He frowned. “You were alone.”
“No. No, there were places for me to live. Foster homes, group homes. But it was never the same. And eventually, that…” She searched for the word. “That coldness everyone seemed to feel turned to fear.”
“The valfaen.”
“Yes. So I left. Then I was alone, but it was my choice.”
Although there’d been no other option.
“I would offer my apologies.”
It was so formal, the way remorse and sympathy were expressed by the Inakhí language. It gave the sentiment a sense of distance that somehow made it easier to answer honestly. “It was safer that way.”
“That doesn’t make it easy.”
“No.” But she shook her head. “I shouldn’t complain. Life in the centers couldn’t have been much better.”
“You’ve learned about the centers?”
“Leima told me about them. It’s tragic.”
Mikhél thought of the narrow cells, ringing always with the soldiers’ march. Filled with hordes of children, filthy, lost, and alone despite the crowd. They curled together in sleep, their small bodies seeking the warmth and comfort that could be found nowhere else.
“To be raised there is one unending nightmare. There’s no hope for better, no hope for change. There’s only the base, inescapable fight for survival.”
“You did more than survive. You held true to yourself. And now you’re helping others do the same.”
Mikhél stilled as suspicion dawned. “I’m not sure of your meaning.”
“I just meant—my apologies.” She bit her lip, her fingers twisting together. “I’m still clumsy with the language. I didn’t mean to pry.”
He shook his head, but he couldn’t hold her gaze. He strode to the window, his hands flexing against the sill. She thought he’d grown up in the centers. Worse, she admired him for surviving.
And the last thing he deserved was her admiration.
“I meant no insult,” she said quietly.
“You gave none.” But his voice was clipped. He ground his teeth and pushed down the guilt. It was yet another luxury he couldn’t afford.
“You have work. I should go.”
“No.” He said it too quickly and bit off the word. Then, “You have time until you train with Valaer, yes?”
“Yes.”
But she hesitated, and he wondered if he would be lowered to begging. Then she crossed the room to stand beside him, her gaze on the ice planet already drifting out of view. She stood closer than he expected, and he imagined he could feel her warmth through his uniform. And his shoulders loosened.
“I used to be good at this,” she said. “A long time ago, I had friends. I knew how to be…normal. But it’s been so long, I forgot how to talk to people. And now—”
Her voice broke on a humorless laugh, and her mouth snapped shut. Her eyes were pale, and he wished he knew what she’d been about to say. He touched her arm, an instant of pressure all he would allow himself. When she faced him, her breath caught, and he thought perhaps she regretted standing so close to him.
And yet she didn’t back away.
“It’s not your fault,” he said. “After a while solitude becomes as much a way of life as it is a punishment. We’re a social species. But for the ones who are set aside, the presence of others can be as difficult to deal with as their absence.”
“How do you do it?”
“Do what?”
“This.” She swung her arm wide. “Running this ship, leading us. Training me. You’re the commander of the slave army. You report directly to Lhókesh, and he’s never guessed that you’re working for the other side. Nothing fazes you. I don’t know how you hold yourself together the way you do. But I think if I’m going to survive this thing, I’m going to have to learn to be more like you.”
Like him. Though it stirred him to hear her say it, he could think of little that would be more damaging. He pulled out the amulet and laid the metal, still shimmering from the warmth of his skin, across her palm.
“Do you recognize this?”
The talisman nearly filled her hand, a large circle containing three smaller, interlocking circles. Its glow faded quickly under the cool of the ship’s air.
“No. Should I?”
He frowned but shook his head. He’d expected Valaer to show her the symbol, but he supposed that was unrealistic. The palletar had more pressing subjects to address.
“It’s ancient,” he said. “From the time of Armín. It’s the symbol of Spyridon. Each of the smaller circles represents a pillar of our government: royal, military, and civilian. Each held equal sway in the path of our world.”
“Like the towers of Lan’Vercai.”
“Exactly.” But he could find no pleasure in her deduction. He continued, his voice grim, “My mother gave this to me the day the war started. She’s the one who taught me to hide what I feel. She knew they were coming for her.”
His voice trailed away as he worked to keep the grief under control. She touched his hand. “I’m so sorry.”
He didn’t know if it was her touch or the unfamiliarity of the English language, which she’d barely used in weeks. But she gave him the strength to continue.
“They held me back while m—while a soldier beat her to death. And I did nothing to stop it. You say you want to be like me, but you don’t mean that. I’m no better than the Watchers, standing by while their own are murdered for an unjustifiable cause. Do what I do because it will save your life. But when this war is over, please. Do anything else.”
He took the amulet and crossed to its compartment, hidden within the wall. If he could have buried it, he would have. He didn’t deserve to wear it, and he’d never felt that more keenly than under her gaze.
But then she spoke.
“You’re wrong.” He turned back to find her still by the window, her eyes pale. “I’m alive because of you. I wake up on this ship every day, ready to train, hide, and feel sorry for myself because you risk your life to make it happen when most Nhélanei would kill me for a little more food.”
She crossed the room to stand before him, and then she took the amulet from the wall and held it out to him. “Put it on. It represents a government strong enough to last for over seven thousand years, and I can’t think of anyone better suited to wear it. You may not be the man you want to be, but even an outsider like me can see you’re nothing like the Watchers.”
He stood frozen, but his mind raced. She refused to see him for what he was. It was a problem with an easy solution, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell her the truth. Once he did she’d never look at him this way.
As if she saw in him what he wished was there.
A tone rang through the room, and she jumped and flushed. She pushed the amulet into his hands, and he slipped it on as he called on the room com.
“Speak.”
“Endet Lhókesh wishes a word.”
She gasped and started to turn away, but he held up a hand and said, “Put him through.”
A voice filled the room, cold, flat, flecked with static. “The vinyatha is late.”
Every muscle in Mikhél’s body went rigid. “From Vorhódan. I’m aware of the delay.”
“Fix it.”
“Yes, Endeté. I travel there next cycle.”
But the static cleared before he finished speaking. Lhókesh was already gone.
“You’re leaving now?”
Her voice was small, and he realized she thought this was the point when their paths diverged. It wasn’t lost on him that her eyes paled again at the prospect. He studied her, weighing the risks, but the choice was clear. Distance increased her danger, rendering proximity a necessary temptation.
Besides, there was something he wanted to show her.
“You’re coming with me.”
CHAPTER 25
Sixty-one days till arrival
Command Shuttle Five
Vorhódan’s horizon tilted and whirled in the
black, a dizzying dance that offered more displacement than goal. Jane groaned and closed her eyes as her stomach listed in sympathy. There was no real direction in space. On Dhóchas she’d felt anchored by the sheer size of the ship. On the shuttle, no matter how they twisted and turned, she never quite lost the feeling that she was somehow upside down.
They were alone, every request to join them denied. She’d thought he’d say yes to at least Eithné or Valaer, but for whatever reason Mikhél seemed to have given up his avoidance of her. She told herself it didn’t mean anything, but her gut remained stubbornly twitchy.
When the shuttle hit the atmosphere, pressure and gas combusted. The ship’s heat shields glowed, blistered, and then burned away to reveal the mines of Vorhódan.
They furrowed across the world, a ruthlessly organized grid that had extinguished almost every indigenous species. In their place Nhélanei slaves labored under the searing sun in the mildly toxic atmosphere. Each night outdated masks scrubbed lethal chemicals from their lungs while they slept. Each day they worked until hands bled and throats burned.
And gave thanks with everything in them that they weren’t on Spyridon, straining under the vicious thumb of the Meijhé.
Mikhél set down on a flat expanse of grit and rock flanked by desert and mines. Across the cavernous pits, a mountain rose against the blue of the sky, its surface glinting in the sun.
The shuttle doors opened on a blast of heat and shimmering dust. Miners reached in to grab their bags while others secured the transport, calling to one another in a dialect Jane could almost understand.
A man stood at the base of the shuttle ramp, short for a Nhélanei and stocky, his ruddy skin nearly blending in to the thick, curling bronze of his hair. He said, “Endet Niyhól.”
Jane told herself she imagined the twinkle in his mercury-colored eyes, and then he did something she thought she would never see. He smiled at Mikhél.
“Arhúd.” Mikhél clasped his arm with one hand and clamped another on his shoulder. “It’s good to be back.”
“A long visit this time, Endeté?”
“A week. I’ll be showing Khénta Enan the mines.”
When Jane cleared the shadows of the shuttle, Arhúd’s eyes widened on her face. Bowing lower than her rank deserved, he said, “Welcome, Khénta. We are honored by your presence.”
He barked orders to the miners in that almost intelligible dialect and then led them toward the mines. With each step golden dust rose on a puff to float around his ankles. Heat rippled in the distance, and sunlight glared off the ground.
In the troughs and chasms of the mines, the rocks bled.
With grace born of experience, Arhúd glanced back as he traversed the winding bridge that spanned the pits. “We weren’t expecting you back so soon after your last visit.”
“Endet Lhókesh ordered this visit,” Mikhél said. “We should address his concerns before we tour the mines.”
“Yes, Endeté. I’ll have Khénta Enan shown to her room.”
“She’ll be joining us for the discussion.”
Arhúd glanced at her again, but Jane barely noticed the curiosity on his face. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed the feel of solid ground beneath her feet, but even more than that—she was outside.
For the first time in three years, she was outside.
And no one would fear her. No one would run screaming or shove her away. She glanced around at the rock and dust, at the strangers covered in grime. The mountain loomed above them, a collage of rock and glass. Windows and doorways gleamed within rough-hewn crevices, flanked by outcroppings of gilded stone.
It was nothing like Atlanta, and right now she didn’t care.
Arhúd took them into the rock, through rooms and halls long ago gouged into stone. The air was cooler here, the scent of the mines subdued. Inside Arhúd’s office they could barely hear the drone of the lasers within the mines.
When the space was secured, he turned to Mikhél. “How may I serve?”
Mikhél glanced at her, and for no reason she could name, her gut clenched. She looked at Arhúd and then back as her stomach danced, and she wondered why she felt the need to brace against what was coming.
Then Mikhél said, “Arhúd, it is my honor to present Braillen Enan Seirsha, the only living member of the royal family of Braillen and the one hundred and ninety-fifth Baanrí of the Nhélanei.”
Her mouth fell open, and her gaze shot back to this stranger who now knew her most dangerous secret. But he didn’t attack, as she’d been trained to expect. Instead he stood preternaturally still, his eyes going wide and dark. Then he whispered, “Baanríté” and dropped to his knees.
And Mikhél said, “Not every Nhélanei wishes you harm, Baanrí Seirsha.”
“We need more time,” Mikhél said as they settled at Arhúd’s desk.
“The shipment is ready, as you requested. But if you’ve found her—”
“The situation is not what we expected. She was alone on the sanctuary planet. Her training began with us.”
Arhúd’s eyes paled, and he leaned back in his chair and turned to Jane. “You raised yourself on an alien planet.”
She resisted the urge to squirm under his stare. “I survived. There wasn’t much more to it than that.”
He studied her a moment longer and then said to Mikhél, “We’ll send the shipment tomorrow. It has only to be loaded onto the shuttles. Should we transport it to Dhóchas?”
“We’re at capacity. Send it straight to Spyridon.”
“And when should we make our move?”
Mikhél paused, and Jane wondered if he was considering her visions. Or, more specifically, his absence from them. Then he said, “Stop the shipments in one year, no matter what you hear from me.”
The walls of Jane’s rooms were covered in a glossy resin of red clay and golden dust, the bed simple but huge. If it weren’t for the relentless heat or the nightmarish mask draped across the mattress, she could almost imagine she was staying in an upscale hotel.
When she stepped out onto the balcony, she found Mikhél standing across the thick rocks that served as a railing. “Why did you delay the shipment?”
“Vorhódan is the largest supplier of vinyatha by more than half,” he said. “They send a shipment every four weeks. One missed delivery would have a sixth of Lhókesh’s fleet shutting down in a matter of weeks. Three, maybe four, and he’d be crippled.”
“Then why tell Arhúd to wait? We’ll have a better chance of finding the jewels if Lhókesh can’t use his ships while we look.”
“He’d have them up and running again too quickly. His defenses would be fully in place by the time you have Lan’Undarei.”
“Lan’Undarei,” she mumbled, frowning. “That’s the weapon Armín warned us against.”
“It’s the weapon she predicted would end the war.”
She felt the blood drain from her face. “You don’t want me to hide Lan’Gemhína. You want me to make the weapon and use it against Lhókesh.”
“Against Lhókesh, a weapon is only effective if it’s used.”
She had no response. He refused to let her ignore what was coming. She looked at the workers far below and remembered that she wasn’t the only one who risked. That actually, despite all she’d done in the last few months, so far she hadn’t really risked anything at all. She thought of Arhúd’s dry, reddened face and felt terribly manipulated.
“Did you really bring me here to protect me? Or are you just trying to put a face to this war?”
“Both. And to show you that not every Nhélanei wants you dead.”
He didn’t flinch under her stare, and she was reminded of their conversation in his quarters. He’d tried to convince her that he was like the Watchers, though his actions belied his words daily. And now he’d risked exposure not just to keep her safe but to bring her comfort.
Every time she thought she knew where she stood with Mikhél, he shifted the ground beneath her feet.
She swallowed and looked away. “It’s beautiful here,” she said, willing her voice to steady.
It was a peace offering, but it was also true. The shadows cast by the setting sun muted the bloodred of the clay into a deep, calming burgundy highlighted by rivers of rust and copper. A lavender moon hung low over distant mountains, and the collage of colors echoed in the clouds that shivered over the sky.
“It was more beautiful before the mines,” he said.
“Have they been here long?”
“Most of your lifetime.”
Which meant most of his too. “How long has Arhúd been here?”
“He helped open them.”
“He must have been a child.”
“Not all children stay in the centers.”
He said it mildly, but something in the set of his shoulders made her frown. She looked at the workers who were even now loading shuttles with the morning’s shipment. Arhúd’s bright hair stood out against the dull silver of the shuttle’s hull. She imagined she could hear his coarse shouts to the miners. “You’ve known him most of your life, haven’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And you trust him.”
“I wouldn’t have told him about you if I didn’t.”
“I know,” she said.
“Does it make you nervous that he knows?”
“No.”
He frowned. “You trust him so easily?”
“No,” she said again. “I trust you.”
A muscle began to tick in his jaw, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that he would once again shatter every truth she thought she knew. But he said only, “Don’t” and walked away.
And she wondered if she’d ever really know where she stood with him.
Fifty-nine days till arrival
Mikhél stood at the window of Arhúd’s office, but he took no notice of the mines that gaped across the landscape. Below him children too young to work played on rocks that hadn’t seen rain in their lifetime, laughing with the sudden freedom of sun and sand. Until moments ago they’d been hiding from a cargo shuttle that had brought meager supplies to the workers. It was a precaution taken here without exception, lest the children be discovered and taken by the Meijhé.
Spyridon (The Spyridon Trilogy Book 1) Page 21