Stolen

by Melissa de la Cruz

Today the sylph’s beauty meant nothing. All beauty was nothing. Today was a day of blood.

  “Your blade,” he said aloud, a concession, since she had replied to him by conversing instead of through telepathy. During their initial meeting, Faix had explained that there was no need to speak, since he knew what she was going to say before she said it, but Nat insisted. His voice had a different timbre when spoken—deeper and less uncomfortably intimate.

  She removed her sword from its sheath and handed it to him. He narrowed his almond eyes at her before taking in the sight of the sword.

  He weighed it, examining the black corroded markings on its surface where the iron cloud had hit it.

  “Can you fix it?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  But can you fix what has wounded you? The sylph sent the words almost as quietly as she ignored him.

  “Mainas was hurt badly and told me to come back here.” Already she felt weaker, lesser, without her drakon. She was not complete, not without it, and when she thought of her great magnificent beast bleeding and dying in the ground, she felt the tears start to come, as if from the very center of her chest. As if her heart itself was weeping.

  She said none of this to Faix, but he nodded, as impassive and implacable as ever. “A wise choice, to return. Do not weep. Vallonis will keep your drakon safe.”

  “It wasn’t just that. It was different this time. They attacked us with an iron bomb, a new weapon, a magical weapon,” Nat said.

  “That is ill news indeed,” said Faix, his lips barely moving, his eyes trained on some distant horizon.

  She nodded and a wave of exhaustion overtook her. It was too much, all of it. She wished she were already home so she could remove her armor. Maybe that would help with this immense weight. It was lighter than it looked but still heavier than the clothes she preferred to wear—her black jeans and boots from New Vegas, the homespun shirts she’d been given when she first came to the island. Faix had set her up in a little cottage near a river, where she had a bed and a table, a small kitchen, and a few books. “What if the enemy returns with more ships while Mainas is in the ground?” she asked.

  She knew Faix had heard the real question: What if I alone can’t protect us? What if I am too weak without my drakon half? What happens then?

  He held up his hand. “The threat from the gray lands is contained for now. It will take some time for them to return with a new battalion.” It was his way of acknowledging her victory on the seas today. Faix was not given to praise, only direct statement, and she tried not to let it bother her.

  When she first met the sylph and was remanded to his care, Faix had cautioned her that the war was far from over, and that they should prepare for the next attack. As they sat by the fire that first night, Faix told her that the kingdom of Vallonis had many enemies throughout history, and the RSA was only its latest opponent. “Being a drakonrydder means that your life will be one of war, and your heart will forever be consumed with fire and rage.”

  “I understand,” she had said, though she hadn’t then, and wasn’t sure she believed it now—even now that she had felt that rage deep within her own soul.

  Faix had made her listen. He had said it again and again, until she could practically recite the words back to him: “The place of the drakonrydder is not inside Vallonis but outside its peaceful haven, guarding the door, part of it but apart from it at the same time.”

  When she had only nodded, he had sighed.

  “It is a terrible honor, and now it is yours.”

  In so many ways, Faix had been right. It was a solitary life. Nat didn’t need much, but she had hoped for more from the Blue, had hoped to find a community of the marked where she belonged. Liannan had spoken of the White Mountain tribes, and the villages filled with smallfolk. A basket of food was left at Nat’s door every morning, but she never even caught a glimpse of her benefactors. She understood she had to live on the outskirts, since she was the land’s first and best defense, but she hoped that one day she would be able to explore and enjoy her new world. Of late, she had begun to think Faix was right. Perhaps warriors like her could never rest.

  Now she thought of Wes, hunched over on the steering wheel of that car. He didn’t look like he got much rest, either. She struggled to keep her mind focused on Faix.

  “I will take you to Apis so we can report this new development to the Queen. The drakonslayer weapon is not our truth to conceal.” He spoke without expression, his voice flat, and his features unreadable. Faix’s perfection—his calm demeanor, his rigid posture—often unnerved her. Nat felt as if she were facing a statue, not a man.

  “No,” Nat said miserably. “It’s not,” she murmured, the howl of the wind nearly swallowing her words. The forest was cold; she longed for the sky, for her drakon. She felt trapped without her loyal steed.

  “Besides, it is high time you were introduced to Nineveh and saw more of the place you are sworn to protect,” Faix said slyly. “As well as the benefactors of your solitary life.”

  Of course.

  It was his way of reminding her that her mind was open to him, that they had no secrets between them. If so, did he see her think of Wes? Faix never asked about her old life, and never asked if she was happy in this new one. He was her guide to her new life as a drakonrydder, but he was far from a friend.

  “You are wrong, Anastasia. I am your friend,” he said. I am your friend and I feel the weight you carry with you now, he sent.

  She colored. “Do you?” It was one thing to be a telepath, but quite another to be rude about it.

  Faix’s eyes flickered in his impassive face. “I apologize,” he said. “It is difficult to shut out the thoughts that I hear. I will make more of an effort not to eavesdrop in the future.”

  “Thank you, Faix,” she said. “And like I said before, please call me Nat. Everyone does.”

  “I know what you are called by your intimates, but I find it is not enough for you. It is rather like the name of a small insect.”

  She smiled inwardly, remembering what Wes had said to her when they first met. Nat, like the insect?

  Faix continued. “Names carry power, Anastasia Dekesthalias,” he said.

  But I have no power. My power is bleeding out beneath the earth. She thought the words before she could take them back. Mainas had been certain that Vallonis would cure what ailed it, but what if it was wrong? What if it succumbed to its wounds?

  Faix only shook his head. If he was listening, he didn’t let on. “You must learn that in Vallonis, you have no need to disguise your strength. Names carry one’s history and identity.”

  “Then what of yours?” Nat asked, wary of any more talk about herself or her drakon.

  A hint of a smile appeared on Faix’s handsome face. “I am Faix Lazaved, Messenger to the Queen. Faix was my father’s name and his father’s name and his father’s name before him and so on until the beginning of time. We share a common name but we earn our surnames; they are titles that are determined by our talents, by the skills we have honed, the positions we have achieved.”

  “Is that pride I hear in your voice, Faix?” It was a rare thing for a sylph to venture any sort of personal information about himself.

  “Our names are a source of great pride. My father was Faix Lumeras, weaver of light, and long ago, his father before him was Faix Paean, healer of wounds, and our direct ancestor was Faix Drakaras, herder of drakons.”

  “He was a rydder?”

  “No.” Faix touched the necklace he wore, a slim chain holding a small ruby-colored charm. “He was a shepherd. During the first age of Vallonis, when the mighty clans of drakonborn kept the land and waters safe.”

  Clans of drakonborn. She could see them for a moment, through his eyes. A blaze of drakons and their rydders, mighty and proud. People like her. But they were gone now, and she understood why his smile was sad.
She was the last and the only, and right now her drakon, the last drakon, was buried in the ground, weakened by an unseen and dangerous enemy. She was all alone, and so was her drakon self.

  Nat leaned against the trunk of a mighty oak, running a hand over its gnarled and knobby bark. Birds chirped in the distance, their calls echoing through the trees. The sun was rising, its first red rays casting long and elegantly dappled shadows on the forest floor, and the ache in her chest throbbed.

  We are powerless now. Alone.

  You didn’t have to be a sylph to know that.

  “Not alone, Nat,” said Faix with a hint of an apologetic smile.

  “You’re doing it again.” Nat sighed.

  “And you may as well be shouting.” Faix raised an eyebrow. “But even so, you must understand, you are not alone. Not even when your drakon is apart from you.”

  “Because I have you?” Nat said skeptically.

  Faix stared at her with unblinking eyes. “Because you carry the hope of all Vallonis with you.”

  With that, he turned and walked deeper into the forest, and Nat followed.

  You realize you just called me Nat, right?

  If the sylph was listening, he didn’t say a word.

  Chapter 6

  WES DIDN’T WASTE ANY TIME MOVING on Shakes’s intel, and by morning he had arranged their transport to the golden city of El Dorado, which was a day’s drive from Vegas. When Shakes insisted on coming, Wes had tried to talk him out of it at first.

  “So maybe I got a death wish,” his friend said, shrugging. Dark circles ringed Shakes’s once-bright eyes. His messy hair fell across his forehead. Wes knew he was thinking about Liannan.

  “And maybe I have a stupid friend,” Wes answered, clapping his hand on his friend’s back. After that, Wes had given up.

  They were leaving that night. Sitting in a restaurant, waiting for their pickup, he hoped the meal would improve his friend’s dark mood. But not even the fact that they were eating something other than glop could put a smile on Shakes’s face. As luck would have it, Wes had been paid twice the usual fee for racing the speedway and there were more watts than he’d expected in his account. It appeared his bosses had enjoyed the little trick he’d pulled, the way he’d swerved and crashed into that Lamborghini, causing the five-car pileup. Crashes made for good entertainment as long as no one got hurt, and Wes had been lucky in that respect.

  The crash bonus came in handy for bribing his way to Eliza. In a matter of hours, Shakes’s contact had been able to pass on a few more details—the name and exact location of the facility, and Eliza’s identification number. Wes sent her information to a hacker, who was able to glean her room number and schedule. By the time dinner was over, Wes had gotten word that the hacker had also confirmed her transfer order. The transport to the Red City was scheduled for later that week.

  It had been nine years since he’d seen Eliza. They were both children when she disappeared. She would be sixteen now; would she still remember him? It didn’t matter. She was his only remaining family, his sister, his twin. He wondered what kind of life she had led, what kind of girl she had grown up to become. Her childhood hadn’t been easy, she’d found her power at a young age, it had made life hard for her. Wes shrugged off his worry. It didn’t matter who she had become, she was still his sister, his kin—he needed to help her.

  Shakes had an all-tofu plasti-burger shoved so far into his mouth, it looked like he might choke. You’d think the guy never saw a burger before, Wes thought, although he himself couldn’t remember the last time they’d spent the watts on one.

  “Slow down, man,” Wes reached for his own sandwich, “or you’ll yak that mess onto the floor and they’ll charge us extra to scrub out the vinyl.” He grinned. “I’m sorry, I meant manage the vinyl.”

  In answer, Shakes took an even bigger bite, his cheeks bulging chipmunklike. When he saw the look on Wes’s face, he laughed through his food and spit a chunk on his plate.

  Wes shook his head as he bit into his own plasti-burger. But he was glad he’d splurged on the burgers. It was good to see Shakes laughing. There hadn’t been a lot of occasions to laugh lately. They’d been evicted twice in the last four months and were currently living in a ramshackle trailer outside the Strip, stealing power from the grid to heat and light their home, but it was only a matter of time before they’d get busted and kicked out again. With the sudden and unexpected recession crippling the local economy, the credits Nat had paid them for the trip to the Blue hadn’t lasted as long as he’d hoped. While Wes was scraping together a few watts racing, tourist season would be over soon and the track would close.

  More darkness on the Strip.

  Shakes put his burger down. Wes could tell he wanted to talk about Liannan and the Blue, and Wes just didn’t want to go there. Thinking about the Blue made him think of Nat and thinking of Nat made his stomach twist. He couldn’t keep the image of her from his mind. Nat astride her drakon, her green eyes flashing, looking dangerous and beautiful, and he missed her so much. So he kept his feelings buried deep inside and he didn’t want to hear his friend talk about his own. To be silent and miserable together was enough.

  “They’re dead, you know,” Shakes said suddenly. “They have to be. I can’t believe Liannan would just . . .”

  Wes was alarmed at the level of his despair. “No—no. We’ll find them. We will. Especially now that we’ve got the watts. After we get Eliza, we’ll—”

  “Nah. I’m done hoping. You know what they say . . . gone longer than a month and god knows what’s been done to them. If they were taken, they’re dead, and we failed them.”

  “You don’t know that.” Wes tried to console him, but there was no use. He needed comfort himself. He took a second bite of plasti-burger and looked away. The diner was a far cry from the fancy bar where Shakes worked. There were no clear glass walls or glass floor, no snow concierges to make sure a dusting of powder didn’t fall into your cocktail. The place had a roof that leaked and walls patched with crooked sheet metal. It was the kind of nondescript place frequented by runners like them; the restaurant had no identifying markers, no signs out front, no lights that you could see from the outside. It looked like an abandoned building, a disguise that worked well for its patrons.

  Wes and Shakes weren’t exactly wanted men, but they weren’t always legitimate hardworking citizens, either, so they kept a low profile. As far as he could tell, no one knew that his team had been on Nat’s side when the Pacific fleet sunk beneath the black waters. Make that almost no one. There were slavers out there who worked for the RSA and knew what really happened. Wes guessed he was safe in New Vegas for now, but he wasn’t taking any chances, not when he was planning another grab-and-go job, this time from a military hospital prison. He finished his burger, fumbling for his napkin.

  “We’ll find them,” he said, trying to sound confident.

  Shakes nodded but didn’t answer.

  Wes checked his watch. “Our ride should be here by now. Wait till you see it.” He hoped a familiar face might cheer them both up.

  They picked up their trays and stumbled through the darkness of the diner, Shakes knocking into a table on their way out. Did they really need to keep the place so dark? Paranoia drove the hunted to extremes—there was no limit to what runners would do to stay undercover. Wes had seen some pretty bad plastic surgery and dye jobs on a couple of their colleagues.

  Shakes opened the door and the two of them huddled in the cold for a while. “He said he’d be here by now,” Wes muttered.

  “Who? Prince Charming?” Shakes stamped his feet in the snow.

  “More or less,” Wes sighed.

  A few minutes later a vintage white stretch limousine pulled up to the curb. It was a behemoth, a boat, like one of those old ocean cruisers, from when people still took vacations on the sea. The car was a relic, most likely rebuilt half
a dozen times, the body made from flimsy white plastic, but through the front window he could see it had black leather seats, and the engine purred.

  Shakes snickered when the limo stopped in front of them. “Let me guess. This monstrosity is our ride to El Dorado?”

  “You’re welcome,” replied Wes, feigning hurt.

  The front window rolled down to reveal the smiling mug of one Farouk Jones, a member of their former crew and fellow survivor of the battle of the black water. The kid held a screen in one hand and the steering wheel in the other. The loud beats of a reggae mash-up thumped from his headphones. He was listening to music, playing a video game, and driving all at the same time. Typical Farouk.

  Farouk’s long, thin face broke into a huge grin. “You guys call a cab?” he asked, getting out to open the back door for his friends. When they’d returned to New Vegas after ferrying Nat to the Blue, it had been difficult for Wes to get work for his crew, and so after a few weeks kicking around waiting, Farouk left, taking a job as a casino driver. At thirteen, he had the battle-hardened face of a thirty-year-old and the temperament of a kid not older than nine. He brushed back a face full of dreads as he opened the door.

  Wes pushed into the backseat, Shakes nudging him aside as he shoved in behind him. The door slammed and the limo pulled out, music blaring, Farouk spinning the wheel to avoid almost colliding with a pedestrian. He turned around and his smile faded. “What’s with the long faces? Just you two? Where’s the pretty lady and my bros?” he asked. The last time they’d seen him was a month ago, when the team was still intact and Liannan, Brendon, and Roark were still part of it.

  Shakes remained silent as he sprawled on the backseat with his hat on his face, and Wes also ignored Farouk’s question. He ran a hand across the leather seat. Luxuries of this sort were rare these days; even his Mustang from the racetrack didn’t have this sort of juice. “Who owns this white elephant?” he asked. “Must be a big shot if he can pay for the gas.”

  “Nope, this thing runs on electric, man, and the casino bosses pay for everything,” Farouk said. “Like I told you on the phone, I run daily routes between the El Dorado domes and the Strip, sometimes Ho Ho City if we have an armed escort. Everyone’s leaving New Veg, what with the casino wars and now with the protests, the place is a mess. Wait till we get to the domes. Good stuff. Hot in there for sure. Chicks in bikinis even.” He winked. “Talk about domes.”