by Anthea Sharp
At the temple, Shade had seemed to understand when Liza spoke to her, and would occasionally let herself be directed. Once, she’d even flown to the top of the high ceiling and then batted at the small basket of marigold petals she carried about her neck, letting them cascade down in a shower of gold.
It was a trick the old priest had taught her. In retrospect, Liza wondered if the old man knew how useful such a thing might be.
“How did you come up with this plan?” Liza asked. “And on such short notice?”
“Your cat found me, and wouldn’t let me alone. She was making a spectacle of herself, and it was evident she wanted me to follow her. To keep her quiet, I did. She led me to an apothecary shop, marched along the counter as pretty as you please, and set her paw on that vial of knockout.”
“You are a marvel,” Liza said to the lump nestled beside her.
Shade’s purring intensified.
“It took me some time to understand that she wanted me to fasten the vial about her neck,” Squire Kenwick admitted. “By then, I knew I had to find a weapon of some sort.”
“Why a stun rod?”
“It was the only thing I had enough credits for,” he said sheepishly.
Touched, Liza glanced at him. “You spent all your credits for this?”
“I’ll be able to get more.” He sounded a bit unsure of the fact, however. “And it was for a worthy cause, indeed.”
“And I thank you for your efforts on my behalf, good sir.”
No doubt Squire Kenwick thought of himself as her knight errant now. Unfortunate, as her life demanded she be as unencumbered as possible.
Although—without Shade and the well-meaning squire, she’d still be in the tender clutches of the bounty hunters. Perhaps a bit of encumbrance wasn’t such a bad thing, after all.
He paused as the corridor they’d been traversing ended in a T. “Now where?”
Where indeed? They had to get off the station as soon as possible.
“What time is it?”
Squire Kenwick pulled out his pocket watch and glanced down, the glowing numbers shedding blue light over his features. “Half past two.”
Liza rolled on her side, her feet clunking uselessly at the end of her legs, and pulled out her tablet. Quickly, she found the station network and brought up the list of imminent departures.
“Berth 142,” she said. It was the only transport leaving at the top of the hour. “Turn right.”
“What ship is it, and bound where?”
“The Kisa, headed to Alpha Centauri.” A bit too close to Earth for her liking, but it was the only option. Beggars, choosers, and all that. “We’ll take the passage the bounty hunters arranged, and be long gone by the time they wake. That is, if you agree…”
She trailed off, studying Squire Kenwick’s round, jovial face. He’d been pulled into her mess and, despite everything, had helped save her. It was unfair of her to expect him to continue to be embroiled in her troubles.
“Are you suggesting leaving me behind?” He looked so offended at the notion, she couldn’t help but smile.
“Once I’m aboard, you needn’t accompany me any further. Perhaps you’d prefer to make other arrangements.”
He winced slightly. “I haven’t the means, currently. And although you seem to be a somewhat capable young lady, I can’t leave you to make your way, unescorted and wounded. Especially with such unsavory characters after you.”
He glanced over his shoulder, as if expecting to see the bounty hunters in hot pursuit.
Shade made a little chirp of agreement, and that settled the matter.
Liza knew she had some explaining to do. Luckily, their arrival at Berth 142 took precedence.
“Medical bay doors,” she said in a low voice, nodding to the aft of the ship. “Just bluster on through. I need to play unconscious.”
His ruddy cheeks paling, he nodded at her. “Did they give any names? The bounty hunters, I mean.”
She thought back. “Lugash, I think the man was called. If they ask for a password, try ale.”
“Ale? As in beer?”
Liza nodded. “Good luck.”
She let her head fall back and closed her eyes, trying to force some of the tension out of her body. It must have worked well enough, for the guard at the door paid her no mind.
“Lugash here,” Squire Kenwick said, pitching his voice low and clipping his words. He didn’t sound like a bounty hunter—but he didn’t sound like a gentleman, either. “Need to board. With my cargo.”
“Oh, aye? There’s supposed to be two of you.”
“New business came up. She made other plans off-station.”
There was a pause, presumably as the guard accessed his screen. Liza didn’t dare peek, though she desperately wanted to.
“You’re approved,” the guard said. “First bay on the left. And hurry it up—we depart in ten minutes.”
None too soon.
The medicot lurched forward, the wheels clunking onto the rougher surface of the ship’s floors. She heard the whoosh of a door opening, then closing.
“You can open your eyes,” Squire Kenwick whispered.
“Don’t forget to lock the door,” she said, just as softly.
He pivoted, and a moment later the locking mechanism engaged.
“Should I put you in there?” he asked, nodding to the padded medical berth.
She let out a tiny shudder. “No—just lower the cot and we can put me in the extra jump seat. I’m starting to be able to feel my feet.”
Hopefully, by the time they landed on Alpha Centauri, she’d be able to walk off the ship under her own power.
Though they struggled to get her out of the cot and buckled into the flight seat, it was easier than installing her on the medicot had been. Shade emerged from beneath the covers to watch, her eyes bright with interest. Liza belted in while the squire stored the cot in the hatch beneath the medical berth, and then made sure their luggage was secured.
“What about Princess?” he asked, taking the second seat.
“Princess?” For a frigid second, Liza thought he was referring to her, that somehow he’d discovered her true identity, and was simply picking up where the bounty hunters had left off.
Then he nodded to Shade, and she slumped in relief.
“Your cat,” he said. “I didn’t know what to call her.”
“Shade. And I can hold her in my lap.”
He nodded. “A fitting name. Though a bit practical, don’t you think?”
“I am a practical woman,” she replied.
“Are you, now?” He gave her a quizzical look. “What’s all this business about, then? Bounty hunters after you and whatnot. Seems a bit irregular.”
Liza petted Shade’s feathery wings and launched into the story she’d come up with as they’d hurried to catch the Kisa.
“It’s my uncle, Lord Farthingale. He doesn’t believe I should be out traveling the galaxy on my own. I’ve been ignoring his summons to return, and apparently he engaged the bounty hunters to bring me back to Londinium.”
The squire looked affronted. “That’s not very gentlemanly of him! Why, those bounty hunters seemed more like ruffians than the types who could be trusted to escort a lady home.”
“My uncle believes in expediency.” She let out a sigh. “I suppose I ought to go sort matters out, however. There is nothing more ignominious than being dragged home by unsavory thugs.”
A loud beep sounded in the room, then echoed down the corridor.
“Attention all decks. Prepare for our on-time departure to Alpha Centauri. Crew members, ensure that all passengers are securely harnessed.”
Squire Kenwick sent her a worried glance. “Are they going to come and check on us?”
“No—I believe these seats are on auto-sensor. See the green light there? It shows that all occupants of this medical bay are safely belted in.”
Shade let out a little chirp, and Liza glanced down, smiling. “Well, not all occupan
ts. But the ones in the seats, at any rate.”
“Stand by in three, two, one.” The ship’s announcement rang out, accompanied by a lurch and the sound of clanking metal. “Undocking complete.”
Liza let out a breath and felt her shoulders relax. They’d made it off the station.
“I wish we had a window,” Squire Kenwick said, a bit ruefully. “I like to see the stars.”
“So do I.” Liza shot him a companionable glance. “But once we’re underway, it will probably be safe to go to the observation deck.” And hopefully find a bit of something to eat.
And then?
The words she’d spoken earlier to the squire echoed through her. There is nothing more ignominious than being dragged home by unsavory thugs.
It was the absolute truth. And she was tired of running.
Perhaps it was time for Princess Elizabeth Calloway von Saxe-Roth to confront her family, and win her freedom once and for all. She owed herself, her companions—and most of all, her dreams—no less.
As if sensing her thoughts, Shade settled down in Liza’s lap with a satisfied purr. Stroking the soft gray fur, Liza’s conviction solidified. It wouldn’t be easy, staying one step ahead of the bounty hunters, but she had fortitude, and allies. And a future waiting among the stars.
But first, it was time to go home.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This story draws on the Icelandic fairy tale Kisa the Cat, where an intrepid feline saves her princess mistress from a giant who kidnaps her and cuts off her feet. Although the cat in that tale cannot fly, she can perform magic, which is almost as good. If you’d like to read more about Liza’s adventures, pick up Comets & Corsets, which includes three more stories detailing her history, including how she first meets Shade.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Anthea Sharp is the USA Today bestselling author of the Feyland series, where faerie magic and high-tech gaming collide. In addition to the fae fantasy/cyberpunk mashup of Feyland, she also writes fantasy romance and Victorian Spacepunk set in the world of Victoria Eternal. Find out more at antheasharp.com and join her mailing list for a free story!
True.love - Alethea Kontis
The music stopped as Brandon reached the ruined castle at the top of the mountain. Wind whistled in his ears. There was a sense of sulphur in the air. His heart pounded in his chest. With one hand he pulled his sword from its sheath, revealing the intricate pattern of thorns that twisted around the deadly blade. With the other hand he removed a golden key from the pouch at his belt and unlocked the dark castle’s massive door.
The dragon met him on the other side.
He brandished his sword and raised his shield. The crimson rose on the face of it glowed with protective magic. He quickly spotted his destination: the treasure room door. On the opposite side of the beast.
Brandon stared up at the dragon and quietly took a deep breath. Its black scales had an iridescent indigo sheen. Its wings were scored and tattered, but still strong. If that mythological vulnerable patch at the base of its neck existed, Brandon couldn’t see it.
The surest way to lose a fight against a dragon was to make the first move…but nothing fought for was nothing won. Brandon felt like a toy soldier in comparison to the beast, but his lack of size also meant that agility was on his side. His mind raced, focusing on his destination, trying to calculate a path across the room that would minimize his interaction with the dragon.
The dragon snorted, distracting Brandon for a moment. It lowered its serpentine head to the ground and stared at Brandon with eyes of blood and flame. It did not open those massive jaws and gobble him whole. Instead, the dragon raised a sinewy forearm, lifted a deadly claw, and brushed Brandon’s nose with the tip.
“Boop,” said the dragon.
“Mal?”
The dragon grinned a toothy nightmare. “Hiya, kid. How are you?”
“Great.” Brandon’s shoulders dropped in defeat. He sheathed his sword and returned his shield to inventory. “I don’t suppose you have a spare key? I burned my last one trying to acquire the grail behind that door, which I assume is now gone.”
Mal absolutely had the ability to hack herself into a game and leave without a trace, but she wouldn’t have bothered wasting precious code on her little brother.
“Seriously?” The dragon’s aspect shimmered, shifting into humanoid form. The woman that stood before Brandon now was only eight feet tall instead of eighty. Her hair was still black, as were her eyes and large wings. The black design that covered her body seemed to be half lace and half tattoos. “You never play the games you create. What is it about this old chestnut, anyway? How many times have you become King of Dyrlland? How many princesses have you saved? You must have quite the electronic harem by now.”
“Come on, Mal,” he said. His sister was such a purist. She was always pestering him about not trying harder to have a real life in the Real World. Brandon hadn’t been interested in the Real World since their parents had died in a train crash fifteen years ago.
Mal said nothing.
Her name was really Elinor, but she’d been Malwere—Mal for short—the second she was old enough to claim a gamer tag. “Mal” for a million obvious reasons; “were” because her avatars always involved some animal aspect or another. In contrast, Brandon never had a desire to be anything other than “Brandon.” His login was Brandon24276464.
The dark angel raised her hand. Golden keys rained from her palm into a pile at his feet. Brandon narrowed his eyes at her as he saved them to inventory. For all that she was a bleeding heart Gardener hacktivist, Mal rarely gave him anything unconditionally.
“What do you want, Mal?”
“A favor.”
Well, at least she didn’t waste time quibbling. “For a bunch of keys?”
“For the armor.”
Mort.
“The time has come, Brandon. It needs to end, so a new era can begin.”
Brandon hadn’t asked for much in his life. When their parents died, Mal had been old enough—and smart enough—to take care of them both. She’d sought assistance from the Gardeners, as their parents would have wished. The community had embraced the two orphans without hesitation.
Gardeners were a sect who eschewed the electronic way of life, focusing instead on actual human interaction. That’s not to say they didn’t dabble at all. A faction called The Cut ventured into the online world and constantly fought against the electronic establishment. Their greatest feat to date was Look Up, a virus that found its way onto screens around the world and prompted the user to “look up” at the Real World around them. The elegant simplicity of the bug raised considerable awareness of the Gardeners, and added thousands to the movement.
Mal had been instrumental in the launch of Look Up. She was so passionate about the cause. Brandon wished he felt passion like that about anything.
Unlike his sister, Brandon sought solace in the virtual world. He shied away from other people. He completed his online classwork, watched his vids, and played his games without bothering anyone else. As long as he participated in a few community events and wrote the odd code, Mal had left her kid brother alone to grieve in his own way.
Until the armor.
Over the years, Brandon had become obsessed with Dyrlland, an old adventure game containing a myriad of twisted supplementary side quests. Even though it was decades old, it became fashionable for websites to offer promotional avatar skins of the cult classic to new registrants. After much research, the skin Brandon decided he wanted the most was from True.love. Unfortunately, Brandon was only thirteen, well under the matchmaking site’s legal age limit, and the offer was for a limited time only.
True.love was the relationship website to beat all others. Every person who signed up at True.love found what they were looking for, no matter what their proclivity. Every single one. Mal and Brandon’s parents—a hapless astrotech and a romantic English Classics instructor—had found each other through that site. Ev
eryone’s parents’ had. Due to the wide range of offerings and one hundred percent satisfaction rating, registration required a million personal details. More than a few were traps meant to stop unsuitable candidates.
Mal rose to the challenge and dove into True.love’s massively complex server. She ultimately found it was easier to hack Brandon’s birth records and change his age than it was to breach True.love’s protocols. He still remembered their conversation the day he’d opened the v-mail containing the skin’s confirmation code.
“You’ll owe me for this one day, gamer boy,” Mal told him.
“You’re the best sister ever,” he said with stars in his eyes.
“I’d have to be, to wade into that hellhole,” she replied. “All that data…True.love eats it, sells it, and who knows what else. Every tiny little preferential detail right down to DNA—who wouldn’t want to get their hands on that? You want to know what’s really running things? Sites like this.”
“It’s just a convenience,” Brandon reminded her.
“Love should not be convenient,” she said adamantly. “Love takes faith. True.love may be bringing people together, but I argue that it’s not love. Taking down that site might just save the Real World someday.” She made him look at her then, pushing the screen of his tablet down far enough to reflect in her green-gray eyes. “And someday, my genius little brother will help me with that.”
“Sure, whatever,” he’d said, as any teenager would.
The suit of armor he’d received that day—despite being flamboyantly branded with the roses and thorns of the True.love masthead—ended up being the most valuable item in his arsenal. The code written for that skin was so powerful and so foolproof that the Dyrlland Game Runners were forced to run a background executable to pull it from play without notice. Only, they missed the handful of gamers whose characters happened to be actively wearing the skin at the time. The software company considered the man-hours required to deal with the loophole and ultimately allowed those lucky few gamers to keep the skin. They became a guild of sorts, calling themselves the Rosenthorn Guard.