by Zoe Ashwood
“Adriana,” Taron bellowed, stopping three feet from her and glowering down, his expression fierce.
If she didn’t know him, she would have been scared—he was every inch the wild Rendian warrior, ready to tear someone limb from limb, and all his ire was focused on her.
“What?” she snapped. “I thought I told you to stay away from me.”
A feminine gasp sounded behind her; Mika was enjoying her role far too much. But a clatter of boots on the stone floor also told her more Rendians had joined the show.
Taron stepped closer. “Do you want to explain why your little human toy is sick, just as you were?” he growled.
“It’s none of your business,” she retorted, glaring at him. Wow, we’re pretty good at this. She had to stifle a nervous giggle—and from the way Taron’s eyes crinkled in the corners, she thought he recognized that she was on the verge of a panicked laughing attack.
“It is my business if you’re fucking—”
Adriana slapped him across the face, really putting her weight into the blow.
They’d discussed it when formulating the plan, and Lhett had claimed that the guards would know a faked blow from a real one. “Just punch him,” he’d advised her. “He’ll live.”
Taron had shrugged and agreed. The Naals brothers had a funny way of showing affection to each other.
Now Taron’s head snapped to the side—he might have overplayed the reaction a little bit, but no one seemed to care: they were all staring at them with open mouths. Taron turned a deep blue, yet his cheek remained pale with the outline of her hand imprinted on it. Strange. She was instantly sorry for the blow, but much as she wanted to throw her arms around him and kiss the bruise better, she knew that would defeat the purpose.
“Guards,” a bored voice called from behind her. “Restrain him.”
Adriana whirled around and came face to face with Regent Yaroh ad Gilmar, the bastard who’d killed his king and enslaved the young queen.
“Your Highness,” she intoned, dropping into a quick curtsy and straightening.
His gaze cut to her. “Dr. Ribeiro, I presume. Pleased to meet you.”
He took her hand and brushed his cold lips over her knuckles. Unlike Taron’s cool touch, the regent’s had her shivering in revulsion.
She covered the reaction and smiled at him. “Please, call me Adriana.”
The man smirked—he was handsome, as good-looking as any Rendian she’d seen in the streets. He was tall and broad, and Adriana didn’t have trouble imagining he was very skilled at convincing others to do things his way. But there was a cruel slant to his lips, and his pale-blue eyes were icy cold, without a flicker of kindness.
Behind her, two guards seized Taron, just as they’d expected. He struggled a little, but they pointed the ends of their spears at his chest, and he quieted.
“Take him to a cell to cool off,” the regent instructed. He was speaking in a raised voice, Adriana realized, for the benefit of the delegates from the Intergalactic Trade Association who stood behind him. “We take our human visitors’ safety very seriously.”
Taron hung his head and allowed the guards to escort him down the corridor. Adriana knew he would deal with them—stun them, not kill them; they’d agreed on keeping casualties to the minimum—the moment they turned the corner. Two less soldiers to guard the reception hall, and two less for the rest of their crew to deal with if the plan went to hell.
“Come, appetizers will be served in a minute,” the regent called, ushering the delegates into the hall.
Adriana and her teammates followed behind them. The guards searched them at the door, but beyond waving their tablets at them, they didn’t perform any full-body searches. Hanne caught Adriana’s hand, giving it a quick squeeze, then released her and fell into step with Jean. They all had their roles to play.
And hers was to get roaring drunk at the dinner party.
“I mean, why can’t he just accept that I’m not a one-man woman?” she slurred, sloshing some of the purple wine from her goblet. The word accept came out with a very deliberate lisp, and she might have spit a little on poor Queen Zeema, who was staring at her with wide eyes.
Adriana wasn’t drunk. In fact, she’d had maybe two sips of the drink and had spilled the rest of each glassful onto a cushion she kicked under the table the moment they arrived in the formal dining room.
The chamber was enormous, with a black vaulted ceiling that soared thirty feet in the air above their heads, and was decorated with lavish, imported silks. Taron had told her the regent had had it redesigned as soon as he took control over the throne, likely so he could showcase his wealth to delegations such as the one sitting with them at the table.
To Adriana, the general effect seemed more like a French boudoir than a stately dining room, but what did she know about intergalactic trade negotiations?
The three greenish aliens currently sitting on a low divan at the other end of the table certainly looked impressed. Adriana assumed the tentacles waving around their heads were a sign of happiness, not alarm. Their chattering, high-pitched voices mingled with the talk of the human delegation and the lower voices of the Rendian courtiers. There were seven of those at the table, more than they’d expected—these were representatives of the Rendian noble houses to whom the death of their king hadn’t presented a particular problem. They’d simply allied themselves with whoever held the power at the moment.
Adriana wished she could glare at them for being so callous—Queen Zeema was sitting at the table, rigid under the weight of their stares. Which was why Adriana had drawn her into the conversation. She would have loved to talk to the queen on a normal occasion, but for the time being, she needed to appear as drunk as possible.
She glanced around the table. Nobody was watching her; they’d all dismissed her as a crass, low-life human who couldn’t hold her drink. Now she slipped her goblet beneath the tablecloth and spilled her wine again.
She glanced up to find Zeema watching, her mouth parted in surprise. Adriana winked at her and chanced a low whisper, “Go to the bathroom.”
The young queen didn’t react. Instead, she picked up her goblet of water and drank deeply, motioning to a waiting servant to refill it soon after. She conversed with the regent, who was seated on her right side, and ate more food. Adriana didn’t dare talk to her again but loudly demanded more wine instead.
On the regent’s other side, Mika was explaining about the mating habit of ferrets. Ben was helping her distract the regent by laughing loudly at her every word while Graham glared angrily at the Dutch doctor. She hoped the soldier wouldn’t cause a scene.
“Do you think we could have some music?” Hanne inquired gently, addressing the noblewoman next to her. “At human parties, it’s usual to have some sort of musical entertainment.”
Kol had assured them that the Rendians would not want to be outdone by humans, especially in front of their important guests—not when it came to throwing a good party. A troupe of musicians was soon brought forward, and they struck up a tune that added to the echoing noise of the chamber. Adriana breathed a sigh of relief.
Her friend shifted in her seat, and then Adriana felt a brush of something against her leg. She extended her arm under the table and accepted the EpiPen Hanne had smuggled into the room—they’d decided it would be far too dangerous for Adriana to carry everything they needed for the plan to work. She now tucked the injection device into her boot, waiting for the second to come her way.
A few minutes later, Ben got up to admire the view from one of the windows, asking the woman seated beside him to point out the city’s landmarks.
“So beautiful,” he exclaimed as he dropped the other EpiPen on the cushion next to Adriana’s low chair.
She shuddered with relief. So far, so good. There were too many people in the room for the regent to keep track of them all, and the guards were posted at the entrances, not watching the guests. That would have tipped off the diplomats that something was am
iss, and the regent was doing his best to assure them that the flow of platinum from Rendu would continue uninterrupted despite the recent political changes.
Adriana wished she could stick a fork in his eyeball and make that obnoxious smirk disappear from his face.
She would have to settle for saving the queen.
A small eternity passed before Zeema pushed back her chair and stood. The regent barely registered her movement, nodding at the two guards who stood nearby. They followed her closely, and Adriana found she hated the usurper even more. The poor young woman couldn’t even go to the toilet on her own.
She waited a minute longer and pretended to gulp more wine. Then got to her feet, swaying slightly. “Oh my god,” she gasped. “The room is spinning. Can someone point me in the direction of the bathroom?”
The nobles sneered at her in disgust, but one of the attendants indicated the far corner of the chamber, where Zeema had disappeared.
“Thanks,” Adriana whispered loudly and stumbled her way toward the door.
She rounded the corner, passing out of their eyesight, but she didn’t stop weaving. There was the first guard, standing in front of the bathroom door.
She tripped deliberately, catching herself just in time, and used the maneuver to pull an EpiPen from her boot, hiding it by pressing her arm to her side. It likely looked unnatural, but she hoped this Rendian wouldn’t know what was ‘natural’ for drunk humans.
“Oh, hi,” she crooned. “Aren’t you a big guy.”
“The bathroom is that way, madam,” he replied, his voice clipped. He was young, not much older than the queen herself, and yet he’d chosen to follow Gilmar instead of standing with his young monarch. She was just debating where and how to stick him with the needle when a crash sounded from the bathroom.
The guard instantly jumped toward the door, Adriana close behind him. She flicked the cap off the EpiPen and aimed for the young man’s neck. She was in luck—he hadn’t activated his armor’s helmet, so the needle sank right into his blue skin.
Adriana pressed down with her thumb, releasing the epinephrine into the guard’s bloodstream. The man collapsed with a clatter, and his spear rolled away from him, toward Adriana. She picked it up gingerly, listening to the sounds from beyond the hallway. The music still played, and no running footsteps neared her, so she supposed the diversion had worked.
She eyed the weapon in her hand, hefting it. It wasn’t heavy, but she’d had no training with it. She was passable with a gun—yet they had brought none of those to Rendu. Would she even know how to use the spear without hurting herself? She should have insisted on a lesson from Taron instead of allowing him to seduce her.
A second bump came from behind the closed door—she couldn’t waste any more time. Gripping the spear in one hand and the EpiPen in the other, she took a deep breath and toed the door open.
The scene that greeted her shocked her into stopping. The queen cowered in the corner while the other guard, a middle-aged Rendian in full armor, stood over her, prodding her with the tip of his spear.
No, not prodding—he wasn’t actually touching her, though the spear was shooting out little bolts of electricity. Each one shocked Zeema like a taser, and if her whimpers were any indication, they hurt her. A lot.
“You think you’re so special,” the man muttered as he shot her twice, zap, zap. “Refusing to marry my son. Like you’re better than him. You’re nothing.” Zap.
Adriana gasped. She couldn’t help her reaction any more than she could stop breathing—and the sound seemed to echo in the empty bathroom, amplified by the sheer black walls.
“What?” The guard turned on his heels, gripping his spear tighter. “What are you doing here? Get out. This is none of your business.”
Adriana pointed the spear at him. “You let her go!” Her voice shook—she hadn’t expected the confrontation to unfold like this. She’d gotten lucky with the younger guard and had hoped she could surprise this one as well.
He stepped forward, menacing. “Where’d you get that spear? Aresh?” he called out, likely to the guard outside.
“He’s down,” Adriana told him. “And if you don’t put aside your weapon, I’ll take you out, too.”
He laughed. The bastard actually laughed at her. That was what pissed her off the most. But the truth was, she had no idea how to wield the spear, and she didn’t want to get shocked again. The first time at that snowy, empty village had hurt enough.
Behind the guard, Zeema struggled quietly to her feet, her glare murderous. She lifted her arm and made a ‘gimme’ motion with her fingers. Adriana blinked—did she want the spear?
The moment of confusion cost her. The guard stepped into her space, faster than she’d anticipated, and backhanded her across the face. It was an insult; she didn’t even merit the use of his weapon.
Tears sprang into her eyes from the pain. Fuck! Any moment now, someone could pass by. They’d see the unconscious guard outside and raise the alarm.
Her vision cleared, and she tossed the weapon at the queen as best she could—it clattered on the floor beside her instead of landing in her outstretched arm.
“Shit.” Adriana gritted her teeth and launched herself at the guard. If she could just prick him with the needle…
He blocked her advance with practiced ease and slapped her again. Adriana’s mouth filled with blood, and she hoped he hadn’t knocked a tooth loose. Though she would gladly pay a tooth if it meant getting out of here alive…which was looking less and less likely. This guard didn’t seem worried about interstellar consequences. He was either too dumb or too cocky to understand what hurting Adriana might mean for him, but in that moment, his reasoning didn’t matter. He could kill her in minutes.
He grabbed her by the shoulder, reaching back to deal her another vicious blow.
And the queen cut off his hand.
An arc of blue blood sprayed from the stump, painting the white marble sink and the mirrors. The guard seemed stunned, staring at it, then at the severed hand lying on the floor.
“Shit, oh shit,” Adriana cursed, trying to hold back vomit. She stumbled away from the man.
Zeema kicked him in the ass, and he went sprawling on the floor, his large body landing with a wet thwack on the bloody obsidian.
He yelled, and she kicked him in the face. Adriana flinched back from the ferocity of her glare, but the queen was doing what needed to be done: they couldn’t allow him to scream.
This jolted her into motion—she dropped to her knees beside the soldier and jabbed the needle of the EpiPen into his cheek. He went limp instantly, his eyes rolling back. Zeema knelt next to him and took up his wrist. Adriana thought she might bind his stump, make a tourniquet, but the queen deactivated his armor with a press of her fingers. Then she lifted the spear and stabbed him right in the back.
The man didn’t even twitch.
Adriana stared at the young woman, too shocked to speak.
The queen bared her teeth. “What, you think this was the first time he tortured me?”
Adriana shook her head, blinking tears of pain and terror from her eyes. “No. No, of course not. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you sooner.” She reached for her and put her hand on the queen’s shoulder.
At that, Zeema dropped the spear, wrapped her arms around herself, and shook, her entire body racked with shudders. Adriana had no idea whether she was going into shock or suffering an aftereffect of her torture, but they needed to act fast.
She undid her hair, tucked the two decorative sticks inside her bra, and pulled out the tube Jean had prepared for her. “Here,” she said. “Smear this all over your collar. It’ll irritate your skin but it will insulate you from the electric current.”
The queen looked at her with glassy eyes, uncomprehending, so Adriana took her hands.
“Please, you have to move. You’ll get a chance to rest later, but right now, we need to make sure the regent can’t hurt you anymore. Everything depends on that.”
&nb
sp; Zeema blinked once, twice, then slowly uncurled herself, took the tube, and stood in front of the mirror. Once Adriana was sure she understood what the process was, she ducked her head out of the bathroom and checked the corridor. Then she grabbed the young guard by the hands and dragged him into the room. Her progress was excruciatingly slow because of his weight, and she feared that at any moment, one of the guests would arrive or another guard would come to check what was taking the queen so long. They likely had only moments before their ruse was discovered.
Blue hands appeared beside hers, grabbing the guard. Zeema worked with Adriana to push and slide him all the way in and locked the door behind them. Then she returned to her task, and Adriana helped her reach the parts of the collar at the back.
A tap on the window scared them both; Zeema covered her scream with her resin-smeared hand and accidentally painted smudges on her face.
But it was only Steven on a hover sled, riding fifty feet above the icy ground below. Adriana jumped to open the window.
“Are you ready?” he asked, then took in Adriana’s bruised face and a second later, the clearly dead guard on the floor. “What happened?”
“No time to explain.” Adriana squeezed the last of the epoxy resin onto the queen’s collar, patting it down over where she hoped the receiver was. This was it—their plan would either work or it wouldn’t.
She passed Steven the two spears they’d liberated from the guards. The soldier stashed them at his side, nodding in thanks. Then Zeema clambered onto the high windowsill and took the short but dangerous leap into the sled.
The vehicle dipped a little, swerving away from the wall, and Steven caught the queen. He helped her settle—then tried to maneuver the sled back to the window.
The door behind Adriana crashed open.
A Rendian guard appeared on the threshold and yelled, “They’re getting away!”