by Ann Denton
Lowe’s eyes clouded at that, but he stayed silent.
Ein moved toward her. “You’ve seen pictures of the old king, right?”
Mala nodded. Ein stood across from her, evaluating her. Unlike the beginning of the night, when he’d strode over to her confidently and dipped her into a deep kiss right in front of Lowe, he looked uncertain now.
Lowe piped in, “Are you going to kiss Mala or what? Get to it. She might not be able to turn back into a girl for your great escape.”
Mala laughed. After all of the drama of the past day, combined with sleep deprivation, she found the idea that Ein didn’t want to kiss her in her current man-form hilarious. “I’m glad I’m not the only one who has to suffer with this male body. Come on, Ein. Pucker up.”
“I’m hoping it will still work,” Ein responded. “We haven’t tried when you’re not in your natural form.”
“Time to get started then,” Mala winked at him. “Come on, get your motor running for me.”
“Ugh. Stop talking,” Ein said. “You make it worse.”
“You don’t like my pillow talk? But I’ve got this gravelly purr just for you honey. Because of you.” Mala burst into girlish giggles and doubled over. She pounded her fist onto her knee. Tears came to her eyes. She was sure she’d broken just about every rule about Keptiker’s posture that Ges had tried to beat into her over the past few days. But she didn’t care. She laughed until tears came to her eyes. And then she wiped them away with a finger like a girl.
As she straightened, Mala found Ein’s hand around her neck. “You have always been so insolent.” And he mashed his lips into hers before she could respond.
This kiss started differently. She could feel his fear, feel his strain. But then she dropped her hand to one of his and stroked it softly. She kept her body back, aware that it would only make him more self-conscious. She pulled back from the kiss slowly, still stroking his hand. “It’s still me underneath,” she whispered. “Still the same little girl who hid all your crap in her hair. And who threw some very important gear of yours at Alba tonight, so you can’t fix your plumbing. Still me.”
Ein looked up at her. And to both of their shock, it worked. Mala felt herself begin to burn, felt her skin begin to bubble, felt herself shrinking. But wait. No. The old king is bigger than Keptiker.
Mala looked down. The general’s clothing sagged on her frame, pants trailing inches across the floor. She lifted a hand. There was the scar from the hour hand on her palm. She’d melted back into herself. Sludge.
“What the muck happened?” Neid asked.
Mala looked at Ein, helplessly. He cocked his head, “It was working, right?”
Mala nodded. “I started to melt … but I just … couldn’t.”
Lowe came up to her and put a hand to her forehand. “Are you feeling okay? Maybe you’re too tired.”
Mala sagged into him. “Yeah, maybe.”
But Ein didn’t look convinced. His eyes were staring off into the distance, thoughts racing.
“Why don’t we all turn in for a few hours?” Lowe suggested. “Let’s stay here so we can wake up and just start working.”
Everyone nodded, Ein rather vacantly, as he headed back to his map-making corner and dimmed the lanterns nearest him.
Lowe and Mala curled up together on the plush carpet. She brushed back a black curl.
“I don’t know what happened. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Lowe gave her a peck on the forehead. “We’ll try again in the morning.”
He settled into sleep quickly, but it took Mala a few minutes to doze off. Why couldn’t I melt? Her mind replayed that question until it became a dull chant that lulled her into dreams.
Her dream began as it always did: in the trees, at night, rushing away from the sound of the Erlender alarm. The dream had ceased to scare her: over the months it had become familiar. She waved at her mother, who was dancing with bare-bellied Barde among the saplings. Her mother spread her thumb and fingers in a victory sign. Mala passed the beach and all of the docked ships and waved at Sorgen, who jumped up from a boat deck and said “Mala – don’t go!” She walked past rows and rows of empty grey faces, people she’d known in another lifetime. She marched on a road of gravel, and suddenly she was wearing boots. Big boots. And she was tall. That was new. She looked down. Kneeling in front of her on the gravel path was Verrat. The violet-eyed woman stared up at her with devotion.
“Move,” Mala spat in Keptiker’s voice.
“Yes sir,” the woman scrambled to get out of his way. And she saluted as Mala passed her.
Shock flooded Mala’s system. She sat straight up, instantly awake. “She called him ‘sir.’”
Memory after memory fell into place, like a puzzle assembling before her eyes.
Sorgen had been near the abandoned mansion when the Erlenders had attacked. He tried to warn me. Don’t go. What else did he say? Lots of screaming. Lots of ayes and nos. Unless… he was trying to say I know. Like he’d found something out.
What would he have known? Unless he’d seen the Erlenders. Unless he knew they were hunting Kreis. Unless he knew I was Kreis. Don’t go. Was it, don’t go to the celebration?
Verrat had approached Mala the night of the celebration. Verrat had tried to give her something. What if it was the necklace? What if she’s been working with the Erlenders?
And her mind flashed back to the video Ges had shown her. The General staring down at Verrat from his perch on his desk. Keptiker said she’d had potential. As if he’d known her before …
But Verrat had been with Bara’s guard for years. Before Mala and her mother had joined them three years back. So what is she? Another traitor like Blut? Or an Erlender plant? Does it matter? She had to have been in communication with Blut. Or he wouldn’t have known to come looking for me. She has to be part of this spy ring Lowe’s looking for.
Her heart raced. She felt blood rushing to her head, as though she was suddenly upside down. But she wasn’t upside down. The world was. Verrat is a traitor.
Chapter Thirty
A hand on her shoulder nearly made Mala jump out of her skin. She smacked it away.
Ein loomed over her and whispered, “Follow me.”
He pulled Mala into the hall. He dragged her down three different corridors until they came to one with a wall of black windows: they were so deep under the lake that the moonlight couldn’t pierce the water outside. Fish swimming past looked like smudges, or a trick of the eye. A single pillar candle burned in the hallway, telling her it was four in the morning.
Mala turned from the candle and pawed at her eyes, still half asleep. “What is it?”
“We need to test something,” Ein muttered. He pushed her shoulders and practically slid her across the floor into a corner. “Stay put.”
He reached up with his long arms and scraped the ceiling tiles with his fingertips. He pushed a tile aside. A small video camera with a blinking red light hung suspended. Ein pressed a button. The red light disappeared. He pushed the tile back into place.
“Okay, we have approximately half an hour before someone comes to rectify that.”
Mala raised her eyebrows. “What’s with the secrecy?”
Ein’s look was clear even in the shadows: exasperation. “Mala. There’s a spy in here somewhere.”
“I thought you said Alba was the spy.”
“You think there’s only one? Besides, the Ancients were awfully quick to accept that she was a spy. Without real evidence. Suspicious, isn’t it? Anyway, that’s off topic.”
“What is the topic?” Mala’s brain was slowly, reluctantly awakening.
“I suspect we may have discovered another limitation of your melts. But I’m not positive. I think there are two options. You might not be able to melt into someone you or the other person—your trigger person—haven’t met.”
“Or?”
Ein bit his lip. It was clear the other theory was worse. “Well, let’s elimin
ate this option first. I’m going to kiss you. I want you to try to melt into the president. You’ve seen pictures—right?”
Mala nodded. She glanced down the hall and tried to pull the president’s face into her mind’s eye. Tall. Steel-grey hair. Ice-blue eyes. A marine wrench always hung from his neck as a symbol of his humble beginnings as a repairman’s son. He wore a black vest. He pounded on a podium.
“There is no crime greater than invasion. The Gottermund River protected and sheltered us from destruction. While the rest of the world burned, she kept us safe. She gave us sustenance. She chose us.”
“And then the invaders came. Day after day they violate her. Force her to submit. Try and change her with their voodoo and enchantments. But they are on the wrong side of destiny.”
“We will NOT let these heathens pillage and rape and murder any longer. We will fight. We will pile their bodies until we stand on top of a mountain of dead. We will not stop until our children do not know the meaning or terror of the word Erlender. We will not stop until they are just a memory. We will defend our river. We will take back our home. Fire for fire. Blood for blood.”
The old video feed had given Mala chills the first time she’d seen it. Even now, she had goosebumps on her arms as she turned to Ein.
“You’ve got a clear picture of him?” Ein asked.
Mala nodded. “I’m ready.
He hugged her to him and lifted her in his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist. Mala was disoriented by his gentle approach, but before she had time to say anything, he’d wrenched her hair back so hard her neck cracked. He body-slammed her against the wall. Air fled from her lungs. Then his lips devoured her.
Seconds later he dropped her. Mala heard the rip of fabric as heat stole over her.
“Mr. President,” Ein dipped his head in mock servitude. Then he sighed. “That’s what I was afraid of.”
“What?” Mala didn’t realize how powerful the president’s voice was. That single word cracked in the dark like a whip. And stinging little echoes trailed behind it. She covered her mouth.
Ein took a small flask out of his pocket. He uncorked it and handed it to Mala. She took it, but didn’t immediately pour the water over her hand as had become her custom.
“Shouldn’t you be practicing kissing me when I don’t look like me? Because that didn’t work out so well last time. How do you know that’s not the problem?”
Ein shook his head. “You started to melt. My amygdala somehow pushed through that issue. The problem came in when you tried to choose the subject for your melt. And this next melt … the one I’m going to ask you to do. It’s going to be hard enough for me as it is. I didn’t have time to remove the personal. We don’t have time.”
“What does that mean?”
Ein bit his lip. He almost looked vulnerable.
That’s got to be a trick of the shadows, Mala thought. Ein only has one emotion. Arrogance.
He reached into his pocket again. He took out a small leather booklet and flipped it open. He handed it, wordlessly, to Mala.
She had to walk over to the pillared candle to see what he’d given her. It was a sketch. Neid laughing.
Mala looked up, confused. “I’ve already melted into your sister.”
“It’s not my sister. I want you to try and melt into my mother,” Ein replied. A dozen emotions rippled across his face. Sadness, fear, pain, anger. He didn’t try to hide them.
Mala glanced back at the sketch. If she looked closely, there were laugh lines. And the woman’s mouth was a little thinner. “But why?” she whispered.
“I’ll tell you afterward. I don’t want to bias the results of the experiment any further,” Ein muttered, resuming his normal voice.
Mala poured a few drops of water onto her palm. She watched as she melted and the thin little scar from the hour hand reappeared. She gave Ein back the flask and the booklet. She stared up at him docilely, trying to keep the pity from showing on her face.
A little voice in the back of her head reminded her that her clothes were shredded from melting into the president, who was bigger than Keptiker. But she ignored it. She wasn’t completely indecent. And Ein might need a little help getting into this melt, she rationalized against her inhibitions. He was being hesitant.
Mala took his hand and guided it up to her face. She watched him steadily and gently led his hand down her cheek, her neck, lower. Heat grew in his eyes.
He bent and kissed her. Normally his kisses were angry and hot, but this kiss had an edge to it. It was different. Violent. His hand snaked around her neck and started to squeeze.
Mala’s eyes popped open in panic.
And in the dim light of the pillared candle she saw herself, her dark mass of curls and big lips, reflected in Ein’s eyes. She stared, waiting for her face to bubble. She flexed her fingers, anticipating the burn.
Nothing happened. She and Ein continued to stare at one another long past the point they knew it was futile.
“I’d like to try one more time,” Ein whispered. “Maybe that subject was too close for me. It may have skewed my amygdala’s response. Too many other deep emotions firing.”
Mala nodded.
“This time, I want you to try and melt into your mother.”
It was like a knife to her chest. Suddenly Mala had trouble breathing. She tried hard not to think of Erinne. She shook her head desperately.
“Mala, please. Do you think I wanted to see my dead mother? Do you think what we just did was easy for me? The day she died—my sister was there. She saw it all. The … a … someone murdered my mother. He stabbed her through the stomach. Then he tossed her aside like she was a piece of garbage. I saw the body after. It was … she used to work down in the ceremony department. My mom. Preparing rituals. Funerals. Initiations. Tests. You think I wanted to see her?”
Panic was stealing over Mala. She started counting out loud, still shaking her head furiously at Ein. “Nine, eighteen, twenty-seven …” She doubled over. Her stomach felt queasy.
Finally, Ein relented. “Okay. Too soon. How about your father?”
Though that wound still ached, it was not raw and pulsing. Mala had pretty much grown up without her father. She pictured him in her mind, a giant with a wide smile and eyes always crinkled from the sun or from laughter. The pain of Ein’s earlier suggestion faded. Slowly she was able to stop counting. Her stomach calmed. She nodded.
“Okay.”
Fast and quick, the next kiss led to another stare off. Mala realized Ein’s eyes had tiny flecks of gold near the pupils.
“What does this mean?” she asked.
“It means you can’t melt into someone who’s dead. It means no dead king. No scare. But worse, it means we can’t just kill Keptiker.”
“What are we going to do? We can’t just knock him out and leave him somewhere. He’s good; he’ll escape,” Mala responded.
“We’ll have to figure out a way to keep him subdued, keep him from escaping, and keep the king from recognizing him. It means our mission just got about twenty times more complicated.”
“Muck and shit.” For the first time since being given the assignment, Mala didn’t feel the tug of destiny. Instead, she felt a tug that reminded her very much of a noose tightening around her neck.
Chapter Thirty-One
Ein and Mala didn’t speak as they returned to the meeting room. They both curled up in the dark and pretended to sleep as their thoughts whirled like storm clouds.
Eventually Mala must have drifted off, because a hand on her shoulder jerked her awake for a second time. “Ein, get away!” she muttered.
The shaking continued. Mala cracked an eye. She started. Someone’s nose was almost touching hers. It was pitch black, but she could tell it wasn’t Ein. Mala scrambled backward.
“Shh,” Neid whispered. Mala’s eyes struggled to adjust.
“What’s going on?” Where are we? They weren’t in the meeting room where they’d fallen asleep, they were in comple
te darkness. Just like the rooms I was in for espionage training … is this a lesson? Mala peered around. The blackness so was thick, she could almost taste its bitterness.
“It’s the final trial,” Neid breathed. Her voice hitched as she spoke. “I don’t want to do this. I don’t think I can do this. Don’t make me do this!” Neid grabbed Mala’s shoulders. She started to shake her. “Don’t make me. I can’t!”
Is her breakdown my trial? Mala wondered. Are they trying to get us to meltdown? What’s going on? She automatically put an arm around Neid, trying to comfort her, but the blonde waived her off. Kept shaking her. Mala pushed her away, took a step back to protect herself. Neid was getting more frantic.
Above, a naked bulb flickered to life. Instantly, Mala returned to Neid and positioned herself so they were back-to-back. What if the trial is a fight? No one jumped out at them. No one else was in the room.
It was a black windowless room, like the one used during her initiation. Only this room had a reflective window, about five yards up. It wrapped the length of one wall. She watched it expectantly. Nothing.
What if we’re supposed to fight each other? Mala whirled back around.
Neid stood still. Tear tracks made ugly pink paths down her cheeks.
What is this mucking trial? She stared at Neid, who was wracked by quiet sobs. Why isn’t she melting? Hasn’t The Nimbo ever been sad … Ein’s story about Neid witnessing their mother’s death came to mind. If she’s not sad, what is this? What emotion could make her cry so much but not make her meltdown? What emotion hasn’t she felt before?
Fear tickled Mala’s spine. Whatever Neid’s afraid of … this can’t be good.
A dull clanking sounded. The floor began to tremble. A trap door slid open and a beam of light shot like a bullet to the ceiling. Someone struggled to climb up through the opening.
A girl with a long brown braid emerged with a pack strapped to her back. She was a little chubby, definitely plain, but the determined look on her face gave her an air of strength. After the girl’s eyes adjusted to the dimness, she marched resolutely to Neid. She wrapped the blonde girl in a hug and began murmuring.