by Ada Harper
“You smell that good.” Her voice was flat.
“Oh,” Galen said with sudden understanding.
Olivia flushed pink. “Shit, stop smiling.”
“I am absolutely not smiling. I am good smelling.”
“I could still shoot you with my left hand you know.”
“You could.” Galen held out the coat again. “I won’t ask you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable, but if we do run into a tracker again...”
Then wearing something that belonged to an altus would at least provide Olivia with an extra layer of camouflage. Still, it was a significant sign of trust. Olivia might not be a trusting person, but he could always count on her to be practical.
Her lips compressed before she snatched the coat out of his hands and slung it over her shoulders. It fit her more like a cloak than a jacket. She cinched it clumsily around her waist. It took a near heroic effort to keep the grin off his face when she slid her cheek subtly along the fabric of the collar when she thought he wasn’t looking.
Olivia swept up her rifle and headed toward the door, only hobbling a little on her banged-up knee. “If this is some creepy altus thing...”
“Of course not.” Galen followed her. “The creepy altus thing is simply an enjoyable bonus.”
The daggers she glared over the collar of his coat did not dim the warm flutter growing in his chest.
Chapter Eight
They made their way as far away from the tower as the sunlight allowed. Galen didn’t force conversation. He took the lead on the path and left her with her thoughts. A wise move, because Olivia’s head was a maelstrom of them. By the time they reached a suitable spot to camp, a gully at the base of a formidable rise, she’d come to some conclusions. They set up as usual, setting snares and sorting out Olivia’s dwindling supplies. They’d taken what they could from the mercenaries, and Olivia noticed when Galen snatched up the blanket that reeked of sweat rather than let her have it.
His expression was worth it when she brought her own blanket over. He’d settled in his customary position against the roots of a defensible tree. She dropped down to a space nearby.
“Do cats no longer sleep in trees?” Galen’s thick brows threatened to inch right off his face as Olivia slouched into her borrowed coat.
“If you owned a cat, you’d know they slept wherever they damned well pleased.” Olivia carefully finished making herself comfortable before risking a glance at his face. “I decided...well. I either trust you or I don’t.”
“And you’ve decided you do?” Galen was holding himself rather still, as if any sudden movement might reverse her decision.
Olivia bit down on a smile. “I’ve decided you’re not that good of a liar. You... I was no surprise to you today.” She found herself losing her nerve, sending her attention to the trees, her knees, picking at her bandage, anything. “So you’ve known what I am and have had plenty of chances to use it against me before now. If I can trust you with something I can’t even admit to my best friend then...well, I suppose I can trust you with my back. Besides,” she added, “trees get damn cold at night.”
On cue, the wind shifted, rustling a clatter of leaves overhead. Olivia risked a glance. Galen was watching her out of the side of his eye, a soft curve on his lips. “Well. Glad to be used for my base body heat.”
The evening and conversation cooled. The sun set. If one set of shoulders began to list subtly into the other for warmth, neither was about to admit it. It was Olivia who broke the subdued mood first. “My scent. What’s it like?”
“Wh—Pardon?” Galen started imperceptibly, a steady flush in his face visible even in the dim light. Galen, her battle-hardened Imperial soldier, almost looked scandalized.
Olivia fought down her own embarrassment, mostly in spite. “Not like that! I mean. I can’t smell myself, obviously, and...obviously I don’t get close enough to...anyone. I just—never mind, it was a stupid question.”
Really, Shaw.
“When I was a child—” Galen’s voice was soft when he began to answer “—I remember being amazed the first time my parents let me into an aetheric comms room—the racks, where the crystal tuners are kept. I probably shouldn’t be telling you this. Classified technology and all that.”
Their shoulders drifted next to each other. Olivia shifted just enough to feel the warm press of his biceps. It was enough encouragement for Galen to keep talking. “I was eleven. The racks were an impressive sight, of course. But what I remember—it was the smell. When the tuners heated up, the air in the room turned...electric. Hyper clear, more than clean. Ozone and lightning all at once. The essence of a storm.”
“I smell like an aetheric charge?” Olivia was dubious.
“You smell like possibility,” Galen clarified softly. “Like—anticipation, but warmer. The sharp edge of the future softened into something one could hold. Like a horizon.” His head dipped, perplexed. “I’m sorry. It’s the only way I can describe it.”
There was...no proper way to respond to that. Olivia tucked her chin into the coat collar, letting the warmth swimming in her head spill over and flood with a quiet happiness.
It only dimmed a little when Galen spoke again, almost too quiet to hear. “What about me?”
It was easy enough to answer. With her nose buried in his coat, she could hold his scent on her tongue. She couldn’t exactly refuse to answer, after what he’d said. She let out a slow breath to gather her words. Behind the shield of the coat collar, she couldn’t see his face. That made it easier, too.
“The Cauldron—that’s the district in the Syn where I live—has an old plaza at its heart. Ancient, neglected. Probably from not long after the Crisis. Crusty, dried-up stone fountain and a buncha chem dealers, most days. It’s crooked and busy and filthy. Reeks of piss and bums half the time.” She felt Galen’s shoulder sag imperceptibly and bit back her amusement. “But after a good, solid rain... I like to stop there. I bring a cup of coffee first thing and wait until the sun comes out. The storm leaves the square deserted and the old stone paving is still wet. Everything’s been washed away. It just smells...new. Eternal as stone but temporary as rain. The sun comes out and the stone heats up and there’s this...moment. The city takes a breath. And everything is just...warm stone and sunshine.”
“That’s me?” Galen’s voice was hoarse.
“That’s you.”
The ensuing quiet seemed by mutual agreement. Olivia felt her eyelids grow heavy, easing into sleep much faster than she usually did. When she woke, sometime in the dim hours, her cheek was pressed against Galen’s side. The weight of his arm was a warm, heavy presence around her, stone and sunshine improbably comforting in the dark. Olivia stayed there for the count of a few heartbeats, memorizing the rise and fall of his chest, before slipping away to sleep against the roots again.
* * *
In the morning, they struck out at a determined pace. Galen took the lead, insisting there was something he wanted her to see. Olivia’s bruised knee seemed better for a night’s rest and she only half-heartedly grumbled when Galen again scaled directly up the rise like a mountain goat. The sight at the top made Olivia’s complaints die in her throat.
This close to the border, the Caeweld was coming to an end, divesting itself of its deep growth with a series of jumbled hills and valleys. Below them ran one last span of forest, thick with a velvet fog that the morning hadn’t quite burned off yet. It left the ground a blanket of silver, with fingers of dark evergreen poking up like lonely spires. Just beyond she could make out the slouching buildings of Vhelasea, the border town she’d passed through what seemed like ages ago. Olivia shifted her gaze, straining into the farthest horizon and saw it. There, winking faintly in the smog-haze, the distant lights of the Syndicate.
“You can see the whole valley from here,” Galen said, coming to a stop beside her. “I thought you might
like it. You always stop at the top of every hill to take in the view.”
Olivia slid her gaze to find him carefully studying her reaction. She swallowed around the lump that’d formed. “Maybe I am just cautious.”
“Not when your eyes go soft like that. Your shoulders inch down, grip loosens, every time...there’s this sigh...” Galen stopped. He diverted his eyes and rubbed his neck. “I thought you’d appreciate it, that’s all.”
Olivia did. Just the feel of the mist curling around her cheeks, on its long upward spiral from the shrouded valley below, loosened the tension gripping her chest. And the prospect of the Syndicate in the distance. That one blink of light that held everything she cared about and everything she dreaded. She folded her arms to hide her shiver. “It—There’s no views like this in the city. Well—” She dropped a dry smile. “There might be, but I can’t afford them.”
Galen’s rumbled chuckle was felt more than heard. He nudged her shoulder. “This one’s free.”
“Is it?” Olivia said without much rancor. “You’re always trying to get behind my guard.”
“I am,” Galen agreed easily. His eyes were steady and cool like the still valley below. “But not for an attack.”
Olivia shifted her gaze away sharply. “It’s always an attack when you’re a caricae.”
She felt, more than heard, the pause. When she looked, Galen’s eyes had softened but not wavered. “The world has been unkind to you.”
“The world can’t be kind.” Olivia’s hand formed a fist at her side, hating the ridiculous heat in her eyes. She wished he would stop looking at her. She could tolerate scorn, could combat pity, but the tenderness in his voice was undoing her. “The world simply is. It doesn’t reward the good and punish the bad—not my world at least.”
In the valley’s quiet, she could hear him take a slow breath before he answered. “It’s not that way in the Empire. You wouldn’t have anything to fear on this side of the border.”
A cruel laugh startled out of her, and a hurt look flickered onto Galen’s face. Olivia tried to soften it with a smile. “I highly doubt that.”
“We don’t lock up people for the way they are born.”
“Is that so?” Olivia narrowed her eyes over the collar of his coat. “Not even for their own protection?”
“Well.” Galen’s brow knitted as he considered. “Altusii and gentas have mandatory military service while caricaes generally live with parents or guardians until they establish a bond family. And many prefer to raise children in communities like at Court—”
“Wait, a bond family? Is that like your noble houses?”
“What? No.” It was Galen’s turn to look at her as if she were alien. “A compatibility bond. What do you call it in the Syn? An affinity? An attraction?”
“We call it crazy hobo talk.”
“You don’t have—” Galen’s teeth clicked together. He looked flummoxed. “I suppose with the way caricaes are isolated it might be...but surely even genta and altus families—”
“Galen, words please.”
“Words, yes. Something doesn’t exist if you don’t have a word for it.” Galen picked a leaf idly from her sleeve, gathering his thoughts before speaking. “The Syn understands the science of pheromone. The push and pull of caricaes and altusii. That pheromone interaction can indicate attraction.”
“Yes, otherwise known as ‘you smell good,’ the curse of my existence and fashion choices.”
“Right.” Galen carefully removed his hand from her sleeve. “With prolonged exposure, two compatible individuals can develop what the Empire calls an affinity bond within their pheromones. It’s rare, and not always a romantic or sexual attraction. It’s—” His expression embarked on a frustrated search for words. “Like falling in sync. A dialing in. It can be with a colleague, a best friend, a fellow soldier...lovers, soulmates. Someone you just...work with. Your bond family is your primary relationships in your adult life, your second family. Surely it happens in the Syndicate.”
He spoke so cautiously, so sincerely, Olivia didn’t have an answer. She studied Galen’s face for any sign of humor. “Well, people get married, sure.”
“Sometimes it means marriage, but as I said, not always. A romantic bond is more...more intense.” His eyes skittered away from her face. Thumbs rubbed over the callouses on his palms. “Some in the Empire believe in the idea of soulmates.”
Olivia had a feeling she was sitting next to one of those some. “That’s...interesting.”
Galen turned back to her, face flushed with what Olivia interpreted as embarrassment. “You don’t sound like you believe it.”
She didn’t. It was nonsense, described in ways that managed to be both clinical and fantastical at the same time. But something stopped her from saying so when Galen looked at her with such earnest eyes. “It sounds nice. But the Syn doesn’t raise anyone to be sentimental. Marriages are for companionship and child assignment where I come from.” Olivia shrugged. “It works.”
Galen blinked. “Assignment?”
“Obviously altusii and gentas are not having children on their own, and caricae child-rearing would interfere with the Syn’s growth plan. Children born from the program are assigned to caretakers at six months. After proper vetting.”
“Six months?” Galen physically recoiled. “What about their own parents?”
“Children don’t have parents until they’re assigned.” Olivia had to remind herself to relax her clenched jaw. Her teeth ached around the words. “As I understand it, altusii show up for their assignments, caricaes carry to term, everyone goes about their business.”
“A segment of your population is just breeding stock?”
The outrage in his voice had Olivia fixing him with a hard look. “You didn’t seem that scandalized when it was just caricaes in Syndicate programs.”
“I...” Galen stopped, face falling with a kind of self-disappointment. “I suppose I didn’t think about it.”
He seemed unsettled by the admission. Olivia pinned him with a dry look before relenting. “Most people don’t. That’s the problem. It’s easier to ignore when it’s...efficient.”
“It’s horrific.”
“It is possible to be both.” Olivia gave a wan smile. “We Syndicate excel at that. They say it’s better than it was, at least. No domestic disputes, abuse, wage gap, failing population, fighting...”
“You don’t believe that either.”
The certainty in his tone made her grimace. Olivia wondered exactly when Galen had become so able to pick apart her words—she prided herself on being a very convincing liar. It was a survival trait. And yet. “I don’t. But I try not to believe anything. As long as I stay undocumented, even if your bond nonsense is all true, I never intend to have a family. If I stay under the radar, none of it has anything to do with me.”
Galen paused. “Breeding. That’s the only purpose of a disposition?”
“Of course. The reason for all this...genetic fuckery—” Olivia made a vague gesture “—is the Crisis. Make a lot of good, patriotic babies. Survival of the species for the good of the Syndicate, etcetera and so on.”
Galen’s eyes widened. “That’s what they teach your children?”
“More or less.” And then, because she was getting tired of the self-righteous disdain. “What, the Empire has a fairy tale about fucking, too?”
“Fairy tale,” he repeated, then leaned back. He studied her again, wistfully, before shaking his head. “For breeding. Barbarians.”
That... Well, none of that exchange had been advisable, and yet Olivia still felt disappointed. She reached for the first question that came to mind. “So how many you got?” When Galen blinked at her, she clarified: “These...bond...buddy. Family. Things.”
“Oh.” Galen’s color rose, lidded eyes blinking rapidly. Nervous.
Fuck.
Was that a rude thing to ask? Galen flustered so rarely, Olivia felt off-kilter herself. She cleared her throat. “Not that it’s any of my business—”
“One. Just one...platonic bond. Bowen’s the closest thing I’ve had to a brother. He’s a scout in Lyre’s troop now but we grew up together. The mischief we got up to...well, no wonder we fell in sync.” Galen’s cheeks hadn’t ceased darkening, painting his bronze tan with an appealing flush. It was almost cute, compounded by the way his eyes flicked over her face before veering away. He licked his lips. “I confess, there might be—”
Galen’s breath died mid-sentence and his head came up, immediately singing tension between them as he turned to scan the trees. Olivia straightened, drifting to place her back to his without conscious thought. She tilted her head, hearing the crackling in the foliage a moment later. Her hand went to her gun.
Galen’s laugh startled her. He half turned to Olivia and then several things happened at once. Galen’s brown eyes paled to vivid gold, startling enough that she barely registered something large shoot from the bushes. The ground caught her shoulders at the same time as her brain caught up, and all the air left her lungs in a rush. A beast the size of a pulsebike stood on her chest. Silver ruff softened the angles of its massive head, and eyes like newly minted gold coins stared at her with eerie remove. The wolf leaned down with its jaws lolling and Olivia didn’t dare to so much as blink.
“Zahira! Tomadok.” There was far too much joy in Galen’s voice for Olivia’s assessment of the situation. But the moment the words left his mouth the pressure on her chest eased. The wolf closed its jaws with a huff as it sat back.
By the time Olivia had scrambled for her gun with her good hand, Galen’s laughter nearly made her drop it again. He was lost in his own little world, hands roughing up the wolf’s coat as he dropped his forehead to its massive face. His eyes had faded back to their familiar amber, but the smile on his face had an ease about it that Olivia hadn’t seen yet. It twisted an aching and out-of-reach fondness in her chest.