No Light (23 page)

             
Farran glared at him. "You overstep yourself."

             
"I was simply advising your pet-" the Dem started.

             
"She is not a pet," Farran spat. He took a threatening step forward. "You will not advise her. You will not condescend to speak to her. Do you understand?"

             
The Dem nodded. He glanced at her and she saw the malice in his eyes.

             
"You will not deign to look at her without my express permission," Farran continued, stalking across the room to crowd the other Dem. "Is that in any way unclear to you?"

             
Sarah's eyes widened at the low growl.

             
"No," the other Dem answered quickly.

             
"I am pleased we understand each other." Farran sneered. "She is my marked, and as such, superior to you." His voice dropped to a low rumble. "Your better."

             
"I understand. My sincere apologies for the shame I unknowingly brought upon you." The Dem bowed to Farran, then turned to her. "My apologies, human." His gaze stayed glued to the floor.

             
Sarah looked to Farran for direction. He gave her a sharp nod.

             
"Apology accepted."

             
The Dem turned away from her. "May I deliver the messages?"

             
Farran nodded. He crossed his arms and stared at him.

             
The Dem cleared his throat. "The abdicated King Baraz sends his congratulations on your restored freedom."

             
"Abdicated?"

             
Sarah frowned at the confused look on Farran's face.

             
The Dem nodded. "King Baraz abdicated to King Lonan just after..." He paused, as Farran's expression darkened.

             
"Continue with the message," he growled.

             
The Dem swallowed hard. "King Baraz wishes to extend his condolences on your long imprisonment. He assumes the lesson, while hard won, has been obtained in full. He sends his regrets on the severity of your penance."

             
Farran snarled.

             
Sarah eyes moved from his furious face to the messenger and back. She fought to follow the words. Farran started to pace furiously.

             
"He ends his missive with the assumption you will return to," he paused and Farran glared at him. "Your rightful place."

             
Farran let out a humorless laugh and a string of foreign words.

             
The messenger stiffened. "Shall I repeat that precisely, General?"

             
Farran gave him a rude look. "Do you have anything more to say?"

             
The Dem nodded. "I do. The reigning King Lonan added his own missive. Shall I deliver it?"

             
Farran paused mid-step. He slowly turned to pin the messenger with a glare. "Yes."

             
Sarah puzzled over Farran's obvious anger, as she listened to the Dem deliver the second message.

             
"King Lonan hereby absolves you and your regiment of all fault. He restores your title, and looks upon you once more."

             
Sarah raised her eyebrows at the irritation that flashed in Farran's eyes.

             
"How merciful," he muttered.

             
"He also sends a personal message to be repeated word for word." The Dem cleared his throat and stood up taller. "Brother, I place no fault on your head. The humans are devious and without honor. I do not believe as father does. A momentary weakness, and perhaps an excess of virtue in the face of a people with only a deficit, is not worthy of a near eternal torment at their hands.

             
It was a great evil, the sentence father set upon you. I welcome you with all that has been taken. Return to your rightful place, and I shall set the full power of the kingdom in your hands. You may strike back at those who held you at our father's behest. I await your answer."

             
Sarah stared at Farran. For a moment, he looked almost lost. He blinked and his eyes cleared.

             
"How long have I been given?"

             
"Three days, General."

             
She looked back and forth between the two Dems. Farran glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

             
"Leave us."

             
Sarah watched the messenger gather the armor and leave the room with Motlin and Tradis. She slowly turned her head to look at Farran. He stared at her with an unreadable expression. She cleared her throat.

             
"The Corridor was a punishment?"

             
He nodded.

             
"From your father." She licked her lips nervously, at his dark gaze. "Your father the," she searched her mind for the correct phrase. "The abdicated king."

             
He stared at her.

             
"Your brother is the king?"

             
His lips curved. "The reigning king. Yes."

             
Her mind repeated the messenger's words in an unending loop. She cleared her throat. "And he wants you to..." she trailed off.

             
"Return home."

             
She nodded. "What did he mean when he said you can strike back?"

             
Farran walked toward her. "At humanity."

             
Her eyes widened. "For the Corridor?"

             
He knelt in front of her chair. "Yes."

             
She searched his eyes for any hint at his thoughts. There was nothing. "What was the punishment for?" she whispered.

             
Anger flashed in his eyes. "Disobedience." He leaned toward her. She watched his eyes close, as he inhaled deeply.

             
"To your father?"

             
His eyes opened. They were completely black, but emotionless. He nodded.

             
"Are you going to?"

             
He raised an eyebrow.

             
The room felt ten degrees warmer with him so close. She broke his gaze. "Strike back, I mean."

             
"I have not decided." She saw his hand raise from the corner of her eye, and tensed.

             
He brushed the hair back from her face. She turned her head to stare at him. He suddenly frowned and stood.

             
"Do you have any other inane questions?" She watched him take a few steps away from her.

             
She shook her head.

             
"I suggest you rest." She watched him stalk toward the door. His movements radiated irritation, and she frowned.

             
"Did I do-"

             
He turned on her. "Go to sleep, human."

             
She flinched. "I just-" she shook her head at herself. "Can I ask one more question?"

             
"What is it," he snapped impatiently.

             
She took a deep breath. "If your father is a king and your brother is a king, what does that make you?"

             
He jerked open the door. "Crown prince."

             
She opened her mouth, but he stepped into the hallway and slammed the door behind him. She frowned at the door. That made no sense. A crown prince was supposed to be king. She froze. His father abdicated to his brother right after... The messenger had not finished the sentence, but from Farran's glare the answer was obvious.

...

              He looked up to see Tradis and Motlin leaning against the wall across from the doorway. He glared.

             
"You have something you would like to say?" he asked dangerously.

             
They did not reply, other than to raise their eyebrows.

             
He turned away from them and strode down the hall. His mind went over his actions, and he mentally cursed himself. The woman was infuriating. His ator twinged and he snarled. He could not even think negatively about her without pain. She got under his skin, like a thorn he could not remove. Everyday, it got worse.

             
He could not keep himself from touching her. His hands curled into fists at his sides. Everything about her irritated him. She was weak and small. She stood in the way of his soldiers and threw herself into danger for one of his men. As much as he hated it, her bravery spoke to him. He paused at the top of the stairs.

             
His mind went to the night before, the moment his ator flared and he fell to his knees in the office at City Hall. It was the worst pain he had ever experienced. He imagined death would be less agonizing. It felt as if a part of him had been ripped away. A panic, like he had never before felt, rose up inside him. He instantly knew something had happened to his marked.

             
The amount of blood that spilled from her small body seemed impossible. His stomach had turned at the sight. The carnage of war never bothered him, but the pale, lifeless body made him almost retch. He saw everything through a haze of red. He barely remembered pulling the human apart. There was nothing but a small twinge of satisfaction, then a flood of fear.

             
Her skin had glowed with the ator, the majority of it centered in her chest, but the wound did not close. He had cursed himself for marking her, for leaving her with another, for a million things that had nothing to do with the situation. He gripped the rail of the staircase hard enough to make it creak in protest. Instincts he had never used, had suddenly come to the surface.

             
He had all but ripped his suit open. His hands had shaken when he reached for her. Her body felt fragile in his grasp, and he pressed her to him. Without his permission, his arms had wrapped around her and cradled her as if she were precious to him. He paused at the thought.

             
"General?"

             
He glanced over his shoulder. Motlin and Tradis watched him closely. He glared.

             
"You require something?"

             
"A report from the company patrolling the northern border," Tradis answered. His eyes moved to Motlin and they shared a look.

             
"Speak," he snapped impatiently.

             
"Keane and Robinson have organized a series of attacks on our troops since this morning."

             
He glared at the two of them. "And you did not inform me earlier for a reason."

             
Motlin shifted. "Your marked-"

             
"Is inconsequential," he snapped. He watched Motlin glance at his second.

             
"Word of your marked, has traveled to all in the regiment. Her defense of Private Eitad-" Motlin started.

             
"Was idiotic," Farran cut him off.

             
His colonels frowned.

             
"Enough. What is the status of the rebellion?" He turned away from them, to descend the staircase.

             
"They have formed small groups, attacking at random intervals along the border. One group succeeded in breaking our lines for a short period of time."

             
He glanced over his shoulder at Tradis. "The troops have been given their armor?"

             
"Yes, sir. What remains is in the hotel office."

             
Farran nodded. He pushed open the door to the downstairs hallway. Four, fully-armored privates loitered just outside the office. He scowled.

             
"Do you not have a city to patrol?" he snapped.

             
All four of them jumped at the sound of his voice. They turned as one to look at him. He glared at the one closest to him. Eitad dropped his gaze quickly.