Into the Black Page 3

My face warms. I hold a breath in my chest and swallow my irritation. “And you are?”

  “Currently in charge, at least until the Council arrives.” He lifts a slice of blue ljuma with a bit of melted cream dripping off it and wrinkles his nose. “The lack of refrigeration is going to be a nuisance.” He lowers the bowl and claps twice—a servant tidying up in the corner hesitantly steps forward.

  “You,” he says. “Figure out a way to keep the fruit and cream chilled. The last thing we want is to present lukewarm food and melted cream to the former leaders of our world.”

  My mouth drops open—the last Sira just killed his brother and committed an act of genocide. There was an explosion in the capital, nanites—the foundation of our economy—have been destroyed, military rule is barely keeping the peace, and he’s concerned about cream?

  But now, with this ridiculous display, I know exactly who he is—Niro d’Asheron, Sira Roma’s former advisor. Though I’d never met him myself, I’d heard stories of his … let’s say lavish behavior. Despite his arrogant reputation, he’s supposedly a brilliant strategist and works closely with Roma’s top military commanders. Now, without a Sira, it seems he’s taken over keeping things running, at least until the Emergency Council arrives.

  “The cooling systems are down.” The servant lowers her gaze. “None of the nanite-run technology has worked ever since—”

  “I’m aware, which is why I’m assigning you the task of figuring out an alternative method of keeping the food cool. I will not dishonor the greatest city in Safara by presenting our leaders with melted cream. Understood?”

  “Sha, ve,” she says quietly.

  “Good.”

  I watch, stunned, as the girl hurries out of the hall. He notices me staring and lifts both eyebrows. “Is there a problem?”

  Stating the obvious isn’t going to do me any favors, so I try a different tactic. “What preparations are being made to receive Eros?”

  He stares blankly back at me. “Eros?”

  “Sira Asha’s son. The one ana da Kala Serek appointed.” I use the honorific with Serek’s name to respect the newly dead during the eight-set mourning period—Kala’s heart, meant to indicate even Kala is in mourning over his passing.

  “The half-blood, you mean.”

  “The next in line to take the throne, sha.”

  “Well, ana da Kala Serek’s claim will need to be confirmed, of course, by our best geneticists. They’ve found the genetic test Serek ran on the half-blood and are analyzing it. But assuming the former young Sira-kaï—all respect spoken to him—ran his analysis correctly, it’ll be up to the Council to decide what to do, assuming the half-blood returns to Asheron at all, of course. As I understand, he took off right after the explosion at Jol’s Arena—”

  “After we tried to execute him.”

  Niro waves his hand and shrugs. “The circumstances of his disappearance are less important than the fact that he is not in the capital he is trying to claim as his own. Not the most resounding exemplification of strong leadership, if you ask me.”

  Heat gathers in my chest, dissolving my body’s trembling into something still. Something sharp as a sun glare and hard as stone. “And I suppose you would have hung around the capital after narrowly escaping your own execution, then?”

  He scoffs. “Well I certainly wouldn’t have abandoned the city of my heart.”

  “Then you’d have been caught and killed and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” Niro’s right eyelid twitches. I suppress a smile. “Eros hasn’t abandoned anyone. He’ll return and take his rightful place on the throne.”

  “Whether it’s his place to take will be up to the Council to decide.” He pops a slice of ljuma in his mouth and chews it slowly, his lips glistening with sticky, blue juice. “But as far as I’m concerned, if he’s not here to make his claim, there’s little point in discussing it. The Council won’t appoint someone who has fled from his responsibility, no matter how legitimate his credentials are. Of course, you already know that, being a former Avra yourself.” He smirks and lifts his eyebrows. “Speaking of which, what are you still doing here? You no longer have a throne or any claim to one, and while I understand you had a relationship with ana da Kala Serek and you’re no longer welcome in Elja, this isn’t a refugee center.”

  I was prepared for this question. I am prepared for this question. But the reminder that I’m not wanted anywhere, that I’ve failed so miserably, stings nonetheless. “I am Eros’s representative in his temporary absence. As such, I’ve the right to stay as long as his claim is being considered.”

  “Not long then.” Niro smiles and turns away, walking toward the door with the bowl in his hand. But not before he adds one more parting gift: “By the way, how is Elja doing these days? I hear your brother has quite a situation on his hands. It’d be a shame to see such a respectable territory crumble under weak leadership.”

  And with that, he smiles at me and slips out of the room, his words like knives in my gut.

  Mal’s fingers dig into my ribs as we ride back west, away from Asheron, backtracking all the progress we made today. For the first tense seg, it seems almost like they’re taking us back to camp, and I imagine us riding into camp like this, a circle of armed Remnant people on sand bikes with Mal and me stuck in the middle. Someone looking in might think they were protecting me like some kinduv ragtag security detail, but this is not that.

  This is much worse.

  My sweaty palms slip on the bike’s handles as the suns beat stars onto my back. I take deep, even breaths behind the headscarf I tied around my mouth and nose to filter out the kicked-up sand, trying to calm my erratic heartbeat. I need to focus and clear my mind—I can’t let my nerves make me jumpy and dull. But the truth is I’m terrified this is going to go every bit as wrong as it could. That they’ll try to hurt Mal, or take him away from me, or use him to get me to do what they want, or, or—

  Enough.

  I have two knives strapped to my legs, and one strapped to Mal’s just in case. I don’t know where they’re taking us, but I know these sands and how to handle myself. I’ll do whatever’s necessary to keep us safe.

  I’ll stop at nothing to protect Mal.

  Another seg passes before the first real landmark drifts onto the horizon—a towering cluster of spiky rocks like enormous sharpened stakes, with a plateau in front and a group of dark shapes scattered across the base: Devil’s Eye, and the abandoned city Kora called Enjos.

  My stomach twists as we race closer—just five sets ago, I made this exact same route alone, whispering hold on under my breath as I pictured Kora dehydrated in the desert. But she was in more danger than even I expected. When I got there, she wasn’t alone.

  And the men who cornered her weren’t interested in a chat.

  I lean forward, focusing on the pressure of Mal’s fingers on my sides; on the fresh, arid smell of the world baking under the suns; on the hot wind pressing against my face; on the powdery sand coating my cheeks, mixing with my sweat and dripping down my skin in blood-like trails.

  I won’t think about what happened last time I was here.

  I won’t think about Kora.

  I won’t.

  We pass the bodies left to rot in the sand—most of them have been eaten, their bones picked clean by kazim or ugly as fuck predatory birds. We pass a guy who still kinduv has half a face, with shriveled skin on the left side, gaping holes where his eyes were, his skull and jaw visible on the right side of his face. Another with his midsection busted open, ribs scattered across the sands. Mal rests his forehead against my back, but no one else seems surprised by the corpses; they ride past them like they’re just rocks or prickleplant bushes.

  We stop in the center of the ruins that were once a city. And it’s like the universe is taunting me, because out of all the places we could have stopped in this dead city, we stop right in front of an old building with a low, sharply peaked roof and stone with faded, shiny blue paint. It’s the buildin
g where Kora and I … whatever that was. That building.

  I bite my lip and try to help Mal off my bike, but he shakes his head and stumbles off himself, crossing his arms over his chest. Pretty sure he’s telling me not to baby him.

  Shaw smirks. “You know where we are?”

  Why is he smirking?

  Wait.

  Fuck.

  Does he know?

  “Enjos,” I say evenly.

  His lips quirk and someone chuckles behind me. “Sure,” he says. “Enjos. Look any different from last time you were here?”

  Well, of course he fucken knows—why wouldn’t he? My chest tightens and fists clench. I scowl. “Fuck off.”

  He laughs and gestures for us to follow him as he starts toward the building. “C’mon.”

  I swallow my irritation and rest my hand on Mal’s shoulder.

  “What was that about?” Mal whispers.

  “Nothing,” I mumble. “He’s just being a jerk.”

  I glance around, but our circle of escorts make it hard to see much of anything. Snippets of a building here, a sand dune there, a crumbled home, a patch of tube-like prickleplants, a dried-out fetcher skeleton. Nothing to indicate any kinduv camp out here, nothing to hint that a group of heavily armed humans live here, somewhere.

  But that time out here with Kora, I would have noticed if someone else was here, wouldn’t I? Unless—there was a mo, a blink where I thought I saw someone, but it passed so quickly I figured I’d just imagined it. But what if I hadn’t imagined it? What if someone was out here, watching us when we—

  You know what? I don’t want to know.

  But apparently we aren’t just walking near the building Kora and I defiled, because Shaw ducks into it. Great. Out of all the buildings out here, and there are more than I can count. One after another, our escorts duck under the crumbling doorway. Mal and I enter and more file in behind us.

  It’s dark inside, the ground covered with a thick layer of sand. This entrance room is small—too small to fit all of us, but it opens into a larger room twice the size of Kora’s Asheron bedroom, which is to say, ridiculously big. This can’t have been someone’s home, unless someone was disgustingly rich and wanted to be able to house, like, two hundred people. But as big as the room is, there isn’t much left of it. The ceiling has collapsed in spots, leaving large piles of rubble buried in sand. The walls are tiled with some kinduv blue, pink, and purple metal spotted with patterns I guess were once filled with something valuable because the patterns have been stripped off, probably looted.

  Mal squints at everything, but continues silently forward with his arms tight at his sides, fists clenched. Shaw leads the group to the very end of the room where some kinduv stage is elevated but also buried in sand and debris. He walks to the center of the platform, crouches, and starts clearing away sand with his hands. A man and woman join him to help dig until Shaw reaches down and pulls a dirty metal handle out of the ground.

  He leans back as the man and woman grab the handle too, then together they pull, straining as a low groaning noise fills the room and they open a black, metal door out from under the sand.

  And it hits me like a humiliating kick to the stomach: their base isn’t just in the city where Kora and I had that moment I wish we could take back.

  It’s in the fucken building we made out against.

  “In you go,” Shaw says.

  I walk up to the edge of the hole in the ground where the door once was. It’s dark—too dark to see the bottom—and there are ladder rails in the wall that reach all the way to the bottom. I frown—is Mal going to be able to do this?

  I glance at Mal. “It’s a ladder—”

  “I’m not dense,” he says quickly. “I guessed, just go.”

  “Are you—”

  “Go.”

  I’m probably embarrassing him. He’s young, but he’s not a little kid, and messed up eyesight or not, he’s not going to want to be treated like one. I lower myself into the hole, gripping the first cool, rough handle. I descend slowly, keeping my gaze up until Mal climbs in after me and starts descending. He’s trying to act brave, like this is fine, like he isn’t completely blind in this tunnel, like he’s okay. But he’s shaking and I can’t blame him. This is unnerving to me; to him it must be even worse.

  We move lower and lower, and the deeper we go, the cooler and darker it gets. I don’t know how long we climb, but it feels like forever, and by the time my foot hits solid ground, my breath is rattling in my lungs and I can’t see a fucken thing. I hold the edge of the ladder and move out of the way until my back hits a wall. Mal’s feet pat against the cold floor next, and I find his hand on the edge of the ladder then pull him back against me. He doesn’t protest and stands shivering in my arms.

  A thump, and Shaw’s voice echoes through the blackness. “Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” He laughs, and then a cracking noise makes me jump as a glow bursts through the darkness. Shaw shakes a thin, glowing green tube, says, “Heads up,” then tosses it to me.

  I catch it and frown at the bright green light. It’s not warm like I expected, and the light is coming from some kinduv liquid inside the tube.

  “You know what that is?” Shaw cracks another against his leg and shakes it, grinning.

  “A light,” I answer dully.

  He laughs. “Yeah, but it’s not just any light—it’s 100% bond and fie human made. Crazy old Earth tech, can you believe it? The Old Ones called them glow sticks. Took us forever to figure out a Safara-equivalent formula for the liquid, but we managed it.”

  I guess this is supposed to impress me, and maybe it would if he hadn’t fucken kidnapped Mal and me and forced us to be here. But instead I just stare at him.

  Shaw whistles and nudges a guy next to him, snickering. “Tough crowd.”

  Is this guy for real? Does he think we’re just going to warm up to him after blowing us up and threatening us to get us to go with him because he gave us a fucken glow stick? Does he really think I’m going to laugh and enjoy his jokes when we’re effectively his prisoners?

  “Lighten up.” He nudges me as he passes. It takes everything in me not to nudge him back. With my fist. In his face.

  The detail forms around us again as we follow Shaw down a narrow, black tunnel. Shaw spins the glow stick in his hand as we walk, making jokes to the guy next to him all the way down the fucken tunnel until we reach a heavy, circular door made of some kinduv thick, black metal. No handle, just a sleek, dark wall.

  Shaw raps on the door with the light stick and laughs. “Sis, we’re home! And we’ve got a very special guest. Isn’t that right, Eros? Oh, and, uh, what’s your name, kid?”

  To his credit, Mal glares at Shaw instead of answering.

  Shaw just laughs and shrugs. “And a real tough kid who’s too cool to give us his name.”

  A loud click echoes around the tunnel and Shaw takes a couple steps back as the door swings open. He grins at Mal and me, his teeth glowing green in the artificial light. “C’min, now, don’t be shy. Grumpy guests first.”

  I grip Mal’s shoulder as we enter the open doorway. Mal trips over the lip, but I hold him up and then we’re in.

  It’s dim in here—wherever here is—but it’s not pitch black, which is a step up from the outer tunnel and ladder. White lightstrips are embedded into the ceiling and walls, which all seem to be built out of sand and rock. I have no idea how deep we are, but if the cool temperature and damp air is any indication, we’re deep, and the thought of being so far from the surface makes my chest tighten. The suns can’t reach us down here, and the air must be pumped in somehow because they’d all suffocate otherwise.

  I glance at Mal, and I’m not sure if it’s a trick of the light, but his brown, freckled skin seems pale. Hopefully he’s not imagining this whole place crumbling under the weight of the world and burying everyone down here alive, like I am.

  “Not bad, yeah?” Shaw smiles at us. “Of course, you haven’t seen the really impres
sive stuff yet, but still.”

  “You run your base underground,” I say.

  “Yup.” Shaw steps ahead of us and starts walking. “But you’ll learn all about that in a mo. C’mon.”

  He leads us down yet another tunnel that branches off on both sides into at least ten other tunnels on either side before turning right. This tunnel isn’t as empty as the first was—people in identical red uniforms walk down this hall, stepping to the side and pointing their right hands to their right temples as we pass; some sortuv salute, I guess.

  This herding is uncomfortably familiar—a couple terms ago, Jarek, not Shaw, led me through foreign halls with the threat of my life hanging over my head. And given how well that ended, I can’t help but worry this won’t be any better.

  Difference: I’m armed this time.

  Difference: Mal is with me.

  Difference: These are humans at least trying to play nice. While holding us at phaserpoint, of course, but I guess it counts for something that they’re pretending we’re on the same side.

  Or maybe not. At least in Vejla, I knew where I stood and no one insulted my intelligence by trying to convince me otherwise.

  We weave through a ton of turns—third right, second left, right, sixth right, seventh left. This place is a labyrinth, and Shaw’s probably taking us a roundabout way to try to confuse me. But if Shaw thinks I’m going to forget the route back just because it’s complicated, he’s underestimating me.

  Finally, we stop at another circular, handle-less black door, but this time Shaw doesn’t need to knock and it doesn’t swing open—it rolls to the side, disappearing into the thick sand wall.

  And this time, Shaw doesn’t gesture for us to go in first—he waltzes in with his shoulders back and head held high. The detail moves forward, and I give Mal a light squeeze before we step inside.

  “Lip,” I whisper as we step into the doorway—Mal steps over it and mumbles something I’m pretty sure was supposed to be thanks. I’ll take it.

  Unlike the bare halls we just spent a good ten mos strolling around, this room is packed with people and tech. And unlike Shaw, a lot of the guys down here are bearded, like some of his detail—and many of them are so pale they look ill. The sandstone walls are lined with monitors like giant glass tablets, multicolored lights flicker on and off around us, and at least twenty people are seated in rows with their backs to us, looking at the many screens covering the far wall as they work on their own personal glasses. It’s some kinduv security room, I guess—every glass has a different image of various hallways and rooms, and different views of the abandoned city above us. How did they get all this tech? I’d never even seen a glass—let alone a giant screen—until I lived in Kora’s palace complex. But these people are overflowing with technology the nomads only ever whispered about.