Rebel of Scars and Ruin (The Evolved Book 1)

by Veronica Sommers

  "Zilara Remay?" he asks.

  I step forward. "Yes. I'm here. It's good to see you." A silly thing to say—I don't even know the man—but I'm thrilled to see him, because he means home.

  "I'm General Binney. It's good to see you as well, miss, and in good health, too. These are for your allies," he says, holding out three finance cards. I hand one to Rak, one to Safi, and one to Alik.

  "Actually, we're all coming along," I say.

  "I have orders to take only you and the man Alik," says General Binney, his gray brows ruffling as he frowns. "It's a security risk, bringing three unknowns with you out of Emsalis, Miss Zilara. They could be terrorists, secret agents, assassins."

  I laugh. "No. These are my friends."

  "But you were a hostage, Miss Zilara. You may have been influenced, brainwashed." His tone is gentle, deprecating.

  I'm being handled and suppressed, and I'm not even home yet. "Either they come with me, or I don't go," I say. "And they're all under my personal protection, to be treated with the utmost respect."

  "You tell him, Princess," says Safi softly behind me.

  General Binney hesitates. "I'll have to get your father's permission first."

  "No reason to delay our departure," I say. "I've been in this country long enough, and I'd like to go home. We'll call him on the way. Rak, you go first." I want him in that craft, safe.

  For a minute I think General Binney is going to defy me; but then he steps aside and allows Rak to climb the steps. Safi is next, then Alik, then me.

  My heart ricochets in my chest as I climb up after them. I'm really getting out of here. I'm leaving. I survived. And Rak is coming with me.

  Higher I climb, toward the door that means escape, and freedom.

  "Faster, Alik." I smack his rear and he jumps ahead a step, chuckling.

  "I'm telling Rak," he says.

  "Fine with me. Just move."

  A few more steps. I glance back and down, at the rocks and trees, half-expecting a bolt to whine from the mountainside and strike me through the heart.

  But Emsalis is letting me go. I'm slipping through the hatch, and I'm sitting down in the seat next to Rak, and I'm safe. We're all safe.

  General Binney and the other soldiers enter, the hatch seals, and with a stomach-dropping swoop, we're on our way.

  "You'll all need to give me your full names so we can pull your profiles," says General Binney, touching his skull-port device and opening a holo-screen. "And I'll need recent addresses and work information from each of you."

  Safi, Rak, Alik, and I look at each other and laugh.

  "What's so funny?" says the general.

  "My friends each have a colorful history," I say. "It might not look good in a news-stream, but it's what makes them special."

  General Binney shifts in his seat. "I hope you know what you're doing, Miss Zilara. Your father is—things are stressful politically."

  "Why? What's happened?"

  "It's best if he tells you himself, in person," says the general. "I'm simply saying that he may not react too kindly to your friends' presence."

  "If you can help me get clearance and residence status for them, I would be in your debt," I say.

  "Miss Zilara, I can see from your—everything—that you've been through much lately," he says. "I would be happy to help you, but I need to be sure that your mental health hasn't been compromised. I can put your friends in a secure house where they can stay quietly until you've been through your medicals and psych evaluation. After that, if all is well, there should be no problem securing their residence status."

  "So we'll be prisoners until you're sure that Zilara's not crazy." Alik groans. "We'll be in the secure house forever then, because we all know she's crazy as a jacanal."

  The ghost of a smile drifts over General Binney's face. "I'll try to ensure that you're comfortable and entertained. That's really all I can do. And we don't need to bother the Magnate with the details of your little group right away. Am I right, Miss Zilara?"

  "Thank you." He's right, we need to wait before telling my father. If he's as stressed out as the general says, the Magnate is likely to call my friends a pack of spies and dump them in jail, or send them right back to Emsalis.

  "This is a short-range hoverplane," the general says. "We'll be landing in Dern, a neutral city-state, where you'll be taken to your private air transport, Miss Zilara. I'll put the rest of you on another air transport to follow immediately to the Ceannan capitol. When you land, you'll be taken to your house. Is that satisfactory?"

  "Wait. I'll be separated from them?" I frown. "When can I see them again?"

  "After your medicals and psychoanalysis, Miss Zilara. A week, at most."

  "No, that's not—I can't—"

  I can't be without him. The thought of not seeing him for a week—my chest tightens with panic. What is wrong with me? Am I some kind of co-dependent freak now? I can't breathe.

  Rak reaches over and squeezes my hand. "Zilara. You'll be fine. I'll be fine. Look at me."

  I meet his eyes, and he seems perfectly calm, perfectly relaxed, even though the Ceannan general he just met is planning to air-transport him across an entire ocean and hide him in a secure house, away from me.

  "You're going to be all right," he says. "You're tough, remember?" He looks away from me, at General Binney. "We've been in a lot of dangerous situations lately," he says. "The constant threat of capture, or death—it wears on you."

  General Binney nods, and I see sadness and sympathy in his eyes. His smile isn't that of a military official, but of a grandfather. "I understand, believe me. I've been through war myself. It forges a bond. I'll make sure that the two of you can communicate while you're apart."

  I draw a deep, shuddering breath. "Please do."

  Rak is playing off my reaction as some kind of war-forged bond, a mutual reliance for protection. It's a good move, something the veteran escorting us can understand; but I hope Rak knows it's more than that.

  I focus on breathing slowly and avoiding eye contact with anyone. Instead, I stare at my hand, circled by Rak's fingers. My skin, light brown, a shade paler than my mother's. His hand, probably white long ago, browned by the sun. Our nails rough, our knuckles seamed with dirt. I think of hot showers, cleaning away the dirt. Soft beds. Warm meals. Houses with temp control.

  Suddenly I'm not afraid anymore. Later, there will be time to worry about medicals and skull-ports, and suppressors and residence status. For now, we're safe, and we're together, and we're going to be all right.

  "I'm going to eat a truckload of dumplings when I get home," I say.

  Rak laughs and gathers me in his arms.

  THE END

  Read on for a SNEAK PREVIEW of

  "The Evolved: Book Two"

  PRINCESS OF LIES AND LEGENDS

  1

  The hoverplane lurches as a fresh round of boltfire rakes its underbelly.

  Across from me, Alik clutches his travel-worn leather bag, his lean face white under its mop of golden curls. Beside him, Safi looks more gray than white. Her fingers press tightly over her mouth. My stomach is lurching as dramatically as the hoverplane, but like her, I'm determined to keep my breakfast down.

  Rak's fingers closes over my hand where it clenches the armrest of my seat. I meet his dark eyes, and they're calm, warm, peaceful. How can he be so eerily at ease when our hoverplane is being pounded by Vilor anti-aircraft guns?

  "How do they have guns this big?" I congratulate myself on managing to say the words without throwing up.

  From his seat on Safi's other side, General Binney shakes his head. "Miss Zilara, it's not my place to comment on the state of the peace-keeping efforts in Emsalis."

  "I think it's obvious they're a dramatic failure," I say.

  On my goodwill mission to Emsalis, I was supposed to be the face of my father's triumph. As the Magnate of Ceanna, head of one of the world's most powerful nations, my father wanted to show a doubting world that his Peace-Keepers
had the volatile situation in Emsalis under control.

  And then I was taken hostage, moments after I disembarked from my air transport. And during my entire ordeal in Emsalis, nothing has been more obvious than the complete failure of my nation's peace-keeping efforts here.

  I'm not sure if General Pregall has been falsifying reports to my father, or if my father has been lying to the rest of the world— but whatever our troops are doing in Emsalis isn't working. The pulses of boltfire searing the fuselage are proof of that. Did we survive the harsh desert, Vilor attacks, and Fray rebels, only to be shot down as we're about to escape?

  The hoverplane shudders and dips, and I press my forehead to Rak's shoulder, sure that we're going to crash this time.

  And then, just as suddenly as it began, the firing stops.

  General Binney peers out the narrow window next to his seat. "I think we've gotten beyond their range," he says. "Either that, or their gun malfunctioned. Not unlikely if they're using scavenged or refurbished weaponry."

  "Babes' blood—are you saying we actually made it?" says Alik.

  "I believe so."

  Safi takes her hand from her mouth and breathes deeply. "I thought we were dead this time."

  "We survived again!" A broad smile spreads over Alik's face. "The four of us are a lucky set, my friends!"

  "That, or we have a very skilled pilot," I say. "General Binney, I'd like to thank our pilot when we land."

  "Of course. We should arrive in Dern within the hour."

  Dern is the neutral city-state where I'll board my air transport and head for Ceanna. General Binney has promised to put Alik, Rak, and Safi on another air transport and quietly send them to Ceanna as well, without alerting my father. They're to be placed in a secure house until I pass my medical exams and my psych evals, to ensure that I wasn't brainwashed or turned into a sleeper assassin during my time as a Fray hostage.

  Getting permanent residency status for my three Emsali friends could be tough, but with General Binney on my side, I'm hopeful. Although I'm not quite sure why he's on my side, why he's agreeing to hide things from the ruler of his country. My status as the Magnate's daughter gives me some clout, but his loyalty should be to my father first. I'll have to be careful, until I know whether or not I can trust him.

  As our flight continues, I watch the General. He's probably in his late fifties or early sixties, with dark gray eyes and a neatly cropped gray beard, the top edge shaved into peaks and waves as is the fashion for the top military leaders. His emerald uniform fits him well, accentuating a body that seems to be in good shape. I recognize in this man's shoulders and arms the same tension that's always present in Rak—a soldier's readiness to leap into action within a half-second if the need arises.

  "Zilara." Rak's low voice ripples through my body. I've been in love with boys before, but what he does to me is entirely new. The way he destroys my control over my emotions—I adore it and I hate it at the same time.

  I turn to him. "What?"

  Those beautiful dark eyes. He's going to ask me if I'm okay, or say something gentle and reassuring.

  "Are you going to throw up on me, or has that danger passed?" The scar through his lips quirks with his half-smile.

  I push his shoulder. "No, I'm not going to throw up."

  "Good. Because you do that a lot, but so far you've missed me and I'd like to keep it that way."

  "I'm going to throw up," says Safi in strangled tones. General Binney passes her a container, and I cover my ears so the sound of her retching doesn't trigger an episode of my own.

  "You've never flown before, have you, Sky-born?" says Alik when it's over.

  "No." She leans back, her beautiful face pale under her light tan. "So I guess your nickname of 'Sky-born' really doesn't fit, does it?"

  "The Sky-born are indeed winged creatures of Valadarstvan myth," says Alik. "But for you, my lovely, the nickname applies more to your looks than your flight status. It's said that the Sky-born are the most dazzling creatures in all the universe."

  "And they have beautiful voices," I add. "My friend Reya sings like a Sky-born. At least that's what we always tell her." I glance at Rak. "I can't wait for you to meet Reya and Vissa."

  "You'll have to wait a while, Miss Zilara," says General Binney. "Remember, your friends need to stay quiet until we're sure that your mind hasn't been tampered with on any level. We'll need to order physical checks and mental evaluations for them as well, to ensure that none of them are spies or terrorists."

  "You didn't say anything about that before." I frown.

  "Zilara, it's all right," Rak says. "It's reasonable, under the circumstances."

  General Binney gives him a nod, warmth in his eyes. I can tell he already likes Rak—maybe it's the military mindset they share. "Thank you for understanding, son. Judging by what I've seen in the two hours we've been together, none of you appear to be a threat to our national security. But we must make sure. And Miss Zilara, I'm counting on you to approach the topic of your friends with your father, whenever you believe the time is right."

  "Will you get into trouble for this?" I ask him.

  "Maybe." He sighs. "But I'm old now, and what can they do but send me home? It would be a mercy, not a punishment."

  "If you're weary of your position, you could retire," I say.

  "It's not so simple." But he doesn't explain, and I don't care to press him on the subject.

  The rest of the flight passes in silence, until the General touches his skull-port device and says, "Our pilot tells me we're nearly at the Dern transport center. Please collect your things and be ready to leave."

  All I have is a pack containing a few supplies—none of which will be needed now that I'm on my way home. The burner for cooking, the pots, the simple food items—they were all so valuable during our trek through the Emsali wilderness—and now they seem primitive, disposable. My father would expect me to feel the same way about Rak as I do about the gear—to view him as a tool useful for survival, but not worth much beyond that.

  As the hoverplane angles down for its descent, I study Rak's profile—his broad forehead, dark arched brows, faintly hooked nose, and full lips, perfectly shaped except for the lumpy scar slashed through them. His jawline, strong and masculine, sweeping to a chin with a touchable cleft in its center. Dark wavy hair falling around his face and neck. One lock of hair is shorter than the rest—the lock where his ayila used to be, the strand of beads that identified him as part of the Maraj tribe. The lock of hair that his mother and sister chopped off when they called him traitor and excised him from their tribe and from their lives.

  Because of me.

  I reach up and take the ends of that broken strand in my fingers. Rak meets my gaze, but I can't find the words to tell him what his sacrifice means to me. Not here. Not in front of the others.

  Alik clears his throat loudly, and I drop my hand and glare at him. He grins and winks one of those dazzling blue eyes of his.

  "What, thief?" I say.

  "Nothing at all, Princess," he says. "Just wanted to tell you that Safi and I will take excellent care of Rak on your behalf."

  "Oh, you'll take care of me?" Rak raises his eyebrows.

  "Certainly. It's the least I can do for our benefactress."

  "Shut up, won't you?" says Safi, closing her eyes. "I feel sick again, and your voice is like the whine of a thousand jacanals in the desert."

  "Colorful language, love," says Alik.

  "Why, why, why do people fly?" Safi groans. "Why not simply invent faster ways to travel over land?"

  "You'll love the lev-trains in our capital city of Caliston," I say. "They're so fast and smooth that you barely know you've moved at all till you reach your destination. And the hoverpods are nice, too, although they do fly."

  "Do you have grounded transportation there? Things with wheels?"

  "Yes, in the country towns, and in the lowest levels of the cities."

  The hoverplane rumbles and slants forward,
then levels out as it zooms parallel with the ground. Buildings whip past the windows, and Safi moans again.

  General Binney hands her another container. "Just a few more minutes," he says in a grandfatherly tone.

  And then, seconds later, it's over. We're at a standstill, and the whine of the engines fades, and the frosted glass door to the pilot's cabin glides aside. A short, wiry woman about my mother's age steps out. "We've arrived."

  "Thank you for getting us here safely," I tell her. "You're an amazing pilot."

  She doesn't smile, but her steely blue eyes grow warmer and she nods to me. "You're welcome. Happy to serve the Magnate's daughter." There's edge to her tone that makes me think she's no fan of my father's. Strange how many people seem to feel that way. Why did I never notice it before?

  We gather our things and follow General Binney and his unit of soldiers out of the craft. There's a contingent of ivory-clad Dern security guards waiting for us, and we walk between them to the next area of the transport center. As I walk on General Binney's right, the flickering red lights of the skull-port device behind his ear attract my attention. He must be constantly getting messages and updates that only he can hear.

  I used to have a skull-port, too—an endless, seamless source of news and entertainment. When the Fray rebels ripped it out of my head, I lost all of that, along with the communication features. But I gained something else—freedom, and the full scope of my ability to affect matter and produce heat. If getting a new skull-port means having my powers suppressed again, I'll fight the re-install with everything I've got.

  "Your friends' air transport leaves in thirty minutes," says General Binney, halting. "And yours departs immediately, Miss Remay. Through there." He points to an exit gate, also surrounded by Dern guards in cream-colored uniforms. Why do I feel confined rather than protected? "You can say your goodbyes now."