The baby-faced one in front has shoulder-length brown hair and wears a tall, licorice-black hat. His canary-yellow jacket flaps in the wind as he nears me. He has the best smile—infectious. As he passes, I’m able to see the word flipcart embossed on the deck of his board. My mouth drops open. It’s such an “aha” moment for me that I turn and follow them along the park path that cuts through the trees.
Ahead, there’s a lake where a few people have gathered with their children to race authentic-looking toy boats. I pause here while the flipcart riders keep going. An older gentleman stands over a leather bag for a long moment. The boy beside him is maybe five or six floans old. The child waits with shining anticipation. “Are you going to let me steer it this time, Grandsire?” he asks.
The older man hefts the object from the bag, revealing a Viking-like ship with a carved wooden dragon figurehead. He shakes the dragon’s fangs at the boy as he roars at him. The boy squeals in delight. The older man laughs and straightens. “Do you think you can keep it from crashing into the shore?” he asks his companion.
“Yes!” The exuberance of the answer brings a smile to the man’s face.
Together, they place the boat in the water. The canvases of the sails billow, looking lavender instead of white in the dusk-colored twilight. The older man crouches down and holds out the boat’s controller for the boy to take. Two sandy-brown heads lean close together as the boy guides the vengeful dragonhead away from the shore. I watch it, captivated by the rippling wake that turns the black surface of the water white.
The low hum of aircraft causes the water to tremble. Usually, the noise is not this pronounced—it must be a low-flying craft. First one black-winged drone, and then two more come into view, casting predatory shadows over the boats floating on the surface of the water. They move toward the horizon, where the city lights have the appearance of a carnival’s midway.
The drones frighten the boy; he drops the controller and turns to the shelter of the older man’s arms. “Tut, there’s nothing to be afraid of! Those are our sentinels. They patrol the sky to make sure we’re safe.”
“Why do they do that?”
“So no one can hurt us.”
“Why would someone want to hurt us?”
“Remember when I taught you about the five Houses of Ethar?” he asks the boy with a cautious smile.
“Yes.”
He straightens the boy’s green surge jacket. “Well, it has been decided that we only need four Houses.”
The boy’s brow wrinkles. “Who decided that?”
“Well, we did. Along with our allies in Alameeda.”
The boy frowns. “What House doesn’t get to stay?”
“The House of Rafe,” the man replies with no hint of remorse.
“What’s going to happen to it?” the boy asks as he rubs his nose with the back of his hand.
“You don’t have to be concerned about that—they’re way over in Rafe and we’re here in Wurthem. They probably don’t even know where Kalafin is.”
The boy’s eyes lift to the man’s. “But won’t they be sad?”
“Not for long,” the man says as he picks up the controller from the ground and hands it back to the boy with a smile.
The drones continue over the water until they disappear into the lights of the city. Then the wind pulls forward in a strange way, but only for a moment. The sky lights up. A bright light changes dusk to day. Two more brilliant flashes follow it. The older man makes a choking sound as he tries to shield the boy from the light by turning them away from it. His terror-filled eyes are nearly white as he holds the boy’s face against his chest. From the horizon, a tremendous rattle and roar shakes everyone nearby to the ground. Behind them, out across the water near the city, a fireball rolls outward, taking on the shape of a ring of stampeding flame-horses. The dust they kick up mushrooms into the sky. Fire sweeps over the water with a thunderous hissing sound. The man and the boy ignite, but the fire is so hot that it quickly reduces them to ash. Flames strike me, but instead of catching fire, I tumble backward in a rush of time.
I can’t seem to take a breath at first after I catapult back into my body. My lungs feel burned, and I wheeze. The fire near me snaps. Kyon has stopped playing music. I’m on his lap and he’s holding me. He strokes my hair while my forehead rests against his neck. His skin is warm against mine. I shiver and my teeth chatter a little. Kyon rubs my arm, trying to warm me up. I lift my head for a second, looking around. Everything else is the same. The fire still burns brightly and it’s still dark.
“You’re back,” Kyon says gently.
“How long was I away?” My voice is feeble and thick, as if I’ve been screaming for hours. I’m disoriented.
“Not long. You never stopped breathing, which is an improvement.”
I rest my forehead against his neck once more. It’s less awkward than looking into his eyes. “Everything is so broken,” I mutter. I feel like sobbing, but there’s no way I’ll ever cry in front of Kyon.
“What’s broken?” Kyon asks in a soothing tone.
“Me. Us. Everyone on this sucky planet!”
“Broken things can be fixed,” he replies.
“There’s a reason that everything I’m seeing is broken.”
“Is the future that upsetting? What happens?” When I don’t answer him, he sighs. “I can’t fix anything if you won’t tell me what happens.”
“You can’t fix this! It’s beyond your control.”
“Nothing is beyond my control,” he replies arrogantly.
“You can stop bombs?”
“Where?”
“Kalafin.”
“House of Wurthem,” we say in unison.
Kyon’s tone takes on a thoughtful air. “When?”
“Now,” I whisper.
“How bad?”
“Kalafin is gone.”
“The Brothers didn’t order it,” he says assuredly. “They wouldn’t try to bring down Wurthem yet. They still need them to tame the other Houses, especially Comantre.”
I know he’s right. It wasn’t the Brotherhood; it was Pan and the members of the Tempest—and Trey—his stolen drones. This is war. Alameeda and Wurthem are the monsters that declared it. Rafe has been devastated by it. Now Wurthem is suffering its first casualties. From what I saw, they’ll be shocked by it. I think they were under the impression that they’d all get through this unscathed. This adds a new layer of chaos to the conflict. Wurthem won’t know from where this attack originated. They may suspect their allies, Alameeda. It’s a really smart strategic move by the rebels in Amster, pitting the two forces against each other.
It’s clear to me that Trey has joined Amster and the resistance they’re mounting there. It makes sense. He’s an outlaw to Rafe—they think he’s a traitor because of me. The rebels in Amster know differently. But deep down I know that Trey did this for me. Pan told him it might help me survive the Brotherhood, so he didn’t hesitate to hack into the Wurthem drones and use its own weapons against it. I don’t know why something like this would make the Brotherhood need me. And in truth, I don’t want them to need me; I want them to leave me alone.
“Tell me everything that happened in your foray into the future,” Kyon orders.
I know I can’t mention the drones. Anything that connects Trey to this would be reason for Kyon to suspect that he may still be alive. I can’t have that. As I tell Kyon the story, I omit how the bombs were delivered in Kalafin, which doesn’t leave me much to tell, other than what it looked like when the explosions occurred.
Kyon’s military acumen surprises me as he murmurs, “It was more than likely a drone strike. They’re the only devices that would deliver that kind of weaponry undetected by Kalafin’s security matrix. We had something similar occur in the Isle of Skye while I was searching for you—not of this magnitude, but our drones were infiltrated.”
I pretend not to know what he’s talking about and simply remain silent, but I can name the programs that
commandeered their drones and made them assets to Rafe. I attempt to change the subject. “Where are we sleeping tonight?” I ask.
“Your choice,” Kyon says.
“Okay. You sleep in the teak hut and I’ll sleep in this one,” I point to the main house behind us.
Kyon ignores my suggestion. “You don’t really want me to leave you alone. You’d be afraid. I’d find you sleeping in a closet. We can both sleep in the main house if it’s more to your liking. Is it?”
I shrug. I hate that he’s right. I hate that I need him, at least for now until I can either escape or the Brotherhood becomes less of a threat. Since I don’t think either of those things will be easily accomplished, I have to accept him remaining close. I don’t, however, have to like it.
CHAPTER 9
LIFT THE VEIL
Kyon is a presence in my life that I can’t compartmentalize. My skin is slowly growing accustomed to his skin. Lying beside him at night, he’s the well-worn mitt that fits without effort. His hand when it rests on my hip, or his cheek when it brushes my neck, is seduction itself. It’s my darkly held secret that’s sharply felt. I’m not in love with him. I would never call it that. It’s more of a growing fascination with him. He’s unlike anyone I’ve ever known, but he’s maladjusted and broken—unpredictable and frightening.
In a way, I’m almost an apprentice to him. Everything he does, he brings me along and shows me how to do it. It doesn’t matter what it is. It could be setting traps to catch sea creatures, or dismantling and cleaning weapons, or programing garden-bots. He teaches me what he knows. I feel less of a stranger in this world for it. It only takes him a few rotations to teach me to swim. Something that has plagued me since I’ve been here is now a skill . . . because of him.
I realize what he’s doing, though. He’s occupying and monopolizing my time. I have little of it to myself, so I cannot secretly project into the future and explore ways in which I can outmaneuver him. He is nothing if not a keen strategist. I may have met my match with him in that regard.
So I’m surprised one afternoon, when I’m strolling along the beach, to hear the hum of an engine overhead. I shield my eyes from the glare of the sun to locate the aircraft in the sky. Wisps of my blond hair dance in the ocean breeze. Gazing in the direction of the main house, a small, silver, hawk-shaped airship flies over it, idling for a moment above the hoverpad on the rooftop. It floats down in a spiral, like a lost feather, to rest on the two talonlike claws that piston down from its belly. The airship powers down while the side of the craft melts to form a doorway with levitating steps. A tall, brawny blond man appears in the doorway of the craft, descending the stairs. He’s not dressed for the beach. He’s attired from head to toe in a military uniform. Squaring his broad shoulders, he walks purposefully into the spire that resembles a crow’s nest at the top of the house.
I stuff the shells I have in my hand into the burlap satchel that rests on my hip. My eyes stray to Kyon, who has also seen him. He emerges from the surf at an unhurried pace and moves toward the house. I know him well enough now to understand that he has been expecting this visitor, or the aircraft wouldn’t be here.
I feign disinterest in our visitor, continuing to collect shells while Kyon rinses off in the outdoor shower. He wraps a towel around his hips and enters the house through our bedroom. I cautiously make my way there too. I press against the adjacent wall before I peek around the corner. The room is empty. I wait. I pull back from the opening and press flat against the wall when Kyon emerges from his dressing room attired in a black Striker uniform.
He moves through the bedroom. I follow him at a slower pace, making sure he doesn’t see me trailing him. He takes the stairs at the end of the gallery. I follow him up to the top of the house in the direction of his office. My feet make no noise but I leave a sandy trail on the floorboards that I have no hope of hiding. Clutching the burlap satchel on my hip so the shells don’t clink together, I reach in and grasp the knife that Kyon gave me. When I come to the top of the stairs I pause. Looking down the short hallway that leads to his office, I don’t have to strain my ears to hear the raised voice coming from it.
“You’re being summoned! This isn’t a request!” the angry voice of our visitor states. I watch as Kyon leans against the front of his wooden desk. His arms cross over his broad chest.
Goose bumps break out on my arms. I know our visitor—at least, I’ve seen him before. He’s my half sister Nezra’s consort—or whatever they are to each other. When I spoke to her, she claimed that he owns her. She was given to him by the Brotherhood, a fact that she despises. She wanted to be claimed by Kyon. For a moment, I wonder if I should pity our visitor.
Nezra’s consort continues to pace, saying, “You cannot ignore a summons from the Brothers. They want to compromise. They see they were wrong in seeking extermination.”
“What has happened to bring about their change in attitude?” Kyon asks.
“We need her. The war is not over as everyone would like to claim. There’s a rebellion being mounted against us as we speak. A counterattack was implemented on a scale that we didn’t anticipate.”
“What do you mean?” Kyon feigns surprise.
“Wurthem was targeted—a sophisticated strike.”
“Targeted by whom—Rafe?”
Our guest shakes his head. “No. Rafe is broken and scattered. We don’t know who it is, but they’re smart. Whoever they are, they made it look as if the attack came from us. Kalafin was completely decimated—everything within seventy clicks of Wurthem’s capital is annihilated. Their communication satellites were taken out as well. They’ve gone black. Our allies are turning against us. Brother Excelsior himself has sent me here to bring you back. I can assure you that he wants the priestess alive. Her protection is of the utmost priority.” It’s true, or at least he believes that.
“She knows nothing of the attack, Chandrum,” Kyon lies.
“Does she not? Really? She’s a self-taught precognitive who has been living with the enemy for as long as she has been on Ethar. I’m sure she knows something—or she can find out. He wants her with him. Now. No excuses.”
“She’s with me or she doesn’t come. She’s not ready to operate in our society. She’s a savage,” Kyon says in a low growl.
“You think he cares if she’s ready? You know him. She comes now or she dies. She cooperates with us or he kills her.”
“I’ll never allow that to happen,” Kyon says in a sinister tone. It makes a shiver tear through me.
A soft chuckle comes from the room. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” Another laugh bubbles from Chandrum, louder this time. “Have you bonded to her?” he asks in disbelief. “You have, haven’t you?” He’s one big smug smile, as his eyes crinkle in amusement. “I never thought I’d see the day when you’d bond to a priestess!”
A hand encircling my upper arm startles me. A Teflon-coated soldier with big blue eyes and shiny blond hair sneers down at me as he increases his bruising grip on me. “Well, hello, hello, hello! Listening, were you?” he asks with a lisp as he smiles at me, revealing a gap between his two front teeth. He tugs me off the top step and into the short corridor. Another soldier that was behind the gap-toothed one seizes my other elbow with equal fervor. He looks as though he broke his nose recently. A thick red welt spans the bridge of it. I wonder about it briefly while he takes a position next to me, trapping me between them.
The gap-toothed soldier wrenches my arm, yanking my hand from inside the burlap bag. I grip the knife I’m holding tighter, ready to stab him. He doesn’t give me a chance. Plucking the handle of it from my grasp with his other hand, he holds it up. He tsk-tsks me in a scolding way. “Now what were you going to do with this?” he asks. Releasing my hand, he holds my knife up to my cheek. I tense, waiting for him to cut me, smelling his breath as he leans near.
We both hear the racking sound of a weapon being armed from the other end of the hallway. Kyon has a very large shotgun pointed at the so
ldier holding the knife to me. Its nose is wide, and it looks suspiciously like the Mossberg that Luther always kept behind the bar at Lumin when I worked there—the one he threatened Kyon with on Earth.
My eyes go to Kyon’s. I pale. He’s well beyond angry—he’s livid. My knees are weak and begin to tremble. I want to say something in my defense, but my mouth is suddenly very dry. The gap-toothed soldier pressing my knife to me says, “We caught her hiding on the stairs—she was listening to your conversation.”
“You caught her?” Kyon asks. His voice is outwardly calm, but he still looks as if he’s ready to murder me. I swallow hard. His eyes go to the soldier’s hand on me.
The bad-breathed soldier at my side is smug. His face erupts in a carefree grin. “She was sneaking around.”
Kyon’s jaw is tight as he says, “This is her home—she lives here. She’s free to go anywhere in it—there’s no need for her to sneak.”
The soldier’s gap-toothed smile fades when it becomes apparent to both of us that Kyon isn’t aiming his weapon at me; he’s aiming it at the soldier next to me. Abruptly, the soldier pulls the knife away from me. He holds it up in front of him with a nervous laugh. “She had this in her bag.”
“I gave that to her,” Kyon retorts.
“Priestesses aren’t allowed to possess weapons.”
“She uses it to dig for clams,” he lies. “Check her bag. It’s full of shells.”
Anxiety replaces the bravado that was there—the soldier begins to sweat. “We didn’t know—we’ve heard stories—she’s been a fugitive for so long—it’s been said that she has enchanted you with her powers.”
Kyon shifts the gun in his hand. It passes from the soldier he’s speaking to, over to me once more. I’m rooted to the floor as I stare at the dark eye of the muzzle. I can’t breathe. Abruptly the weapon passes over me again—to the soldier holding my elbow.
Boom! The gun barrel smokes. I’m violently jerked as the second soldier beside me is hit in the face. His hand tugs briefly on my elbow, but his grip goes slack as he’s ripped off his feet. The shell sprays the wall to the side of him, but miraculously, not one piece of shot hits me.
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