Chapter Two
Nemiah
Nemiah walked aside King Alluin of Liaberos with a long stride. The male’s golden hair and pale eyes held a stark contrast to his own. Such was the way of his kind, fae of the night, as he held the sun in his features. The fae of day.
“Your son didn’t seem too pleased about the arrangement.” Nemiah folded his hands behind his back.
“Not my son. My child. And no, they’re a pain, which I suppose is your problem. Their mother coddled them.” Alluin snorted and kept pace, his guards flanking him with overprotective ostentation. “If you manage to show me proof of this machine of yours.”
“I have nothing but my word and proof to offer you, Alluin, and if anything, the Drashil honors their word.”
The statement brought Alluin much mirth as he laughed in a short bark. “You say that and murder your own father in the same breath. How trustworthy is a male that commits patricide?”
“One that values the lives of many over those of the few.” Nemiah gazed upward, the sky breaking into early morning, letting sunlight emerge to kiss his cheeks. Contrary to popular belief, the night fae appreciated the warmth of the sun goddess. They simply did not worship it as the sun fae did.
“You say that and build machines of war.” Alluin stared at the ground for a moment, stopping to eye his shoe before continuing on, forcing Nemiah to alter his pace. Little gestures of control. Small actions the king took told a story of an insecure male. Even in how he spoke to his omega child, he exerted power in that old way, like his own father. Curse his soul and may the goddess forget his name.
Nemiah tilted his head from side to side. “I create machines of commerce , and what investors choose to do with them is not my concern. However, do make note that I approached you first.”
“Yes, yes. You approached the wealthiest kingdom you do not war with.” Alluin waved his hand as they boarded a carriage and rode the cobbled streets of the castle town that lay in neat concentric lines around the outer ward of the keep.
“Not entirely, my friend. I contacted you as a provider of Vitalis. You have the most reliable name to attach to a project to see that my father’s legacy doesn’t ensure the project receives unnecessary trouble.”
Alluin’s face wrinkled. “That and you need my land to build that blacksteel road. What did you name the thing?”
“Thalmway.”
A grunt of acknowledgement settled Nemiah as they rode the smooth streets, not even taxing the struts of the carriage. “Bloody mechathalmy. Eventually, the world will figure out how it is that you harness thalms.”
“They are welcome to try, but it is as futile as those trying to learn the secrets of Vitalis. It’s in our blood, I’m afraid.” Nemiah waved a dismissive hand.
“Blood that grows thin.” Alluin sneered as they passed the city gates. “Once you produce a son, I’ll feel kindlier about our exchange.”
“Virion will see to that part, I am sure.” Nemiah picked at a stray hair on his sleeve. The black woolen garments were a little too warm for this side of the mountain pass, and the fae all too fair-haired. He mightn’t have had a problem were it not for the fact they all had some sort of collective agreement to shed their hair over all he held dear. Every strand stood out in stark contrast.
A sharp reminder that Virion would dwell with him soon. The omega’s hair shone pale and bright and would be all over everything in time.
Alluin laughed. “If you can hold them down long enough to breed them. They have their mother’s willfulness. Though, if they have any of her fidelity , feel free to dishonor the union. If he comes to you deflowered, that is.”
Nemiah picked at a fleck of dry skin on his cuticle, tuning out Alluin’s blathering. The sun fae and their desire for virginity and vigilant concern for their children’s bedroom activities he found distasteful, though he’d not say a word of it to sabotage his hard work. Four straight years he’d spent working on this project, hiding it from his father. “I’ll bear that in mind. Virion is of your blood, then?”
Alluin nodded. “That unfortunate ghostly pallor of his is a family trait, I’m afraid.”
Nemiah found the omega attractive enough, all willowy frame, flowing hair, and large eyes so pink and pale. Not albino in the common way but devoid of pigment in his hair and eyes alone. To claim him as a mate on looks alone was unfortunate, but he didn’t have the luxury of time.
War was expensive.
Losing one was even more so.
And his father never lost, even when the costs alone predicted defeat.
They approached the outer walls of the city with more carriages ahead and behind them, the pomp and fanfare far overdone. Nemiah didn’t bring a guard with him at all, as he knew the Liaberians were a docile people that wouldn’t chance war or sully their reputation. They were holders of healing waters, and none that crossed them would ever taste a drop again.
“I present to you, sir, the thalm engine. The finest mechathalmy has to offer. Merely lay blacksteel, as we have done here, and it barely needs manpower to run. Two low-skilled mages working in tandem can run the thing if they have someone trained in maintenance to ride with them. We can carry inventory of all kinds—”
“Weapons and soldiers.” Alluin sighed heavily. “It’s a war machine.” He gestured toward the display. The blacksteel tracks had an ominous quality to them, as raw and unforgiving as the style of the times in Drashil. Despite Nemiah’s attempt at softening the features of the engine and the carriage lugged behind it, he was no artisan. Cold blacksteel wound and riveted a rather oblong shape on wheels that were designed for the terrain, thick and unforgiving, but spoked to eliminate cracking in the molds on casting and cooling. The thing held none of the allure of Liaberian aesthetics.
“No. This is also why I sought your investment and approval. It can travel forty kilometers to the user’s thalmic level per hour uninterrupted and continuously. Virion, in three months’ time, could mount a rail and be at your hearth in under two hours. People could travel farther across this land if we license the lines and sell the machines. We can claim monopoly and forbid the use of weapon transport. Think of it, Alluin. Wouldn’t you love to have fresh citronelia nectar every morning? Forget waiting for its brief season. It grows wild and abundant in the Shail lands.” Nemiah tempered his enthusiasm, keeping his tone even. His father would be frothing at the mouth to cuff Nemiah for such deals, but it was his fault that the coffers were nearly bare.
“Interesting. Citronelia nectar spoils a day off the vine.” He scrutinized the machine, eyes darting to elements that Nemiah knew well in advance would earn his ire. It was ugly . It looked like a weapon of siege. It looked Drashili.
“And it’ll still have hours to spare when it reaches you.” Nemiah offered Alluin his most wicked grin.
The prototype he’d built from painstaking work with forge-smiths and mages was a blacksteel reinforced carriage, the wheels toothless gears that latched onto long beams amid flashpine ties and gravel. The trees had been an invasive menace from several generations ago that grew unreasonably fast and sucked the life from the land. The wood was notoriously hard to carve and unattractively grained, making it impractical for construction. Even as a firewood, it created oily smoke that made it hard to breathe. But as a stabilizer for his rail, they merely needed to be evened.
“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Alluin stared at the machine with scrutiny as they stepped from the carriage.
His workers had made quick work of laying out a half a kilometer circular track and mounting the thalm engine. “Which of your soldiers with you has the lowest thalmic potential?”
Alluin snapped his fingers toward one of his personal guards to send them off to ask.
“A two or a three will do.” Nemiah folded his hands behind his back proudly and waited as a rather gangly young male was led out and into the driver’s cabin. Glass-paned shields protected the driver from the winter’s biting wind and insects that had achieved a new level of proportional velocity at such a level as to bruise flesh to their own detriment. Nemiah had found that out the hard way.
“What are we watching?” Alluin scrutinized as the boy held the leads on the engine control panel and nervously fidgeted as the train hummed to life, gears clicking away.
“Would you like to step on or load people on?” Nemiah smiled but Alluin declined, which he came to regret quite soon after when the engine completed the circle and went for another and another, drawing the attention of the curious from townships away, all wanting to see the thalm engine.
Having his soldiers gallivant about giving booze away to people to spread rumors of the thalm engine had been a wonderful idea. People all over swarmed to see and ride the horseless carriage, to be one of the first to travel by blacksteel rail.
Several laps around the rail later and the king, presumably thinking better of the machine’s safety, rather insistently demanded to be let on, occupying the sole carriage of it, with Nemiah in tow.
Together, they sat on padded benches, given a little luxury in posture and a post to hold on to.
The original guard, who’d touted a mere two thalms, continued the track several more times before the king sniffed in doubt once more.
“I welcome all questions.” Nemiah gestured around the inside of their carriage, reinforced to hold up to the uneven tracks and long distances, unlike a horse-drawn carriage. Despite the outside being relatively bland for his tastes, he’d made the inside as tasteful as he could. But, the extent of taste of the Drashili was limited to their aesthetics. Creatures of darkness in a land where color didn’t happen often, if not for the shadows of the mountains themselves, for the reddish hue of the plants thrived amid earth as dark as night. Even the stone, rich in blacksteel, held little color. It was no surprise that the interior leaked style, with what little concept his designers had for high fashion or the aesthetics of nobles. The bare walls held burnished brass findings over the rivets, the benches covered in a rich velvet, and the ceiling had been gracefully painted in a cool gray tone.
“There’s a lot left to be desired, but I’m uncertain that someone with so few thalms can keep this thing running.” The king crossed his legs. “Are you certain there’s no battery or storage keeping this thing rolling?”
Nemiah smiled. “None whatsoever. When his power runs course, the train will run down and he’ll switch out. The track should run 150 or so laps with his power. Give or take, since this train is unloaded. But I do see your gaze. We are dreadfully dower, Drashili. It comes with the darkness.”
King Alluin nodded in agreement. “Perhaps Virion will be at home there. Their pallor limits their ability to tolerate the sun. Their sight suffers when it is too bright.”
Nemiah regarded his fingernails as if that dreaded piece of dry skin were of more concern than the statement. “Perhaps he will be more amicable than you say.”
“I want a week with this machine and to have my own engineers see to a redesign of the presence of it before I will put the name of Liaberos on it. What features cannot be altered?” Alluin stood as the train slowed to a stop where the carriages they’d arrived in waited, and surveyed the space before dismounting over the artistically welded steps, each slippered plod of a foot ringing through the joinery.
“It has to have an exhaust for the heat like a chimney near the thalmic engine. The wheels need to be spoked and made of blacksteel as well as the frame and the rails.” Nemiah disembarked in tow and clasped his hands behind his back, the leather over his shoulders and chest creaking in place. “Telling you this may fall upon already burdened ears though. I’ll have my engineers stay with you for a time to design what you wish.”
“For the sum of money you’ve asked for, and what we stand to gain from this union—I cannot complain about your geniality and openness. I regret making my child part of the deal but do understand you need an heir and I need rid of them. They’re growing too old to be unwed.”
“I believe I can take care of them.”
“Good. Virion is being packed up at the moment and entering isolation for his husband. Part of our binding rights, you see.” The glimmer in Alluin’s eyes did not go unnoticed. Blood ties would cement his pact and word, for a bonded couple could not break their vows. Nemiah’s stomach knotted, but such was the price his father had forced him to pay.
“As it must be. I look forward to uniting with you and ending this violence. My soldiers need jobs.” Nemiah swore internally.
“But we’ll lay witness to the binding, as is tradition.” The casual way he said it made Nemiah’s stomach clench.
“Part of our binding is to unite intimately, you understand. Night fae do as the lovers do at night—”
Alluin raised a hand dismissively. “And we do as well. But this union is special. It must be witnessed to be legitimate. Understood?” He strode purposefully to his carriage and Nemiah followed him.
“I certainly have understood you, but I cannot say it pleases me to copulate before my family.” Nemiah’s upper lip curled.
“Once he’s out of isolation and purified, we’ll have the ceremony. I’m as eager to send him your way once we prove this machine worth it as you are to receive my backing. Understood?” Alluin grinned wide, and had his teeth been sharp as wolves’, it would not have shocked Nemiah.
He was cruel.
But Nemiah knew what cruelness was, had been raised by a father that pillaged and took women outside of his wife by force if necessary. So, he had learned to be something more than cruel—clever.
“I’ll see you bound, so there’s no chance of another bastard .” Alluin rested his hands genially in his lap.
Nemiah bit his tongue. “My father and mother could not conceive. They merely used the belly of another to bring me into their family. I am of noble lineage and my thalms are measured at twenty-six.”
Alluin snorted heavily and glanced toward Nemiah with a calculating glare. “If you can demonstrate proof of that, I’d very much be proud to say my child had been united with someone with twenty-six thalms.”
“Sure. Bring me a measuring device of your choosing, and I’ll show my prowess.” Nemiah offered his best smile and Alluin sneered, eager to prove him a fool. Nemiah, though, did not tell lies. He told the truth, even when the truth wouldn’t be believed.
True love was not Nemiah’s finding, but the notion was merely fancy. He had machines to sell and a kingdom to rebuild.