by Amanda Twigg
“Citizen Hux,” Brennan shouted, making her look back. “Enjoy the party.”
Landra’s aura quivered in response. It wasn’t a normal feeling nor a comfortable one. She hesitated, trying to steady her legs, but weakness hit her from nowhere. How can I be this fragile? Lead a Warrior faction? Yeah, right.
She strained for a breath, which wouldn’t come, and widened her legs to firm her stance. Her head drifted as if unable to hold a thought, so she leaned against a wall. I’m an embarrassment. I’m… A pale blue thread twisted up through her aura in front of her face, and the truth hit her like one of Thisk’s blows. The aura wisp didn’t belong because it was a slither of Baylem’s Soul.
She’d caught it before and intertwined it with her aura, but now it wanted to drift free. The body weakness, the struggle for breath; it belonged to her friend. Recognition of the sharing strengthened her connection to Baylem. She knew the girl’s fragility, sensed her drifting to thinness, and shared her pauses for breath.
Landra hung her head, trying to hide her shock. How can this happen? Magic, leave me alone
She licked her lips against dryness that wasn’t her own and grabbed the wall for support. This was her experience with Oakham all over again. Baylem wasn’t in her arms, but they were still linked. One more breath came and then one more. The next breath never arrived. Fading, emptiness, ending—Baylem broke apart.
No, no, no. Baylem?
She felt the girl die, just as she had felt the old sentry’s passing. Landra wanted to shout, cry, or scream, but she couldn’t release her emotions in this place. Not surrounded by Warriors she was supposed to lead. What should I say? Give me a moment to deal with my magical connection to a dying friend?
She thought of all her training sessions with Baylem. This wasn’t like saying goodbye to Oakham, who she’d barely known. This was parting from a friend. There’d be no more gossip, no friendly banter, and no more confiding secret desires.
Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.
She gasped and nearly sank to the floor. This didn’t seem possible. Landra’s aura roamed, as if searching could reclaim her connection, but there was nothing to latch on to. Deep grief crumpled her against the wall, and trapped tears stung her eyes.
“Citizen Hux?” the door guard asked.
Landra came back to herself and saw soldiers staring, but not at her Soul. Her decorative-paneled trousers draped artfully over her exposed thighs, showing skin right up to her waist. Most stares showed more desire than embarrassment, but her glare of desperation sent them scuttling. She closed her legs, flattened the panels, and set her face into that non-committal mask she was becoming used to wearing. “It’s been a long day,” she said to the door guard with a weak smile.
Another lie, another pretense. Will deception define my time as chief elect? No doubt.
Before continuing to the party, she willed her aura to reach for Baylem’s drifting thread. It hung close, spreading and tattering, but she captured the light strand into her own darker shades. Laughter, the joy of a shared meal, boy secrets, a training partnership, trust, friendship—it was all just a memory of Baylem now. Not wanting to lose those parts of her friend, Landra trapped the spirit that wasn’t her own, entwined it with her essence, and nodded to the guard. The door to Grekko’s opened.
Grief colored her Soul with shards of light, which darted painfully like exposed nerves, but she fixed a smile of serenity on her face and walked through the door. Dobbs shouts came from behind.
“Enjoy your cocktails and posing, Lan. I’m off to get shelk-faced.”
Chapter 36
The party boasted a more impressive array of insignias than the queue outside had. Warrior auras and leisure outfits blended with the wall drapes, bathing the room in a mass of azure shades, but odd dots of color splashes made Landra feel less exposed.
Riots, magic, death, and I’m supposed to celebrate?
She dragged a sigh up from her belly and looked around. The Second and Fifth City chiefs hunched together over a tall table, engaged in deep conversation and balancing untouched drinks between their fingers. Warrior Third Preston stood to one side, arms folded, and silver eyes glaring at a line of temple singers. The chief barber circulated amongst the guests, grinning like he’d gotten into the scute two hours before everyone else.
Landra lifted her foot from a sticky patch on the floor, and a heavy stench of fermenting vegetable matter drifted up. Fun party. Should have gone with Dobbs.
It was a smaller room than she’d expected, with conversing Warriors occupying every tall table and others spilling onto the tiny stage and dance floor. She looked for Thisk first but couldn’t find him in the crowd. The ranger would fit in with the political posturing and disingenuous conversations here like a clown at a wake, but she couldn’t help feeling abandoned. It had been days since she’d seen him, so she guessed his duty to her was done.
It’s my duty that’s the problem now.
She scanned the crowd to pick her first conversation, but an arm linked with her elbow and whisked her forward.
“Allow me to introduce myself,” the swarthy-skinned young man with a pinched nose and buried eyes said. He spun her around on the dance floor, scattering Warriors to the walls. Tight trousers hugged his thin hips, but ruffles billowed out of his yellow shirt. His short-cropped hair showed off a chief tailor insignia.
“I’m Jeffro,” he said, hinging at the waist to form a bow. “I created your outfit for tonight.”
So, you’re to blame.
“I thought Dell got me this.”
“Ah, well. Dell supplied the measurements, but I crafted this beauty.”
Landra wanted to kick him for her outfit, but she held her peace and feigned delight.
“Let me look at you.” He held her away at arm’s length. “I’ve so few opportunities to create casual wear for the female form. I want to show you off.”
Landra wanted to hide, but Jeffro spun her around.
“Gorgeous,” he said, with unexpected lust glinting in his eyes.
Thanks for making me the center of attention. Was one last night of anonymity too much to expect?
“I knew the bronze and gold shades of that blouse would complement your flecked hair and eyes,” he went on. “The fabric’s really hard to source, but it makes those trousers flow beautifully. Shame your dance slippers are hidden.
She automatically poked her toes out and glanced down at the sequined creations. Of course she stood out. So much had happened Landra only now processed that her outfit was intended to be a golden beacon amidst a sea of blue. So much for secrecy. She inwardly squirmed under the attention but outwardly smiled with the diplomacy of a chief elect. “My outfit is wonderful.”
“It was a close thing. I finished off the celebration outfits weeks ago and then new measurements came in for you. Have you been working out, girl? Come on, tell me the truth. You and I can’t keep secrets.”
“Everyone works out ahead of the championships,” she said, determined to keep her remote land training with Thisk to herself.
“Are you entering?”
“I’m not old enough,” she said, and by normal rules, that was true. “But every soldier likes to join in the preparations.”
She remembered her father’s instructions about careful conversations and tried to think of a specific aspect of her loose outfit to compliment. It wasn’t going to be the trousers. Their flowing panels were highly impractical and showed a ridiculous amount of skin, and she’d nearly tripped once when the fabric caught between her legs. A return to uniform skins couldn’t come soon enough, and her feet needed to be in boots rather than soft shoes. “I love this blouse,” she said. “The sleeves are so delicate.” The design truly was to her liking, but not because of the intricate floral patterns. The sleeves were long enough to hide her spider rash, and the firm under-bodice and flouncy fabric hid the Collector at her back.
Chief Hux approached. “May I cut in? I’d like the first dance
of the evening to be with my daughter.”
“Of course, Chief Hux, we weren’t going to dance,’ Jeffro said, dropping Landra’s hands and backing away. “I was just showing her off.”
Griffin grinned at the tailor then scooped Landra’s arms into his. As if in response, Templer musicians set their fingers to stringed instruments and strummed out a forgetful melody.
It was strange for Landra to hear Chief Hux call her his daughter in public, and she cautioned herself against feelings of warmth. Soldiers would look back on this tomorrow and see this moment as the Chief presenting his nominated successor. This was all business, and he certainly looked official, with his gold-streaked hair banded back to show his Chief’s rank and his blue uniform looking crisp, practical, and almost black
“Am I doing well, Chief Hux?”
He whisked her in a circle without giving an answer. “Are you wearing your birthday gift today?”
“Yes, sir. I don’t have a safe place to keep it, so I wear it all the time when I’m out. My new room locks, but I’m worried a Warrior might spring an inspection.”
“I should have thought of that,” he said, swaying to a halt and spinning the other way. “You should call me Father for this evening.”
She always thought of him as Father, despite rarely using the word to his face. The promotion ceremony would likely change their relationship to chief and chief elect forever, so she relaxed into the dance, determined to enjoy the moment of closeness. He stopped them in the middle of the floor and sighed.
“How are you feeling, Landra?”
Exhausted, depressed, determined, nervous. Memories of Baylem ambushed her mood. Grief-stricken. Can I say that? No, no. I shouldn’t know she died.
Her father ignored the over-long silence and gazed at her. “There’s something I’ve wanted to tell you, Landra, and it won’t be appropriate after tomorrow.”
She looked into his broad face, uncertain, and was relieved to see his skin glow with health. They locked stares, and it seemed like neither of them knew what to say.
“I’m sorry,” he said eventually.
She stood, mouth agape, and her father let her go. As another dancing couple spun toward them, his mouth framed into a sad smile and he backed away.
Emotion shuddered through her body. Sorry for what? Being an absent father, not finishing the conversation, or for making me chief elect?
Maybe it was all three. She gazed at his receding form, but her brother maneuvered into the space and grabbed her arm. His gaudy, rust-shaded suit marked him as another of Jeffro’s victims.
“Dannet!” she said. “I didn’t realize you’d arrived. Is Bexter here?”
“What? You’d rather spend time in his company than mine?”
“Obviously,” she said with a skittish laugh.
“Well, you’re going to have to wait. Bex is arriving later. Come over here, will you?” He dragged her to a quiet corner, away from the dance floor. “Landra, I have something to ask you. With the ceremony tomorrow, Chief Hux should have spoken to me by now if the promotion was mine. Has he said anything to you?”
Oh shelk. “Like what?”
“Like who’s going to be chief elect?”
Landra worked her mouth, hoping a good answer would come.
“You look surprised!” Dannet said. “I knew it. You have no idea why he hasn’t spoken to me either. I feel so stupid. Anyone here could be the chief elect and I wouldn’t know, but people are congratulating me as if I’ve got the job. I blurt out the official line, about no one knowing who the chief elect is, but they don’t believe me.”
Landra’s mouth worked, an admission dancing on her tongue. It carried a bitter taste. She should have shared her news before Thisk had taken her from the city. Now, it felt too late, and her hands trembled like overlevel leaves in the breeze. Dannet had practically raised her and deserved better. Store Chief Dell knew of her promotion and the barber too. Shelk, even Brennan from Hux Hall knew. She glanced about to check who was near.
“Dannet,” she said. “I have something to tell you.” She swallowed against her tight throat. “There was a night last cycle when Father called me to his stateroom and asked me to take his knife.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“It was a big thing.”
“I suppose. He did the same to me a couple of years ago.”
“What?”
“Sounds the same,” Dannet said. “He told me to fight for his knife and then beat me stupid. Did he hurt you, Landra?”
Confusion muddled her thoughts. “Well, he did hurt me a bit,” she said, underplaying her injuries. “What happened when you took the knife?”
“Are you crazy? He half-killed me, and there was no way I was getting that blade out of his hand. I had an engineering exam the next day, so I stopped fighting when he drew blood and walked out. Expected punishment duty for a cycle, but he never said a word. I lost a lot of sleep waiting for that report to drop, I can tell you.”
The crowd noise disappeared for Landra and she swayed, too stunned to speak. Her brother had faced the chief elect challenge first but had left the test unfinished. She knew he’d been trained to become chief; it had been obvious throughout their lives. But his failure had left her with the turmoil and pain to deal with. A seed of resentment worked its way into her thoughts, and she wanted to scream at her brother.
“So, what do you think, Lan? Should I talk to Father?”
Betrayed by the person I love most—you.
“Is something wrong? Lan?”
“Wrong?” Her front teeth bit down on her lip, stemming the rest of her tirade. She steadied her breathing and waited until she could trust her tone. “Do what you want, Dannet. You’re old enough to make decisions; that’s clear. So, if you want to talk to Chief Hux, you should just do it and stop moaning to me.”
“What?”
She wanted to tell him about the promotion, but now it wasn’t to ease her conscience or do right by her brother. She wanted Dannet to know how he’d destroyed her life. Raw as her emotions were, her dreams of anonymous travelling through the cities, becoming a Warrior on merit, and finding someone to love felt like as great a loss as Baylem’s death. She ground her teeth to stop her resentment from spilling out and stormed away. Her flouncy outfit fluttered in her wake.
Can this evening get any worse? Why didn’t you just take the knife, Dannet?
The partygoers divided before her angry stride. There was nowhere to hide, and the job she’d come to do still weighed on her thoughts. What was the point of staying up half the night to go through the files if she didn’t mix with the partygoers? This was her duty now, however she’d come by it, and she couldn’t shy from the task. She slowed her stride, breathed herself to calmness, then actively searched out Warrior Second Tasenda.
The woman leaned against a wall and stared into the crowd. A tight band secured her blond hair behind her head in ratty tails, showing off her ranking insignia, and deep alertness shone through her blue eyes. The report Father had supplied said she trained relentlessly and ignored her three husbands for the sake of work. True to form, she was one of the few people in the room still wearing duty uniform. Training tiredness showed on her lined features, ageing her a decade beyond her thirty-nine years.
Landra bit down her resentment and forced herself to make an approach.
“Warrior Second,” she said, “you look as if you’re on duty. May I bring you some refreshments?”
“No time for eating. I have to keep everyone safe.” Her words sounded like more of a boast than a complaint.
“Good to know you’re on duty,” Landra said. “Are you expecting trouble?”
Tasenda frowned. “I’m always expecting trouble.” She set her eyes on the crowd again in a clear sign of dismissal.
“If you change your mind about the food, let me know. Even our guards work best on full stomachs.” She smiled at Tasenda, not knowing if this was what Father wanted. After a salut
e and a small formal bow, she turned aside to look for her next conversation.
“Hux,” Tasenda said, drawing Landra back.
“Warrior Second?”
“You’re a woman.”
That much seemed obvious, but Landra had never been called a woman. Citizen, cadet, chief elect, girl, and nuisance, but never a woman. The Second’s blue eyes held her attention, and she wondered what the woman wanted.
“Here’s a piece of advice, Hux. When the Warrior class was exiled, they brought muscle and might. There’s never been many women here, so we’re expected to breed like skipper bunnies. Don’t let anyone bind you to that future. If you want to be a Warrior, work harder and for longer than the men around you.”
“Thank you, Warrior Second. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Tasenda favored her with a sly smile. “If you’re passing the food station, you can bring me something back.”
Landra nodded and moved on, hoping she’d made her first ally. The Second’s advice didn’t relate to her life, but listening had formed a connection. She worked the room with bitter efficiency, talking power shortages with Bairstow, the problems of tallying credits across six cities with Altur, and family feuds with Hagen. It was tortuous, and she longed to be elsewhere.
“Our district is arguably the most important,” Henderson told her. “The animal pens and hydroponic units supply all six cities with food.”
Landra was about to agree when a tingling power brushed her aura’s edges. She turned, moments before an influx of robed Templers set everyone else staring. Five male Templers swept into the party room wearing tailored robes of vibrant burgundy. Their robes looked spectacular, with weighted hems, pinches at the waist and cuffs, and a split up the front to show fitted trousers. They weren’t anything like the formless sacks most Templers wore.
The party noised damped down, and uneasy mutterings rumbled until Chief Hux marched across to greet the Templers with a warm shake of their hands. The festivities set in motion again, as if a switch had flipped.