the cities have a set underneath, or nearby.”
“That seems dangerous.”
“Hence why the many locks. Just in case an impassable area opens up again.”
“Yet no guards. I haven’t seen a single other person since you ditched Borax.” An observation that brought a frown. He had enough staff to station some down here, so why neglect an access point?
“There’s only a few people allowed in these sections.”
“People you trust, obviously. What if they betray you or the locks fail? Shouldn’t you have someone on guard?”
“These doors would need a powerful explosion to open. And I mean powerful. Anything like that would just kill anyone near them. So no, I won’t waste lives. If something is coming through, then it’s coming through. The doors are rigged with alarms instead.”
Her lips pursed. “Better be damned good alarms or they’ll be in your castle before you can shout radioactive.”
“Your concern warms my heart.”
That earned him another disdainful glance. “I assume the fact you consider it secure is why you keep your prisoners down here.”
“Only the really bad ones.”
“What happens to the good ones?” Her sarcastic retort.
“They fight for their freedom in the arena, of course.”
The next door opened onto a hall where Titan stood, and not alone. Strung out along the length of the corridor, several guards. They were all stationed in front of separate doors. Four in total.
“I thought you didn’t believe in soldiers guarding on site,” she muttered.
“I don’t. Titan does. He must think the prisoners dangerous.”
&nbs
p; Catching sight of them, one of the guards hastily saluted, a sloppy thing that almost concussed him. “Your Highness.”
Everyone else snapped to attention, but Titan pushed off the wall and said, “About time you got here. Glad to see you brought Casey. She’ll probably want to see what we’re up against.”
Neither corrected the fact she’d invited herself along.
Roark stared at the doors, his eyes slightly unfocused as he said, “Give me a brief summary of who we have locked up.”
“First cell, the human that survived.”
“Borax didn’t mention any dead.”
“You also never asked,” Casey muttered.
Titan rolled his shoulder. “They didn’t come quietly. The villagers had to fight to subdue them. Not all of them made it.”
“Who survived?”
“The human, male, not too bright. He seems more beast of burden than anything.”
“Who else?”
“You mean what. The rest only have the slightest bit of human in them. There’s a female, furry all over, three long tails, and hands for feet. Doesn’t seem to talk. The other is a male, lizard-like with basic communication, mostly filthy.”
“What of the last one?”
Titan grimaced. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say a ghoul.”
At Roark’s confusion, she explained. “What you know as a demon.”
“Which I’m still going to say is impossible.” Roark didn’t appear ready to believe it.
“I would have agreed until I saw it.” Titan shook his head. “Nasty fucking thing.”
“It’s not impossible,” Casey remarked.
Roark glanced at her. “A human female would never survive copulation with a demon male.”
“Don’t be sexist. Maybe a demon female found herself a pretty boy.”
Titan shuddered. “That is not an image I wanted to have.”
“And it’s also probably not accurate either. I’m talking about intentional breeding,” Casey said.
Roark didn’t hide his repugnance. “Why would anyone want to mix human genes with that?”
“Why do breeding programs exist in the first place?” She shrugged.
“It’s disturbing,” was Titan’s contribution.
“Let’s meet this demon hybrid,” Roark declared.
The soldier watching the door didn’t move as Titan put a key in the lock and entered a sequence of numbers that turned some tumblers. The door opened, and Casey got a whiff of things musty and moist. The prisoner sat on the jutting shelf with a thin foam mattress that served as a bed. His skin, rough and scaled, was a mottled gray. His head was bald. His body bulged with muscle, misshapen and lopsided compared to a human’s. The tips of his fingers ended in curved black claws. Definitely part ghoul and the first time she’d seen one so still.