No Light

by Mara, Devi

  Her eyes wandered away from him to land on Tradis. The Dem watched Farran resume his pacing, with an expression of faint amusement. She shook her head and glanced at Motlin. His blue eyes met hers. He raised an eyebrow. The two of them seemed to accept her presence without a hint of unease. She looked away when the door opened.

  The same brunet Dem entered the room. He gave Farran a snappy nod and stepped to the side. A Dem in full armor strode into the room after him. He immediately dropped into a low bow.

  "Your-" the armored Dem started.

  "General," Farran interrupted.

  The Dem's eyes snapped up from the floor to stare at him. "General." His eyes wandered to Tradis and Motlin. "Colonels," he acknowledged.

  She watched the two of them nod. The Dem's eyes flicked toward her, then quickly away. His lips pressed into a straight line. He raised his head.

  "I bring a missive from the king."

  Sarah's eyes widened.

  "And a gift of proper attire," the Dem continued. He turned to the door.

  Sarah watched three other Dems enter the room, their arms full of something similar to what the armored Dem wore. The crossed to the large bed and dropped their burdens. Her eyes followed Farran across the room. He stopped in front of the two colonels. They murmured among themselves.

  "Perhaps, you should make yourself of use."

  Her eyes jerked away from Farran to look up at the armored Dem. He stood over her, his lips twisted in distaste. He gestured to the armor sharply.

  "I-" She glanced away from him. Motlin's gaze moved from Farran to narrow on the Dem towering over her. "I don't-"

  "A pet does not speak in the presence of betters," the Dem snapped at her.

  She shrank back in the chair, and he leaned into her space.

  "Doran!"

  The Dem jerked away from her and turned to face Farran. "General."

  She glanced across the room.

  Farran glared at him. "You overstep yourself."

  "I was simply advising your pet-" the Dem started.

  "She is not a pet," Farran spat. He took a threatening step forward. "You will not advise her. You will not condescend to speak to her. Do you understand?"

  The Dem nodded. He glanced at her and she saw the malice in his eyes.

  "You will not deign to look at her without my express permission," Farran continued, stalking across the room to crowd the other Dem. "Is that in any way unclear to you?"

  Sarah's eyes widened at the low growl.

  "No," the other Dem answered quickly.

  "I am pleased we understand each other." Farran sneered. "She is my marked, and as such, superior to you." His voice dropped to a low rumble. "Your better."

  "I understand. My sincere apologies for the shame I unknowingly brought upon you." The Dem bowed to Farran, then turned to her. "My apologies, human." His gaze stayed glued to the floor.

  Sarah looked to Farran for direction. He gave her a sharp nod.

  "Apology accepted."

  The Dem turned away from her. "May I deliver the messages?"

  Farran nodded. He crossed his arms and stared at him.

  The Dem cleared his throat. "The abdicated King Baraz sends his congratulations on your restored freedom."

  "Abdicated?"

  Sarah frowned at the confused look on Farran's face.

  The Dem nodded. "King Baraz abdicated to King Lonan just after..." He paused, as Farran's expression darkened.

  "Continue with the message," he growled.

  The Dem swallowed hard. "King Baraz wishes to extend his condolences on your long imprisonment. He assumes the lesson, while hard won, has been obtained in full. He sends his regrets on the severity of your penance."

  Farran snarled.

  Sarah eyes moved from his furious face to the messenger and back. She fought to follow the words. Farran started to pace furiously.

  "He ends his missive with the assumption you will return to," he paused and Farran glared at him. "Your rightful place."

  Farran let out a humorless laugh and a string of foreign words.

  The messenger stiffened. "Shall I repeat that precisely, General?"

  Farran gave him a rude look. "Do you have anything more to say?"

  The Dem nodded. "I do. The reigning King Lonan added his own missive. Shall I deliver it?"

  Farran paused mid-step. He slowly turned to pin the messenger with a glare. "Yes."

  Sarah puzzled over Farran's obvious anger, as she listened to the Dem deliver the second message.

  "King Lonan hereby absolves you and your regiment of all fault. He restores your title, and looks upon you once more."

  Sarah raised her eyebrows at the irritation that flashed in Farran's eyes.

  "How merciful," he muttered.

  "He also sends a personal message to be repeated word for word." The Dem cleared his throat and stood up taller. "Brother, I place no fault on your head. The humans are devious and without honor. I do not believe as father does. A momentary weakness, and perhaps an excess of virtue in the face of a people with only a deficit, is not worthy of a near eternal torment at their hands.

  It was a great evil, the sentence father set upon you. I welcome you with all that has been taken. Return to your rightful place, and I shall set the full power of the kingdom in your hands. You may strike back at those who held you at our father's behest. I await your answer."

  Sarah stared at Farran. For a moment, he looked almost lost. He blinked and his eyes cleared.

  "How long have I been given?"

  "Three days, General."

  She looked back and forth between the two Dems. Farran glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

  "Leave us."

  Sarah watched the messenger gather the armor and leave the room with Motlin and Tradis. She slowly turned her head to look at Farran. He stared at her with an unreadable expression. She cleared her throat.

  "The Corridor was a punishment?"

  He nodded.

  "From your father." She licked her lips nervously, at his dark gaze. "Your father the," she searched her mind for the correct phrase. "The abdicated king."

  He stared at her.

  "Your brother is the king?"

  His lips curved. "The reigning king. Yes."

  Her mind repeated the messenger's words in an unending loop. She cleared her throat. "And he wants you to..." she trailed off.

  "Return home."

  She nodded. "What did he mean when he said you can strike back?"

  Farran walked toward her. "At humanity."

  Her eyes widened. "For the Corridor?"

  He knelt in front of her chair. "Yes."

  She searched his eyes for any hint at his thoughts. There was nothing. "What was the punishment for?" she whispered.

  Anger flashed in his eyes. "Disobedience." He leaned toward her. She watched his eyes close, as he inhaled deeply.

  "To your father?"

  His eyes opened. They were completely black, but emotionless. He nodded.

  "Are you going to?"

  He raised an eyebrow.

  The room felt ten degrees warmer with him so close. She broke his gaze. "Strike back, I mean."

  "I have not decided." She saw his hand raise from the corner of her eye, and tensed.

  He brushed the hair back from her face. She turned her head to stare at him. He suddenly frowned and stood.

  "Do you have any other inane questions?" She watched him take a few steps away from her.

  She shook her head.

  "I suggest you rest." She watched him stalk toward the door. His movements radiated irritation, and she frowned.

  "Did I do-"

  He turned on her. "Go to sleep, human."

  She flinched. "I just-" she shook her head at herself. "Can I ask one more question?"

  "What is it," he snapped impatiently.

  She took a deep breath. "If your father is a king and your brother is a king, what does that make you?"

  He jerked open
the door. "Crown prince."

  She opened her mouth, but he stepped into the hallway and slammed the door behind him. She frowned at the door. That made no sense. A crown prince was supposed to be king. She froze. His father abdicated to his brother right after... The messenger had not finished the sentence, but from Farran's glare the answer was obvious.

  ...

  He looked up to see Tradis and Motlin leaning against the wall across from the doorway. He glared.

  "You have something you would like to say?" he asked dangerously.

  They did not reply, other than to raise their eyebrows.

  He turned away from them and strode down the hall. His mind went over his actions, and he mentally cursed himself. The woman was infuriating. His ator twinged and he snarled. He could not even think negatively about her without pain. She got under his skin, like a thorn he could not remove. Everyday, it got worse.

  He could not keep himself from touching her. His hands curled into fists at his sides. Everything about her irritated him. She was weak and small. She stood in the way of his soldiers and threw herself into danger for one of his men. As much as he hated it, her bravery spoke to him. He paused at the top of the stairs.

  His mind went to the night before, the moment his ator flared and he fell to his knees in the office at City Hall. It was the worst pain he had ever experienced. He imagined death would be less agonizing. It felt as if a part of him had been ripped away. A panic, like he had never before felt, rose up inside him. He instantly knew something had happened to his marked.

  The amount of blood that spilled from her small body seemed impossible. His stomach had turned at the sight. The carnage of war never bothered him, but the pale, lifeless body made him almost retch. He saw everything through a haze of red. He barely remembered pulling the human apart. There was nothing but a small twinge of satisfaction, then a flood of fear.

  Her skin had glowed with the ator, the majority of it centered in her chest, but the wound did not close. He had cursed himself for marking her, for leaving her with another, for a million things that had nothing to do with the situation. He gripped the rail of the staircase hard enough to make it creak in protest. Instincts he had never used, had suddenly come to the surface.

  He had all but ripped his suit open. His hands had shaken when he reached for her. Her body felt fragile in his grasp, and he pressed her to him. Without his permission, his arms had wrapped around her and cradled her as if she were precious to him. He paused at the thought.

  "General?"

  He glanced over his shoulder. Motlin and Tradis watched him closely. He glared.

  "You require something?"

  "A report from the company patrolling the northern border," Tradis answered. His eyes moved to Motlin and they shared a look.

  "Speak," he snapped impatiently.

  "Keane and Robinson have organized a series of attacks on our troops since this morning."

  He glared at the two of them. "And you did not inform me earlier for a reason."

  Motlin shifted. "Your marked-"

  "Is inconsequential," he snapped. He watched Motlin glance at his second.

  "Word of your marked, has traveled to all in the regiment. Her defense of Private Eitad-" Motlin started.

  "Was idiotic," Farran cut him off.

  His colonels frowned.

  "Enough. What is the status of the rebellion?" He turned away from them, to descend the staircase.

  "They have formed small groups, attacking at random intervals along the border. One group succeeded in breaking our lines for a short period of time."

  He glanced over his shoulder at Tradis. "The troops have been given their armor?"

  "Yes, sir. What remains is in the hotel office."

  Farran nodded. He pushed open the door to the downstairs hallway. Four, fully-armored privates loitered just outside the office. He scowled.

  "Do you not have a city to patrol?" he snapped.

  All four of them jumped at the sound of his voice. They turned as one to look at him. He glared at the one closest to him. Eitad dropped his gaze quickly.

  "General," he muttered. His eyes flicked to the others standing with him and then back to Farran. "I-" He coughed. "We wanted to inquire about your marked."

  Farran scanned the group. "Did you? Why is that?"

  Eitad visibly swallowed. He opened his mouth, then quickly closed it.

  Farran nodded. "I see." He took step forward and bared his teeth. "You have very little time to remove yourselves from my sight."

  The four of them snapped to attention. They nodded and hurried down the hall.

  He watched them go and shook his head.

  "Is it not a positive development for the regiment to consider your marked?"

  Farran glared at Motlin. "I would prefer they not consider her in any fashion."

  "As you say," the colonel replied. He gestured toward the door.

  Farran gave him a warning look and stalked into the office. Three sets of armor lay across the large desk. A twinge of something unnamed went through him. His fingers trailed across the closest breast plate. The metal shone under the harsh fluorescent lighting. It had been over six thousand years since he touched the armor of his people. He shook his head at himself.

  Tradis stripped out of his suit, as if he could not wait to get the human garment off. He tossed it away from him and reached for the soft skin guards. Farran reached for his own. The fabric of the under-tunic slid between his fingers like water. He found himself smiling, as he pulled it over his head.

  The under-breeches were far thicker, built to keep muscles warm on long treks through frozen wastelands. He jerked them on. They fit perfectly, as if no time had passed. His smile widened. He lifted the breast plate to his chest. In a burst of movement, the armor flowed over him. Hundreds of tiny, moving parts melded together to form a solid barrier. It fully covered his back, chest, and shoulders. Smaller plates formed bracers on his forearms and legs.

  He stepped back from the desk with a feral smile. His eyes moved to take in his colonels in full battle attire. Their faces held the same brutal glee he felt.

  "The pinnacle of gratification," Motlin murmured, seemingly to himself.

  Farran smirked. "Agreed." His smile slowly faded. "I will join you at the hotel entrance."

  Motlin and Tradis glanced at him, but did not speak. They nodded.

  He turned on his heel and walked from the room. He strode down the hallway to the staircase and took the steps two at a time, until he reached the upstairs hallway. The guards outside Sarah's room bowed their heads at his approach. He gave them a snappy nod and pushed the door open.

  The light from the hallway spilled into the room. It splashed across the carpet and stopped just short of the large bed. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. His gaze fixed on the small body in the center of the bed. Sarah splayed across the bedspread, her damp hair a tangled mess around her head. His lips curved.

  He moved further into the room. She did not stir. Her small fists lay on the pillow on either side of her head. The black sweater rode high on her waist, revealing a thin strip of pale skin. He stared hard at her face to keep from looking at it. Her nose wrinkled in her sleep and she let out a heavy sigh. He tipped his head to the side. Something warm filled his chest.

  She turned her head and a tendril of hair fell across her face. It moved with each exhale. He knelt next to the bed and lifted it out of the way. She made a soft sound in her sleep, something between a sigh and a wordless murmur. He studied her, taking in the curves and planes of her face. Finally, he shook his head at himself.

  "You are a stupid woman," he muttered under his breath. "A stupid, beautiful woman."

  Chapter Thirteen

  Blood and Sand

  Bright light splashed through the window to jerk her out of sleep. She wrinkled her nose and rolled to face the dresser. A faintly spicy scent clung to the pillow under her head, and she twisted to press her face into the soft material.
It was familiar. She inhaled and her eyes widened. Farran. She jerked away and glanced around.

  Faint voices murmured outside the door, but she was alone. She sighed and sat up. Her eyes scanned the room. Everything looked the same. A stack of clothing sat at the foot of the bed. She raised her eyebrows, and reached for it. Another sweater, this one a warm brown, and another pair of jeans.

  "Who?" she muttered.

  Farran's face floated through her mind. She shook her head at herself. Another small stack lay beneath the jeans. Her face heated. She quickly snatched her underwear and wrapped it in the sweater. She crawled off the tall bed and padded across the room to the bathroom.

  After she used the complementary toiletries and changed her clothes, she popped her head out of the bathroom. The room was still empty. She glanced at the door.

  "Hello?"

  A second later, someone rapped on the door. "Ms. Mackenzie," a deep voice said in acknowledgement.

  "Am I allowed to leave the room?"

  The door popped open an inch. "The General would prefer you did not."

  She leaned forward to peek through the crack at the speaker. "Oh, it's you!"

  He coughed awkwardly. "I had intended to thank you for your actions..."

  She smiled. "You don't need to thank me." Her eyes moved over his armor. There were no visible breaks in the metal. She wondered how he put it on.

  "As the marked of our ki-," he broke off and cleared his throat. "As the marked of our General, your importance supersedes mine."

  She looked at his face and frowned. "You didn't get in trouble for what happened, did you?"

  He met her eyes, then quickly looked away. "If it pleases you to accompany Private Ambrac and myself, you may leave the room."

  She spoke past the guilty burn in her stomach. "Are you sure it's okay?"

  He gave her a curt nod.

  "Okay, I'd like to go see my brother."

  He gave her a strange look. "Your brother is-"

  "At the hospital."

  He blinked at her interruption, but nodded. "As you say. You are prepared to depart?"

  She nodded. "Let me just grab my coat." She looked around. "Where is my coat?"

  "It was disposed of yesterday."

  "Oh." She bit her lip. "I'm not sure-"