by E. C. Jarvis
“Fucking hell,” he said, leaning an arm against the warm engine casing and resting his forehead on top. “Probably safer in the volcano.”
He emerged into the waning desert light. The blue sky was fading to darker hues far above, the first hints of starlight dotting here and there. They’d landed mere feet away from the jungle, the looming expanse of trees blocking out even more light. Larissa was down on the sand ahead and the Eptoran warship had already touched down. Scores of Eptoran military men scooted down ropes to the sand while more remained on board, armed with rifles trained directly at Larissa and Cid. He sniffed indignantly, feeling irritated by being treated like a criminal as well as amused by being considered so threatening. The only threat he posed right now was the offensive stench he emitted from days of sweat and grime and no bath. The worst he could do was let his starving stomach growl at them menacingly.
A number of men jogged off toward the crashed aeroplane. A few marched straight towards the airship, and the rest remained standing, waiting for the last two people to emerge. Kerrigan appeared at the edge of a rope and slowly worked his way down it hand over hand. As he touched down, a trio of burly men surrounded him. Cid couldn’t quite decide if they were bodyguards or prison guards. Kerrigan didn’t manage to crack anything in the way of a smile or greeting; his expression remained neutral. The final person to emerge from the ship and scoot down the rope with grace sent Cid’s heart fluttering once more. He wondered if he were having palpitations as she touched down onto the sand with one beautifully pointed foot.
“Elena,” Larissa called with a smile. The collection of men surrounding Elena glowered at Larissa. It clearly wasn’t an acceptable greeting.
“You,” the biggest man barked at Larissa, brandishing his curved sword in her face, “kneel.” He jabbed the sword tip into the sand. Larissa tipped her chin upwards for a moment, as though she contemplated telling the man to stick his curvy sword right where the sun couldn’t shine, then finally conceded and dropped to her knees. As the lead man turned his dark eyes towards Cid, Cid didn’t need to hear the instruction. He dropped to one knee, bowing his head, planting a fist into the sand to try to keep himself from toppling over or passing out.
“First, you infiltrate Eptora,” Elena’s musical voice called out; it had developed a distinctly hard edge. “Then, you try to steal our resources. We captured your escaped prisoner, a Daltonian Colonel, no less, as he tried to enact travel via balloon. Then we find you’ve not only managed to cause a volcanic eruption, but you’ve crashed a prototype aircraft stolen from our military research department months ago, and now you seem to have flown an entire airship with nothing but a pair of upturned rotors.”
Cid chanced a glance upward. All he could see was Elena’s back; she seemed to be speaking directly to Larissa alone. He couldn’t decide whether or not that was a good thing.
“Do you still profess to be an unfortunate shop assistant who happened to land herself a pirate ship with a title of Captain to go with it? Or will you at least admit to being a Daltonian spy in light of these recent revelations?” Elena turned and shot a dark stare at Cid. His heart skipped over a beat or two, or perhaps it had stopped completely. Did she really believe that of them? Of him?
“It seems you have already made your judgement,” Larissa said. “It doesn’t matter what I say. If my answer goes against your presumed conclusion, you’ll just call me a liar.”
“Indeed I will. So I shall turn my attention to someone less duplicitous.” Elena headed towards Cid and waved a staying hand at the men who moved to follow.
“Who are you?” Cid spoke the words before his mind had taken the time to process them. At the least, he was grateful for managing to edit the expletives out of the sentence. He didn’t doubt that would have earned him a bullet in the face from one of the miserable militiamen who now glared daggers at him.
“She’s the Eptoran,” Larissa began, but was promptly cut off by a heavy whack across the face with the hilt of a sword, pitching her sideways.
“Silence,” Larissa’s attacker commanded.
Cid felt his anger bristling. The trees behind him seemed to shudder in a similar response.
“Mister Mendle.” Elena stood before him, blocking his view of Larissa. His eyes moved up her legs, clad in a silky slip dress of deep amber colour with gold embroidery. In the darkening shadows, he could see the outline of her thin legs beneath the dress. His gaze flicked over the perfect ‘v’ at the top, the mere notion of it sending his heartrate skyward once more. Finally, he forced his gaze upward to meet her eyes. “I will explain things to you when you have explained things to me…to my satisfaction. Are you, or are you not, a spy?”
“Madam, I am not,” he said with due bravado, feeling foolish for going so gooey over a woman. He’d clearly spent far too long in Larissa’s company.
“Is she,” Elena extended her arm backwards towards Larissa, “or is she not, a spy?”
“She is not.”
“Really? How can you be sure?”
“It’s a long story,” he said with less confidence. He hoped Elena didn’t want to hear the details of that story, at least not in front of a crowd.
“The punishment for spying in Eptora is beheading,” Elena said as calmly as though she’d been discussing the weather.
“Charming.”
“Are you, or are you not, a pirate?”
“I am not.” His bravado returned.
“And your Captain is a Captain but not a pirate Captain?”
“That’s right.”
“I do wish I could believe you, but you understand how odd all this sounds.” All Cid could do was nod in agreement. “The punishment for piracy in Eptora is—”
“Beheading?” he offered.
“Hanging.”
“Oh, that makes all the difference.” He winced, knowing his usual sour bout of sarcasm wasn’t the best approach in this circumstance.
“Princess Elena.” A man emerged from the overturned airship. “There is no one else on board.”
“Where are your companions?” Elena asked.
Cid found himself blinking repeatedly and unnecessarily. Had the soldier just called her Princess?
“Where are your companions?” she repeated, her eyebrows drawn down.
“Dead,” Larissa said.
The single word was just enough of a jolt to bring Cid out of his confused daze. As he locked eyes with Larissa, who’d turned around to watch them, he saw the well of anguish and pain etched across her face. Surely Elena could read the truth in that? Though, he realised belatedly, it wasn’t entirely true. Narry and Zeb had headed off alone; there was no reason to think they hadn’t made it to the nearest town. One further glance at Larissa made a cog click into place in his mind—Holt. He turned to look at the volcano in the distance, the cloud of ash starting to slow, but the river of lava it spewed out was something no one could survive, not even the immutable Mr. Holt.
It’s for the best.
He told himself that and resolved to repeat it until he believed it, and after that, he’d repeat it to Larissa until she believed it. He just hoped they could survive long enough to have a chance at working to convince her. She’d lost yet another love to this incredible journey. It hardly seemed fair, even if Cid didn’t think highly of Holt. He still didn’t wish Larissa to fall into despair, and she deserved happiness after everything.
“You see, I have a predicament. I don’t believe you, yet I don’t think you’re lying,” Elena said.
“That is a predicament,” Cid repeated. He wished he could think of something more intelligent to say. “Princess,” he added too late.
Elena’s expression softened. She might have even smiled a bit, though it was getting hard to tell in the dim light. “Perhaps we can begin with your ship. I presume this is your handiwork?” She waved towards a propeller.
“It is.”
“You will take some of my men on board and show them how it works. Then you will return
with me to my ship and we shall all travel onwards together.”
“Onwards where?” Larissa asked. She was answered with another smack to the head, hard enough to throw her down to her stomach and send a spray of blood across the sand.
“You do not speak unless spoken to,” her attacker barked, holding the sword to her neck.
A rustling sound from behind made the hairs on the back of Cid’s neck stand on end. The rustling was followed by a high-pitched yowl, which immediately descended into a growl. Everyone froze. The dark, olive-skinned faces of even the hardest men turned pale.
“Rifarin,” Elena whispered, and as though she had summoned a creature, a flash of white leapt from the trees and shot past, heading straight for Larissa.
The large guard with his sword at Larissa’s neck stumbled backwards and crashed to the ground with a thud, a huge, white ghost-cat pinning him to the floor with its large paws on his chest and teeth around his neck.
“Imago, stop!” Larissa yelled.
A deathly silence descended. The cat kept its position, but Imago paused from biting down. A long trail of dark red blood emerged from beneath a sharp tooth mark, dribbling down the guard’s neck. Larissa took a step forward, her hands splayed wide. Cid’s mind turned to the makeshift pistol tucked in his trousers and loaded with special bullets. The fact that no one made any attempt to shoot the creature with their normal weapons told him they knew all too well how futile their efforts would be.
As Larissa attempted to approach Imago, Cid stood up slowly. The other men were too far away to have reached Elena in time to defend her. It annoyed him that none of them had even attempted to do so.
Bloody cowards.
He reached forward, intending to tap Elena on the arm and whisper for her to stand behind him as he drew his pistol. As soon as his fingertips brushed her skin, she jumped a little, though she didn’t take her eyes off Imago. Instead, she slipped her long, smooth fingers through Cid’s hand, then settled into a vice-like grip.
“Imago.” Larissa had moved in front of Imago and stood above him. Her voice was strong and commanding. “Release,” she barked, following the instruction with a wave of her hand. The cat glistened and shimmered, then faded as he unlatched his teeth from his prey and stepped down onto the sand. The vision of the animal dwindled; the final glimpse anyone had of it was as Imago pawed around to stand beside Larissa, and she ran her fingertips across the top of his head. Then he was gone.
Elena called out an instruction in Eptoran, and the men on board the ship and in the sand lowered their weapons as one. The guard on the ground clambered to his feet, clutching at his neck as he back-stepped away, leaving his sword behind. Larissa picked it up, examining it for a moment, then offered it to him.
“He has conceded it to you,” Elena said as she walked towards Larissa, pulling Cid along with her.
“Why would he do that?”
“Because you defeated him in battle.” Kerrigan finally spoke, lifting one eyebrow into his hairline.
Elena touched Larissa’s chin with her free hand—she still held onto Cid and didn’t seem to have any intention of letting go—and turned Larissa’s head side to side. “You healed instantly when he hit you.”
“Seems that way.”
Cid watched the two women staring one another down, feeling rather out of place. Elena had claimed him with his hand still gripped in hers, as though putting him firmly on her side.
“As I was saying before,” Elena said, turning to Cid, “would you please show my men how to operate your machine? Then we can return to my ship for further discussions as we travel.”
“Are we your prisoners?” Larissa asked.
“Let’s say guests.”
“In that case, please do as the Princess requested, Cid,” Larissa said with a nod. Some string of sentences floated through his mind about not being a trained dog belonging to either of them. Thankfully, his expletive- and insult-filters were still working. Elena gave his hand a small squeeze before letting go, and he went back to the ship to do as he was told.
CHAPTER SIX
As the last glimmer of sunlight faded from the sky, allowing the distant stars to glow in the black space above, Holt marched onward. With every step through sand that shifted and spread beneath his feet, he mentally recited the names on his list. The fact that he’d only crossed Orother off, while Kerrigan and Covelle had escaped, did not do his mental state much good. Some part of his conscious mind felt aware that focusing on the names he wanted to see dead was a way of not focusing on the one name he didn’t want to die. He was inextricably torn between holding onto a childlike hope that Larissa was alive and accepting the grim reality that she was dead.
His feet tramped onwards, the repeating sound of worn boots landing on soft ground, not even granting him the small satisfaction of hearing his heavy footsteps thudding along. He tried to reach for total detachment, to maintain the notion that he didn’t care, that he’d never cared. This had been his mission from the outset—and his alone. He’d only let Larissa come along because of her incessant nature. It was easier to give into her constant nagging than it was to push her away and hold her back.
“Orother, Covelle, Kerrigan, the fucking President.” Over and over he repeated the names out loud, trying to still his overactive mind, ignoring his dry lips and sore throat and almost empty canteen. His fingers twitched beside the knife on his belt. If some unfortunate desert creature had scuttled past, he would have skewered it, just for the satisfaction of killing something.
A wisp of wind picked up a layer of sand, scooting it out of place. The tracks he followed faded from view, both beneath the shifting sands and the darkness of night. He squinted at the horizon, trying to plot the direction and judge the distance. Though his legs ached and his body called out for rest, he refused to stop. With a heavy sigh, he made a silent vow. He would keep going until his last breath and do whatever it took to take down Covelle at the least. To avenge his brother, and to avenge Larissa.
. . .
Larissa sat in a heavy wooden chair. The seat itself, carved with intricate patterns, was as beautiful to look at as it was uncomfortable to sit on. The Captain’s cabin on the Eptoran warship was pristine and elegantly adorned with dark, stained wood and luxurious silk fabrics. It smelled heavenly of cedar and citrus oils, nothing like her musty cabin on the rickety old pirate ship. She eyed the small, fixed bed tucked away at the back with a large, fluffy pillow and neatly folded sheets. Clearly, the Captain of this ship didn’t spend his nights curled up in the foot well of his desk. The Captain, a tall and perfectly formed specimen of a man, had been courteous enough to let Elena borrow his cabin—the perks of being a Princess, Larissa assumed.
It had taken some time for Cid to pass suitable instructions to the men who commandeered their airship, and Elena had held off speaking with Larissa until he was done. Larissa had spent the time admiring the room and pondering the conversations which were likely to follow. She’d paid careful attention to the patterns on the silks, looking over the twisting designs with a detached interest, trying to focus on anything to keep her mind away from thoughts of Holt. The sight of the Captain’s desk wasn’t helping in that respect.
“You haven’t touched anything,” Elena purred behind Larissa, making her jump.
She hadn’t even noticed the Princess come back into the room. “You asked me not to. I’m many things in your eyes. I don’t want to add thief to my growing list of falsely accused crimes.”
“I believe we established that you are neither a spy nor a pirate, at least not strictly. I’ve shown my willingness to believe you on those points by virtue of the fact that you have not been beheaded nor hanged.”
“True, yet you still don’t trust me.”
“You’ve given me no reason so far.” Elena placed a tray on the desk—Larissa hadn’t noticed her carrying it. It was piled high with fresh food, and the sight of it made her stomach growl.
“Did I not protect you and Rebec
ca when you were on my ship? Did I not assign my most trustworthy man to your care? I gave you my word that you would not be touched and that I would let you go. Did none of those actions count for anything?” Larissa pleaded.
“I suppose so. You must understand my position. I can’t go around trusting every random Daltonian who manages to infiltrate my country. Not when we’re on the brink of war.”
“I understand.”
Elena offered a smile as she perched on the desk. “Are you hungry?”
“I’m so hungry I could eat a bucket of coal right, now I think.” Larissa laughed. Elena offered the plate of food and poured some water into a glass. Larissa grabbed at the food with eager hands and immediately stuffed her face, forgetting any sense of etiquette. “Has Cid gotten food too?” she asked around a mouthful of grapes.
“He has.”
“And Kerrigan?”
“We don’t starve our prisoners in Eptora, Larissa.”
“No, you just cut their heads off or hang them? I thought you said we were guests.”
“I’m still not sure how to define the three of you, especially you.”
“Why especially me?”
“You are a Rifar.”
Larissa grabbed the glass and gulped the liquid down a little too fast, burping as she finished. She’d been in the company of slovenly men for too long. “What the hell is a Rifar?”