by Pippa Jay
After a moment or two playing with it, she demonstrated its workings to Keir. “It’s a field guide of edible and poisonous plants and animals. It would seem our hosts intend to keep us well fed and healthy, at least.”
“There is a medical kit as well,” Keir told her, dragging out a green box from beneath the table and rummaging through it. “This looks like Surei’s scanner.” He activated it by brushing his fingers over the dark, polished surface and found it as straightforward to use as those from Lyagnius. “It suggests they plan for us to be here for some time.”
Quin sat at the table, chin resting on one hand, the field guide before her. Thoughtfully, she trailed idle fingers across the screen, blurring the tiny images. “Why, though? What will it achieve? J’dahzi wanted us to leave as soon as possible, but whoever did this wants the opposite. It worries me.”
Keir met her gaze solemnly as she stared down at him, sharing her concerns. “They want something from you.”
“Then why not just ask? If only I could have spoken more to T’rill.”
“Come on.” He gestured to the inner door standing to one side of the kitchen. “We have not yet seen everything here.”
The door led to a bedroom–a small space made light and airy by a window in each of the remaining walls. A large bed adorned with soft blankets and pillows stood on raised legs, a wooden frame draping it on every side with insect netting. A sizable chest at the end held spare clothing of various sizes, and Quin sorted through them eagerly before choosing a pair of loose black leggings and a pale-blue tunic.
Without warning, she stripped off the lace robe and flimsy slip. Keir inadvertently caught site of her bare stomach and a wide scar even as he turned away.
Oh Gods.
He closed his eyes, but the image of her half-naked body lodged itself firmly in his mind and would not be dismissed. Her stomach was taut and smooth. The skin looked soft as velvet. For an instant he imagined his fingertips stroking over her skin, how it might feel, how she might react. Heat rushed over his skin, a mixture of embarrassment and longing.
No, do not think of it!
He clamped down hard on his thoughts, strove to bury them where she would not hear them.
She cannot know.
His heart raced uncontrollably. He ran his hands roughly through his hair, tugging until it hurt and focusing on the pain.
She cannot know what I was thinking.
“What’s wrong?” Quin asked, apparently reading his distress but not the reason for it.
He said nothing, staring at the bed.
“I don’t snore or fidget,” she promised, her tone light and teasing. “Not that I’ve been told, anyway.”
“I will find somewhere else to sleep,” he said, hurriedly. “I am used to sleeping rough.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s safer if we both stay in here at night. If I’m not worried, why should you be?”
Keir glanced at her, as shocked by her blasé attitude to sleeping together as by the prospect of doing so.
“Is the idea of sharing a bed with me so appalling?”
For a moment the implication left him speechless. “No! That is…” Panic filled him at the thought of being compelled to share such an intimate space with her, but he could not refuse without being forced into an explanation. He raised his hands in a gesture of solemn assurance, as if making a pledge to her. “I swear I will not touch you.” He could not bring himself to meet her gaze.
“I promise the same,” she said quietly, as if hoping to ease his discomfort. She took a step toward him and froze as he flinched at her movement. “The only thing we’re missing,” she continued as if his reaction had gone unnoticed, “is water. Those bottles on the beach will only last the day. I’m sure they’ll have considered that too.”
* * * *
Alone in her private audience chamber, T’rill huddled in her nest of cushions like a frightened child, finding no pleasure or comfort in the sunlight’s warm embrace or the softness of her bower. Ragged dreams had haunted her every night since she’d seen the Emissary’s vision. Sometimes they were of her world turning to dust around her, and sometimes she watched her palace disintegrate with her children trapped inside. Sometimes it was Quin whose destructive powers turned everything she loved to scattered particles, but in others, it was the Emissary, his mask removed to reveal nothing but shadows beneath.
Her loyalty to Quin oscillated wildly. In her heart, she still refused to believe that her friend could cause such ruin, that she would ever do such a thing to Metraxi. Yet Quin herself had admitted to the crime, had told her tales of worlds perishing and the death of friends. She no longer knew what to believe–her fear and exhaustion blinded her. Perhaps the Emissary had planted something dark and frightening within her, poisoning her body and soul. She felt her power to rule slipping away from her a little more each day and it terrified her.
Her brooding was interrupted by the sudden entrance of a young saurian soldier, who threw himself on the floor, shaking violently as he tried to catch his breath. His pale-green scales seemed to glow beneath his scarlet and gold uniform. “My queen…!” he gasped.
“T’reno,” she greeted him softly, recognizing the voice of a man that she, as a young girl, had once wanted to kiss. “What is wrong?”
He raised his head, the green eyes blurred by tears. Startled by his tortured expression, she leaned forward attentively, anxiety knotting in her chest.
“My father…” he began, his voice raw with grief. “Your Highness, my father is dead!”
Shock slammed into her chest so hard it crushed the breath from her. “J’dahzi?” she whispered, rising from her cushioned bower. T’reno remained crouched before her, quivering with each ragged breath he drew. Tears filled her own eyes as she placed a compassionate hand on his shoulder, sorrow overwhelming her. She struggled to speak, every word caught in her throat. “How?” she managed at last.
“He was murdered!” Fury displacing his sadness, T’reno raised his head, face twisted in anger. “They found a Langer beetle by his body. It could only have been brought in by someone deliberately. Someone killed him.”
T’rill retreated in horror, crossing her arms protectively over her chest. “A Langer beetle?” She swallowed hard, a shiver coursing through her as she willed it to be a mistake. “Are you sure? I thought… I was told they were extinct, more than twenty years ago!”
“Eradicated on the mainland, Your Highness.” T’reno growled. “But sometimes we hear rumors of them being found on the remote islands. Someone determined could find one if they wished. It’s a method of assassination that cannot be traced!”
“I am so very sorry, T’reno,” she murmured. “Your father was a good man, a loyal one, with no guile in him and undeserving of such a fate.” She shook herself. “We must discover who is responsible. You have my permission to proceed in any way necessary to bring the murderer to justice. Your father deserves that, at least.”
“Thank you, Your Highness,” he said, voice still harsh with grief. “But there is more. Tarquin Secker and her companion are missing.”
“They left?” Confusion and hurt whirled in her mind. Hadn’t Quin promised to stay? And to leave at this time, without a word, was an insult T’rill would not have tolerated from anyone else. Had Quin sensed danger and run?
“I don’t believe so, Your Highness. There are no signs of a struggle, but their possessions are still in their rooms and no one saw them leave. I believe they have been taken.”
T’rill bit back the scream of rage that threatened, furious that two such heinous incidents could happen within her palace, to those under her protection. She glared down at the officer and into eyes that surely reflected her own outrage.
“Then you will find Quin and track down whoever killed J’dahzi!” she ordered. “I will not allow such things to happen here!”
“Yes, Your Highness.” He bowed his head and left as swiftly as he had come, his expression fierce.
T
’rill sank back into her cushions, head in her hands. This was her fault. She should never have summoned Quin back to Metraxi.
* * * *
Above the planet of Metraxi, the Emissary’s ship hung in geostationary orbit without any sign of life, as black and silent as it had been since the moment of its arrival. In the chamber of shadows, the Emissary sat alone, his masked head bowed.
A faint whispering sound overlaid the ship’s usual discordant hum, as if many voices spoke softly in unison. He sat in the posture of a supplicant, begging mercy for respite from the unrelenting chorus. Their presence never left him, filling his head, his entire being, giving him no peace or rest. He shivered as they slunk into every thought, dominating every moment of his existence. Sleep, true sleep, was a distant memory he yearned for.
His hands clenched into tight fists. Would this never end? Would he never be free?
His sorrowful meditation was disrupted by the sudden melodic chimes of the crystal in his hand. The persistent voices swiftly dwindled into the background hum of the vessel. The Emissary’s head rose. He lifted his hand and opened his fingers, exposing the singing crystal.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“Tarquin Secker is missing.” R’hellek’s voice was unmistakable even distorted by the crystal and a hint of suspicion. “Do you have her?”
The Emissary jerked to his feet as if yanked up by hidden strings. “No,” he responded, sudden urgency searing through his lethargy. “I do not.”
“Someone removed her from the palace during the night,” the Minister continued. “I thought it might have been you.”
“No. It would seem other agencies are involved.”
“I have a suspicion it was arranged by J’dahzi. I should have removed him earlier.” There was a deep regret in his words. “I will keep a close eye on his son. He may lead me to her.”
“If he was involved in her disappearance, the last thing he will do is betray her location.” The whispering arose from the shadows again and the Emissary tilted his head to listen. “I will approach the queen again. She has opened herself to me. I can use that.”
“How?”
“The queen allows fear to rule her heart. Fear gives me the power to rule her mind. She will help me find Quin.”
The certainty he felt gave him some satisfaction, but not enough to compensate for the frustration. He had waited too long for T’rill’s aid and now Quin seemed to have evaded them yet again.
“And if that fails?” the Minister asked, his apprehension evident.
“There are other ways.”
“Very well,” R’hellek agreed. “I’ll assist in the search myself, and post a watch over the gateway.”
“As you wish.”
The crystal fell silent. The Emissary squeezed it until it splintered and a small shower of glittering particles trickled from his fingers to fall as shimmering dust to the floor.
* * * *
Twilight brought yet another surprise. As daylight dwindled, several small lanterns lit the house inside and out. Keir was sitting in the kitchen as the lights came on and dropped the guide to the table in shock. The sudden clatter startled a gasp from Quin before she shifted it to a nervous giggle.
“Sorry,” Keir muttered, feeling somewhat foolish as he retrieved the device and checked it for possible damage.
“Don’t worry.” She laid a plate of food before him. “The lights surprised me too. Now eat.”
Quin had done her best with the dried provisions supplied, creating something edible, if bland, for their evening meal. “We’ll have to put the field guide to good use tomorrow,” she suggested as they finished eating. “Try to save the packets for future use.”
“You think we will be here a long time.”
“I think that’s the intention. Once we’ve found some food, we should explore the island. See if there are others nearby.”
“We could build a raft, if they are close enough,” Keir suggested.
The prospect gave him a shiver of excitement. He remembered a summer’s morning spent watching the stable lads building one from emptied barrels and broken boards in the courtyard below his apartment. They had returned later that same day, drenched and battered with their craft apparently wrecked, but the shrill laughter and chatter of their adventure had filled his ears and left him longing to do the same.
“That will take time.” Quin sighed. “We’ve no idea where we are, or where we’re going. There might be people looking for us, and we won’t know who’s friend or foe.”
“So do you intend to wait and see who comes for us here?”
“No! I’d rather try to reach the palace and open the gateway home.”
“What about a gateway from here?” It struck Keir as odd that the idea had not already occurred to her.
“I can’t open one here. I don’t have the power,” she confessed. “The gateway room on Lyagnius is special.”
“Special, how?”
“There’s a power source built into it. Don’t ask me how it works, because I really don’t know. Sky would probably be able to explain it. I can open a gateway from there to anywhere, but I can only take the same path back again. I can’t open a new one. Besides, even if I had the power, my control isn’t that perfect. It’s unlikely I’d make one home. Not on the first attempt anyway.”
“I did not realize.” Keir stirred the last few grains left on his plate in thought, surprised by her admission.
“It isn’t something I tell people. Why give away all my secrets? Especially a weakness.”
“How did you learn? Could you always open them?” He stared at her curiously. His own attempt had been done in such desperation he found it hard to recall the details. He knew he had taken the knowledge straight from her mind, but the understanding of the process failed him.
Quin dropped her gaze. “Darion taught me,” she told him, her voice so quiet he barely caught the words.
Keir sensed her pain and dropped the subject, instead rising to clear their empty plates. Even thinking of her husband caused her deep sorrow, and he had no wish to make her suffer with it as R’hellek had.
“We should get some sleep,” she suggested, once he had cleared away the dishes.
He followed her through to the bedroom with reluctance, his heart pounding so fiercely it felt as though someone was pummeling his chest with mailed fists while also attempting to yank out his stomach.
Without preamble, Quin lifted the netting aside and lay down facing the window. Keir hesitated, uncertain as to the etiquette of it all. Relationships with anyone were a closed book to him–his parents had made an uneasy, often volatile, alliance during his childhood. And what opportunity had he had since to learn?
Quin had already made herself comfortable and seemed oblivious to his dilemma, or else ignored it deliberately. He climbed into bed on the other side and lay on his back, arms folded across his stomach as he stared up at the ceiling. The long timbers of the roof ran in thin bands the length of the room, the golden wood veiled by the sheet of netting strung above. Painfully conscious of the warmth of Quin’s presence and the sound of her breathing over the thunder of his own heart, he closed his eyes and prayed the morning would come swiftly.
When Keir woke to the pale glow of dawn, Quin had already gone. He used their link to find her. She had gone to the waterfall to replenish the empty water bottles from the day before. If he concentrated, he could catch a glimpse of what she saw and feel something of what she felt–images of flowing water and the sense of early morning air. The scent of greenery crushed underfoot and a faint floral perfume from the blue flowers lining the water’s edge. It tugged a smile onto his face to share those things with her, but he quickly closed the contact. What right had he to trespass in her head like that?
And yet a few moments later he found himself there again. A song danced through her head and with it a fleeting image of a green-eyed man who held out a hand to Quin.
Darion.
He snatch
ed himself away. More than any, that was a memory he should not intrude upon. Anxious to do something equally practical, he took the field guide out among the trees to search for fresh food. He soon found a patch of fruit bushes that were not only safe but in season. He made a holder out of the end of his top and filled it with elongated purple fruits the length of his thumb, returning his bounty to the kitchen before venturing out a second time with a small digging blade in hand. Closer to their temporary home, he found and began to dig up some tubers he recognized from an image in the guide.
After shoveling a mound of the black earth aside, he tossed the trowel behind him and dug with his fingers around the tangled roots. Inside the dirt, something moved, and Keir yanked back his hand. From behind his feet, he retrieved the trowel and prodded the moving shapes. A writhing worm-like creature went into a coiling paroxysm at his assault, and with a deft twist he flicked it from the hole and watched it slither off among the greenery.
The deep earth gave up its gifts with reluctance. Hard nodular shapes showed red beneath the coating of soil and a cluster of thread-like roots. By the time he arrived back at the hut, he was thickly covered in dirt, and Quin had returned from her own tasks.
“What happened to you?” she asked, a slight frown of concern creasing her face and her wet hair hanging in dark tangles.
Keir lifted his makeshift bag of treasure and she grinned her approval.
“Not bad,” she smirked, “but you didn’t have to bring the dirt back with you.”
Keir looked down at himself, smeared from shoulder to waist in mud where the sweat of his labors had mixed with the island’s black soil. “I will go and wash,” he promised, grinning back at her. He deposited his finds on the veranda to be cleaned and headed inside.
* * * *
Quin found herself staring appreciatively at his back–sweat had made his shirt cling tightly to the expanse of muscle–and caught her breath. Embarrassed, she forced her gaze aside and busied herself with the results of their foraging, hoping to hide her blushes as he fetched clean clothing from the bedroom.