Destiny's Blood (7 page)

Like wildfire, her fury consumed her and she was at the door before her body realized she was moving. Her hand grabbed the cold handle, she held her breath and slit her eyes and pulled. Nothing. The latch was tightly locked, and the door wouldn’t open from this side. Not without more of her instruments, anyway, and there was little in this room to work with.

Her anger dissipated, replaced by exploding pain in her head. She backed up slowly for a few paces, her hand behind her touching the cool metal, and she let herself slide against it, feeling her anger and frustration dissipate into hopelessness. She had hoped to find Yoma, possibly save her, and save her flower shop at the same time, but now...

Now she was alone and desperately afraid, and wishing Yoma had never left her side, and that both of them could be sitting in
Sunrise Flowers
, enjoying their success and the sheer comfort and security that everything was going to be all right, and that all battles had been fought and won.

She closed her eyes and let the tears come, moaning softly as every muscle ached and cried for relief. That was a dream for another life, it seemed.

i

The overhead lights flickered at regular intervals, shutting every fifteen seconds for barely a breath, by Ardin’s count. The stale air, laced with the smells of sweat and urine, pointed to an equally faulty ventilation system.

Wonderful.

Ardin almost turned around at the sight of the excretion-decorated wall. Only the wrath he would have to face from Avienne stayed him. It was only fair. She had kept up her side of the bargain.

He checked himself as he was approached by a high-ranking officer and saluted as he recognized the insignia of a colonel. Sweat lined his stiff collar as the colonel scrutinized his long auburn hair.

The colonel’s eyes darkened with barely a pause in his stride. Ardin released his breath in relief and continued on his way while debating the proper mix of soldierly conduct and guard ease to inject into his walk.

That there was a colonel here wasn’t good. It more than likely meant that a complement of higher ranking officers, the colonel’s entourage, milled somewhere within these walls, as well. Ardin gritted his teeth, wishing he could justify leaving
Destiny’s
drunken navigator behind.

The lights kept flickering as he entered another cell block, the acrid smell of vomit alerting him that he was probably in the right area: the all-night drunken rampage zone.

He carefully stared into each cell for the all-too-familiar lump, grateful at least that this section wasn’t currently being patrolled. Of course, considering how easily he had fooled the guards into believing he was a replacement guard and giving him the jail keys, this likely wasn’t the most well-guarded place from which he had ever had to break Lang out.

He heard the navigator’s snores as Captain Cailan’s mantra, “Our duty is to our own,” collided with every excuse he pondered giving for leaving Lang to rot in this stinking hole. There was never any doubt that “our own” was the small crew of the
Destiny
, which had travelled the stars for almost as long as Ardin could remember, only making berth when supplies or bounty demanded it. But time, sickness and ill luck had left them with too few qualified to run the ship, so the captain had recruited a cocky middle-aged navigator by the name of Lang Locks. Of course, by the time they learned he was a drunk and a derelict, he knew too much about their illegal activities to be let go. And even though he was difficult to deal with whenever they made port, Ardin had to admit that the man was bloody good at what he did.

Which, of course, is only proving to be more annoying
, Ardin thought as he spotted the familiar lump on a cot. Ardin cast a wary glance down both ends of the deserted hallway. The other cells were mercifully empty.

He pulled the metal key from his belt, the outdated system a blessing: no monitor would advise the guards that someone was opening a cell out of schedule. The door groaned and creaked as he pushed it aside, and Ardin cringed as he listened for incoming soldiers. Thankfully, none of them seemed to believe an opening cell door worthy of attention, and Ardin felt a sudden pang of sympathy for the disgruntled colonel.

“Come on, you lousy lump of liquor,” Ardin hissed. He grabbed Lang’s shoulder and flipped him over. Lang’s eyes widened as he slowly blinked away the heaviness of sleep, and on the third blink his brain kicked into action.

“Aaaaaaaaaahhh!” he screamed. Ardin jumped back in surprise, then approached him again, fist drawn back and eyes intent on the thick jowl.

Lang’s screams stopped, but their echoes continued down the metal halls. His groggy, bloodshot eyes took in Ardin’s raised fist.

“Why don’t you just leave me here,” Lang slurred as he rolled back over.

“Because you are, unfortunately, part of the crew,” Ardin sighed. “And besides, we’ve already paid you for the full upcoming year. So unless you’d like to pay us back the money…”

Ardin was cut short as more snores charged forth from the navigator.

“Of all the bloody useless…” Ardin grabbed Lang’s right arm, jostling him half awake, at best. The navigator muttered, but didn’t scream again. Ardin was disappointed. The feel of his fist on the large jowl would have made him feel better.

Ardin took a deep breath, regretting it immediately. The stench of cheap ale assaulted him. He supported Lang, grateful that at least the drink had long ago emancipated the extra fat on the large man
 
—
 
all but a round belly that swelled like a pregnant woman’s beneath his ragged clothes.

Ardin cast a wary glance down both ends of the corridor, dragging Lang out and awkwardly shifting his weight to close the door. The old door screeched again, but didn’t lock, simply bouncing off the latch.

I must need to lock it with the keys.

“Bloody ship, bloody crew,” Lang began muttering, and Ardin feared he would fully waken, which would definitely give them away. He pulled the door just a bit further, where only a tiny gap would alert onlookers that it was still open.

That and the fact that I’m dragging this big lump out of here,
he thought as he began the long walk through the first corridor. On his way in, he had spotted several service corridors that led to a docking port. If the security proved to be as efficient there as at the main gates and in the complex itself, escaping unseen should be fairly easy. Of course, if Lang could manage to walk on his own, escaping would prove to be even easier.

Even if he prided himself on being physically fit, Ardin’s shoulders soon tired under the dead weight of the drunk. As they reached the service corridors and as Ardin began to suspect that no guards were even on duty, Lang moaned and Ardin dropped him and stepped away without a second’s hesitation. Lang lurched on all fours and ungracefully coughed twice before vomiting all over the metal floor. Ardin covered his nose, and resisted the urge to kick Lang in the stomach. Well, it served him right to be sick like a dog, but it would have been nice of him to wait until they reached the
Destiny
so Ardin could actually find gratification in it and not simply worry about getting caught.

“That’ll teach me to buy ale from a Corrarian trader,” Lang huffed between heaves.

“That’ll teach you nothing, you lousy lout,” Ardin replied with none of his usual vigour. He was too busy keeping an eye out for any guards.

“You’re probably right, Ardin.” Lang replied, his voice old. “You’re probably right.”

“Come on, old man,” Ardin gently said. Lang was only in his early forties, but a lifetime of drinking had left him with wrinkles and paper skin that clung to his bones, making him look more like a man of eighty. Lang pushed himself back up with Ardin’s help, and the two set off again at a faster pace, the navigator managing to partially support himself.

“I think we can get out this way,” Ardin said as they turned down another service corridor, metal door after metal door, lined by metal walls and flickering lights.

They had just entered the corridor when the light turned red and alarms rang loudly. Up ahead, stark metal dividers descended from the ceiling.

“So that’s where their security budget went,” Lang muttered.

“No time to reach it,” Ardin grunted. He fumbled with his keys at the nearest door, practically lifted Lang and threw him inside. The metal latched in place behind them just as voices began shouting and the security barrier was being raised to allow the guards access.

Ardin took a deep breath. The soldiers tried the door only once before moving on.

“Ardin,” Lang said softly, and Ardin turned around and saw a young woman, her back to the wall, her head lulled onto her chest. He wasn’t even sure she was alive.

“Blood and guts,” Ardin hissed as he approached her, putting his fingers gently on her neck to feel for a pulse. It was there, it was strong, and at his touch she shifted and moaned.

“I can’t carry both of you out of here,” Ardin cursed, feeling bad for the girl’s fate, but knowing he had other priorities at the moment. Besides, for all he knew, she was a child killer.

“I think I can walk,” Lang whispered, and Ardin, returning to the door and placing his ear against it, listening intently, gave him a quizzical look.

“I think they’ve passed, and we’d better move fast before they check in here.” Ardin pulled out his keys. There was no lock on the metal handle. Nor underneath it.

“What the…” Ardin felt himself grow cold with dread.

There was no way to leave this room except by someone opening the door from the outside.

He punched the door in frustration, scraping his knuckles badly and not caring.

They were trapped.

C
HAPTER
6

D
arkness. Light. Yoma!

Layela’s vision broke as the weave of sleep fell away from her one strand at a time. As quickly as her mind had fallen captive to the images, they were gone, leaving only a shadow of terror behind. If the Kilita had stayed in contact with her longer, she might have managed to fully see the vision  For some reason, she could never recall the visions by herself. They evaporated like dreams as soon as she woke up, leaving behind only impressions and echoes. Ether creatures could release them from her unconscious into her conscious mind, but the Kilita was too eager to unleash her ether. The last time he had done so, a tidal wave of visions had almost destroyed her.

But the persistent and dark vision was about Yoma, she was certain. She would need Josmere’s help to see it. She needed to see the vision to find out more about her sister, and why the thought of Yoma left her heart drowning in dread.

Yoma, where are you?

She heard shuffling in the room with her; the hairs on her arm stood at attention. She forced her breath to remain steady. She was fairly certain she had not yet revealed the fact that she was awake, and didn’t intend to do so until she knew who was there and what their intentions were.

From outside the room, she could hear voices smothered by metal: some shouting, others discussing, and a few laughing. She heard some shuffling and the voices neared the door, but passed just as quickly. Someone in the room sighed in frustration, another fought back laughter, each noise grating her strained nerves.

So there were two in the room with her. She doubted it was the colonel and the Kilita, which offered her some relief, but very little.

“They’re going to find us eventually,” a man said, his voice thick. “I can pretend I took you hostage.” He gave a low chuckle.

“You’re too much of a lump to make such a claim,” a younger man replied, his voice tense.

“Well, we should figure out how to get out. You can only carry one of us, so take the girl if I can’t follow. I’ve nothing to go back to,” the older-sounding man replied, and Layela’s breath caught in her throat. Who were these two?

“I ought to leave you rotting in here, but the captain wouldn’t like that.”

The room was silent for a moment, then suddenly the young man spoke from right beside her. “Are you feeling all right?” She jerked at his proximity even though his voice conveyed only concern.

She opened her eyes and looked at the man, her heart skipping a beat as she saw his prison guard uniform.

“Don’t worry, I’m not actually a guard,” he quickly clarified.

Though he crouched beside her she could see he was tall, his long reddish-brown hair neatly tied in a ponytail at the nape of his neck. Not exactly standard soldier protocol. His eyes were the colour of flint, deep pools reflecting concern. Their corners showed that he’d already had much laughter in his days, even though he was still young
 
—
 
perhaps only a few years older than she. And, despite her first reaction, she now felt no fear of him. Suspicion at his rogue look and curiosity at why he was dressed up as a guard, perhaps, but not fear.

His gaze was steady as she studied him, and she realized she was blushing. She tried to speak to cover her embarrassment, but coughed on dry blood instead.

“Drink this,” the man said, bringing a canister to her lips. She smelled the alcohol before she drank it, and took just enough to wash the blood down. The last thing she needed was for her tired body to take to the alcohol.

“Sorry,” he winced as he saw her taking only a small sip. “I didn’t think I’d be in need of water today.”

“Thank you.” The words cracked, but at least she could speak.

“My name’s Ardin and this is Lang,” the younger man said, not looking at the older man as he introduced him.

“Lilac,” Layela instinctively lied; she always chose a random flower name when she felt her own shouldn’t be revealed.

The man nodded, not questioning it. His eyes narrowed as he examined her closely.

“Why are you in here?”

Layela gave a short laugh at the question before she could think better of it. The man’s eyes narrowed even further. She saw no point in lying.