“You are a guest of the king,” said the other man.
This guy was a fucking broken record. “Am I allowed to leave this cell?” I took a step forward.
“No,” he clicked.
“Then I am not a guest. I am a prisoner.” I took another step, bringing the distance between us to five feet.
Plates of shell rippled on his forehead, and he blinked hard, lash-less eyelids while he tilted his cue-ball head. “Prisoner? I do not understand that word.”
“It means to be a captive, a detainee. It means you will not let me leave. That I am not free.”
“Yes, you are not free.”
My throat tightened. “Then I am a prisoner,” I blurted.
The being tilted its head in the other direction. “You are a guest of the king.”
“Are you going to ever let me go?” I asked, pulling the blanket tightly against my body.
“Let you go? No.”
“What are you going to do with me?” I asked slowly, making sure my pronunciation was perfect. For a moment, the pain in my thigh returned, an icy prick that came with the memories of what they had done to me.
“You are a guest of the king.”
“If I was a guest, you would let me go.”
“You are a guest of the king.”
Balling my shaking hands into fists, I dropped my shoulders, lifted my chin, and dared to take another step toward him, and then another. The alien hesitated and then took a step backward to create more distance between us. The king, on the other hand, had not budged, but his eyes remained on me in a concentrated glare.
“Who are you?”
“Sessman Glitch,” his shell lips clacked.
“And him?” I asked, throwing a nod at the king.
“King Meallian, the King of Enestia.”
“Tell the king,” I said in a gutsy tone, “that he can’t keep me here. I am a citizen of Earth, and I need to be returned there immediately.”
Glitch translated, and the king smirked with a breath of air exiting his nose.
“People will be looking for me,” I threatened, raising my voice. “They will find me,” I lied as I looked straight into the king’s eyes, “and when they do—”
There was a flash of white shell, and my jaw wrenched as the king’s palm hit hard. Warm liquid hit my lips, and I knew that my nose was bleeding. “Fuck you,” I screamed and lunged toward the king, my fists ready. One good punch landed against his chest, and just when I was about to launch a left jab, the king grabbed me by the wrists and squeezed. Slaine rushed forward. The king shouted, and Slaine retreated.
I thrust my knee against the king’s groin, but the king didn’t budge. Two more knee jabs where I figured his balls were, and the king still didn’t flinch. He pushed me against the far wall, holding my wrists vise-like, and spoke, the tone of his words ripe with cruelty and hate, and the glare in his gaze seething with evil thoughts.
His face only inches from mine, saliva sprayed from his mouth with his words, and I turned my head and closed my eyes. With a last push, he let go of my wrists, turned his back to me, and left my cell to stand next to Glitch, who had already entered the hall. My blanket had fallen and was at my feet.
Slaine, Marine-like with his shoulders square, arms crossed, and feet apart, took his post next to the king. His shell covering was slightly darker than the king’s, but despite his calming coloring, I knew he could crack my head like a nut under his arm if the king ordered him to do so.
“You are a guest of the king,” said Glitch.
“Damn it,” I said as I caught my breath and rewrapped my blanket around my body. I attacked the king. What the hell was I thinking? What would Garran think? Would he care?
My eyes welled with tears as I lowered my chin to examine my sore wrists. They were bruised in perfectly shaped rings of purple. When I opened and closed my mouth, my jaw ached, but my nose had stopped bleeding. The skin on three knuckles bled from meeting the king’s badge with a punch.
My knee hurt, and when I lifted my blanket, I found a knot on my kneecap that was beginning to turn blue. What the hell did they have or didn’t have down there? Whatever it was, it was extremely hard.
The watery acrylic wave dropped from the ceiling. Slaine blinked, and his lips moved, twisting upward at one corner. It was a smile. Was there a hint of sympathy there, maybe just a touch? Was it a smile of compassion? If it was, then did it also contain pity, because he knew my fate was dire—especially now?
Chapter Twenty-Two
Garran
“Damn, when did this happen?”
“Slaine said about an hour ago.” Lestra plopped down on my bed and leaned against a head cube.
“That bastard. He better not a lay a hand on her again. Now he might want to kill her even sooner than planned. I’m surprised he didn’t do it right there, but then again, that wouldn’t have been as fun as doing it in the lab,” I said sarcastically, remembering the tray of torture devices my father had ready for the Trispian. “My father deserved a punch in the chest and more.”
“She dishonored him and in front of two people. Four days remain before her execution and dissection, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he changes that.”
“Then I need to get her out of there as soon as possible.”
“Yeah, and then what? Your shell scan can’t activate any of the ships in your father’s fleet.”
“I know. I’d have to hide her until it does.”
“You can’t keep it here. Your sister already suspects…”
“I know.” I stared up at my stone ceiling, following its gentle curve at the top of each wall. So many thoughts shot through my mind I could barely speak. And then I thought of the perfect place. “The Ring of Reverence.”
“What? You can’t take her there! It’s not allowed.” Lestra jumped from my bed to face me.
“No one would know.”
“But it would be a desecration, a snub at the Enestian legacy. Where’s your Enestian pride, Garran?”
“Pride? There’s no pride in watching a fellow being die. She’d be safe there.”
“And where would she sleep?” Lestra scoffed.
“A portable dome. I’d pitch it on a rock sheet, so she’d stay dry and warm during the rains.”
“You’d seriously do that for it? Risk punishment and banishment? Let it live in one of Enestia’s most sacred places?”
“Yes.”
“But for how long? It could be months before your father grants you access to a ship—that is if he ever does.”
“He will, and I will take care of her for as long as it takes.”
“What is it with you and that thing? I still don’t understand how can you care about it so much.”
“I can’t help how I feel. I can’t explain it.”
“I can.” Lestra’s face shimmered under the light in my room. Apparently she’d been applying shell powder to more than just her arms. “It’s called pity. That’s what you’re feeling, and you’re mistaking it for something else.”
“It’s not pity. It’s…something more.” But did I dare tell her what?
Lestra turned her back to me and sighed, making a whistling sound of air through shell.
Damn. The last thing I needed was a pissed off Timuary in my room. “Lestra, come on. I, I don’t know how to explain it, but I feel like I have a special connection with her, like we’re more similar than we are different.” She crossed her arms with a clack. “We have a special connection, too, just in a different way. I care about you. I need you. You know how important you are to me.”
“Yeah, well apparently my fool of a brother has some kind of stupid connection with it, too, or he wouldn’t have given that pathetic creature a blanket and told me to tell you what happened between your father and the human,” she said, continuing her rant. “You both make me sick!” She turned on her heels.
I caught her hand in mine and gave it a squeeze. “Look. I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t know I’d end up cari
ng for her the way I do. It just happened.”
“It’s not like you can have a relationship with that thing.”
“I know that!” Of course I did. America and I could never be, but while she was here, we could satisfy our curiosities and fuel our lust with passion. But most importantly, I’d save her and take her home. “And that doesn’t matter. I’m taking her from her cell today.”
“And you’ll get caught. To enter her cellblock and her cell is one thing, but to take her outside? There are monitors, and your shell will be scanned when you enter and exit the building. On top of that, my brother isn’t the only guard on duty. You’ll be seen by others. Your father will figure out it was you, and then you’ll be exiled to another planet, and I’ll never see you again.”
Lestra dropped back to my bed and sat before resting the point of her elbows on the top of her thighs and putting her head in her hands.
She was right, but the urge to be with America was stronger than any threat of being disowned by my father. “I’ll be careful. With the code, I’ll be able to avoid the shell scans.” And if I couldn’t, then I’d be sent to another planet, but at least I tried to save her.
Another planet—banishment. The thought made my body lurch, and I lowered to the bed to sit next to Lestra.
“No, you can’t risk it. I don’t want you sent to another planet, and I’ll never see you.”
“I’ll take the risk. It’s worth it to me. I want her to live.”
“So you’re going to do this no matter what I say or do?” she asked without looking up.
“Yes.”
“Then you’ll need my help.”
“I don’t need your help. I don’t want you involved any more than you already are. The last thing I want is you punished because of me.”
“You don’t understand. With my help, you won’t get caught, but…” Her words were barely audible. “I’ll have to break a Timuary oath.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, turning toward her and rising on my palms.
“The Legend of Esquieria— You know it?” she whispered, setting her hand on my shoulder.
“Of course,” I answered, puzzled.
“Then you know the ending.”
“Yes, my ancestors turned into stone and disappeared, becoming one with the palace walls.”
“Exactly. That’s what you’re going to do,” she said.
“Have you cracked your shell? It’s just a myth. They didn’t really sink into the walls; it’s a metaphor. ‘One as the walls, they became.’ It’s referring to the royal army. Led by Esquier, they formed a wall—of soldiers—who forced the Vengards back to their ships where they withdrew and returned to Vengard Nine, defeated,” I said, breaking out of a whisper.
“Shhh. Listen to me. It’s not a metaphor. They did become ‘one as the walls.’ Why do you think the walls and the floors of this palace were never replaced after the invention of merilum?”
Large sheets of merilum were used to make Enestian homes, inside and out, reminiscent of our shells by creating delicately domed roofs and smooth, white walls arching into high ceilings, but the palace and lab were never refurbished like the rest of the kingdom, retaining its original curved stonework instead.
“Because this is our ancestral home. This palace was built by our ancestors. To tear it down and replace it would be a sign of disrespect and an insult to our traditions,” I said, running the top of my wrist under my nose.
“No, Garran. That’s not the reason. The Timuarys stopped it from happening. You can disappear into these walls, or I should say, inside these walls. That’s why they haven’t been replaced.”
Maybe she was right. The exterior of our palace gleamed with a seamless sheet of merilum within months of the material’s invention, but the natural interior had never been touched or modified.
“And why would you know this and I wouldn’t?” I protested, a bit annoyed with her sense of supposed knowledge over mine.
“There is a simple answer, Garran.” She took a breath deep enough to make her plates scrape. “I’m a Timuary,” she said confidently.
“What does that have to do with anything, and how could your family halt a palace upgrade? Timuarys don’t hold that kind of power.”
Lestra’s shell appeared gray in the dim light of my quarters. “That’s where you are wrong, my prince,” she beamed. “Timuarys aren’t just your servants. We are also your protectors.”
“What in the galaxy are you talking about? My father never told me any of this.”
“Your father doesn’t know.”
“That’s impossible. My father is privy to everything Enestian.”
“Not this.” The plates around Lestra’s eyes dilated as her grip on my shoulder tightened. “Let me explain. Listen carefully,” she said. “The royal crown has been threatened three times, has it not?”
“Yes, but those attacks happened hundreds of years ago. Now we have the strongest defensive and offensive weaponry system in the Millennius. No planet would dare—”
“Maybe no planet, but remember, the third threat was made by a family member who tried to depose King Sithel.”
That was true. “But that prince was mentally unstable, suffering from wave after wave of insanity brought on by a deep crack in his head shell. Something like that would never happen again.”
“Crack in his head shell?” She smiled, shaking her head. “My great, great, great, great uncle was the prince’s royal adjutant. My uncle passed down the truth— That prince was no more insane than you or me. His only disability was greed.”
The shell plates around my eyes buckled at Lestra’s insolence, but I didn’t say anything and took a deep breath instead.
“It’s the Timuary’s duty to serve and safeguard the royal family,” she continued, “not only from their enemies but also from themselves. Five hundred years ago, the king, with the help of Maeglus Timuary, commissioned the building of tunnels within the walls of the entire palace and its adjoining buildings, creating a secret place to hide. It was done discreetly with the work being performed cautiously and at night. King Sithel trusted only the Timuarys.” Lestra’s hand slipped from my shoulder. “At the king’s request, the Timuarys vowed to keep the tunnels a secret from everyone, including the royals. When King Sithel died, the secret of the hollow walls died with the royal family.”
Was I really supposed to believe this shit? The hard sheets of my forehead felt rigid, and I started to get a headache.
“Garran, when your ancestors disappeared into the walls, it was because the Timuarys led them into the tunnels, a place where they would be safe.” Lestra’s shell powder twinkled. “Then, after the raid was over, the royals were taken to the lab to have their short-term memories cleansed, keeping the king’s secret intact. But we Timuarys know everything. We know these passages like the backs of our hands, every entrance and exit, so we know where to hide all of you if there’s ever another threat, including a threat within the royal family.”
“Okay, now I’m really confused. So tell me again— My family doesn’t know about this because…” The pain in my head increased.
“That’s where we’d temporarily hide the rest of the family members who were not involved in a plot to overthrow the king, and the Timuarys would fight to restore order in the palace,” she said in one whispered breath.
“So even my dad doesn’t know about the walls?”
“No, but it’s for the royal’s own good,” she was quick to add.
“Okay, okay, I get it. I don’t want to hear any more.”
The anger of knowing my great, great, great, great-something-grandfather lost faith in his royal family but continued to trust a family of the servant class, flooded my being, momentarily seizing my joints. The Timuarys were obedient but sometimes pompous. Now I knew why.
“So what am I going to do?”
“I’m going to take you into the walls, and when you reappear, you’ll be inside cell fifteen. The tunnels extend through the lab
and all areas of containment, just in case a disillusioned king imprisons an adversary who needs to be rescued.”
America was definitely an adversary I considered needed rescuing. “Okay, so if this is all true, let’s go.”
“Right now? Are you even prepared to take her into the woods?”
“No. I just want to take her there and show it to her. I’ll bring her back to her cell tonight, and tomorrow, I’ll be ready to leave her there with a shelter and food.”
“And if someone notices her cell is empty?”
“Slaine is the only guard allowed near her cell, and my father won’t return for another visit.”
“Okay,” she said and led me from my room and into the hall. “Make sure it’s clear.”
I jogged to one end of the hall and then the other. As I expected at this time of day, the adjoining halls were empty. “It’s clear.”
Despite its recent damage, Lestra’s heritage badge illuminated when she stepped toward the wall, and before I could blink, a seven-foot stone disengaged from the wall, suspended mid-air by a stream of wind.
“It’s true,” I said. “I can’t believe my father doesn’t know about this.”
“Quickly,” she said.
With a blast of air, the stone sucked back into its place behind us as we settled deep within the dimly lit passage.
Once inside, I traced the outline of my own badge, rubbing each jewel with the tip of my finger and noting the five symbols that defined my royal line. Over one thousand years old and hand carved from a stick of vexulum, the most sought after metal in the galaxy, I, like all Enestians, wore my badge with pride, but ours obviously didn’t hold the Timuary magic.
“This is incredible,” I gasped, feeling my blood pressure spike. “Now what?”
“Follow me. I was required to have these passages memorized from the turn of my eighth year. When we were younger, my cousins and I used to sneak in here and play hide-and-go-find.”
I shook my head. “I still can’t believe this.”
The fit was snug at times, requiring us to turn to one side and shuffle to the left, and the passage grew darker with each turn, aside from a row of tiny lights in the floor for illumination. Despite an occasional gust of air, the passage smelled old and unused, its oxygen heavy and stale, giving the sensation that it was difficult to breathe. My arms hit the stone walls several times with a clatter.
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