A Conspiracy of Whispers

by Ada Harper

  Olivia felt like the world was tilting under her again. “What?”

  “Your scent. I caught hints of it before but...” He looked apologetic. “It’s been under my skin since the day with the patrol.”

  The memory slid into place. Thrown into the underbrush to avoid detection. Galen’s hands stilled, pupils blown, a sudden pulse under her hands. He’s known. He’s known. Olivia felt dizzy. Metal slid under her fingers and reminded her to breathe. She swallowed a jagged breath.

  “Olivia.” Galen brought her back, still not moving though his grip was white-knuckled on the strut. “I knew, and it doesn’t matter. You have my word. If nothing else, please consider me a better alternative to smashing your brains against the rocks. Please.”

  “Rope.” She had to force it from her lungs. The word was pinched and sub-audible between her tight breaths, but Galen heard her anyway. He shook his head.

  “What do you think I’m hanging from? Come on, give me your hand.”

  Olivia shot her eyes up and realized Galen had somehow secured and slung the rope around one broad arm before jumping off the platform after her. He held himself up off the scaffold now but one slip... Olivia shook her head violently. “It won’t hold both of us.”

  “It will. I will hold both of us. You won’t fall, I swear it. Just...” He hesitated a beat, fear for the first time in his eyes as he locked eyes with Olivia. And the words seemed pulled from his mouth, unwilling and fearful how they’d land: “Trust me.”

  He was asking the impossible and he knew it. He was Quillian and he was a soldier and he was nobility and he was altus. He was everything that threatened everything she was. She had no logical reason to trust him.

  But logic hadn’t had a hand in her dealings with Galen for a while now.

  Her gun slipped, rebounding off the side to disappear into the mist before Olivia realized she’d dropped it. The steel sliced into her hand as she swung herself forward, but Galen had her arm and was already pulling her up.

  They gained the platform edge and collapsed, a tangle of exhausted limbs. Before Olivia could even extract herself from her adrenaline enough to stand, Galen’s arms tightened around her and gathered her against his chest. Olivia tried to tense, found her body not responding. Her muscles were liquid as Galen’s fingers dug into her shoulders and waist. She noted, distantly gratified, how his touch stayed far away from her nape. He buried his nose in her hair and breathed in.

  “We...” Olivia’s voice was ragged when she finally found the ability to speak. “We have a rule.”

  “We do. Don’t particularly care right now.” Galen’s voice was thick, relieved. Lips brushed against her crown, over and over, like a prayer. Or a kiss. He huffed, sending soft spirals of warmth down past her ear. “You can shoot me later.”

  She was still trying to find the energy to escape when Galen gently untangled them. He held her at arm’s length, gaze sweeping slowly over her. His palms were scuffed with cuts, fingertips stained with thick grease from the scaffolding climb. They left little cloudbursts of iridescent sheen on her skin as Galen brushed his hands up and down her arms. Reassuring himself more than her. His eyes darkened as his hands danced above her shredded forearm. “There should be a proper first aid kit around here. Just—hold still. Rest.” The last words came out strained, entreating.

  He waited to move until Olivia inclined her chin in a faint nod. Her head felt wrapped in cotton, panic wicking away to a numbness that only allowed her mind to turn over what happened with fumbling thoughts. They’d been attacked. Scruff her. And then falling and fear and blood and terror that had all fled because Galen knew. He knew, he knew, he knew.

  She was still in danger. He knew what she was and even if he, absurdly, wasn’t driven by his baser instincts, there were still a dozen ways he could capitalize on it and destroy everything for her. Arrest her, turn her in. Olivia knew little about Empire law except rumors and what Galen claimed, but she suspected a caricae made for a hell of a bargaining chip on both sides of the border. She should be panicking. She should be fighting and shooting and running so far away from this moment that nothing could catch her.

  But she wasn’t. When she took a muddled inventory of her brain, she was unnerved, but the panic and fear was receding and her hands only shook from too much adrenaline. She blinked twice, trying to summon the appropriate course of action. The only thing her body wanted to do right now was to stop shivering. Her vision drifted, tripping over the mercenary bodies until they landed on one near the platform controls.

  Oh, their surprise sixth attacker.

  He was bent at an odd angle over the controls, a confusion of limbs and angles. Her head tilted. It took Olivia a moment to piece together the shattered angle of his back and the ragged crush of flesh that used to be his throat.

  Because I’ll tear your throat out with my teeth first. She’d meant it when she’d said it, but Galen had followed through on the threat. Perhaps not with his teeth but... Olivia’s gaze strayed back to where Galen was crouched, digging through a supply cabinet. The lines of his back bunched and shifted under his sweat-stained fatigues. Coiled power, and danger. It was so easy, sometimes, to forget Galen was an altus. And altusii were not to be trusted.

  But then there was Galen. He was cool and confident to the point of arrogance. He was strategic with a cold iron mind that could snap mercilessly around its target, but he was also burdened with the absurdity of honor. It made him infuriating and stubborn. But he was also warm. He was steady. Confident in his strengths and reliable in his flaws. It wasn’t his fault that Olivia had noticed oil smudging his fingers before she’d noticed a new dead bo—

  The realization came in a rush. She didn’t need to fear Galen; she needed to fear herself.

  Chapter Seven

  The first aid kit inside the comms station was old but serviceable. No regenerative patches, but better tapes and disinfecting smears than what Olivia had in her pack. Galen surfaced from the cabinet to see the thunderhead that had churned into Olivia’s gaze. Her face was blank, probably still in shock, but her eyes were dark brambles of half-formed panic as she stared at a fixed point in front of her. Galen had a minute, maybe two, before she would do something foolish. He’d have to use them wisely.

  But deception had never been his strong suit, so Galen said, “You’re bleeding.”

  Olivia didn’t look at him. “I think we already established that.”

  “Your scarf is gone and your jacket’s torn.”

  “Correct.”

  “And you’ve banged up your knee.”

  “No shit.” Olivia shifted her good leg underneath her. Her shoulders tensed. A flutter of energy. Consciously or unconsciously bracing for movement. “Is there a point to your observations?”

  “I thought the point would be obvious. You’re injured and exposed. If you intend on running, you are certain to draw the attention of every predator in the Caeweld. Human or not.”

  Olivia suppressed a shudder at the implication, a flutter of emotion working through her jaw before she finally lifted her head with a defiant look. “Including you?”

  “You have always had my attention,” Galen said simply. “Don’t run, Olivia.”

  “Don’t follow me, Galen.”

  “I’m afraid I have to.”

  “Why? I’ll tell you everything now.” Her words picked up speed as she appeared to latch on to what she thought he wanted. “We’re near enough to the border. I’ll tell you what I know and you go stop your war and I’ll go home. We can pretend this didn’t happen.”

  Galen bit down a sigh and tried a different tact. “Right now, I’m more concerned about the wounds on your arm than anything you have to tell me.”

  Olivia’s gaze cooled to a cutting edge. “I don’t need your protection.”

  “No.” Galen held up the box in his hands. “You need first aid.” />
  Olivia appeared to grudgingly accept that. Galen took another step. His approach was curving, wide in front of her, nonthreatening. A flash of irritation tensed up Olivia’s shoulders. “Quit treating me like a wounded animal.”

  Galen raised a mild brow. “Then quit growling like one.”

  Olivia said nothing, but she jutted her arm out and frowned at the horizon as Galen approached. He dropped down next to her and finally began the work of peeling shredded fabric off her arm. He kept his movements efficient and economical, gentle, but doing nothing more than what was needed. She hissed as the disinfectant was applied, but he’d already deftly clasped her elbow to keep her still.

  The layers of fabric in Olivia’s gear had done their job. The scrape on her arm was messy but superficial. It was her right palm that Galen was worried about. The sharp edge of the metal scaffold had cut deep into her grip. She was lucky it hadn’t disabled her completely. She fluttered her fingers when directed, but couldn’t quite conceal the shiver of pain that went up her arm or the grimace as she did it.

  “You’ll need to wrap this and avoid using it until it heals.”

  Olivia’s eyes were still pinched with pain but she managed a flat look. “I’m right-handed.”

  “I know.” Galen braced for the fight. “I could carry the gun.”

  Olivia fumbled for the tape. “Just a single layer of gauze is enough. The tape will hold unt—fu—fucking hell—son of a bitch—!” The last words were wheezed more then said as Galen smeared the regen cream across the length of the gash. Olivia’s face turned ashen and she yanked her hand out of his grasp as soon as he was done.

  “Rest that hand if you want to keep full use of it, Liv. Get it checked out when you get back to civilization—and not by some under-the-table, backroom Syndicate hack. A real doctor.” Galen kept his voice firmer than he felt. He’d triaged plenty of soldiers in the field, but something about the pitch of pain in Olivia’s voice shook him and left his instincts guilt ridden. “Please.”

  “Just—hand me my bag.”

  Galen compiled, then wordlessly held out something in his hand. Olivia opened her palm and a silver pill tin dropped in it. Her lips thinned, but after a quick glance at her watch she threw a dose into her mouth.

  She swallowed it dry, but Galen handed her a flask of water. “Suppressant, I’m assuming.”

  Olivia focused on the flask. “None of your business.”

  “I thought they were vitamins at first. You’ve been eating those things like candy. I thought most field rations were for once a day.”

  “Only if you’re taking them under a doctor’s orders. I have a source that gives me enough to double up for close proximity situations.”

  “You...” Horror made Galen grip Olivia’s arm. “Overdosing on supplements is dangerous.”

  “Really. I had no idea.” Olivia’s voice was as dry and sharp as her gaze on his hand. Galen pinched his mouth into a line but didn’t let go.

  “It’s a good way to burn out your organs for good.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Doglord.” Olivia shrugged him off and shoved the tin back in her pocket. “Also makes you feel like shit with killer headaches as a bonus, I don’t recommend it. I’m not doing this for fun.”

  “Well that explains your delightful attitude,” Galen said. But then he stopped, feeling the vulnerability in the last statement. He picked through his next words slowly as he finished up the bandage. “You could stop, you know.”

  The look Olivia threw him was pure venom. Galen held up a hand. “Temporarily, at least. You said you double up for close proximity situations. I’m the...proximity you were concerned about?”

  Flint green eyes narrowed, which was a yes.

  “Then we’ve already addressed that situation.” Galen added, “Killer headaches and shit were your exact words.”

  Olivia shook her head. “You don’t understand what you’re talking about. Not in the Syn. I’m never going off suppressant.”

  Galen knew a wall when he heard it. So he simply went around it. “Your normal dose then. It’ll be easier on your body.”

  Olivia looked skeptical so he turned his focus to her knee, allowing her to turn it over. He could hear her thoughts churning from here. He half expected her to refuse, but even considering it was a sign of trust.

  “You—er, I would—that wouldn’t...distract you?” The question was asked so cautiously, voice a half mumble.

  Galen looked up and frowned until it dawned on him what she was asking. Whether proximity to a caricae would, what, cause him to lose his senses? Do something offensive? Then again, he’d seen how the mercenaries had reacted. He studied her. He decided on a simple version of the truth. “I found you attractive when I thought you were a genta and that opinion has not changed. However,” Galen hurried on dryly before she could find a rebuff, “considering we’ve been side by side for a week now, I imagine I will somehow control myself.”

  Olivia’s lips thinned. “Whatever. I’ll...consider it.”

  It was more than he’d hoped for, and Galen understood her caution enough by now to know what a large act of faith consideration was. Warmth swelled in his chest but Olivia batted his hands away to stand. She favored her left knee, and hid it poorly.

  “There’s something else we should talk about.” Olivia nodded to the divider that hid the bodies on the platform.

  “The mercenary hunters.”

  “They were Syndicate.” Olivia pointed to the trench coats Galen had already noted. “The same ones we encountered a few days ago.”

  “The patrol.” That was news. Galen hadn’t had a good look at their faces as Olivia had, but now he studied the bodies more intently. The dirt clodding their boots, the quality of their gear. “You believe they were tracking us.”

  “You. They were after the ‘traitor.’”

  “So they said. But they also had a scent tracker. They could have been after you.”

  Olivia gave him a displeased look. “No one knows about me,” she muttered half-heartedly before a thought struck her. “There’s a third option. How many people know about this tower?”

  “The secret aetheric tower with surveillance gear pointed toward the Syndicate border? Not many.” Galen’s amusement was cut short by the look on Olivia’s face. “You think someone informed them of this place.”

  “And they made the same logistical leap that we did.”

  “That’s unlikely. The level of clearance to know about intelligence towers limits it to a handful of military and governance officials. Quillian governance officials.”

  “You’re the one with a civil war going on.”

  The world shifted and resettled uneasily around Galen’s mind. The implications got worse the more he considered it. “Even an insurrection-minded traitor wouldn’t use unreliable foreign mercenaries.”

  “Strikes me that they already did. I’m here after all,” Olivia gave him a toothy smile. Galen took humor as a sign that she was recovering from her earlier shock, even as he wrestled with his own.

  They began to riffle through the pockets of the dead. The mercenaries’ possessions were a rat’s nest of supplies and filthy clothing. Evidently, not everyone in the Syndicate shared Olivia’s preference for cleanliness. His fingers paused when they ran across something cold and smooth. He withdrew it and frowned at the smooth sphere in his palm. It was nearly featureless, but color ticked where the sunlight skimmed across the surface. Aetheric crystal, but not simply crystal. The weight in his hand was all wrong. He searched for a seam but the surface appeared solid. It was unmistakably Imperial material, but in the possession of Syndicate mercenaries. His unease only grew as he found matching beads in each of the hunters’ pockets.

  “Galen.” Olivia caught his attention. “You’re too quiet.”

  “Do you recognize these?” Galen tilted his palm to show the marbles.
Conflict brewed across Olivia’s face, but after a moment she decided to answer. She shook her head. “Don’t see crystal tech much where I live.”

  He considered before pocketing them. “Of course. I should—” Olivia raised her brows at his unusual hesitance. He sighed, anticipating a fight. “I want to send a message. My people should know about this.”

  He didn’t get one.

  “All right.” Olivia chewed on her lip, her attention somewhere between the terminal screen and the treetops beyond the platform. “But just information on the mercenaries. And after that, we leave. Do what you need to do.”

  “Thank you,” Galen said softly, “for trusting me.”

  Olivia turned away. “Not like I have any better choice at this point.”

  He eyed her carefully before turning away for the terminal, half expecting her to change her mind. He’d wanted her trust, but it left him destabilized. The agreeableness was uncharacteristic and this subdued, cooperative version of Olivia set him on edge. He half wished the storm would break and return her fury again.

  He sent out the message quickly, attaching the encrypted message to a thin aetheric band only Lyre and her scouts should have coordinates for. He just hoped the spy was still alive and free enough to act on it. Hoped, but not too worried. This was the Liar, after all. The Empire could fall, the twin moons could fall into the sea, and not even stress Lyre’s contingency plans for tea.

  Olivia moved around the room as he worked, and when he turned she’d already resupplied her bag and was comparing the relative merits of two syndicate jackets she’d scavenged from the dead. Galen slung his off practically before the thought formed in his head.

  The way Olivia stared at him rushed heat to his face. He cleared his throat. “Better than those blast-riddled things.”

  Olivia looked at the coat like it would bite her. “I’m...not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “I smell that bad?”