by Casey Lea
Free looked back and grimaced, but Jace strolled up to join them. He ignored the older male's mental command to leave, moving up to stand against the old metal barrier beside Misty. Jace leaned forward to rest his forearms on the cold rail, hoping that he looked relaxed and that the metal support would help his shaking knees. He knew he had a smart mouth, but outright defiance of authority was still unfamiliar territory.
A warm hand settled on his wrist and Misty sidled up to lean against him. His pulse leapt and he silently cursed. This was beyond confusing, but he wasn't about to walk away. There was one thing he was suddenly sure of. He had made a new friend. He smiled down at Misty.
“What are you looking for? Perhaps I can help.”
Free moved up to clank against the railing on the other side of Jace. “Do you know much of the camouflage patterns of the lesser crested wyrmbat?”
“Absolutely. Their mating habits too,” Jace added and turned to Free with a wink, unable to stop himself. The older male glared back, holding Jace's gaze, until the youngster's knuckles ached where they gripped the iron railing.
“Truly? Do you even know what a wyrmbat is?”
“Patri,” Misty hissed, but her father's attention remained locked on Jace, who grinned weakly back.
“Sure. A wyrmbat is, ah, obviously what you use to play wyrm. Ho ho?”
Free frowned further and stepped back from the rail to offer Jace an escape route. “Leave us, chick. I need to talk seriously with my daughter.”
“Can't talk seriously with me around, but if you want some bad jokes...” Jace agreed uncertainly, until Misty's hand tightened on his wrist.
Stay. Please. I fear Patri has bad news and I want your support.
My humor too?
I wouldn't go so far. Misty smiled up at Jace and there was a timeless moment. They both jumped when her father cleared his throat.
“This is private business,” Free protested, but his daughter relaxed her frond face to let them both past her normal mental barriers. In seconds Jace knew as much of their issue as they did.
“Oh,” he said and for the first time in his life realized his childhood hadn't been the most restricted in all civilization. He'd thought his mother was extreme, but Clearwing had really lost the plot with her only child. Virtual house arrest since Misty's eyes first shone silver at age ten was ridiculous. Jace shuddered at the weight of all the following years in a single house, years alone and years lectured by Ayleron in an effort to expand her horizons. Yesterday had been entirely about the maturation cycle of t'ssaa and the archeological clues to it found under the embassy on Sarissyn-
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Jace enthused suddenly, “I love that one. What a hell of a dig. Trying to bring up artifacts found under the kres embassy without the t'ssaa realizing. Then discovering the ancient queen's nest and realizing t'ssaa females are huge and slug like, little more than egg machines-”
Misty withdrew her hand. “Not you too?”
“But don't you think it's freaky that the t'ssaa are born unsexed? And that their puberty happens in a chrysalis, until they come out at the end either male or female. Imagine not even knowing what sex you are, or how you'll have kids once you grow up. Cool, huh?” Misty simply stared at him, but Jace could swear her eyes were icing over. He looked at Free instead and drummed his fingers impatiently, making the iron barrier thrum. “So, what did Mist's mother say?”
One of Free's eyebrows shot up, but Misty silently urged him to answer. “Very well. I'm full sorry, my lovely, but Clear says no. She still won't release you to my custody. She offers visitation only. I don't think she truly trusts me.”
That was news to Jace. “She doesn't trust you? You didn't leave her for some ancient relic.”
Misty gave a gasp of laughter and Free actually smiled. “Ayleron is a professor of antiquities at Kresynt's Royal Academy.”
“That's not what Mom calls him,” Jace snorted. “She says he is the antiquity and that Clear was happy with you until she met that fossil at some conference.”
Free's eyebrow shot up again. “Happy enough, mayhap, but not bonded. I fear Darsey doesn't understand kres pheromones. Leaving me was never truly Clearwing's choice. Not once she met Ayleron. And in truth I carry the blame for that meeting. I was seldom with my wife. Too busy trying to make the Alliance work. Too busy thinking about others, not her-”
Free broke off abruptly and the two youngsters stared at him, while Jace fidgeted again at all the emotional claptrap. “Fine and dandy, but how do we free Misty?”
Mistwing's fingers returned to tighten convulsively around Jace's wrist and he felt hope from her for the first time.
“Wait,” Free suggested. “In another cycle you'll be twenty and a legal adult on Kresynt.”
Misty pulled Jace's hand from the rail to push past him, her eyes shining bright enough to light the jungle beside them. A small brown head, beaked, scaled and with a crest of scarlet feathers darted from a knot of vines to hiss at them, but the group ignored the lesser crested wyrmbat.
“Patri, please. I beg you. I won't last another cycle. Each day drives me more frustrated and more like this.” Misty gestured wildly at her now blazing eyes. She looked up at Jace in entreaty and he winced, automatically lifting a hand to shield his eyes from hers. “See? I'm hopeless and Mai is scared of me.”
Her gaze flashed back to her father and she snarled at his silent denial. “Ye, I know she loves me, but she fears me too. Even when I was a child she was terrified of the fury and what I might do. And I heard her mind when she was linked to Ayleron last week. If I get any worse they're going to commit me. For my own safety, of course.”
Free jerked upright at that and Jace felt his own lip curl. He tried to stop the strange movement, but his body was determined to snarl. “How could a mother imprison her own-” He began, but stopped abruptly. Protective parents could be surprisingly extreme.
However, Free was shaking his head. “She couldn't. No parent would do such, or let such be done to their child. I'd never let you be locked up, Dewdrop.”
Misty groaned at the use of her old pet name. “Patri, loving me won't be enough. You have to do something.”
Free finally elbowed Jace aside to take his daughter into his embrace. “I know your mother is timid, but she has courage too. She won't do this.”
“Maybe not,” Misty whispered into his surcoat, “but she won't stop Ayleron from doing it. I'm not saying he's evil and he does make her happy, but he's bad for her too. He's quiet and stays at home, so she makes no effort. You brought out the best in her, Patri. She pushed herself into danger to make you proud. To make you love her. Without you she lost her courage.”
“No,” Free murmured back, “she just didn't need it, but I know Clear and deep down she remains as tough as dozer claws. She won't ever let you be shut away.”
“She already has,” Jace pointed out, but Free ignored him to gently squeeze his daughter and send a silent promise.
Ignore my spoken words. I'm not lifting without you. Clear would never knowingly hurt you, but her knowing has become skewed beyond reckoning. She no longer understands what causes you damage and I won't take the risk of leaving you here again. Unfortunately, Empire law will be against me in this. Share your memories with me, Dewdrop. All of them. I need to be certain-sure this is more than teenage rebellion. If it truly is, I'll prep a cloaked sliver to lift straight to passage and get you out of here.
Jace sagged against the rail in relief, which was weird since he wasn’t the one about to be locked up. He could certain-sure empathize though.
The stream of conviction from Misty’s fronds was so strong he had to brace himself to avoid slumping further. Her mother had definitely kept her hidden for nearly a decade and the conversation with Ayleron was equally clear. They even had a prison in mind, on the harsh world of Blizzard.
Free straightened to grip Misty by the shoulders with a reassuring squeeze. “Whatever your mother believes is best for you, undoubtedly i
s. Follow her advice. I need to return to the ball, but I'll talk to her again before I leave. I promise all will be well.” I’ll order a cloaked sliver from the Nexus at once, but it’ll take some time to sneak past all palace defences. Meet it on the far side of the meadow walk in twenty minutes.
Misty's eyes began to fade and the last of their gleam rippled with unshed tears. “True thanks, Patri.”
Free tipped forward to kiss the top of her head and then turned to go. She watched him stride away while Jace watched her. She was certainly calmer. It was just as well her father had promised to help. Jace appreciated her relaying Free's mental comments. It kept him in the loop and stopped him from bleating on out loud about possible solutions.
Darsey had been right to warn him, he realized. For once it seemed she wasn't being paranoid. Obviously Misty also believed that everything in the palace could potentially be overheard. Jace sighed very softly, before turning to his companion with an easy smile. “Would you like to hear more about the mating habits of the lesser crested wyrmbat?”
17
Homecoming
Falkyn realized he had now circled the ballroom twice looking for his brother and the kid had clearly done a runner. He tried not to take it personally. It was probably the first time in the chick's whole life he'd managed to peck his way off the leash. Falkyn drove his hands into the hip pockets of his Harvester survival suit, hunching his shoulders in an effort to slip through the crowd more easily. All he had to do was avoid the crazy princess and her father, try not to step on any toes and get the hail out of the palace as soon as he could without actually starting any wars.
Falkyn sighed and fate chose that moment to drive a high 'n fancy lady wearing several parsecs of layered skirts straight into him. He twisted to avoid a broadside, but she sailed on unable to stop and was sent spinning away by the glancing collision. Her skirts caught between a couple who were sharing a costume. She barreled between the two halves of a huge wingless bird and everyone went down in a column of feathers, with a shriek of tearing dilmah.
That shrill cry of disintegration was followed by a more piercing scream. Lady high 'n fancy seemed to object to her sudden denuding. Or perhaps she understood that her ruined costume cost more than the entire annual income of a family on the Rim. Whatever the cause of her distress, it was clearly time to leave.
Falkyn made a better job of his retreat. He stopped gawking and treated the milling bodies more like a market day crowd on Gratuity. He used his com to drive toward the nearest entrance – sidestepping, jumping, twisting and simply pushing his way past indignant kres. Any complaints were lost in the music and he forged a rapid retreat.
However, the crowd was at its thickest when he reached the opening to a wide corridor, with no clear path through. Falkyn felt his lips curl in something that combined a smile with a snarl. Instead of slowing, he accelerated toward the press of bodies, swerving at the last minute to leap onto a statue that reclined to one side of the exit. A single stride took him to its head and he flipped from there to sail over the crowd.
There were gasps from below and someone tittered nervously when he somersaulted past. Falkyn fired his com in a blast of air that sent kres staggering and cleared a spot in the corridor. He landed lightly amid yells and curses. Bowing politely, he straightened to a ring of shocked faces. He lifted his half-visor to stare slowly around and strangely something in his gaze kept them silent. He loped away down the hall and they all scattered ahead of him. Unbelievable. The spoiled tweets were scared of a boy from the Rim.
Falkyn held his face quite still and kept the contempt from his fronds. He moved faster and chose random passages as he went, until he was almost alone. At every new turn he was surrounded by wealth and plenty. He glared at a tapestry draped along the marble corridor. It must have cost a fortune in gold and silver thread to weave such- he stopped to look closer.
The detailing was awesome. How could anyone stitch so fine? And how could something flat seem so three-dimensional? The thing had to be ancient, but was as vivid as any modern hologram. He growled in disgust and moved on. Doubtless hungry children had been whipped and kicked while they created that tapestry for indolent nobles to hang in a hall.
Falkyn reached an intersection and chose the narrowest passage he could. Its walls were simple stone, but a pattern had still been carved into them and he trailed his fingers over it as he walked. The grooves had been smoothed by time, while the rock felt cool and ancient under his fingers. He wanted to pull away from such frippery, but there was a comforting weight to the stone walls and he was drawn to their carvings. Everything about the palace felt unexpectedly familiar.
A flight of worn steps ran down to a door and Falkyn was so distracted he entered a crowded room before he could stop. This chamber was dimly lit and had a low roof. It was filled with sweet smoke and couples lounged on couches and in alcoves. He tried to back away from the intimate space and stepped into someone behind him. He turned to see a servant trying to rebalance a tray of pastries.
"I'm so sorry," he blurted and tried to help the girl.
However, she pulled away, while her fronds sent shock/horror/apology.
"No," Falkyn protested, "the fault was mine-" but the girl was gone. She left him holding two small pastries that he had caught when they tipped from her tray. He looked down at them in disgust. Using people just to carry food was such a waste.
Falkyn hefted the warm treats in his hand and then continued on. He skirted the reclining couples and absently tossed a pastry into his mouth. He stopped in surprise when it melted on his tongue. A subtle warmth spread to his throat, along with a delicate scent. He breathed in sharply and crushed the exotic pastry with a single bite. Its taste flooded his senses, but that wasn't what made him gasp. His fronds were instantly hit by a silent voice, soft and stilted, but quite clear.
Happiness follows where heartache dares.
Falkyn spun round, but there was no one behind him and everyone in the chamber continued to ignore him. What the drak? He looked down at the remaining treat. It was cream and pink, with a whirled peak and looked completely innocent. He shrugged, then bit into it.
The future is autumn leaves in the wind.
This time Falkyn grimaced, not at the taste, which was glorious, but the fact that palace food liked to make trite observations while being eaten. A perfect summary of life at Court. He was tempted to spit it out, but his throat convulsed and it was gone. He looked down at the remaining half in his palm and reached over to toss it into his com, when a soft hand landed on his forearm. He started in surprise and the stranger's fingers tightened. How did she get so close so fast? His mother was right about the dangers of distraction.
“Do you want that?” An equally soft voice asked and he looked down at a warm smile framed by a butterfly mask.
“Not truly.” Falkyn automatically handed over the rest of the morsel.
The butterfly's pretty lips curved higher still, then pouted and parted as she lifted the treat. The pastry disappeared, then a pink tongue licked delicately around her mouth. The girl sighed in satisfaction, before smiling again. He leaned a little closer to check. Yes, definitely a smile. Plus she was cute. It seemed the evening wouldn't be as dire as he'd feared. The sparkling insect began to grin, as if at a secret joke and Falkyn felt his own mouth curve in response. He must be grinning like a loon, but amazingly she didn't fly away. Instead she stepped closer and her fingers curled around his wrist.
“Would you like a private tour of the palace? Away from the phonies and feather-kissers.”
“That sounds perfect.”
“I thought it would. Come.” The butterfly's fingers tightened in his wrist and he leaned back, making a faint show of resistance while she dragged him from the room. They were both laughing by the time she pulled him into another corridor, letting the passing crowd draw them deeper into the palace.
The night seemed very warm and the butterfly very happy as she fluttered around Falkyn. She tugged at h
im again, until they circled together, weaving an unsteady path down an increasingly empty corridor. They banged against a threshold and paused, before its field dropped and they staggered through together. Something tugged at Falkyn's clothes when he was bustled past and he had to lean forward to push through. Had that been a security screen? Where were they? He looked up from the butterfly and the passage was dark stone, with few decorations. The light was dim and there was a sense of age and disuse.
"Where are we?" he asked and the butterfly laughed.
"The palace of course."
Falkyn was fairly sure he needed better answers, but if his companion wouldn't talk it would have to be telepathy. He breathed deep and tensed, gathering energy while his fronds bushed as wide as possible. Making first mental contact with a stranger was usually hard work, sometimes very hard, but he wanted to touch the butterfly's mind to gauge the honesty of her answer. Where are we going?
“Somewhere special. Don't be a tweet. We're almost there.”
What's your name? he asked, but she just smirked and pulled him past another security screen.
No names till midnight, her mind finally offered and that was the truth.
Falkyn tried to catch more, but her mental screen was ice-face solid. He was about to offer his name anyway, but a last jerk pulled him through an archway and out of the palace. “Wow!”
They were standing on a narrow ledge just above the sea. Monstrous waves rolled in to break against the base of the stone wall. Foam frothed and fluoresced in the moonlight, while spray dusted the air. Falkyn breathed in deeply and the scent of the sea made him sneeze. The butterfly laughed again.