Glimmer of Steel (The Books of Astrune Book 1)

by K. E. Blaski

  She’d never forget sneaking down the stairs, peeking at her parents through the railing, overhearing her mother begging her father to stay. She kept saying she loved him, and he’d cringed at her words. Instead of drawing him back, her neediness had pushed him right out the door.

  Jennica promised herself she’d never become her mother, but florimel wine had shattered her intentions. The words were out there and she couldn’t take them back. All she could do now was deal with the consequences. They’d either love her back—or try to put distance between themselves and her, like her father had with her mother.

  A walk would clear her head of depressing parental memories, and maybe even take the edge off her hangover. Pacing in her humid, dark room wasn’t what she had in mind. She’d done enough of that lately. She needed to get out—to the kitchen, the courtyard, any place other than here—but she couldn’t even open the stupid door by herself.

  The wooden door cooled her skin when she pressed her forehead against it, a little relief for her head, as long as she didn’t succumb to the urge to bang against it.

  Maybe there was someone in the hall—Logan or another soldier who could help her open her door. Now that inhibitor was so accessible, she felt a little safer talking to the staff. “Hello? Is there anyone out there?”

  “Nobless, do you need something?”

  Jennica didn’t recognize the girl’s voice. She sounded young, or small. With a bit of luck, she was stronger than she sounded. “Help me open the door?”

  Silence answered, and she hoped that whoever owned the voice hadn’t decided to go tell someone she wanted out. Technically, she didn’t have to be confined to her room anymore, but she doubted if Noble endorsed her walking through the castle. It was one of the reasons she’d camouflaged herself in servant’s robes with Damen tonight.

  “It’s heavy, miss.”

  Good, she’s still there. “You have to pull while I push. On the count of three.” She counted. The door cracked open and then fell shut. “Let’s try again. And this time, I’ll see if I can get my foot out.”

  Her metal feet could be useful. The left one slid between the door and the frame. She used the other to pry the door wider until the opening was large enough for her to squeeze through.

  “Lasca?” Now that Jennica could see the girl, she recognized her as one of the cleaning staff Damen had spoken to. She was the same height as Jennica, with auburn hair, and freckles splashed across her nose and cheeks. “What are you doing out here? Where’d Logan go?”

  “Logan’s shift is over. He went to bed. Noble’s got anyone awake helping with tomorrow’s preparations. Marcis asked me to keep an eye on your door. In case you needed something. Do you need something?” she said in a breathy voice. Her blue eyes were opened wide, the pupils large and black like she was drugged.

  “You haven’t taken inhibitor, have you?”

  “I did, Nobless, earlier today.” Her upper lip started to tremble.

  “It must’ve worn off. I’m sorry. I’m making you uncomfortable.” Jennica stepped away, but it was too late. Lasca reached out and stroked her hair. Jennica tried to remain calm. “Shouldn’t you be wearing gloves?”

  “Yes, miss.” Lasca fingered the waves in Jennica’s hair. “You’re soft.”

  “Where are your gloves?” Jennica carried Damen’s knife in one of the pockets of her new robe. She reached inside, poised to grab it if necessary.

  “In my robe. You smell good, too.” Her nostrils quivered. Her cheeks flushed.

  “Put on your gloves, Lasca. I insist,” Jennica said too loudly, but it was enough to snap Lasca out of her trance.

  Jennica’s hair slipped from her fingers. Lasca fumbled in the pockets of her robe and pulled out a pair of white tailored gloves, not like the black or brown gloves Jennica usually saw on the castle staff. They were oddly familiar.

  “Where’d you get those gloves?”

  Lasca cast her eyes down. “They were a gift, from a soldier.”

  “Which one?” Jennica wondered if it was Marcis, since he knew Lasca well enough to ask her to stand outside Jennica’s door.

  “Quintus. Quintus Nordin.”

  Not a name she recognized. She tried to recall where she’d seen the gloves. The tip of the memory teased her mind. She grabbed at it. It was on the day she’d met Nyima’s family, the day Madam Meilyn was murdered in front of her. Nyima’s cousin. Tiny stitches.

  “Those belong to my cousin Maartje. They weren’t Quintus’s to give.” The thought of soldiers divvying up Maartje’s belongings felt—violating. “Find yourself another pair. And as soon as you do, give those to me.”

  This time Lasca pulled out a set of faded black gloves with worn spots on the fingertips and knuckles. She exchanged them, using her teeth to pull off the white ones.

  “I forget about all the storage that comes with robes.”

  Lasca handed off the white gloves.

  “How many pairs of gloves do you carry around?” She pocketed the white ones inside her own robe.

  “No more than these. I didn’t know whose they were, miss. Honest,” she added.

  “It’s okay. I’ll hold them until Maartje can claim them herself. One more thing. I need a favor. I need you to tell me how to get to the room where Noble keeps his wives.”

  “The harem?”

  “Yes.” It was an impulse, a seed of an idea. What exactly she hoped to accomplish escaped her for now.

  “If I take you there”—Lasca stood close enough that Jennica could feel the electricity coming off her skin—“will you kiss me?”

  Jennica shook her head. Everyone wanted to barter with her: Noble, the old witch who’d killed the hawk, Madam Meilyn. She recalled Madam’s face when the soldier’s arrow had sliced through her. Jennica wouldn’t make the same mistake: she wouldn’t put another person’s soul at risk. She clenched her hands tightly inside her pockets, so she wouldn’t touch Lasca while the girl was so vulnerable. “No. I won’t kiss you. I’ll say thanks for your help, but I’m not going to kiss you.”

  If Lasca wouldn’t take her to the harem, she’d find someone else who would, or find the room on her own. She’d managed to stumble across it once before without even trying.

  “No harm in asking, right?” Lasca started down the hall, and the farther from Jennica she got, the more the girl’s shoulders relaxed.

  “No. No harm done.” Jennica stayed a good dozen feet behind Lasca—close enough so as not to lose her, but no closer.

  As they navigated the twists and turns of the castle halls, Jennica considered leaving a trail of bread crumbs. Who was she kidding? There was no way she could’ve found her way to the harem alone, and she wouldn’t be able to find her way back to her room without help. Lasca must be taking her the back way, because there didn’t look to be anyone around to help, either. She could be lost for days in the maze that was Noble’s castle.

  Lasca spoke up. “We’ll have to go through the soldiers’ corridor. Up ahead. Can you run?”

  “Not really.” Jennica glanced at her silver feet. “Why?”

  “Well, as long as no one’s out in the passageway, you should be all right.”

  “Noble released me. I don’t have to stay confined in my room anymore. The soldiers should know that.”

  “Inhibitor wears off.” She winked.

  Realization slapped her. She considered going back, but Lasca had already moved into the soldiers’ corridor.

  “Walk as fast as you can, then,” Lasca whispered over her shoulder.

  They passed doors large enough to accommodate small giants. Most of the doors stared back silently, but a couple had the distinctive sounds of sex tumbling out from behind them and into the hall.

  “Come on,” Lasca insisted. “You’re slow.”

  “Can’t help it.” Jennica envied Lasca her dainty feet, strapped in leather sandals instead of metal.

  The girl was already at the end of the hall, waving her arms for Jennica to hurry. Jennica saw
why. One of the doors was creaking open, and a large, masculine hand gripped the edge, poised to swing it wide. There’d be recognition and shouting and more doors would open, more soldiers would come out. They’d see her. She shouldn’t have removed her disguise. With Noble distracted, she’d gotten careless again.

  She froze. The soldier’s head stuck out and looked directly at—Lasca.

  “Hey, sweetness. What’re you doing?”

  Without hesitation, Lasca flew to him and pulled him into a deep kiss. He scooped her up, and they disappeared together behind the closing door.

  Jennica stood in the hall and let out her breath. She didn’t dare wait for Lasca. Foot by foot, she crept past the room Lasca had entered, then past another dozen doors, until finally she reached the end of the soldiers’ corridor.

  The hall opened into an alcove with two archways. Which one? Lasca wasn’t there to show her the way. Left or right? “Left or right?”

  The lanterns flickered at the sound of her voice.

  “To the harem? You can show me the way?”

  The lantern on the right brightened. And then, like a theater marquee, all the lanterns on the right blinked in rapid succession. Jennica followed the flashing down the hall until they led her to a door. Even though she’d been in front of this very door before, there was nothing at all recognizable or distinguishing about it. Just more sameness.

  Was it really the door to the harem? Or were the Cidrans leading her astray? Damen had said they were mischievous and not to be trusted. For all she knew, she could open the door and find Noble Tortare waiting for her. Indecisiveness threatened to keep her riveted right where she stood.

  “I trust you,” she said finally. “Because of Joss.” She pushed open the door, surprised by its lightness compared to her own. No other room needed a heavy wood barrier like hers, it seemed.

  It was the harem, all right. Inside, the women slept. On couches, cots, cushions on the floor. She watched the rise and fall of their breath. They were beautiful with their eyes closed, their skin pale and glowing in the lantern light, a harem from an Arabian storybook.

  “Good, you found them,” Lasca said from behind, and Jennica nearly jumped out of her skin.

  “Geez, don’t scare me.”

  “Sorry.” A smile crept on Lasca’s lips.

  Jennica wondered if the apology was genuine. “Was that Quintus you were with?”

  “No, not Quintus. His name is Februus,” she said. “And I did that for you, not for me.”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  “It was either amuse him or watch the bloodbath while the entire company fought over you. You’re welcome,” she added.

  “Thank you.” Jennica couldn’t look Lasca in the eyes, embarrassed about the timing of her gratitude. It wasn’t that she wasn’t grateful—she was just astonished that Lasca would offer herself like that.

  “It’s nothing. Really. Around here, if you haven’t had sex with a soldier or two by the time you come of age, there’s something wrong with you. Not that there’s anything wrong with you.”

  She didn’t know what to say. First, Lasca was so young. Second, was it so obvious Jennica hadn’t had sex? A stupid thought. Of course they knew: her purple skin was a freaking virginity banner.

  Lasca continued. “You Rosen girls are special that way. The longer you’re unspoiled, the darker your skin. Part of the appeal, I guess.” She reached for Jennica’s hair again, but stopped herself and felt around her robes, presumably looking for her gloves. It occurred to Jennica that the gloves must’ve come off when Lasca was with the soldier. She was glad that her blush was masked by her skin.

  “What color . . .” Jennica didn’t know how to phrase the question. “Afterward?”

  “Good question. I forget you don’t know all this stuff ’cause you’re not Nyima. If Noble takes you—you wind up sorta gray, like them.” She pointed to the sleeping wives, gloves back on her hands. “If you do it with a regular bloke, I guess you become like the rest of us—whatever color you’re meant to be.”

  What color was Nyima meant to be? Her father was pasty white, but she didn’t know her mother’s color. The girls back home would go nuts if everyone could tell when you lost your virginity because of your skin color.

  “There should be Rosen boys who change color too,” Jennica said. “To be fair.”

  “Fair? When has anything ever been fair? Anyway, did you see what you came to see? ’Cause we’ve got to go back the way we came. Everyone’ll be waking up soon.”

  “Soon?” She wished she had more time.

  “You’ve got maybe thirty minutes.”

  “Then I’ll need your help.”

  “Help with what?”

  “Releasing the Cidrans.”

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  Lasca protested at first, but her curiosity, and Jennica’s persuasiveness, soon overcame her reluctance. Breaking the lanterns to release the Cidrans would leave glass everywhere. The wives would cut themselves, so the girls decided to pry the glass off and carefully stack the panes out of the way. The process took longer, but was less messy, and it had the advantage of being much quieter than crashing glass. The wives slept as the girls worked.

  Jennica whispered to the Cidrans while she lifted the glass with the edge of Damen’s dagger. “This room is filled with bodies without souls. You can have them to start new lives. I’m a friend of Joss. I freed him, and Aingeal too, and dozens of your people.” She repeated the words to each lantern. Lasca spoke something similar while using her own knife to lift the glass.

  After about half the lanterns were opened, they paused. The rescued Cidrans still hadn’t done anything—they were just hovering silently in small groups near the ceiling, their light casting exaggerated shadows on the bodies below.

  “What are you waiting for? You’re free. There are empty bodies waiting.”

  “Maybe they don’t want them,” Lasca said.

  Jennica had never considered that the Cidrans might not want her gift. “Let’s open the rest. Maybe they’re waiting to make sure we free all of them.”

  They continued opening the lanterns, releasing more and more Cidrans into the room. The ceiling became a growing orb of sunshine. The wives began to stir as light bathed their faces.

  “We have to go. Now,” Lasca insisted once the last lantern was open, the last group of Cidrans released.

  “No. Wait. If we open the door, they’ll leave.”

  “Then let them, Nobless. It’s almost daybreak.”

  Jennica tried once more to convince the Cidrans. “People of Cidran, it’s your choice,” she spoke loudly to the glowing orbs. “I’m going to open the door now, and you can leave and maybe get caught again. Or, you can leave as a human with the chance at a free life.”

  “These women are not free,” said a deep, resonating voice.

  “A body—to have a body—it’s my dream,” said another.

  “A different form of slavery,” said one.

  “I want to touch, to feel . . .” said someone else.

  “They can’t decide,” Lasca told Jennica. “Just leave them here to figure it out. We can prop the door.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  Like a fire that smoldered until fueled by a rush of air, the room flared with light when Jennica opened the door. She stood spellbound. Streams of luminescent thread wound around the women, lifting them into a golden web, wrapping them in cocoons of light. The women parted their lips in sighs, arching their backs as though embraced by golden lovers.

  “Look, Lasca—it’s beautiful. Lasca?” The girl had been standing beside her when she’d opened the door—where’d she go? “Lasca?”

  Jennica called out for her, retracing her steps through the hall. Lasca was under the archway near the soldier corridor, bent over, sick.

  “Are you okay?” Jennica put her hand on Lasca’s shoulder and crouched next to her.

  Lasca groaned like she was in pain.

  Fear tore through Jennica and
she threw carefulness aside. She pulled the girl’s face toward her, suspecting the worst. Lasca’s eyes shimmered gold.

  “No, no, no, no!” But there weren’t enough nos in this world to take back what she’d just allowed to happen. The opportunity she’d given the Cidrans. “You weren’t supposed to take her! She had a soul. She already had a soul.”

  JENNICA

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  THE FLIGHT

  Jennica had trusted the Cidrans—and they’d stolen Lasca’s body. She held the limp girl on the floor of the hall and rocked her.

  “Don’t be upset, Jennica,” Lasca said unexpectedly. “I’m fine. Really.”

  Jennica stared at Lasca. Her eyes were blue again, the color back in her cheeks. She sat up and beamed.

  “Are you sure? You . . . you . . .” Jennica didn’t know what to say to someone whose body had just gotten hijacked. She decided to go with, “How do you feel?”

  “Never better. I feel strong.” She rose to her feet in one graceful movement.

  “But—”

  “It’s amazing how good I feel. So much energy! Aprica’s inside me. Aprica herself.”

  What Lasca said didn’t make Jennica feel better. Lasca was acting different, older; and physically she seemed different too: taller, if that was possible. Or maybe it was the way she was carrying herself, no longer weary from castle work and waiting on soldiers, but confident, like she was used to a better way of life. And there was something else Jennica couldn’t put her finger on.

  “Which soldier is supposed to pick you up for Noble’s flight this morning?” Lasca asked.

  “Logan.”

  “I’ll take you to him, then you won’t be late. His room is over here.”

  Before Jennica could protest, Lasca snatched her hand and dragged her down the hall.

  “This way, then. Hurry. Hurry.”

  “Your gloves. You took them off but you’re—”

  “I’m not affected by your skin anymore.” She knocked on one of the oversized doors in the soldier corridor. “Well, here you go. I’ll leave you now. I have some things to take care of. Oh, yes I do. I think I’ll pay Februus a little visit first.”