Only Broken Things Are Free (A Pygmalion Fail Book 3)

by Casey Matthews

  The stink made my eyes water. Dak and I both gagged. He snapped the ripcord on his steampunk chainsaw, which roared to life like a hungry heavy-metal god of destruction.

  I raised a simple curved handle, clicked a button, and weightless, glassy components manifested, snapping into place one by one to form the boxy base, blade, and spinning teeth. I held a glowing stained-glass chainsaw in my hands.

  “Thoughts?” Dak asked.

  “Wish I’d drawn aprons and visors. I don’t want to get any in my mouth.”

  “Try not to laugh, then.” He hefted the chainsaw, striding toward the gathering horde.

  I followed, gunning my magitech device.

  Pretty soon we were both giggling, trying to keep our mouths shut while plunging roaring metal-and-magic blades into zombie after zombie. A dark cackling rose through the room while I sawed one down the middle. I was about to chastise Dak when I realized it was me cackling.

  It took barely ten minutes and we both flopped exhausted onto our backs, stinking of corpse juices. “That was actually morbid.” Yet my grin refused to fade.

  “Yeah, but also awesome.”

  “Best therapy ever.” A single zombie arm inched nearer to us, its mitted fingertips dragging the attached shoulder and head. I groaned, too exhausted to put it down. “Romero.”

  The zombies—and gunk on us—turned to dust.

  “No muss, no fuss,” Dak said. “If we could bottle this experience, we’d be millionaires.”

  Chapter Eight: Ties that Bind

  We found bedrooms with showers, steam billowing where hot water met frozen walls, and laundered our clothes with strange wands that crackled with cleansing electrical rays. We ate dinner in a kitchen, its freezers stacked with hundreds of meals in ice cases that—once cracked with a tiny hammer—produced food at the ideal temperature.

  Deciding I wanted the tactile feel of paper, I broke out my art pad and colored pencils, sketching new Akarri armor while picking at a plate of sweet and sour chicken. Destroying zombies had quieted my rage, but my hands needed more than to rip something apart. They needed to fix something.

  Gradually, I abandoned my first attempt at full plate armor, remembering the grace of the Akarri in combat. I favored a more organic design, with flexible magitech plates beaded with cobalt gems of varying sizes, the two largest stones inset over the heart and left shoulder. Those were inscribed with runes.

  “Still too ornamental,” Dak said. “Sure, the armor’s better, but glowing rune stones make you a target in the dark.”

  “They only glow when the heart stone projects its energy shield.” I grinned. “Tap the shoulder stone and they enter stealth mode. It absorbs ambient light.”

  “Ooh. I want.”

  I finished the sketch alongside dinner and fetched some hot saké from the kitchen. Dak gave me a scolding look, but nursing the first cup quieted my anxiety.

  “Want to go exploring?” he asked.

  “Nah, you go ahead. I’ve got one more thing to draw.”

  “You’ll eventually have to talk to Ronin, you know. You can’t just disappear into your art.”

  “Technically I’m living inside my art already, and it’s done me no favors.” I smirked. “Relax. The armor design was a salve for my guilt. This next thing is a weapon.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Ronin was right. I’m no warrior. But I might have to become one, because I’m not sure I’ll ever trust her again. Depending on how our next conversation goes, we might be back to the Dak and Isaac Show.”

  “Just for the record, no matter what bullshit they said about ‘creating’ our friendship… I still love the Dak and Isaac Show.”

  I leaned until my shoulder bumped into his hip. No words were necessary.

  He hovered for a while, but restlessly. Dak was one of those people who could get simultaneously angsty and energetic. He’d once described it to me as “head full of moods, body full of jitters.”

  I could tell he needed brooding space. “Go take your walk. You’re practically bouncing.”

  After Dak left, I checked the bracelet that registered my magical power and was surprised to see it nearly full. The Citadel kept me charged.

  I didn’t hold back. Switching to digital art, I worked on a magitech firearm modeled on a tommy gun with a rotating cylinder instead of a drum magazine. Each spot in the cylinder could hold a different rune stone, letting me toggle between different weapon types. The tommy-gun design had me thinking about the roaring ’20s, which led to an Art Deco motif of sharply geometric engravings, a gold and chrome color scheme, and a final product that looked like I was ready to shoot up a scene from The Great Gatsby.

  The rune stones took a lot of research—I spent half my time on comic panels illustrating their effects, especially where I had trouble finding ideal kanji for the runes.

  It took a few hours and Dak returned in time for the summoning. “Impressive,” he said as gun and stones manifested.

  “Watch this.” I rolled up my sleeve and touched the smooth metallic stock. The whole gun melted into black ink that trickled up my forearm. I winced as the ink pushed into my flesh, stinging like a wet towel snap. When it was done, I had a geometric Deco design tattooed on my forearm. “Cool, huh?”

  Dak examined the tattoo. “Maybe don’t draw things while sipping the saké. A bandoleer would have been fine.”

  “Except the first thing everyone does is disarm me.” I flicked my wrist. The ink seared from my flesh and I suddenly held the weapon trained on a nearby chair. “See? I can even quick-draw my rainbow gun if necessary.”

  “ ‘Rainbow gun’?”

  “Seemed apropos.” I motioned to the summoned rune stones: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and violet. Loading them into the drum, I willed the carbine back into tattoo form. Now the design featured six black rune-stone shapes, indicating the gun’s “ammunition.”

  “We should workshop the name,” Dak said skeptically. “I’ll be on the roof making a snowman in Ronin’s image. You can help me decide its fate when you’re done piddling around.”

  He left and I poked at the dark ink in my forearm awhile, until the saké swelled my bladder and I left to find a bathroom. Glowing with the warmth of the alcohol, I took a wrong turn and wound up in the world seed’s chamber. I stared at it, the thing that had helped create me, and which could remake all of Rune. “This room should have better security,” I said to no one in particular.

  I tore out my new armor design and jotted into existence a small thumbtack to hang it on the icy wall. Once Dracon was gone, I wanted to revise the armor of every Akarri from this chamber.

  I hunted again for the toilet but found Eliandra instead, in a laboratory full of glassware, bubbling liquids, and dusty tomes. She was perched at a tinkerer’s bench where she examined a thin metal choker.

  Aware she likely despised me, I turned to leave.

  “I shouldn’t have mocked you earlier.” Her voice stopped me, but she never looked up.

  I let out a breath and approached, realizing she actually examined an artful slave collar, not jewelry.

  “It seems the last dreamer was researching Dracon’s slaving technology.” She glanced at me. “This artifact dates from just after the Fugue ended. He uses these to force his will on those no longer subject to the old magic. Its wearer must obey whoever wears the corresponding control ring.” She motioned to a silver band on the workbench.

  “That’s awful.”

  “He’s an old man clutching at power. There’s more.” She stood and showed me two matching orbs. “These oath stones bind two individuals to a mutual vow, rendering promises unbreakable.”

  “Guy’s got trust issues.”

  “Sadly, he’s not the only one.” Eliandra fiddled with one of the stones. “Do you think Ronin actually gave you a choice?”

  “She says she did.” But I didn’t know what to think about her anymore.

  Eliandra rolled the oath stone in her palm. “She raised me, ye
t I barely know her. What’s that say about me?”

  “Nothing.” I waited until she met my eyes. “She’s secretive. That’s not your fault. None of this is. And the important thing hasn’t changed. I’m still gunning for Dracon with everything I’ve got. Just… maybe without Ronin now.” I frowned, studying her reaction. She didn’t seem surprised. “But I’d like to keep you on board, even if it comes to that.”

  Eliandra managed a nod. “If it’s the business of saving my mother, I am at your service until my dying breath. Though I wish we didn’t have to surrender Ronin’s expertise.”

  “What she did to me—”

  “Was unforgivable.” Eliandra returned to the workbench. “Though perhaps she was less involved than you think. Perhaps she didn’t know what the dreamer was planning for your parents.”

  I’d never considered that. Yes, Ronin’s actions were messed up, but that didn’t mean she’d had a hand in orphaning me. “Still. After all her secrets, could I even trust her?”

  Eliandra snorted. “I wouldn’t.” She tapped her bottom lip in thought. “Would it humble you to take advice from your own creation?”

  “Seeing as how my creation’s smarter than me? Not at all.”

  Eliandra leaned back on the workbench and patted the collar she’d examined. “There are ways to get the truth from her.”

  ***

  In retrospect, I should have known how bad this idea was. Nothing good ever came from mind-control collars. But after the saké and a conversation with the ever-deft Eliandra, it didn’t seem so bad.

  The elevator’s circular platform rose through the chasm along slicked walls, transporting me to the upper bedchamber where Ronin was staying. It was my second stop after having finally found that freaking bathroom.

  I fingered the metal choker, fighting my second thoughts. Just how would I broach this topic? Pardon me, but you’re a mean and untrustworthy god. Please wear this mind-control device so that I can pry straight answers from you. Amen.

  “I’ll just put my foot down,” I said to myself. “She’ll have to do it, won’t she?” I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, that sounds like her.”

  The lift took me to a foyer and bedroom door, where I knocked on a hexagonal plate. The plate amplified my knock into a boom. I shifted my weight, running through scenarios in my head.

  The door melted and Ronin stood there, garbed in white breeches and a tunic without sleeves. She crossed her sturdy arms, the lean strength in her shoulders apparent. I’d rarely seen her without armor. The stance was defensive, her expression uncertain. “What is it?”

  Seeing her made me angry. I was surprised by its intensity, how I wanted to punch her stupid face. Yet I also wanted her. Both feelings at once, undiminished, and a heap of shame on top, since I hated myself for desiring her—plus, the sickening realization that I actually wanted to hit someone I was attracted to. The sum total of it was too much and I turned away, bending with hands on knees. I took deep breaths.

  “You’re not well.” She stepped toward me.

  “I’m fine. Just a second.”

  She reached for me and I danced away, batting her hand. “Don’t touch me.”

  Nodding, she stepped aside. “Then come in when you’re ready.”

  Gathering myself together, I slipped inside a bedroom with a bath basin made from stacked ice blocks. Steam rose from hot bathwater and I was thankful I’d interrupted her before she got in. My back to her, I strode halfway across the floor. “I’ll never be able to trust you.” There it was. Admitted. My grip tightened on the collar in my hand, sensing her attention on the device. Had she guessed its purpose yet?

  “When we made you, I didn’t yet understand the bond between parent and child. Since Eliandra, I have… observed her love for her mother. It runs deep, and I know now you’ll never forgive us.”

  She’d damn well more than observed it in Eliandra, I knew. But right now I didn’t care about her ignorant denial of her own maternal feelings.

  “I’m sorry for your pain,” she said.

  I gulped back bile. “Is that all you have for me? An apology?” A shaky breath shuddered from my lungs, my eyes stinging. Already the room was blurry and I shook my head, unable to look at her. “Tell me it was the dreamer and not you.”

  “It was both of us. You’re hers by design—she was the creator, not me. But when she wavered, questioned her judgments, I convinced her we needed you. And so you’re mine by resolve.”

  The words shattered me and I spun to face her, my anger the only thing left holding me upright. “You kissed me. What were you thinking?”

  “At first? How much you reminded me of my friend. You were her final act of creation before death. Being with you was like… seeing a lost friend’s final portrait. And seeing you take up her mantle so avidly, so well… it was breathtaking. But I realize now I was deluding myself. My contribution to your genesis—my role in hurting you—it’s too much.”

  I wanted to tear her to shreds, to burn her to ash, but all the nasty words came to mind at once and clogged my throat. So instead I threw the collar at her.

  She grabbed it from the air and stared at the metal.

  “Everything with you is secrets and lies and half-truths. This is the way it is now: you put that on and answer all my questions, to the last.”

  Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “No. This is a slave’s collar.” She centered me in her stare. “I was a slave to the builders once. Never again. Not to anyone, not even to pay off my sins.”

  “You won’t be enslaved. But you’ll wear it for my questions, or Dak and I go after Dracon ourselves. Without you.”

  “I won’t let you do that.” She shook her head resolutely. “If you no longer trust me, you’ll stay here while I fight Dracon.”

  “Absolutely not. To me, you and Dracon are cut from the same cloth. I don’t trust you not to kill him and take his place.”

  A literal growl rose from her throat as she skewered me with a murderous glare. “We’re nothing alike.”

  Swallowing, I refused to look away, to blink. “Put on the collar and prove it. Or Dak and I leave.”

  “He’ll kill you.” The desperate fear in her voice almost touched me, almost broke through the armor around my heart.

  I didn’t let it. “This is not negotiable.”

  “Don’t make me do this, Isaac.” She held the collar up at me. “I’m not like that bastard. Even with you, I insisted on choices. You were not molded relentlessly, you were permitted to grow. This collar is…” She shut her eyes. “It’s a symbol of everything I hate. The builders who made me… they used tools like this.”

  Her words finally cracked through the shell and I realized how much the collar would hurt her to wear. And then I had the worst thought of my life: Good. The word whispered from nowhere, sweetly vindictive. “I was under the thumb of your friend my entire life. I’m asking for you to relinquish control to me for five minutes.”

  “What will you make me do?” she whispered, head bowing.

  “Answer questions. Perhaps sing an embarrassing rendition of ‘I’m a Little Teapot.’ No seppuku, don’t worry.”

  “Very well. Play god, then. I hope it unsettles you as much as it has me.” She clicked the choker onto her throat, the metal band shrinking flush to her skin.

  I slipped the control ring on my finger, already feeling nauseous. I couldn’t pin down why—was it that I’d cajoled her into this? I couldn’t possibly be feeling bad for this woman, though. “You’ll tell the truth and answer every question I ask.”

  “I will.” She held my gaze unflinchingly now.

  I took a breath. “Do you want to rule this world?”

  “No.”

  “Did you really give us choices?”

  “At every opportunity.”

  I kept my voice steady. “Do you love your daughter?”

  “She’s n—” Her voice choked off, unable to finish the lie. Then she nodded shakily, rattled by her own admission. “I do love her.
”

  “And how do you feel about me?”

  “Terrified.”

  My heart was frigid as I asked the next question. “Why?”

  “My whole world—all of Rune—is ultimately in your hands. You’re the strongest dreamer yet. And I feel things for you I haven’t felt since…” By effort of will she shut her mouth.

  “Since when?” I pressed.

  Her eyes shut. “Since Cassandra. The last dreamer.”

  I startled. “You were… together? A couple?”

  “Never like that. But you’re many of the things I loved about her. Except, perhaps, in some ways more compatible.”

  I lifted an eyebrow.

  “I prefer males.”

  “Oh. Right.” I despised the betraying warmth in my cheeks. “Last question: would you do it again?”

  “Do what again?”

  I said the words with all my steely anger; I made them an arrow. “Murder my family.”

  She gaped at me, and shook her head. “We didn’t murder them.”

  My rage flared brighter. “You did. You killed them. You told me.”

  “We committed no murders. We selected your parents by divination—two whose intelligence and character would bear a child with your attributes. We needed a pair who would die young. They were fated for short lives. Your mother was barren before conceiving you, so we took no life. We only added one. Yours.”

  I shook my head. “You should have stopped it.”

  “I know that now. But it seemed necessary then.”

  “It wasn’t!” I threw my hands in the air. “You didn’t need to kill them to make me… compassionate, or whatever.”

  “And yet, much as this rends me, I’m thankful we acted as we did,” Ronin whispered.

  I nearly choked on the fresh surge of outrage that overtook me. “Unbelievable.” I turned my back on her.

  “Because we made you.”

  I couldn’t bear to look at her.