“I was nearish to finding my own march out.” She gave Zhade a pointed look and held her hand out. “And I’ll take that Silver Second now.”
Zhade flicked her a coin. She caught it with ease.
The Goddess turned on him, arms crossed. “You planned this? For Lew’s sister to get caught?”
“I did nothing of the sort,” Zhade said, leaning against the dingy dungeon wall, then realized what he was doing and cringed, wiping the grime from his shoulder. “How very dare.”
Doon tapped her temple. “I planned it.”
“Hear?” Zhade said, pointing at the girl. “Andra, Doon. Doon, Andra.” He waved his hand between them in intro.
“Did you plan for Maret to kill her too?”
Zhade winced, but Doon sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Sands, you said she was smart.”
“I said no such thing. You reck I don’t give out compliments.”
She tapped her forehead. “You also said she was charred.”
“Firm, but I say that bout everybody.” He waved away the comment.
The Goddess pinched the space between her eyes, and for a moment, Zhade had a fear she would pass out. “Is anyone going to explain to me what happened? Was there a reason you wanted Lew’s sister to try to kill me and then get put in prison?”
Doon looked offended. “If I had actualish been trying to kill you, you would be killed.”
“Then what was the point of attacking me?”
“Zhade said we needed to save you from being sacrificed. The best way to do that was to make you . . . what was the word?”
“Indispensable?” Zhade supplied.
“Firm. Indispensable. The people haven’t seen you do magic yet, but Zhade has. You saved him from bad boyos in the Small Wastes. You made his dagger come to life.”
“Firm, she did,” Zhade interrupted, a smirk on his face.
Doon gave him a flat look, then turned to Andra. “If the people could see you do that, then it would be bad magic for them to sacrifice you. Soze, I put your life at danger and made certz you were holding the dagger.”
Zhade raised a finger. “I would like to interject to say I had no reckonings of her plan.”
Doon crossed her arms. “I told you the full thing.”
“I had no reckonings she would follow through on her plan.”
“But I didn’t do anything to the dagger,” the Goddess protested, but it didn’t sound full hearted. “I don’t know what happened. And that’s a terrible plan! I killed the dude by the statue! I could have killed Doon too!”
“Ah!” Zhade said. “So you admit it was you.”
“Not—I—” she stammered.
Doon stood and clapped the dirt off her hands. “Time runs. Are we going to do this?”
The Goddess sighed, giving Zhade an exasperated look. “What’s the plan, mastermind?”
“Mastermind? I like that.” Zhade grinned. He turned to Doon. “That’s what you’ll be calling me soon and sooner.”
Doon shot the Goddess a glare.
“Now,” Zhade said, “we escort her out of the palace.”
“That’s it?” the Goddess asked. “That’s not a plan. That’s a goal. A plan is how to accomplish a goal.”
“Hear?” He looked at Doon. “Smart.” He tapped his forehead. “I reck where guards are stationed this time of night. I made certz any along our route will be busy elsewhere. Walk confidentish, and no one will ask questions.”
“That simple?”
“That simple.”
Zhade pulled a key out and fidgeted with the lock. A palmful of prisoners occupied the other cells and started pleading for help as soon as they saw the key. The Goddess had to step away from hands grasping through the bars. Zhade tried to ignore them, but he recked their fate. If he didn’t save them, they would die. The prisoner in the cell next to Doon’s didn’t even look up, resigned to their fate.
The door clinked open, and Doon climbed out. Zhade handed her back her swords. It had taken him time and half to locate them, but he’d eventualish found them tucked in Sfin’s bunk chest. The head guard had apparentish taken them as trophies. And for good reason. They were brillish balanced and massive craftsmanship. Doon weighed them in her hands, then with a quick twirl, sheathed both behind her back.
“If it’s that simple,” the Goddess whispered, “what about the others?” She nodded to the pleading prisoners. “Why not release them? Why didn’t you save my maids?”
Because it wasn’t part of the plan. Because this will sole work once. Because even this one time is jeopardizing everything I’m working toward.
“I wasn’t trying to impress a charred and exasperating goddess before. Beauty works marvels for motivation.” He winked.
The Goddess opened her mouth to respond, but then frowned. “What was that?”
“What?”
Then he heard it. A beeping coming from his pocket.
Zhade cursed, pulling out the sensor. It flashed red, a warning. Someone was heading their way, and there wasn’t enough time to cover their sandprints.
“Sands,” he hissed, then turned to the Goddess. “Heya, I need you to stab me a little.”
“Stab you?”
“Firm, mereish a little.” He pinched his fingers together. “Seeya, don’t kill me or anything. Mereish enough to make it look like I tried to fight.”
“What? No! I’m not going to stab you!”
Doon groaned. “I’ll do it.” She pulled one of her own swords from its sheath, ready to stab.
“Ah!” He lifted a finger. “Not the face.”
“You’re an idiot,” Doon said, then plunged the blade into his shoulder.
Zhade had been stabbed before, but something bout recking it was coming made it hurt even worse. The sword made a meaty sound as Doon drew it out. Blood seeped from the wound, soaking a stream down the front of his shirt, and he fought not to pass out.
“Rare form, little warrior,” he gasped, fisting his hand over the wound.
“I’ve always wanted to do that,” she said.
The Goddess jolted forward, grabbing at the ends of her guard jacket, her fingers fumbling as she tried to tear the fabric into bandages.
“What . . . why would you . . .” Her voice was high, frantic. And for some reason, her concern didn’t warm Zhade. He mereish felt guilt for worrying her.
Her eyes began to shine, and it could have been tears, but he had memory of what she said bout healing Doon on instinct, and he didn’t want to have to be stabbed again. He grabbed her arm with a bloodied hand.
“You’re going to have to get her out of the palace without me.” He squeezed her wrist til she met his gaze. “Walk. Don’t run. Or they’ll reck something’s wrong. Escort her out through the westhand stairwell and into the First’s smallrooms. There’s a hidden door in the floor. Once she’s atunnel, wait for me there, and I’ll get you back to your room.”
Her gaze kept drifting down to his wound.
“Heya,” he said, pulling her chin up. She flushed. “I’m evens. An angel will heal me right up. As long as you hurry and get the fraught out of here before I bleed to death.”
Andra nodded. Zhade had a million other things he wanted to say, but he mereish slipped the icepick dagger into her pocket and gave her a little shove. She pulled herself away and grabbed Doon’s hand. Zhade watched as they darted up the stairs, and then he slumped to the stone floor and let darkness take him.
TWENTY-FIVE
stasis, n.
Definition:
a stagnation or stoppage; inactivity resulting from a static balance between opposing forces.
archaic: sedition, rebellion, revolution.
biotech: The state of (non)being experienced by those put into cryonic sleep; the cessation of biologica
l activity without the consequences of death.
A chill ran up Andra’s spine, and a burst of adrenaline sent her heart into a frenzy. She and Doon had managed to sneak out of the dungeon before the guards arrived, but they still needed to make it through the palace, out the secret exit, and to the Hive.
They’d left Zhade bleeding.
Andra hoped Doon knew how to stab nonlethally, but there’d been so much blood, and she’d seen the pain in Zhade’s eyes. It would have been wasted if they hadn’t run, but she still didn’t like leaving him.
The palace was dark and silent, and Andra couldn’t help but feel clunky running alongside the small girl, who seemed to slip through the stone halls like a ghost. They didn’t slow until they reached the main arteries of the palace. They needed to get to the First’s room—on the south side—but there was no way to get to the south side without first going west, around the Rock. Which led directly past the throne room.
“You’re too tense,” Doon whispered. “People will notice.”
“People are going to notice anyway,” Andra hissed back. “We’re about to go through the most populated part of the palace.”
Granted, it was in the middle of the night. There wouldn’t be many people around. No one but a handful of guards and maybe a few servants. But what if the guards Zhade had tricked had already sounded an alarm?
Doon muttered under her breath, “People sole see what they expect to see, unless you give them reason to see otherwise. Walk like you belong. Hold my arms behind my back, like you’re escorting me. You’re a guard now. Believe you’re a guard, not a goddess.”
Okay. She could do this. Guard, not a goddess.
They continued down the hall as Andra pulled Doon’s arms behind her. She kept her head high and her expression blank, so people could interpret it how they wanted—a move she’d seen her mother do plenty of times. Sweat built up under her cos’mask. The main hallway appeared ahead of them. She counted her breaths. In-two-three. Out-two-three. The throne room foyer opened up before them. A dozen guards. Three or four servants.
“This is worse than I recked,” Doon muttered. “Any side passages?”
“No. What do we do?”
“Keep walking. Hope for the best. Be ready to fight our way out.”
“Horrible plan.”
Doon nodded. “The worst.”
The girl dragged her ahead, Andra’s hands still tight around her wrists. At a cursory glance, people would see a guard leading a prisoner. Here’s to cursory glances, Andra thought, lifting her chin. They passed a servant. No response. Halfway through. The ’bots ignored them completely. One guard nodded, and Andra nodded back.
Her armor clanked with each step. Her breath was too loud.
Almost there.
Almost.
There.
They passed out of the foyer and into a side hallway.
Empty.
“Don’t relax. Keep going,” Doon whispered.
Andra didn’t relax—couldn’t.
About halfway down the hall, she realized someone was following them. She sucked in a breath, searching for a way to tell Doon without saying it out loud. She still held the girl’s wrists and gave them a squeeze. Doon wiggled a hand free and reached for one of her swords.
“Wait,” Andra whispered.
There were no footsteps behind them, and when Andra risked a glance back, there was nothing, only a shadow out of place, only the feeling of eyes on them. Little details Andra processed without realizing it. Her spine tingled. They kept moving forward, turned a corner.
“We can’t lead them to the secret passage,” Doon hissed.
Andra took stock of where they were. First floor. Western wing. She knew of one exit, but it was a risk.
“Follow me,” she whispered to Doon.
The first glints of morning light were peeking through the windows when they finally made it to the small back entrance to the courtyard. Andra breathed a sigh of relief as she swung it open. The fountain bubbled. Birds sang. Dew was already collecting on the flowers, and the morning was quiet enough to hear their footsteps slapping against the tile. They swung around the corner behind the daises and froze.
Maret was waiting for them.
He stood straight, his robe impeccably tailored, not a hair out of place. Still, something about him seemed disheveled. Perhaps it was the bruise on his cheek, beginning to yellow, its edges cloudy, lining the silver crown. Maybe it was the tic in his hand, his thumb tapping the pad of each finger, then making the circuit again. Or it could have been the look in his eyes—a little unfocused. A little unhinged.
Andra had forgotten what he’d said the other night, about the garden feeling peaceful. It had been stupid to deviate from the plan, and now she was faced with a very angry Maret.
She took a step back.
“You betrayed me, Goddess.” His eyes didn’t even flick to Doon as she unsheathed her blades, one still wet with Zhade’s blood. They’d been caught, and he’d been stabbed for nothing.
Maret was alone. His midnight robes outlined his thin, strong build. The pleats blended right into the scabbard at his side, holding a gilded sword Andra had never noticed. His hand rested on the hilt. Dangerous, yes, but in the way of an animal chewing itself free from a trap.
She held a hand out in Doon’s direction. “Wait.”
She’d never grown to fully trust Maret, but over the past few days, they’d built up a rapport. Sure, it had been strategy. And sure, his humanity and vulnerabilities couldn’t erase all the terrible things he’d done. But he wanted to save his brother. And he’d saved Andra multiple times. He could be reasoned with.
“I did what I had to do,” Andra said. “I didn’t want her to die like my maids.”
Maret’s jaw clenched. “She tried to kill you.”
“But she didn’t.” Andra tensed, surreptitiously taking in the courtyard, looking for something that would get her and Doon out of this without resorting to swords. There was only one path out of the garden, and Maret was blocking it. “We chatted. It was all just a big mistake.”
“Mistake? If I hadn’t—”
“Thank you for protecting me. But it wasn’t necessary.” Andra swallowed. There was a sword at her side, but she wasn’t sure she could use it. Doon was inching her way around the garden. A few more meters, and she could attack Maret from behind.
“Wasn’t necessary?” Maret sneered. “She was trying to kill you. She deserved it.”
“Deserved it? She’s a child!”
“So was I!” Maret roared. He blinked, as though he hadn’t meant to say it.
The birds had stopped chirping. The fountain bubbled on.
“What do you mean?” Andra asked, her voice gentler. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Doon ready to strike. Shrubs and potted plants stood in her way, but they would obviously be no obstacle for the girl.
“It doesn’t import.”
“It does.”
“It doesn’t,” he gritted out.
Doon tensed to spring. Andra got ready to run. Then, with a flick of his wrist, Maret unsheathed his sword and pointed it in Doon’s direction. Swift. Firm. He didn’t even look her way. “Don’t. I studied the same arts as you. And time and a half as long.”
Doon raised both hands in the air, but didn’t drop her swords.
Maret never looked away from Andra. “The people are scared.”
They should be, Andra thought. But not because of her. “Sorry?”
Maret smirked. He looked like Zhade then, but only in the way Andra looked like Acadia. The resemblance was there, but no more than a cheap imitation.
“You raised the dead. That’s too much power for one person. They want you sacrificed to the gods’ dome.”
So Doon’s plan had backfired. Instead of making Andra indispensable, Doon’s res
urrection made her a frightening unknown. She wondered if the people would change their minds if she fixed the ’dome. Not that it mattered. There was no way Maret was giving her the AI now.
Maret’s face tightened into a grim smile. “You may be a goddess, and you may have lived for centuries. But I reck you’re not immortal.”
“Because Tsurina killed the other two?”
His expression blanked, but Andra didn’t miss the tightening around his eyes.
“Did you have a hand in that?” she goaded, careful to keep her eyes off Doon. If she could distract Maret enough, perhaps the girl could strike. “Or did she do that without telling you as well? Who really rules Eerensed?”
“I do,” Maret growled. “I hold this city safe, I protect its people. The Hell-mouth is activeish trying to kill us, and we’re trapped inside ancient magic none of us comps or recks how to maintain. Every day, the gods’ dome can sustain fewer and fewer people. I bore that burden while you were nothing but a girl in a glass box.” He spat the words. “And whether you want to believe it or not, I’m the sole thing standing between Eerensed and my mother.”
There was a mad gleam in his eye. Andra tried to stay focused on Maret, even as she saw Doon take a step forward in her peripheral vision. The Guv had drawn closer. Closer than Andra had realized, close enough to impale her with his sword if he wanted.
“I do what I have to do to hold as many people as possible alive. If that means killing, so be it. Someone has to make the hard choices.”
Andra swallowed, willing her fear not to show. “That would be Tsurina. You’re nothing more than a puppet.”
He grabbed her by the throat, his grip bruising. Doon darted forward, but Maret slashed his sword in her direction, never taking his eyes off Andra. Doon froze.
“You’re a naive little girl,” he growled. “You’re the weak one. I was a fool to ever put my trust in you.”
She tried to pull out of his grasp, but his blunt fingernails dug into her skin.
“I have power,” he whispered. “And I will do what it takes to keep it. That doesn’t make me evil; it makes me human.”
Goddess in the Machine Page 24