Chapter 17 Lyra #2
I lose track of time in the cold cell below the Edax Deorum’s main decks.
The small room is claustrophobic and filthy—the rough blanket on the thin floor pallet stained with what I hope is dried blood.
One of the smaller, lower ranking Void Stalkers has brought me foul water and stale protein bars three times, but I don’t know if I’m being fed once or twice a day.
With only the constant dim yellow lighting of my cell, there’s nothing to give me a bearing or mark time.
In between the food deliveries, all I can do is sleep.
I’m so immensely tired—exhausted in body, mind, and soul.
Tears flow sporadically, often set off by the dreams. Stars, the dreams. They always start out the same way: tangling with purple-freckled limbs in a wide bed covered in soft sheets, vibrant green eyes glassy with lust, full lips pressing kisses and promises to my skin.
Then, the bliss shifts into terror as Orion’s beautiful face morphs into Brill’s and his clawed hand rips my heart from my chest, which thumps pathetically before transforming into a black gemstone that oozes malevolence.
Even though the cell is cold, sweat covers my skin, merging with the tears I don’t bother to wipe away.
I’ve never felt more miserable, and I’ve spent a good portion of my adult life hungover.
How did this happen?
I want to blame my parents for setting me on this path. If they’d been less disastrous—more conventional—settled down and raised me on some distant agrarian colony with cute fucking animals and crops to eat, maybe I wouldn’t have turned out so messy.
I want to blame Kraxis and his Void Stalker crew for doggedly chasing me across the entire galaxy to ensure I’m acting in accordance with Brill’s wishes.
I want to blame Brill. If he wasn’t such a textbook wealth-hoarding, power-hungry narcissistic cliché, maybe my contract would’ve ended years ago and I’d be organizing scrolls in some dusty library on Velusia.
I want to blame Orion. If he’d never made me strike that blasted deal, I wouldn’t have gone soft over him and let him keep the idol.
I probably would’ve been better off loosing my vellia on him back on Xylothia, taking the idol and escaping while I still had my wits about me.
Instead, I fell in love with the bastard and the thought of him in harm’s way made me do, quite possibly, the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.
None of the anger I want to wrap around me fits, though.
It feels like a coat that’s grown too small over a season.
The responsibility I want to lay at everyone else’s feet for my present circumstances rings false even to me, and I’m the queen of self-delusion.
There’s only one person left to blame. Lyra Fucking Phoenix.
Without anything else to occupy my mind, I retreat inward—revisiting all the mistakes that have brought me to this point. It’s no surprise, then, that my misery binge leads me to one depressing conclusion.
I’m alone. Completely, totally, utterly alone, and I have no one to blame but myself.
How is it that I used to dream of being alone for the rest of my life? When did the dream of flitting around the universe with no responsibilities and no tether become so much less appealing?
Probably about the same time a tall drink of ranger crashed into my life.
Stars, I hope he’s made it to Epsilon-6.
I can’t be certain, but I’m pretty sure it’s the fourth day in the cell. The vibrations of the engines below me have changed, which makes me think we’ve dropped out of light speed and are cruising at moderate inter-planetary speed. Ooneryx must be on the horizon.
Sure enough, Kraxis himself brings me my ration of water and food. Before he can snarl at me, I approach the forcefield lining the open wall of the cell and give him the finger.
“Are you gonna let me out to shower? You know how Brill hates it when I’m not dressed up like the little doll he wants me to be,” I say.
While I have acquired a particularly disturbing level of reek, I’m more interested in trying to hide some kind of weapon beneath my jumpsuit.
Is it a stupid idea? Absolutely. Have I managed to come up with anything better in the past four days?
Nope. Ada would have advice. The reflexive thought sends a fresh wave of pain arcing through my chest.
“I’m instructed to bring you straight to Brill’s private study upon our return,” he sneers.
A current of fear sizzles through my body.
“His study,” I echo.
Kraxis nods, his expression inscrutable.
“Not the receiving room?” I ask, unable to help myself.
Usually, when Kraxis drags me back to Brill, my punishment is made into a public spectacle in the large chamber used for welcoming guests to Ooneryx, negotiating minor deals, and passing judgments on anyone who steps out of line.
Guests are assembled—anyone Brill is attempting to impress, frighten, or entice—and he delivers some diatribe about loyalty above all else. Then, the pain.
In my 14 years of service, I’ve never seen the inside of his private study.
At the beginning, before I knew how bad things were going to get, I tried to finagle an invitation to the top secret space.
When that didn’t work, I tried to sneak in, and then break in.
All to no avail. I’ve seen every other room in Brill’s palatial compound—but never the private study.
I can’t imagine it bodes well for me, and Kraxis seems to come to the same conclusion. There’s a darkness in his eyes that I haven’t seen before, and he’s less jocular and insulting than he usually is. Perhaps this is his version of offering a final meal, or a last cigarette.
“Not the receiving room,” he confirms, reading a screen clutched between his lethal claws.
“You are to be stripped—owing to the hidden blade incident two years ago. You are to be gagged—we will have no more biting or foul language, and you will be given twice your normal dose of haggra—since Brill assumes you came unwillingly and he does not wish for any vellia-induced emotional outbursts.”
Damn. Okay, then.
Haggra is an herb native to Velusia that, when ingested or smoked, produces a calming effect that helps to mute the potency of vellia.
It’s helpful when Velusians go through puberty and their vellia begins to manifest in wild, uncontrolled surges, but it’s otherwise taboo to use the plant into adulthood.
That’s partly due to the fact that the plant doesn’t grow in abundance, which makes it prohibitively expensive, and partly because a well-trained Velusian should be able to control themselves—and their environment—enough without any kind of chemical dependency.
The first time Brill tried—and failed—to coerce me into his bed, I’d been on Ooneryx for about a week.
He hadn’t appreciated my refusal and rejection, so he fractured my cheekbone with a ferocious backhand and locked me in a closet for three days.
When he came to retrieve me, I unleashed a wave of vellia so powerful, he was sent to the hospital for blood poisoning.
It was the first and last time I was able to best him.
Since then, he’s spent what I can only imagine is a small fortune on haggra deliveries from Velusia to ensure I’m properly drugged for every in-person audience.
A double dose is worse than chemical handcuffs. It’ll be a miracle if I can stand up straight. Kraxis narrows his beady eyes.
“Are you planning on complying or will I need to assist you with your preparations?” he asks, the disgust in his voice materializing in the twist of his lips.
“Try it and I’ll assist you with a foot up your ass,” I snarl.
Rage rolls off him and he slams his fist against the forcefield of my cell.
He opens the small portal where my food and water sit untouched, and spits on them.
Sticky, faintly yellow saliva dribbles down the glass and he smirks.
He drops two capsules of haggra onto the tray and gestures to them as he turns.
“The next time I come down here, we’ll be disembarking. Take the pills. Your blood will be tested before you’re brought to him. Be ready, or bleed your way to his office,” he hisses.
The threat would be more ominous if he knew how to deliver Kailorian colloquialisms, but I catch his drift.
Being led naked and fully doped through the busy compound in the late afternoon is another attempt at humiliating me, but I’m long past caring at this point.
Brill’s going to do something beyond my worst imaginings, I’m sure, and I know I should be frightened, but…
What’s the point?
Orion’s got the idol. By now, I’m sure he’s safe on the other side of the galaxy, busy forgetting about me and all the ways I did him wrong.
Evie will probably be better off without me dropping in and fucking up her hard-won and much-deserved career.
And Ada…well. It’s probably a little too depressing to consider the fact that my best friend was a digital figment of my imagination, who’s now gone on to that big ol’ computer in the sky.
There’s no one left to mourn me. There’s no one who will miss me. Brill’s probably going to snuff me out, and no one will ever know what became of that reprobate hybrid, Lyra Phoenix.
A strange sense of peace settles over me as I take the first of the two pills and unzip my jumpsuit. As I undress all the way down to my goosebump-covered skin, I notice several small marks from Orion’s teeth and fingers, and my heart thumps numbly in my chest.
“Well,” I say to myself, crossing the cell to drop the second capsule into the toilet. “On the bright side, if there’s no one left to miss me, I suppose there’s no one who’ll be disappointed when I decide to do something incredibly stupid.”