by Mara Gan
“First dose?” Perseus snarled, taking a step toward him. The guards instantly drew their swords, pointing them at my Protector hesitantly.
I had to stop him. There were better ways to get out of this, and fighting our way through dozens of soldiers was not one of them. Trying to sound weak and pathetic, I groaned, attempting to draw his attention.
He turned back to look at me. For good measure and to focus his attention on me, not the guards, I swayed on my feet and stumbled toward him, letting my knees buckle as he caught me. I gave him a weak smile. “It’s a bit nauseating.” It actually kind of was; the sedative had numbed my ability to sense Rurik or anyone else. Or was that Perseus? I didn’t know. But I did feel a little queasy. Nothing horrible, but I certainly didn’t want a sundae anytime soon.
Perseus frowned at me before glancing back at Rurik. “What do you intend to do with us now?”
“You’ll be taken to a holding room,” Rurik replied, nodding to his guards. Four of them moved forward to escort us, and I could tell Perseus was weighing his options again.
Dang, he was hard to distract from a fight.
“Don’t,” I whispered, looking at the ground. I kept my voice so low that no one else could have possibly heard it. I knew his hearing was extraordinary, and judging by the way his hands tightened on my arms, I could tell he had heard.
His eyes swung to me. I shook my head almost imperceptibly, peeking at him from behind my hair, and winked.
One of the guards grabbed my arm. Perseus knocked him away with a snarl, spinning me back into his arms. I stumbled, for real this time, and he lifted me into his arms. I played dead, hanging limply, my head against his shoulder, and let the arm not crushed against his chest dangle.
Annoyingly, one of my shoes fell off, but I kept my face relaxed and didn’t glance at it. To hell with the shoe. I didn’t even like shoes, and it certainly wasn’t worth blowing my cover for.
Perseus growled at Rurik’s guards.
The guards scowled, moving to subdue him, but Rurik cut them off. “Leave it,” he ordered. “Let him carry the little witch if he wants to. We have to get moving.”
Perseus growled another warning at the guards, but I kept my eyes closed as we were marched through cold corridors for several minutes, then down a few flights of stairs before we reached our destination. I wished I could open my eyes to see where we were, but I didn’t dare. Besides, I had no doubt Perseus was memorizing every hallway and possible escape route.
One of the guards gave him a shove that was clearly meant to make him stumble, but did little more than bend his back.
Perseus gently set me down on a thin pallet on a concrete floor as Perseus spoke to the guards as they shut us in.
“Don’t we get food and water?” Perseus asked, clearly trying to be annoying.
The guard snorted. “That ain’t my problem,” he said, jangling his keys. “This ain’t no hotel.”
“You’ll let us starve in here?” Perseus growled. I could hear him shaking the bars to our cell.
“Aw, gee, that would be such a pity.” The guard’s laughter echoed off the walls as he moved down the corridor, followed by the slam of a door.
I waited a few moments to be certain he was gone before cracking an eye, noting the concrete walls of our temporary home.
Perseus was leaning against the door to the cell, his arms folded as he studied me. The door provided the only window, as the top half was made of iron bars and the bottom was some kind of old metal.
“Are they gone?” I asked, trying to sound weak.
He nodded. “For the moment.”
“Good.” I stretched, flexing my fingers and feet.
“I do appreciate your letting me know you were alright, however. I might have done something rash.”
I rolled onto my side and grinned at him. “That was some nice acting just now.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Same to you. I did it for a living. What’s your excuse?”
I sat up on my knees. “I enjoy acting,” I said, my face lighting up in what Synie usually referred to as my Mischief Face. “It’s part of diplomacy. And it occasionally helps me get around the station without being recognized. Remember?”
His brow raised even farther. “I seem to recall, yes.”
I blushed furiously, remembering what had happened when I had hidden my identity from him in the tavern. I stood slowly.
“So how is it, exactly, that this sedative didn’t work on you?” he asked casually, eyeing me. “Has it not kicked in yet?”
I shook my head. “I’m notoriously hard to sedate,” I answered, moving to the bars to look down the hallway. “I generally need a much higher dosage than another person would need. That sedative Rurik gave me made me feel a bit sluggish for a few minutes, but hardly enough to put me to sleep.” I stretched a little, testing my muscles. “I can kind of feel it, but it’s already wearing off.”
“That’s strange,” he mused. “Is that a Halian thing?”
I shook my head again. “No. It’s a redhead thing.”
“A redhead thing?”
“Dr. Remy says it’s because of my genes,” I clarified. “Redheads are more resilient to sedatives and medicine in general. Apparently, the same genetic mutation that causes my hair color makes me immune to invasive chemicals. It’s not well known because genetically there are few redheads in the galaxy. But I usually need several times the amount of medicine others require.” I smiled. “Perhaps even more than you.”
He snorted. “Does that apply to poisons as well?”
“In theory. Never tested it.” I shrugged. “I don’t think I want to.”
“Healers too?”
“Unfortunately.” I shrugged. “It’s useful and detrimental at the same time. Mostly just detrimental, since being sedated during surgery would really be nice—”
His eyes narrowed in curiosity. “When did you have surgery?”
“Dental surgery.” I’d had all four wisdom teeth sawed out of my jaw a few years ago. That had been pretty awful; we hadn’t known that I was unsedatable until then, and found out the hard way when I woke up in the middle of the operation.
I made a face. That had been seriously unpleasant.
“Ah.” He studied me. “So that poison you got on the Dískos field was meant to do a lot more than numb your senses, wasn’t it?”
I started. “Oh dear. I hadn’t considered that.”
He looked grim. “Do you still have your empathic and telepathic abilities as well?”
I shook my head. “No, that part of the drug seems to have worked. At least, I couldn’t sense anything from the guards, and they seemed pretty weak-willed.”
“Agreed.”
“So.” I surveyed the cell. “I may not be sedated, but we’re still in a cell.”
Perseus nodded, examining the room. “And there isn’t much to work with.” He moved to the wall near the door, running his fingers along the smooth surface.
I watched him curiously. “What are you doing?”
He was silent, frowning as he scanned the wall. “Aha.” He smiled, pulling at the wall panel he’d discovered. He frowned, trying to pry it off, but his fingers were too thick. Reaching into his boot, he flicked out a small blade and slipped it under the panel, snapping it away from the wall with a quick flick of his wrist.
I wasn’t surprised at his ingenuity in hiding a knife in his boot, but it did speak to the arrogance of our captors that they hadn’t searched him before locking him up.
He set the panel down quietly and looked over his shoulder to find me wide-eyed at what he’d discovered. “Watch the door, would you?”
I nodded and moved to stand at the doorway, bracing my hands against the bars and craning my neck to see down the hallway. He shook his head, stifling a laugh.
I turned, surprised. “What?”
“You.” He chuckled. “Don’t look so obvious or they’ll think something’s up.”
I blushed. “Oh.” I attempt
ed a more nonchalant pose, but I think I succeeded only in looking highly awkward.
He chuckled softly as he turned back to the wall. “Better, but work on it.” He inspected the lock. “So how are you feeling?”
I considered. “Good, actually. The loss of my abilities is a bit disorienting, coupled with what little effects of the sedative I am feeling. But it’s kind of nice not hearing every thought around me.” I leaned back against the wall, closing my eyes. “Telepathy gives me a headache.”
He paused to look at me. “Is that why you spend so much time in the forest?”
A smile played on my lips, my eyes still closed. He was astute. “Trees don’t think,” I said faintly. “They don’t feel. They just… are.”
“Is that why you don’t spend time with friends?”
My smile faded. I didn’t have any friends, and as my ever-informed Protector, he would know that. Was he poking fun at me? I opened my eyes to look at him, but my retort died on my lips when I saw his face. His question was really more of a “why” didn’t I have friends rather than why didn’t I spend time with them. “Yes.” I looked down at my hands. “It’s also why I prefer your company.”
He eyed me incredulously. “You enjoy my company?” He shook his head. “Since when?”
“I didn’t say I enjoyed it,” I retorted, sticking my tongue out. “I said I preferred it. I can’t sense anything from you,” I explained. “Not unless you’re really, really angry—which is scary, by the way. But with you… I can be around someone and not have to feel everything they feel, or think everything they think.” I sighed. “It’s so calming. You’re like one of my trees.” And I really did enjoy his company.
He rolled his eyes. “I’ve been compared to a tree. Marvelous.”
“It’s a compliment.”
“Whatever you say.”
“Come to think of it, you kind of look like one,” I mused. “Big, strong, stoic, stubborn.”
“Again, thank you.”
“Leafy.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere, Princess.” Perseus shook his head, examining the lock. “I’m afraid we’ll have to find another way out,” he said, frowning. “That lock has a tripwire. Pick it and we risk setting off the whole security system.”
I looked over from where I was watching the door. I squinted at the device before abandoning my post and studied it from over Perseus’ shoulder.
He looked at me curiously. “What, you think you can pick it?”
I raised an eyebrow. “That, Protector, sounds suspiciously like a challenge,” I replied, lacing my fingers and stretching them outward. I wiggled them, flexing. “Allow me.”
He moved to watch the door while I examined the lock. “Hmm. I’ve seen ones like this, but this is a more recent generation. Very sophisticated.” I turned to grin at him. “Not impossible. Could take a while, though.”
He shook his head. “By all means.” He moved to stand against the wall, folding his arms and keeping one eye on the hall.
I lay on my side, examining the console. There was indeed a tripwire in the system, and a good one at that. I couldn’t use my normal methods for picking this lock. I frowned.
I had never met a lock I couldn’t pick, however. I surveyed the contents of the circuit board, inspecting the connecting wires—
“Got it,” I murmured, feeling a grin spread across my face.
“You picked it already?”
I chuckled. “I wish. Not even I’m that good. No, I just figured a way around the tripwire.” I made a face as I realized what I had to do. “This will be tedious.”
He said nothing, continuing to keep an eye on the corridor. I reached in and upward, stretching my fingers toward the inner circuit board. Since I couldn’t undo the lock itself, I would just short out the electricity for the whole block.
That should do the trick.
Unfortunately, it involved unplugging all the cables—of which there looked to be several dozen—and replacing the positive wires into the negative slots, and vice versa.
Clumsy, but straightforward and certainly bound to be effective. If I didn’t shock my hand off in the process.
I set my jaw and started unplugging.
“Need help?”
I shook my head. “Your fingers are too fat.”
He laughed. “See? Being small isn’t always a bad thing.”
“Unplugging a hundred cables and replugging them into the wrong sockets? Oh, lucky me.”
He chuckled at my sarcasm and turned back to the hallway.
“So is this really better than listening to petitioners and attending meetings?” he asked by way of making conversation.
“It’s definitely better than a security meeting,” I joked, giving him a look. “And while I am thrilled to finally be away from the city, I love listening to petitioners and helping them. I’d do it all day if I could.”
“You don’t find it draining?”
I found it exhausting, actually, often to the point of headaches and nausea, but that didn’t mean I didn’t enjoy the result. “It is, but I love helping people. Listening to petitioners is practical.”
“It’s time-consuming.”
“It’s effective.”
“You can’t really go on like this forever, you know,” he said softly.
I didn’t look at him, but my expression hardened. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do.”
“You think I should stop helping people?” I said, stopping to frown at him.
“Meda.” He squatted next to me, one eye still on the hallway. “You are running yourself ragged. You’ve helped suicidal nobles. Children whose parents have disowned them because they love the ‘wrong’ person. Children whose parents hate each other, children with no parents. Peasants who are starving to death. Heartbroken lovers. Traumatized war veterans.” He gripped my chin and forced me to look at him. “Who is helping you?”
I tried to jerk out of his grasp, but he tightened his fingers. “I don’t need help,” I said defiantly. “Helping others is all I need.”
“Bullshit,” he replied. My eyes widened at the coarse language. “Your own psychological health is suffering. I can tell. I know you, Meda. I know how much you care about others. I know how you hurt from the emotional pain all around you. You need someone.”
I stared at him, my breath coming in short gasps. Our gazes locked, intense, for several long moments. “But I’m not going to get someone, am I?” I whispered. “I’ll be alone, just like you.”
His expression did that flickering thing again. Something akin to pain flitted through his fathomless eyes, but it came and went so quickly that I might have imagined it.
He stood and moved back toward the doorway, and I sighed and resumed unplugging the circuits.
“They certainly don’t seem too concerned with guarding us.”
“They probably haven’t heard of my lock-picking gifts,” I reasoned.
He snorted. “You mean your fame isn’t legendary?”
“Alas,” I said, struggling to jam my fingers into the console, “my fame has been largely exaggerated—in most cases anyway.” I hissed.
“What is it?” Perseus said, moving toward me.
I shook my head, massaging my hand. The metal was sharp. “Just bent my fingers wrong. It’s nothing.”
“Let me see.”
“It’s nothing,” I said, putting my fingers back inside the console. “I’ll live, I promise.” I winked.
Perseus regarded me with narrowed eyes before going back to his post. “And to think, I always thought you were shy.”
I smiled. “I am shy.”
He chuckled. “Not really. You are uncertain of yourself and your abilities at times, and you prefer being alone, but that’s not really the same thing as being shy. And you only prefer being alone because of your abilities.”
“I was shy around you.”
“Most people are,” he said, watching the corridor. “I’m not exactl
y the friendliest face in the galaxy.”
“You have a nicer face than you’d like to think.”
“Oh, come now, I thought we were past the insults.”
“I was not—” I stopped, seeing his face. “Oh. You’re funning me again.”
He gave a half smile. “Maybe it isn’t shyness,” he said, reconsidering. “Maybe it’s just your innocence.”
I looked up, startled, my fingers poised on the locking mechanism. “You think I’m naïve?” I asked. “I’m picking the most sophisticated lock in the galaxy, and you think I’m naïve?”
He shook his head. “Innocence is different from naïveté. Innocence doesn’t think the worst but understands it; naïveté doesn’t understand the worst but often thinks it.”
I warmed to hear him say that. All my life people had called me innocent, pure, naïve, etc., and they had meant it as a compliment, but they’d always said it with this sad undertone that seemed to suggest I would never understand darkness or evil. I had never really understood how they could say such things to me; if anyone knew evil firsthand, it was me.
I had been on Halia when my entire planet was destroyed, and I had always suspected it had been my fault. Whoever had blown up my world had killed over three billion people, all to get to me.
And yet I had survived.
I had wicked survivor’s guilt, yet people called me naïve.
“You understand evil,” he continued. “Yet you see good in everyone; even the darker parts of the human soul are bright to you. How is that not innocent?”
“I suppose so,” I said slowly, not looking at him. “But everyone has a dark side, big or small. And I prefer to believe that darkness has a reason for existing, whether I understand it or not.”
Perseus watched, surprised into momentary silence, as I went back to work on the lock. “What reason could darkness have for existing?” he asked, keeping his voice casual.
I pulled my fingers free and undid my earring. Perseus watched as I bent the metal into a fine point, then looked up at him. How to explain what I meant? “What does light look like?” I asked.
He cocked his head at me. “Excuse me?”
“What does light look like?”