PRINCESS OF LIES AND LEGENDS
by Veronica Sommers
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 by Veronica Sommers
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author's intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher. Thank you for your support of the author's rights.
First Edition: March 2020
1
The hoverplane lurches as a fresh round of boltfire rakes its underbelly.
Across from me, Alik clutches his travel-worn leather bag, his lean face white under its mop of golden curls. Beside him, Safi looks more gray than white. Her fingers press tightly over her mouth. My stomach is lurching as dramatically as the hoverplane, but like her, I'm determined to keep my breakfast down.
Rak's fingers close over my hand where it clenches the armrest of my seat. I meet his dark eyes, and they're calm, warm, peaceful. How can he be so eerily at ease when our hoverplane is being pounded by Vilor anti-aircraft guns?
"How do they have guns this big?" I congratulate myself on managing to say the words without throwing up.
From his seat on Safi's other side, General Binney shakes his head. "Miss Zilara, it's not my place to comment on the state of the peace-keeping efforts in Emsalis."
"I think it's obvious they're a dramatic failure," I say.
On my goodwill mission to Emsalis, I was supposed to be the face of my father's triumph. As the Magnate of Ceanna, head of one of the world's most powerful nations, my father wanted to show a doubting world that his Peace-Keepers had the volatile situation in Emsalis under control.
And then I was taken hostage, moments after I disembarked from my air transport. And during my entire ordeal in Emsalis, nothing has been more obvious than the complete failure of my nation's peace-keeping efforts here.
I'm not sure if General Pregall has been falsifying reports to my father, or if my father has been lying to the rest of the world—but whatever our troops are doing in Emsalis isn't working. The pulses of boltfire searing the fuselage are proof of that. Did we survive the harsh desert, Vilor attacks, and Fray rebels, only to be shot down as we're about to escape?
The hoverplane shudders and dips, and I press my forehead to Rak's shoulder, sure that we're going to crash this time.
And then, just as suddenly as it began, the firing stops.
General Binney peers out the narrow window next to his seat. "I think we've gotten beyond their range," he says. "Either that, or their gun malfunctioned. Not unlikely if they're using scavenged or refurbished weaponry."
"Babes' blood—are you saying we actually made it?" says Alik.
"I believe so."
Safi takes her hand from her mouth and breathes deeply. "I thought we were dead this time."
"We survived again!" A broad smile spreads over Alik's face. "The four of us are a lucky set, my friends!"
"That, or we have a very skilled pilot," I say. "General Binney, I'd like to thank our pilot personally when we land."
"Of course. We should arrive in Dern within the hour."
Dern is the neutral city-state where I'll board my air transport and head for Ceanna. General Binney has promised to put Alik, Rak, and Safi on another air transport and quietly send them to Ceanna as well, without alerting my father. They're to be placed in a secure house until I pass my medical exams and my psych evals, to ensure that I wasn't brainwashed or turned into a sleeper assassin during my time as a Fray hostage.
Getting permanent residency status for my three Emsali friends could be tough, but with General Binney on my side, I'm hopeful. Although I'm not quite sure why he's on my side, why he's agreeing to hide things from the ruler of his country. My status as the Magnate's daughter gives me some clout, but his loyalty should be to my father first. I'll have to be careful, until I know whether or not I can trust him.
As our flight continues, I watch the General. He's probably in his late fifties or early sixties, with dark gray eyes and a neatly cropped gray beard, the top edge shaved into peaks and waves as is the fashion for the top military leaders. His emerald uniform fits him well, accentuating a body that seems to be in good shape. I recognize in this man's shoulders and arms the same tension that's always present in Rak—a soldier's readiness to leap into action within a half-second if the need arises.
"Zilara." Rak's low voice ripples through my body. I've been in love with boys before, but what he does to me is entirely new. The way he destroys my control over my emotions—I adore it and I hate it at the same time.
I turn to him. "What?"
Those beautiful dark eyes. He's going to ask me if I'm okay, or say something gentle and reassuring.
"Are you going to throw up on me, or has that danger passed?" The scar through his lips quirks with his half-smile.
I push his shoulder. "No, I'm not going to throw up."
"Good. Because you do that a lot, but so far you've missed me and I'd like to keep it that way."
"I'm going to throw up," says Safi in strangled tones. General Binney passes her a container, and I cover my ears so the sound of her retching doesn't trigger an episode of my own.
"You've never flown before, have you, Sky-born?" says Alik when it's over.
"No." She leans back, her beautiful face pale under her light tan. "So I guess your nickname of 'Sky-born' really doesn't fit, does it?"
"The Sky-born are indeed winged creatures of Valadarstvan myth, well-versed in the art of flying," says Alik. "But for you, my lovely, the nickname applies more to your looks than your flight status. It's said that the Sky-born are the most dazzling creatures in all the universe."
"And they have beautiful voices," I add. "My friend Reya sings like a Sky-born. At least that's what we always tell her." I glance at Rak. "I can't wait for you to meet Reya and Vissa."
"You'll have to wait a while, Miss Zilara," says General Binney. "Remember, your friends need to stay quiet until we're sure that your mind hasn't been tampered with on any level. We'll need to order physical checks and mental evaluations for them as well, to ensure that none of them are spies or terrorists."
"You didn't say anything about that before." I frown.
"Zilara, it's all right," Rak says. "It's reasonable, under the circumstances."
General Binney gives him a nod, warmth in his eyes. I can tell he already likes Rak—maybe it's the military mindset they share. "Thank you for understanding, son. Judging by what I've seen in the two hours we've been together, none of you appear to be a threat to our national security. But we must make sure. And Miss Zilara, I'm counting on you to approach the topic of your friends with your father, whenever you believe the time is right."
"Will you get into trouble for this?" I ask him.
"Maybe." He sighs. "But I'm old now, and what can they do but send me home? It would be a mercy, not a punishment."
"If you're weary of your position, you could retire," I say.
"It's not so simple." But he doesn't explain, and I don't care to press him on the subject.
The rest of the flight passes in silence, until the General touches his skull-port device and says, "Our pilot tells me we're nearly at the Dern transport center. Please collect your things a
nd be ready to leave."
All I have with me is a pack containing a few supplies—none of which will be needed now that I'm on my way home. The burner for cooking, the pots, the simple food items—they were all so valuable during our trek through the Emsali wilderness—and now they seem primitive, disposable. My father would expect me to feel the same way about Rak as I do about the gear—to view him as a tool useful for survival, but not worth much beyond that.
As the hoverplane angles down for its descent, I study Rak's profile—his broad forehead, dark arched brows, faintly hooked nose, and full lips, perfectly shaped except for the lumpy scar slashed through them. His jawline, strong and masculine, sweeping to a chin with a touchable cleft in its center. Dark wavy hair falling around his face and neck. One lock of hair is shorter than the rest—the lock where his ayila used to be, the strand of beads that identified him as part of the Maraj tribe. The lock of hair that his mother and sister chopped off when they called him traitor and excised him from their tribe and from their lives.
Because of me.
I reach up and take the ends of that broken strand in my fingers. Rak meets my gaze, but I can't find the words to tell him what his sacrifice means to me. Not here. Not in front of the others.
Alik clears his throat loudly, and I drop my hand and glare at him. He grins and winks one of those dazzling blue eyes of his.
"What, thief?" I say.
"Nothing at all, Princess," he says. "Just wanted to tell you that Safi and I will take excellent care of Rak on your behalf."
"Oh, you'll take care of me?" Rak raises his eyebrows.
"Certainly. It's the least I can do for our benefactress."
"Shut up, won't you?" says Safi, closing her eyes. "I feel sick again, and your voice is like the whine of a thousand jacanals in the desert."
"Colorful language, love," says Alik.
"Why, why, why do people fly?" Safi groans. "Why not simply invent faster ways to travel over land?"
"You'll love the lev-trains in our capital city of Caliston," I say. "They're so fast and smooth that you barely know you've moved at all till you reach your destination. And the hoverpods are nice, too, although they do fly."
"Do you have grounded transportation there?" she asks. "Things with wheels?"
"Yes, in the country towns, and in the lowest levels of the cities."
The hoverplane rumbles and slants forward, then levels out as it zooms parallel with the ground. Buildings whip past the windows, and Safi moans again.
General Binney hands her another container. "Just a few more minutes," he says in a grandfatherly tone.
And then, seconds later, it's over. We're at a standstill, and the whine of the engines fades, and the frosted glass door to the pilot's cabin glides aside. A short, wiry woman about my mother's age steps out. "We've arrived."
"Thank you for getting us here safely," I tell her. "You're an amazing pilot."
She doesn't smile, but her steely blue eyes grow warmer and she nods to me. "You're welcome. Happy to serve the Magnate's daughter." There's edge to her tone that makes me think she's no fan of my father's. Strange how many people seem to feel that way. Why did I never notice it before?
We gather our things and follow General Binney and his unit of soldiers out of the craft. There's a contingent of ivory-clad Dern security guards waiting for us, and we walk between them to the next area of the transport center. As I walk on General Binney's right, the flickering red lights of the skull-port device behind his ear attract my attention. He must be constantly getting messages and updates that only he can hear.
I used to have a skull-port, too—an endless, seamless source of news and entertainment. When the Fray rebels ripped it out of my head, I lost all of that, along with the communication features. But I gained something else—freedom, and the full scope of my ability to affect matter and produce heat. If getting a new skull-port means having my powers suppressed again, I'll fight the re-install with everything I've got.
"Your friends' air transport leaves in thirty minutes," says General Binney. "And yours departs immediately, Miss Remay. Through there." He points to an exit gate, also surrounded by Dern guards in cream-colored uniforms. Why do I feel confined rather than protected? "You can say your goodbyes now."
I turn to my friends. "Safi, Alik, you have your finance cards. I promise you'll be well taken care of, and as soon as we get all this straightened out, you'll be able to go anywhere you want. I'll make sure of it."
Safi nods, looking uncomfortable; and I step forward and pull her into a hug. She pats my back awkwardly. "I don't do hugs, Zil."
"Get used to it." I turn, and there's Alik, holding out his arms, blue eyes twinkling. "Fine." I hug him, and to his credit, his hands don't stray anywhere they shouldn't.
"See you on the other side, Princess," he says. Then he and Safi step back as I face Rak.
We're still surrounded by Dern guards, and by General Binney and his unit. There's no privacy. I can't kiss Rak here—someone will see, take a photo, sell it to the chatfeeds and the trash newslines.
Reaching for his hand, I collect precious details in my mind—the flex of his tanned forearm, the leather cuff and timepiece he wears, his slim brown fingers.
"Rakhi, I—" How do I tell this man what he means to me? That I will ache for him every day, every hour, every minute until I see him again?
He smiles, his eyes warm and dark. "I'll see you soon, Zilara."
His fingers are slipping out of mine as I'm caught in a tide of guards and swept away from him. My soul is screaming, because if I let him out of my sight I might never see him again, and I couldn't bear that. What if they don't really put him on the air transport? What if it's all a trick to get me to go with them quietly? What if he ends up in jail, or back in Emsalis in the hands of the Fray? What if they do put him on the air transport, but it crashes? Or what if he arrives in Ceanna and then disappears into the teeming cities to find his own path, without me?
I look back, desperate, but I can only see the polite, placid faces of the guards surrounding me. Rak is gone, and I don't even have a picture, or a memento of him, or anything real to hold onto. I bite my lip fiercely and blink away the tears.
General Binney's hand closes over my arm, squeezing gently. "I'll keep my word, Miss Remay," he says, his voice so low I can barely hear him. "You'll see him again."
I draw a shuddering breath. "Thank you."
"But I wouldn't tell your father about this connection you two have. It could be dangerous for the boy."
"I know."
In the air transport I move automatically, buckling safety straps and nodding to assure the hostess that I've heard her instructions for the flight. When Vern was my head of security, before the Fray rebels shot him, he used to move the same way I do now— robotic, automated. I mocked him for it, but now I wonder what else occupied his thoughts while he was tasked with following me around at university. Of course he had a life. Why did I never ask him about it?
And now he's gone.
A chill runs over me as the air transport powers up. It lunges forward, then flips, nose pointing skyward, and shoots up into the frigid outer reaches of our planet's atmosphere. My back is parallel to the earth, my face turned toward space. No windows in the transport, but I close my eyes and imagine what the stars look like from such a vantage point. Will Rak lose his breakfast on the way up or down? Safi will definitely throw up, and probably Alik, too. My own stomach revolts at the terrible forces pressing against my body—the angry tug of gravity and the fierce propulsion of the transport engines, fighting to tear me in two.
And then the transport levels out, and I'm sitting upright again.
Our planet is immense, one of the largest in the system—so big that in the old days, airships used to take days to move halfway across its surface. Now that we can go higher, faster, trips like this can happen in a few hours.
General Binney sits next to me, and his soldiers have seats further back in the trans
port. The air hostess bustles around me, her shiny red lips moving rapidly. "Can I get you anything, Miss Remay? Food, drink? You must be hungry, and thirsty."
"Juice, please, any kind," I say. "And a snack—something crunchy."
Will they offer Rak food on his flight? What will he choose? I have no idea what his favorite snacks are.
Stop thinking about him.
I turn to General Binney and speak to him in a low tone. "Why help me with my friends, smuggling them into Ceanna?"
"I prefer not to think of it as smuggling," he says, his beard twitching with his half-smile. "Let's say we're moving assets."
"Call it what you like. Why do it?"
"Would you have come with me if I refused?"
"No," I admit.
"Well then. Returning without you wasn't an option."
"You could have stunned me and brought me along anyway."
"Attacking the Magnate's traumatized daughter and dragging her along like a sack of root vegetables—an excellent strategy." He chuckles. "You're here, unharmed, and reasonably happy. Though I would think someone in your position should be a little more enthusiastic about the return home."
I touch the wound in the side of my head, behind my ear—the hole where my skull-port used to be. A nano-patch covers it now, but my father is going to force me to accept a reinstall when I get back.
"My father hid things from me," I tell the general. "About Emsalis, and about—" I hesitate, unsure if I can trust him.
His blue eyes survey me calmly from under bushy gray brows. "About?"
"I'm Evolved," I whisper. "I have an ability. My skull-port included a suppressor to limit my power, so when the Fray removed it, I discovered how much I can really do. And I'm afraid that going back means accepting those limits again."
"Ah." He pauses, thinking. "Miss Zilara, I think you'll find yourself best served by asking forgiveness rather than permission."
"Which means?"
"Don't ask your father about the suppressor. Deal directly with the medical staff; order them to skip the install or make them implant a device of your choosing. You have power of your own, as the Magnate's daughter. Use it."
Princess of Lies and Legends (The Evolved Book 2) Page 1