Chapter 66
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
AIRIK
Torren returned late into the night. He trudged up the ramp, slammed the door panel shut, then locked it. Piece by piece, he took off the molded suit, dumping it in a heap. Finally, he tore off his helmet, revealing red-rimmed eyes.
“I found three distress beacons,” he muttered, shaking out his hair. He let his head hang to catch his breath, then spoke again. “All of them broken. That can’t be an error—but intent.”
He disappeared down the hall. Airik heard a cell door slide open, then close.
And then he was alone again.
More hours passed. Airik sat on the floor at the end of the hall, with Nora’s door just in view. Sweat dripped down his back, and his shirt clung to his skin. After two nights without even a minute of sleep, the edges of his mind began to disintegrate.
“Drozekar.” Airik’s voice came out like a scratch. “What’s the status of the regeneration chambers?”
“One…two…one sapient species. Intact—interference. S-S-Status: conscious and responsive. Should I—”
Adrenaline shot through Airik as he darted to the chamber rooms. Xallix should have been sedate.
Pushing the door open himself because the ship wasn’t fast enough, Airik slumped against it, panting.
Xallix lay in the chamber, undisturbed from the way they had left him.
Still restrained, suspended in partial stasis.
The broken interstellar communicator had been placed under the regeneration chamber.
Evidence, Torren had said. Best to keep everything in one place.
The communicator had English words. A secret that should have remained between his father and the Ourex when efforts to make human contact had seemed a priority.
When his father had been killed, it had been decided that language was no longer needed for contact.
Once the Algorithm had decided it was time to bring Earth into the Veynari fold, the only mechanism to move humanity would be by force.
The language translator spoke as well as Airik, if not better. The only place to find so many words would be the Jortag Vault, which was supposed to be inaccessible since his father’s murder. Or from other humans on Earth.
Though he didn’t understand why—the Watcher couldn’t see him—Airik prowled into the room silently. He leaned against the glass shield, overlooking Xallix’s face.
Something tapped against the glass. His combat knife. When had he pulled it from his boot?
His vision blurred. Wrath blazed through him like an unchecked wildfire. His finger hovered over the sealing port.
Kill him, said a voice that could not have been his own. He has seen what Nora is to you. You are unkillable. She is not. Whatever or whoever is hunting you will know: The greatest weapon against you would be her.
Airik could do it. Here. Now. Torren wouldn’t know until it was too late. By that point, there’d be nothing left of Xallix but mangled flesh, tendons, and bones.
Sweat dripped from Airik’s hair onto the glass. The edges of his vision turned black. To his left, a shadow appeared, crawling toward him with unnatural undulations. The thinnest part of Airik’s mind, which clung to reality, told him that what he was seeing couldn’t be real.
That this was a memory. Everyone on the Lemides had died that night—Airik had made sure of it. He had lost his sword, but he hadn’t lost his body. And that had been enough to destroy everything.
But the shadow persisted. Closer now. Airik pushed against the wall, slamming his eyelids shut. Still, he saw the back of another morazir as they climbed into an evacuation skiff. The unmistakable shine of narrowed eyes watching him.
Someone from the skiff had shouted, His throat!
But the insurgent—the enemy—the slave—Airik couldn’t tell anymore—had already died.
Nobody could have survived Airik that night.
It had been fear that triggered his state.
His sword had been pulled from his grip toward an unknown force in the ground.
He hadn’t known what it was then, but now he did: a specifically tuned gravity—targeted only at his sword, made from a different metal than any other Sword of Ulliel.
Not possible. Airik yanked back, trying to get away from whatever surrounded him. Pain shot through his head as it hit the wall. Metal jingled in his pocket—Nora’s necklace, newly repaired.
Rubbing his eyes, he tried to rid himself of the visions.
She hadn’t abandoned him. Not like the other morazir had. She had pulled him to safety. Cleansed him.
She’d never left him.
My light. Cheranna. Nora.
A spear of realization rammed through him, dragging his heart’s truth to the surface.
He couldn’t do anything to harm Nora. If he did—if he killed Xallix, an inquisition would be opened, and he would condemn himself to brandings or worse.
He would deprive Nora of the little protection he could offer as a morazir in good standing.
An unbranded. Even as his trust in the Veynari crumbled, he’d have to pretend.
Just a little longer. To keep the strength and access the sword granted.
Stumbling away from the regeneration chamber, he found himself at Nora’s door and shoved aside the untouched tray of food. He gripped the door handle so tightly that the metal bent in his grasp.
“Airik?” a sweet voice called to him.
His breath caught in his throat. Why was she still awake?