by Kyra Dune
This was ridiculous; she was scaring herself without reason. Shaking her head, she silently chided herself for this unusual spurt of hyperactive imagination.
Soon, she’d reached the intersection where she had felt that strange pull such a short time ago.
Hardly aware of what she was doing, Micayta turned right, moving toward a shaft of golden light spilling out from an open door down the street. The pull was stronger than before. Irresistible. Drawing her in.
Through the doorway was a large, lavishly appointed sitting room with burgundy carpet and dark paneled walls. All manner of curios filled the many shelves throughout the room. All of which was dominated by an exquisitely detailed ruby dragon that ran the entire length of the mantle above the fireplace.
The room was warm and enticing. That feeling of being called was like a steady hum along Micayta’s spine. She stepped inside, her eyes fixed on the flickering flames dancing within the fireplace. They were hypnotic. Soothing. A sense of drowsiness settled over her. Her eyelids drooped and her body suddenly felt heavy. How lovely it would be to lie down on that rug by the hearth and sleep.
But there was a shrill warning cry in the back of her mind. An urgent warning that served to waken her. “This is all wrong,” that warning cry told her, “this is some kind of enchantment that was both part of and separate from that other, drawing sensation.”
She shook her head, forcing herself to take her gaze off the fire.
“It’s not polite to enter a person’s home without an invitation.”
Micayta knew the owner of that voice even before she turned to look into his obsidian eyes. Demos smiled ever so slightly, a look that was somehow predatory.
“That’s funny.” She felt somewhat steadier now that she was no longer gazing into the fire. “I thought an open door was an invitation.” Her heart raced as chill sweat slid down her back. Demos stood between her and the door, effectively cutting of her only avenue of escape.
“How true. Won’t you have a seat?” He indicated the plush divan.
“Thanks, but I think I’ll stand. I don’t plan to stay long.”
“A pity.” Demos took a seat in a high-backed chair, opening a path to the door, though she would still have to pass him in order to leave. He crossed his legs and laid his hands over one knee. “I’ve looked forward to the two of us having a chance to talk without Tech’s interference.”
Could she reach the door before he could stop her? Maybe. But maybe he would follow her out into the street. Maybe her dagger wouldn’t be of much use against him. Suddenly, she was wishing she hadn’t sent Tech away. “I can’t imagine what we’d have to talk about.”
“Oh, a great many things, perhaps. But that depends upon you. What do you think of my treasures?” He lifted his hand to indicate the overabundance of trinkets.
“They’re beautiful.”
“I have an eye for beautiful things.”
“Expensive things.”
“True, some more than others.” He gave her a long, appraising look. “Yet beauty is a shallow thing. So fleeting. Strength, intelligence, spirit, these things can be far more appealing than what lies on the surface of a thing. And power, of course. For power, true power, can last forever.”
Micayta knew she must be careful of her words now. Something was being offered to her, she wasn’t sure what it was, but she was sure she wanted no part of it. “That kind of power could cost more than it’s worth.”
Demos leaned back in the chair. “Everything has a price.”
“No. Not everything.” She stepped away from the fireplace. She was loathe to move closer to him but she really had no choice in the matter. “I think it’s time we say goodnight.” She passed his chair and hoped the tense fear running through her wasn’t visible on her face.
“I do not make such an offer lightly.”
She paused, so close to the door, yet so far away. “I’ve no interest in your offer.”
“Not even if I were to include your little brother?”
There was a threat implicit in his words. But, though she would do anything to protect her brother, she had the feeling that to comply would mean some fate worse than death. “Not for anything.”
“You’ll change your mind, in time. It would be far less painful if you simply give in now.”
Micayta continued toward the door. The air inside the house had grown much too warm for comfort. All she wanted was to be back out on the street where she could breathe.
“No one can resist me.” The words seemed to come from right behind her and she turned, hand going to her dagger, only to have the door slam shut in her face. She stumbled backwards into the street, not entirely certain when she’d stepped outside.
She stood staring at the house for a moment, her breath sharp in her lungs. Then she turned and hurried up the street. No chance she would go back to New District for a job even if she couldn’t find one anywhere else. She’d not come past this street again.
She was so wrung out that she was all the way back to the intersection before she realized that the sun had set. But that was all wrong. It had only been midday when she left New District to head toward the tavern; the sun couldn’t have set since then. But there in the dark sky was all the proof she needed; a thousand twinkling stars. The wind dropped, the air becoming still and silent. In fact, everything was a bit too silent. Except for the barely audible footsteps approaching from behind.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Micayta whirled, drawing her dagger even as she ducked a blow aimed for her head. She caught sight of a black, leathery form as she threw herself forward with the intent of driving her dagger into her attacker’s abdomen.
The creature sidestepped, throwing Micayta off balance as she met empty air rather than flesh. Before she could recover, there was a sharp, burning pain across her back. The pain was so fierce, so unexpected, that it took her breath. She stumbled, barely managing to keep a grip on her dagger.
The creature struck out at its first intended target, the back of Micayta’s head, giving her a solid thump that dropped her to the ice-encrusted street. Dazed, Micayta rolled over on her back, bringing the blade of her dagger up in an arching motion.
There was a hint of resistance telling her she’d struck something, and a sudden inhuman cry of pain. Her victory was short lived however, as the blood falling from the creature’s wounds sizzled its way through the cloth of her gloves, burning where it touched her skin.
Micayta shrieked as she shook her hands in a desperate attempt to fling the stinging liquid away; all she managed to rid herself of was her dagger. Her back throbbed and the pain was a heat, rolling all through her body like a fever.
A shadow moved at the corner of her vision. There was a sharp hiss and a thump. Micayta moaned as she struggled to bring the world back into focus. Something cold touched the side of her face. A familiar voice urgently called her name. Everything was tinted in red and blurry around the edges.
“How do you feel?” Tech was looking down at her.
Micayta swallowed and coughed. “Like I’ve been boiled alive.” She gritted her teeth and hissed as a wave of pain rolled over her.
Tech sat back on his heels. His face was pale in the wan moonlight. “You should be dead.”
“Thanks. Nice to see you too.” She drew in a trembling breath. “You have any idea what that thing was?”
“A baguar. Sent by Demos, no doubt.” He frowned. “What did you think you were doing going into his house like that? He’s dangerous.”
“No kidding.” She was aware that she was lying in a puddle of her own blood and that the temperature was dropping rapidly. But it was a detached sort of feeling, almost as if she were standing outside her body looking in. “Help me up. We can’t stay out here.”
Tech looked doubtfully at her. “You’re bleeding.”
“Laying here on the frozen ground isn’t going to help that.” Micayta planted her hands firmly on the ground and pushed herself into a sitting p
osition. She gasped as needlepoints of pain shot across her skin.
Still frowning, Tech took hold of her arms and helped her to her feet. The world tilted; her stomach cramped; she swayed on her feet. Tech put an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “Easy.”
Micayta looked up into his eyes. “You were following me.”
“You said you didn’t want to see me again, so you didn’t see me. But I knew I had to keep an eye on you because you were bound to do something foolish. I wish you hadn’t done such a spectacular job of proving me right.”
She leaned against him and allowed his strong arm to support her weight. “Thanks for totally disregarding everything I said.”
A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Anytime.”
Micayta allowed herself a few more seconds of warmth with his arms around her, then put full weight on her own legs and extricated herself from his embrace. “You should go and check on my brother. He’s all alone.”
“And leave you here?”
“Yes, go on.” She made a feeble attempt to push him away. “Be a bird and see to my brother.”
“It’s freezing out here and only bound to get colder. We need to get you inside. You’ve lost too much blood.”
“I’m warm enough.” And surprisingly she was. Warmer than she could remember being in a long time.
Tech slipped off his glove and laid his fingers against her cheek. “It must be the poison from the baguar’s claws. Your skin is like ice.”
She stepped back. “I’m not going anywhere with you until you go and get my brother.”
Tech sighed. “If you insist on being stubborn, I’ll have to pick you up and forcefully carry you off this street.”
Micayta managed to work up a glare. “Just try it.” Another wave of nausea-inducing pain rolled through her hard enough to buckle her knees. She gasped as she fell forward.
Tech was right there to sweep her up in his arms. “This is me, disregarding everything you say again. You’ll be angry now, but you’ll thank me later.” He set off down the street at a swift pace.
“My brother–”
“I know you’re worried about him, but I also know that Demos isn’t going to do anything to Pytaki tonight. He’s made his move. Now it’s your turn.”
Micayta started to make a reply, but the words floated away from her before she could speak them. Things became fuzzy after that, a blur of sight and sound. Time shifted in an odd way. It seemed that one moment she and Tech were standing in the street and the next she was lying on her side on something firm and uncomfortable.
She blinked against the light. Through bleary eyes she saw shelves lined with clear bottles. That was familiar, somehow, but she couldn’t quite bring it into focus. Voices came to her, faint at first. She had to force her mind to concentrate on them before she could understand the words.
“…did you get involved then?”
“I don’t know. I was watching, like I was supposed to and then…I don’t know. She went down and I…I…it was an impulse. I can’t explain it.”
“What are you going to tell him?”
“Shh, I think she’s coming around.”
Alansa came into Micayta’s line of sight. “That should be better, yes? Don’t worry. It was nothing that can’t be fixed. Though, you may still feel the effects of the poison for a while yet.”
Poison? Micayta had no idea what she was talking about. Except there was a weird heat running through her veins, flowing with her blood. The world dimmed. Her body felt as if weighed at least an extra hundred pounds and she was so tired.
“Here now, no sleeping.” Tech took hold of her shoulders. “We need to get you out of these clothes.”
Micayta struggled to grab hold of her wandering mind. “The suggestion’s been made before, though never that bluntly.” Everything felt a little sideways. Like she was tilting over and couldn’t right herself.
“You need a bath.” Tech lifted her up off the table.
“If you’re implying that I stink, I must say that’s a poor way to get a girl to take her clothes off.”
Tech smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He carried her to another room, where a fire was burning cheerily in the hearth. After lowering her onto a soft divan, he brushed a loose strand of hair off her cheek. “Try to relax.”
In the firelight, Micayta could see blood streaked across the front of his shirt. She frowned, reaching out to touch it. “Are you hurt?”
Tech glanced down at his shirt, his smile tightening. “It’s not my blood.”
“Oh.” Micayta blinked, still frowning. “Ohhh.” She laid her head back against the cushions as the meaning of his words caught up to her. “Were we in a fight?”
“Don’t worry about that now.” Alansa smiled at Micayta as she laid her hand on Tech’s shoulder. “It’s time for you to go.”
Tech hesitated. “Maybe I should stay with her until she feels more herself.”
“I’m going to give her a bath now, so out you go.” She shooed him toward the door. “She’s not going to die tonight.” Their eyes met. Tech turned away. Alansa shut the door.
She stood there for a moment with one hand braced against the door. Then she took a breath and turned back to Micayta, all smiles. “Well, now, let’s see if we can’t get you cleaned up and feeling better.”
Micayta allowed Alansa to pull her to her feet, but stumbled against the taller woman when she tried to walk. “What’s wrong with me?”
“It’s only the poison. It’s left your mind a little muddled. It won’t last long. We only need to give the medicine time to work its way through your body.”
“I need my dagger.” Micayta dropped her hand to her waist only to find her dagger missing, along with most of her clothes. “Where’s my dagger?” Feeling suddenly panicked, she pushed Alansa away and turned, meaning to go for the door. Instead, she ran into the wall.
Alansa took a firm grip on her arm. “There’s no danger for you here; you’re among friends. Hard as that may be for you to believe.” She pulled Micayta toward a brass tub filled with steaming water. “A nice warm bath will help the medicine work faster.”
Once Alansa had stripped Micayta of the last few pieces of blood soaked clothing, she helped her into the tub. The water was wonderfully warm, like nothing she’d ever experienced before. Bathing was not a high priority back home with water so precious.
Micayta sank into the bath up to her chin and closed her eyes. Already, she could feel tight muscles loosening. And then a memory came to her, unexpected and unwelcome.
She was about four years old, sitting in a wooden bucket that was filled to her waist with lukewarm water. Her mother was with her, wiping a washcloth across her face, then tickling her so that they were both giggling and splashing water on the floor.
The fire was at their backs and her mother smiling so brightly, her eyes warm and loving. Then the front door had opened and Micayta’s father came into the house. He stared at them, holding the door open so that the chill wind blew little eddies of snow around his boots.
“What do you think you’re doing?” He’d slammed the door, his face contorted in an ugly scowl.
Mother had pushed herself to her feet, using the tub to aid her. She was about eight months along at the time and having a little trouble getting up off the floor. “It’s only a little bath, Sannal. The child was filthy.”
“Only a bath? Only a bath? That water is for drinking, not playing in. I swear, Anora, sometimes you’re like having another child in the house. You should know better.”
Tears sprung up in her mother’s eyes. “I can’t take this anymore; I swear it. No one can be expected to live like this.” She’d turned then and gone crying into the bedroom.
Father had watched her go, his expression only going darker. Then he’d come over to the tub and Micayta had looked up at him, so tall and fearsome, and burst into tears.
“Stop that now.” He’d pulled her out of the tub and sat her on the cold flo
or. “Crying doesn’t help a thing.” He’d looked at the dirty, useless water with disgust, then took off his cloak and wrapped it around her, picking her up off the floor as he did so.
The memory faded into the past, where it belonged. Where Micayta worked hard to keep such memories. She hadn’t really thought much of her mother in a long time. Doing so was simply too painful.
“Micayta, is something wrong? Has the pain returned?”
She looked up at Alansa, uncomfortably aware of the tears streaming down her face. “Not the kind of pain you’re thinking of.”
Alansa’s delicate brows furrowed in a frown. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s nothing. Some old wounds that no medicine is going to fix.”
“I see.” Alansa’s expression cleared. “I know something about those kinds of wounds. The ones that never heal.” A sad look entered her eyes, though she smiled. “Would you like me to wash out your hair?”
Micayta lifted a hand to the frizzy braid. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d taken her hair down, much less washed it. “I don’t know if you can get it untangled, but you’re welcome to try.”
Alansa set to work, her slender fingers moving quickly. Micayta couldn’t see what she was doing back there, but it surely involved a great deal less tugging and pulling than she would have expected.
“There now,” Alansa said, sounding satisfied with her efforts. “It could stand with a brushing as well.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Micayta said. She was beginning to feel more herself, more collected, which meant embarrassment and a touch of resentment for having someone trying to take care of her.
“Nonsense, it will be good for you.” Alansa stood and retrieved a thick towel from a hook on the wall. “Up and out, let’s get you dried.”
Micayta stepped out of the tub feeling refreshed and somewhat sorry to leave the warmth behind. She took the towel from Alansa and wrapped herself, then sat on the offered stool near the fire. Before she could think to set up any new protest, Alansa had a brush and was running it through her hair.