Earthrise (Her Instruments Book 1) (4 page)

The first frissons of the Harat-Shar’s mind traveled up Hirianthial’s fingers, rising through the thin layer of clothing and fur. The Eldritch sensed the dull stupor of the subconscious struggling against the body, the quick red flashes of dreams and disconnected thoughts. He ignored them, seeking any other signs of damage, and found none.

“You’ll be fine,” he murmured to the Harat-Shar before turning to the Phoenix. A similar inspection brought him the susurrus of the Phoenix’s alien thoughts but no cause for worry. As he examined the second being, Hirianthial reluctantly admired the precision of the palmer shot. Something about the metallic iridescence of Phoenix feathers diffused palmer fire—to take down a Phoenix required a shot at the head, hands or feet where feathers thinned to down or skin. Since Phoenixae had fearsome taloned fingers and toes, felling one at a distance was a wise idea.

Aside from the palmer burns, neither patient showed any signs of his guards’ attentions; Red had a particularly hard backhand, difficult to miss. He set them both on their backs with enough straw to keep them from sore heads and spines. Sitting back on his heels, Hirianthial managed a wry smile. If Red had planned these two to discomfit him, he should have used a lower setting on the palmer.

Still, he couldn’t resist wondering: who were they? And what were they doing here? Hirianthial frowned at the newcomers while unrolling his sleeves and tightening the laces again. Perhaps when they woke they’d be amenable to conversation. He wouldn’t be surprised if they’d been caught unawares and had no idea what this place was or why they’d been imprisoned. So it went with pirates and slavers.

Hirianthial retreated to his corner and resumed his silent vigil. He extended a thread of attention toward his two charges before allowing the rest of his mind to drift into trance. His ability to sense others without having to touch them was rare among Eldritch and had always been both boon and bane. Against the unpleasant over-sensitivity it gave him to touching a waking person, he could favorably weigh this ability to monitor patients without machinery. It lacked specificity, but he’d used it countless times while working to track the general health of his patients. It had also proven useful in this ancillary mission for Liolesa. Not useful enough to keep him out of his present situation, but one could not fault the talent for the mistakes of its user.

Neither of his patients woke before Red and Blond returned with another two bodies. Hirianthial didn’t open his eyes, watching their auras instead: hot yellow violence with spurts of green for Red, Blond with similar yellows but with flashes of sizzling brown resentment, and in their arms another pair of dull grey auras.

“More guests for you,” Red said. “Getting fairly crowded in here, isn’t it?”

Hirianthial didn’t reply.

“Set them there.”

“There” was near enough to him that their physical presence crimped his own aura. Hirianthial sucked it in until he felt well and truly trapped in his corner. He was not a claustrophobic man but even he had his moments of Eldritch xenophobia. Had they been awake and mobile, he would have been forced to sink into meditation to combat the urge to flee.

They were not awake. They were not well. They were patients, not threats.

Hirianthial held himself still until the guards lost their patience and left, taking their spurts of sick green humor with them. Then he unfolded first one leg and then the next and opened his eyes.

The nearest body belonged to another Harat-Shar, female this time, and similar enough to the first that Hirianthial wondered at their relation. He gently turned her face, reading her body’s louder complaints over her mind’s unconscious murmurs through his fingers. He found the burn on her jaw that had put her down and verified the lack of any secondary effect before pulling her over to rest against the male. Lying beside one another their similarities were so marked Hirianthial judged them closer than mere kin. Twins, perhaps. Even the stripe patterns on their brows mimicked one another.

That left one more person. Hirianthial returned to the other end of the cell, retying one of the laces that had come undone while dragging the tigraine. The glimpse he caught through his fingers made the laces slip back down, forgotten. The Eldritch went to one knee next to the woman on the floor.

He wasn’t sure what arrested his attention first—her body or her health. He’d seen countless humans in his studies and rotations, enough to recognize her light-boned limbs as an indication of a low gravity origin... space-born, or one of the Moon or Mars colonies. Probably the latter, given her short stature. Nor would he have called her beautiful, though he found the chocolate honey hue of her skin exotic, and her braided and beaded hair reminded him of a noblewoman’s coif. It was her mien despite unconsciousness that fascinated him. Her limbs were clenched. Her fingers still had a hint of a curl, as if they were trying to remain fisted. Even her brow was furrowed.

Her state was so grievous a collection of pre-existing conditions that he warred over touching her. Just running his hands over her aura scored him with lances of pain, irritation and swelling. The area over her stomach made him want to check his palm for blood. The spikes that pierced her aura despite its weighted unconsciousness matched her tense posture for stubbornness. If she was so obstinate in her sleep, it beggared the imagination to picture her awake.

Hirianthial craned his head over hers, seeking the burn that had put her down and finding a lump instead. Unlike the others, this woman had been struck, and it behooved him to ensure the blow had done no lasting damage. He didn’t look forward to touching her to check. He tried without grazing her skin first, trailing his fingertips along her aura near the lump. Thankfully, he could sense no danger.

Why he felt compelled to touch her, just to double-check, he didn’t know. Hirianthial stretched his fingers, steeled himself and trailed them along her cheek. The storm of emotions that clashed beneath their tips warned him that her struggle toward consciousness had almost been won, and still she surprised him when her lashes fluttered, revealing a crack of brilliant blue.

Nevertheless courtesy required that he remove his hands and help her orient herself.

“Ah, good morning. Early morning, that would be.”

Reese didn’t recognize the voice, male and baritone with an indescribable, open-throated accent, one that didn’t linger long on consonants. She forced her eyelids apart and found herself staring straight into hair like poured milk and eyes the color of an expensive merlot.

She groaned, though whether from the throbbing at her temple or the situation was debatable. Both, probably. “You!” she croaked.

“Hush. You’ll wake the others.” Hirianthial glanced to the side, giving her an excellent view of his profile. There was a purple bruise marring the hard line of his cheekbone. “They are roughly in your condition or better, but they are all still unconscious.”

“The others? Sascha? Bryer? Irine?”

“I count two Harat-Shar and one Phoenix. Is that sufficient?”

Reese scowled, then closed her eyes when the bump on her head sent another lance of pain through her temple. “Curse it all. I knew something was going on with this place. Where are the guards?” She tried to look to the side but one of her pupils was vying for independence. She closed that one and tried to focus.

The Eldritch held a finger up over her lips, not touching. “Hush. They’ll hear you, lady. We’re underground, where they keep prisoners.”

“Underground! Then the jail upstairs—”

“—is a falsehood.”

“They did a rotten job of hiding their tracks then,” Reese said. “We knew something was wrong the moment we couldn’t find a real door.”

“You misunderstand, my lady,” the Eldritch said. “The jail is not intended as a cover. It is meant to intimidate. On that count it is quite the success... the pirates have driven everyone who isn’t part of their operation completely out of this part of town, and the rest of it they own in fact if not in name.”

“Great,” Reese said, losing what little energy she had. She imagined it bleeding into the ground beneath her tailbone and shoulders. “You were supposed to be in a jail cell we could get you out of for money, not underground in a place pirates hide people they want to make disappear.”

The Eldritch canted his head, hair hissing against one shoulder. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll send you a bill,” Reese said, trying to get a hand under herself so she could sit up.

A hand appeared over her chest, not touching but not moving either. “Ah! Don’t. You’re still gray.”

“Gray?” Reese asked.

He frowned. His expressions seemed formed only by the faintest of tugs at his lips or eyes; Reese wondered if all Eldritch were so subtle. “The color of your aura, you might say. Gray’s not an auspicious color to be.”

His accent was so distractingly pretty that she didn’t actually hear what he said until a few moments later. Or maybe that was her headache, making it too hard to hear past the pounding in her ears. “What the bleeding soil do you know about auras?”

“I’m Eldritch,” he said, as if that alone explained it. As an afterthought, he added, “I’m also a doctor.”

“Someone decided a
doctor
would make a good spy?” Her stomach started burning. Reese fought the desire to laugh, suspecting she would sound hysterical. “Oh, that’s a good one. Whoever sent me on this job... this was not worth the money they gave me six years ago. A doctor!”

“If you must have your moment of derisive laughter, at very least keep it quieter,” Hirianthial said. “As to my being her choice... I have... talents that made me suitable for the job. But that matter begs me to ask: what are you doing here, looking for me? Who sent you?”

“As if I know,” Reese said. “Some woman with more money than sense who never gives me her name when she calls and speaks like some fairy princess. I owed her a favor. She said you’d been jailed here and sent me to go get you. I was hoping to just post your bail.”

Hirianthial laughed, a sound both quiet and despairing. It sent goosebumps down Reese’s arms. “Ah, lady. That is funny. The pirates found me two weeks ago, and for two weeks I have been here in this cell while they wait for the slavers to pick me up. I was as good as sold the moment I was put in irons. They even wash me periodically so I’ll look my best for my future masters. I had to try to earn the few bruises they dealt me... God forfend I look less than pristine for my auction.”

Reese groaned and closed her eyes, letting her head loll back. “I didn’t sign up for this.”

“Again, I’m sorry, my lady.”

“Stop calling me that!” Reese exclaimed. “I’m no lady, and I’m certainly not yours. And as for sorry... sorry! My cargo’s fermenting while we lie here, and it might be vinegar by the time we get out of this. I’m no match for slavers! We have to get out of here before they come for you, or we’re all going to end up some Chatcaavan’s sex-toys in a month. Bending my neck to a dragon wasn’t in my life plan.”

“I can’t say the thought appeals to me either,” Hirianthial said.

“You don’t say.” Reese would have rolled her eyes, but the attendant nausea made that a bad idea. “You’re a doctor?”

“I did say so.”

“Well then see if the rest are ready to wake up. If we’re lucky we can make it out of here with our bleeding cargo still fresh. If, that is, you’ll let me sit up?”

The Eldritch’s eyes lost their focus, drifting over her forehead and temples. “Yes,” he said after a moment, then held up a finger. His wine-colored eyes refocused on her face. “But as I tell you.”

“Fine,” Reese said. “Make it quick.”

He talked her through it, but it wasn’t quick; just rolling onto her side made her want to vomit up what little there was in her stomach. Still, she made it upright, noticing the hand he’d had hovering behind her back only when he withdrew it. If she’d started to waver, would he have caught her, or would his Eldritch instincts have let her fall? She wanted to spit at the look on his face when they were done, and had no idea what made her angrier... that he looked concerned when he had no right to be concerned as the person responsible for this mess, or that his concern wasn’t obvious enough, since she was the one who was going to drag his sugar-pale backside out of his mess. Blood and freedom, but she hated doctors.

“Good?” he asked after a moment, eyes resting too directly on her for her comfort.

“Fine,” Reese said. “Check the others.”

He studied her for a moment longer, then backed away, leaving her to take stock. Aside from a few scrapes and bruises to complement the mother blooming near her temple, she’d taken no additional harm. Her suit had been slashed across her midriff and upper arms. Her knife was missing as well as her belt; she felt the loss of both coins and chalk tablets. She could have used a chalk tablet right now, in fact... but she could have fared worse.

Reese watched Hirianthial as he bent over Irine. He drew closer to her than she was accustomed to doctors coming, but he never touched her. After a few moments, he spread his hands above her ribs, as if setting them on a barrier that hovered a few inches above her skin. Though she couldn’t tell whether the Harat-Shar was conscious, the Eldritch was talking, and his soft words were so gently spoken they felt like blankets. It made her want to trust him—no doubt one of his Eldritch mind tricks.