by Ada Harper
Drugs? There were any number of dangers in the deep wood but illness wasn’t one of them. These lands would sap you from the inside first before a virus had a chance to take hold. Perhaps a personal issue then. Galen studied her for injury, but found himself pinned under a glare like a switchblade.
He held up his hands in retreat and eased himself against a tree trunk. The roots ribbed up out of the ground, enough to provide some cover for the night. He ignored her eyes on him as he bunched up his jacket into a suitable pillow. When he turned back, the glare was gone, but Olivia’s face was unreadable. “What?”
“I should restrain you.” It was the first time she’d sounded uncertain. Galen wouldn’t pass up an opportunity like that.
“We could come to an agreement instead.”
Irritation immediately replaced doubt. Galen found himself growing rather familiar with the way her brows pinched, the way the green in her eyes soured. “I don’t need another one of your bloody deals. I thought us Syns were supposed to be the greedy ones.”
“Simple trade. I think you’ll like this one,” Galen pressed. “We’ve got a long way ahead of us if you intend to forge through the valley to the border. I summered not far from here.” If summered meant grueling military drills with his aunt, the decorated war general. To rule a land, you have to be able to conquer it, she’d said shortly before dropping him out of an aethercraft with little more than a penknife. This land was nowhere to take a vacation, which made what he was saying all the more important. “I know this place like you know your city streets. The Caeweld is a deep wood that hasn’t been civilized since before the Crisis. The only ones who venture here are hunters and soldiers. I think even you will grow weary of climbing with a gun in your hands. You want my cooperation. I’m asking for much less.”
She crossed her arms. “And what’s that?”
“Just information.” Galen took a moment to pick through his words carefully, wishing, not for the first time, that he had his sister’s surgical skills of persuasion. “I noticed in the clearing you were using an Imperial rifle, not your own sidearm. Everything else in your gear is Syn-make. I find that curious.”
Olivia’s eyes strayed to the foreign weapon slung on her back. She shook her head. “Your imagination can run wild.”
“You verified Henley’s prints before we left. I’m guessing you’re working under a contract that only specified him as a target. Yet you were prepared to shoot me.”
Olivia leaned against the tree across from him with a dull look. “I still am.”
“Yet you don’t impress me as an indiscriminate killer. You couldn’t be, if you’re a Whisper. That means your contract has very specific stipulations.” Galen paused and momentarily tried to school his smile dumb and lazy enough to meet expectations. With one look, most people assumed Galen was more muscle than mind, a fact his sister exploited regularly at court. The Syndicate Whisper exhibited a special distaste for him. “I’m just a soldier. You’re the expert here. Would you say that this has been an unusual assignment?”
Hesitance slipped across her poker face. “I’d say you’re wasting your breath.”
“Really? A Syndicate Whisper contract targeting an Imperial soldier, using an Imperial weapon...and timed perfectly to arrive in the middle of an unforeseen coup?”
“You find it that interesting, do you?”
Galen smiled. “Right now, I find everything about you interesting.”
Faint color added warmth to her cheeks before a sudden flash of fear tightened her eyes. He hadn’t expected her to be won over by kindness, but he hadn’t expected fear. He would have to do something about that, if they were to make any progress. He hurried to his point. “I think you should tell me everything you know about the assignment that brought you here. Who issued it, the parameters, what your contacts were. In exchange, you can put down your gun and we’ll work together. I’ll promise you’ll make it safely out of these woods and back to your country.”
“You’re in a shit position to make promises.” Olivia’s shoulders inched down. She seemed more at ease when she was busy insulting him. His pride would survive if it meant cooperation. “You were negotiating for your life earlier. Now all you are offering me is navigation? Your currency is slipping.”
“As I said, I know the land around the border.” All of the lands, in fact. Being part of a ruling family came with certain responsibilities, and Galen frequently made it his interest to know everything of strategic value. His sister had gold and gossip; he had dirt and the dead. “But you’ll need more from me than directions to get there. Why else do you think I was chosen for this training mission? If I say I can get you safely to the border, I can.”
Her eyes narrowed. Galen held himself perfectly still. The weight of her gaze was heavy, analyzing. It wasn’t until the nose of her pistol edged down that he felt he could speculate which way her thoughts were rabbiting. “It might be an odd series of coincidences, I’ll give you that.”
“Excellent. Tell me what—”
“No.” It was Olivia’s turn to give him a sharp smile. “You need an hour of information, I need days of cooperation. I’d be the Lady’s own fool to tell you everything right now, wouldn’t I? So here’s my deal: I will tell you whatever you want to know. But only once we reach the border.”
“If you have no information then I have no reason to work with you,” Galen said regretfully.
Her expression made it clear that his line of thought was transparent. “I know plenty. But this is the only way you’ll get any of it. If you think I’ll respond productively to force then you haven’t known me long enough.”
He would be urgently needed back in Ameranthe, but it could work in his favor if he kept the rebels hunting for him, tying up their resources at the border. Drawing them in the wrong direction. “Since I’ve already agreed to see you safely to the border, I can live with that. If we’re agreed—” Galen stood too swiftly by the way Olivia jumped. His outstretched hand was met with a pistol in his face again.
“One more stipulation.” The bristling tension in her voice made Galen take her next words very, very seriously. Her eyes flicked from his open hand to his face “You do not approach or touch me.”
Galen stilled. “If I give you my word, you have nothing to fear from me, Olivia.”
“No one said they feared you, Galen.” She didn’t lower her gun but her gaze twitched over him. “I don’t like filthy things touching me. That’s the rule: you try to touch me, agreement or not, I drive this pistol into your eye socket and pull the trigger.”
“You Syns have a funny way of making allies.” Galen pulled back his outstretched hand and raised it up, palm out in acquiescence. Olivia lowered her gun.
“You Empire have a funny way of politics, where I’m standing, but I’m trying not to judge. Stop talking. Sleep.”
She backed up a step, gave him another hard look. The next moment, she was in the tree, legs hooked in the lower branches as she worked her way higher. She was pleasing to watch like this, on the move. It was where she seemed most comfortable. Decisive speed and fluid movements, like a bird of prey wheeling in flight.
Galen wasn’t sure if that made him the potential falconer or the field mouse. He settled back against the roots, eyes on the still woman, half-hidden in shadows overhead, and decided it would be an interesting diversion to find out. He hadn’t lied when he spoke of his interest, if only intellectually. She was more than a hired gun, her words and her caution told him that. But the only certain thing was that everything about her screamed secrets. He would need to learn all of them, starting tomorrow.
Though, judging by the shuttered look he’d received before she disappeared into the shadows, he wasn’t sure whether in the morning he would be winning an ally or waging war.
* * *
His back was aching and dew was inching up his neck by the time Olivia desce
nded from the trees. It was barely past dawn, the air still cool and mist-heavy. The sun was at Olivia’s back, hiding her face, but Galen could feel the frown in the cant of her shoulders. “This place is too quiet at night. I thought nature was supposed to be noisy. I don’t know how you get any sleep.”
“You must have got some.” Galen took pains to keep his voice low and measured. “You missed the arrival of our guest.”
Olivia tilted her head, gaze dropping to the tense way Galen held completely still. It processed in her eyes, rapid-fire and mistrustful, before she turned on her heel.
“Slow! If you must turn—slowly.” He only had a moment to be surprised when she actually listened to his advice.
What had gained his attention—every, rapt, adrenaline-surged fiber of his being, really—crouched a scant two meters in front of them. Wraicath looked like what one would expect if one bred a war machine with a shadow, and this was a large one. Female by the gravid swell of its belly and more dangerous for it. Its jet black fur was speckled with dark navy, an iridescent texture that made it glow faintly in the increasing dawn light. A darting, massive head hung between its shoulders and flashed teeth the size of daggers at them. A plasma flare of sub-luminescent sapphire tails—two, four, six—whipped peevishly over its back, and pitiless eyes centered directly on its new threat.
Olivia froze.
And here it was, Galen thought. She’d be dead before they could start. This city-dwelling Syndicate drone would lose her cool, faced with the realities of an uncaring, unregulated natural world. She’d scream, or panic, sending the wraicath on a rampage.
But she didn’t.
Ah, of course not. She was a cold, cruel assassin. But she’d still be dead before they could start. This crude killer would only see a threat and respond unthinkingly. She would draw, shooting the mother and killing the cubs she carried.
But she didn’t.
Instead, Olivia considered the cat. Then she tilted her head, to the side and down. Studying her feet while simultaneously displaying her neck to the agitated predator. She made a low, languid hum that was entirely unsuited to the situation at hand.
“I don’t suppose that’s your beloved dog.”
This confounding woman will kill us both. “Zahira glows a bit less.” Galen pitched his voice low and started to inch in painfully slow increments to his feet. Every instinct in him screamed to move. “I’m going to take your gun, cover while you—”
A sharp and sudden glare over her shoulder startled both Galen and the beast. Olivia’s eyes were hard. “Don’t move a muscle.”
Only the presence of an apex predator kept Galen from growling his tension. “Don’t be foolish, Syndicate. I’ve hunted these before—”
“But we’re not hunting now, are we?” Olivia kept her voice lazy and soft. A hint of the Syndicate southern muddle in her words. So unlike the tense way she bit out orders yesterday. She turned her head slowly back to the wraicath, which had miraculously not lunged at the opening. “She’s a carnivore, I’m assuming.”
“Yes,” Galen confirmed dryly.
“Oh, good.” Olivia spun on her heel. She dropped to the ground and crossed her legs in an easy sprawl. Her back was an insouciant target presented to the beast behind her. Galen’s heart stuttered into his throat as the wraicath followed her movement, a low growl emanating in the big cat’s throat.
Galen tensed, but with his back already to the tree and hemmed in by its monstrous roots, there was nowhere to retreat to without drawing the cat’s attention. He held his breath as the cat lowered into a stalking position, tails thrashing. Olivia smiled, and Galen came to a conclusion. “Ah. So you’re mad.”
“Not the first person who’s told me that,” Olivia said.
“You can’t turn your back—”
“Don’t. Move.”
“At least draw your gun—”
“Galen.” Olivia’s soft voice caught and held his attention. He looked to her face, calm as the rest of her posture, but for the first time he read the winking tension in her eyes. The lazy calm took on a tempered note. “I believe last night you were trying to convince me that we needed to work together.”
The wraicath had taken a step closer. Leaves shifted beneath soft paws the size of dinner plates. If Olivia heard the approach, she hid it well. Galen gritted his teeth. “I...did.”
“Well then. I guess you’ll have to trust me. Poor you.” There was a mocking edge to her smile. When Galen frowned, she continued. “We’re lucky she’s a predator, at least.”
Another step. The cat was definitely stalking Olivia now. “Why’s that?”
“I might be a city dweller, but all predators are lazy. You can rely on them to do whatever feeds them easiest. She doesn’t look hungry, so I’m guessing we surprised her, too. Prey, now those are the ones you gotta watch out for. They’ll kick your ass just to see what’s up.”
Galen blinked, but his response was lost as the wraicath came within striking distance, a smear of midnight and malice behind Olivia. It stopped, appearing to consider its options. The cat loosed a soft growl.
Olivia’s eyes flicked down significantly to Galen’s hands. They were knuckled white where he gripped his thighs. If only to keep himself from lunging for a weapon.
“Steady, Galen,” she whispered. But even Olivia’s calm found its limit. When the cat leaned forward she closed her eyes tight. The creature huffed, ruffling pale hair loose from Olivia’s hood with its hot breath. Horror turned Galen’s stomach.
I’m going to watch a woman get mauled in front of me.
But the cat seemed more intrigued by...sniffing her. The wraicath’s massive head dropped. It whuffled around Olivia’s shoulders, appearing to take particular interest in her neck and the depths of her scarf. Olivia kept her eyes closed. She swallowed visibly before speaking again.
“Right, nothing to see here.” She was addressing the wraicath, Galen realized with disbelief. Her voice was pitched low and soft. “There’s no threat to you or yours, and the doglord’s not worth it. Look at the gristle on this one.”
The cat expressed little interest in Galen’s supposed gristle. She was content to continue investigating, feral eyes half-lidded now. Galen thought he heard a purr. Olivia’s hair took flight on every exhale. She turned her chin slightly to frown into the cat’s massive jaw. “Go on. Skat. You’ve had your fun.”
You do not “skat” a wraicath. The cat didn’t precisely meet her gaze, but the consideration was obvious enough. Then, improbably, impossibly, it turned its head. It gave Galen a hostile look. Olivia made a checking sound with her tongue. The cat’s speckled fur ruffled then blurred. Disappeared into the bush with one monstrous leap.
They stared at each other a moment, then two, until it was obvious the creature was not returning. A queer laugh chirped out of Olivia’s throat. She folded back, boneless, to the forest floor.
Giggling.
“Oh, gods.” She ground the heels of her hands into her eyes and Galen couldn’t tell if she was trembling from relief or hysteria. The cat had left a smear of drool tracing one cheek. “B will—oh, sweet heat—when I tell Yoshi—”
The heady cocktail of relief left Galen lightheaded, so he could only muster: “Yoshi?”
The infectious, bright smile fell off Olivia’s face, and Galen felt its absence. “No one you would know.” She pulled her hands away and stared blankly up at the treetops overhead. The mutter was more to herself than Galen. “Lady’s bits, I can’t believe that worked.”
Neither, frankly, could Galen. He’d been on countless hunting expeditions since he was old enough to hold a rifle. He’d brought down two wraicath in that time, and seen the aftermath of countless encounters with less lucky (or cautious) hunters. Wraicath were to be avoided. They weren’t hunting game, they were hunters. They were aggressive, territorial killers, especially when breeding. He and O
livia shouldn’t have escaped with their skin intact, at the very least. He kept his voice neutral for the miracle woman lolling on the dirt in front of him. “First time encountering a wraicath?”
“Is that what it was?” Olivia flopped an arm over her head, for a moment relaxed and loose. Her hair spilled out of her hood like disheveled sunshine. Galen found it rather mesmerizing. “No worse than when B throws a fit.”
“B?”
“My cat.”
“Oh.” Galen considered that for a moment. The heartless assassin and her house cat. “For a Syn girl, you seem to have a way with wild animals.”
“Animals just l—” Olivia caught herself, eyes flickering to Galen and away. The pause held on a moment too long to miss. “I just know a lot about predators. Job requirement.”
And there was the distance and caution, again. “Predators. Is that what all altusii are to a Whisper?”
“Yes,” Olivia said, bluntness barbed with thorns. But Galen tilted his head.
“That...that’s not quite a truth, is it?” Galen murmured, then, without thinking. “I can’t make you out.”
A troubled look sharpened her features. Olivia’s brow knitted as she glanced more steadily at him, holding his gaze for a moment this time. She rolled to her feet, relaxation spoiled. “Good. We should get going.”
And just like that, disaster was set aside for the next order of events. The Syn killer had behaved the exact opposite of his expectations. Galen found his view slowly shifting, realigning to adjust the composition of her in his head. Olivia moved brusquely through the bush, picking at one of her rations with one hand while the other wavered like a bird in flight over her hip holster. He hadn’t noticed it before, but now he could see the subtle dip and sway to her walk, the way she took care to not disturb the forest floor with each step. She might not have been familiar with the wilds, but she moved with a caution, a care, a thoughtfulness that was surprising. Admirable.