Through the eyes of The One They Misplaced:

Up the creek without a paddle

You discover the river’s end

Do you dare to glimpse what lies beyond

Or do you jump out and swim?

You will not get to choose again

Such is the inscription on the jewel

Round, gold, and barely legible

In a language I should not know

A tiny crystal pendant

Balances on my palm

Carved in the shape of a rose

Scarlet as my blood

With the tricky opacity of jade

It tingles against my skin

I tear my gaze away

Looking at the one who so gently placed it there

His fingers leave it

The crystal dissolves

Seeping between my cells

A disconcerting sensation

But not painful

’You lose yourself reciting tales of our history

Speak instead of your own heritage’

He admonishes

I find my earlier recountings relevant here

Standing with the Emperor of Napix

As if hearing my thoughts

He silences me before I protest

Eyes gesturing to my hand

Trillions of stars float within my grasp

Turning slowly, expanding, and a voice greets

'What wisdom do you require, Honored Little One?'

‘Show her the testimony of Rose of Menyaza’

The emperor commands

But the crystal ignores him

I repeat his request, and the stars dissipate

The image of a woman taking their place

I vaguely resemble her

Which is to be expected

We are related

‘How can I tell you what I saw?’

She prompts

A part of me that does not belong here

Sees too many meanings

In that wording

‘Speak as if I know nothing’

I instruct

'With your words

Make me see what you saw

Feel what you felt

So I may understand you’

Her wide pink eyes stare through me

A bit of a smile caressing them

As she begins her tale…

If you’ve ever needed to not be stuck in a room with your teacher, then you understand why I was in the forest, barefoot and stuffing myself with wild berries. No, it was not what I was supposed to be doing, but it seemed like a good idea that morning before anyone informed me important guests would arrive shortly.

That would have been nice to know before now, I typed back with one hand while the other packed fresh vials of dye into my skirt’s hidden pocket.

My thoughts exactly. Where are you, Rose? popped up on the screen as I slid the small tablet in with them. I didn’t have time to stop and reply, and running through the undergrowth with this much fabric trailing from my hips was difficult enough already.

I jumped on a log fallen across the path and slipped on a mossy patch.

Fredo caught my arm, saving my rear from an unfortunate reunion with the ground. How kind of him to avoid smearing the still-drying artwork on the back of my hand. “Did Dollii say who it is we’re rushing back to see?”

Yes, but he would have been less than thrilled by the answer.

I smiled up at him. “Have I told you how awesome that outfit looks? It’s made of shed scyuen scales, right? Did you know that to weave it into such fine chains, they—”

“You said ‘important guests.’ Are they from the capital?”

Oh, Fredo and his too-accurate guessing skills.

His eyes scrutinized me, teetering on the edge of an impatient frown. “Is it your sister?”

A nervous, excited tingle filled me, and I bit my lip. My steps slowed, and alongside me, so did his.

“It’s alright for you to be happy to see her.”

“No, it’s not,” I grumbled, eyes on the velvety, pale blue grass, then on the embroidery of silver swirls traipsing down the left side of my outfit. They marked me like a signature, still shimmering despite the mud. “When she’s here, you have to hide.”

“That doesn’t make it wrong for you to want your family’s attention.” He nudged me with his shoulder and sped up.

Like a leaf floating on the wind, his gait was light and nimble as if the world placed no weight on his shoulders, but a twitch in his jaw contradicted his carefree posture. It pinched me somewhere deep within.

I shook the feeling aside, same as I had many times lately. If I revealed how his emotions affected me, he would bring up something I didn’t want to talk about.

Hitching my skirt, I ran faster, but he matched my pace. The wind picked up, moaning as it sprinted through the thick canopy, but if it heralded a transport, I couldn’t see it. Fredo’s back blocked my view, covered in dark armor and a braid the color of molten rock.

I tugged on his rope of hair. “You can just tow me.”

“Wouldn’t that make it hard for me to hide?”

“Good point.” I puffed my cheeks and reluctantly released him.

He glanced back with a grin, showing no hint of the fear and vexation that raged inside him.

No, I chided myself. I cannot know what he’s feeling. Stop it. I can only know what he shows.

At the moment, he showed the world a smile, ruddy skin blotched with purple and blue juice where I might have thrown some berries at him. He might have thrown some back, but I didn’t have time to worry about my appearance.

I should have known better. I was always supposed to worry about my appearance.

As we burst past the last tree before the citadel’s wall, a transport that resembled an enormous, white-gold nightingale fluttered toward a landing platform atop one of the turrets. A million insects hatched in my gut.

“Rosa?”

Only Fredo called me that.

The swarm swirled faster, and I hid my face against his back. “Do you think they’d take me more seriously if I were an actual eteriq?”

He snorted. “Why would you want to be like those long-dead, socially-inept geniuses?”

Palm over my heart, I swung around him. “Show some respect. The eteriq shaped our world.”

“You are fine the way you are.” Hands on my shoulders, he twirled me toward the stairs. “Though, you could run faster.”

I stuck my tongue out at him but heeded his advice. As the transport reflected the sky’s pink blush onto a waiting crowd, I raced up stone steps, adjusting my scarf to cover the lower half of my face. The soft, white cloth streaked with baby blue was too warm for easy breathing and immersed me in the aromas of the forest.

I reached the back of the welcoming party just as the bird’s three metal feet tapped down. No one touched me, but implied shoves ushered my tardy behind to the front of the gathering to stand beside Lady Lokma. Disapproval turned her face a lovely shade of mauve.

The transport door lowered, and steps formed on its inner side. I tripped over my too-long skirt and fell to one knee as my aged father appeared in the doorway. His robe flowed like liquid gold over his bent back, blending with his skin of nearly equal color. His twisted hair shone white like moonbeams, rare and resplendent as his cherry-red eyes.

Forgive me. I use many foreign comparisons. Having studied many worlds, I think it a waste to limit the source of my similes to only my native Seallaii, and you know of Earth, yes? It’s my favorite world from which to take descriptions since my name is also from there. Call it a game.

I remained in my prostrated position so it would look like I had intended to kneel. I was overly respectful, not clumsy.

My father took forever coming down those five stairs.

“Dear Rose,” he greeted, a gentle hand falling atop my head, “I believe you have grown in the time since I last saw you.”

How can you tell? I’m on my knees!

Of course, I didn’t say this. It would have belied the respectful image I went for, and who knew, maybe even kneeling I was taller than when he had last noticed me.

I put on my sweetest voice and grin. “Honored Father, might I inquire—”

His fingers snapped twice, and if he wore molten gold, my sister’s dress was formed of spilled ink and rivers kissed by the moons. She glided toward his summons with a grace I wished I had. Was it a result of training or something innate I could never attain? Time would tell. I was only seventeen. She was nearly ninety and gorgeous.

The length of her coarse curls bespoke her age, fashioning a tiered bun dark as pitch before cascading to the ground. On her infrequent visits, I often stared at her hair, memorizing its lines so I could try to copy the style later, but today my eyes caught on the stranger descending just ahead of her.

He had a round face, stout humanoid frame draped in a straight tunic with long, tight sleeves and a tall collar. Lengthy fringe dangled from his shirt, and lace encrusted his pants and shoes, denoting high rank among his people. His umber hair would have been child-short for a Seallaii-na and was slicked back, but the ears that stuck through it were what confirmed his race—ears conical, stiff, and fuzzy like an Earth-na wolf’s.

Shlykrii-na.

As the foreigner stopped alongside my father, I scrambled to my feet and shuffled back, eyes darting around for Fredo and not finding him. He hid, yes, but usually I could still see him.

My heart leapt into my throat and got stuck there like some drain clog, so when my father introduced me as, “Rose, my younger daughter, the one adopted by the River Guardians on account of her special eyes,” I could only give a half-squeak in response, extending my hand for a light peck on the air just above my knuckles.

To preserve our mysterious aura, River Guardians never showed our full faces in public—hence my scarf. We were also not to be touched by non-River Guardians. My father had blatantly ignored this with his hand-on-my-head gesture, but he was either an oblivious buffoon or so adept at acting the part that no one questioned it anymore.

The Shlykrii-na’s kiss fell properly short of my skin, though he clutched my fingers. His grasp constricted until I retreated another step, hand squirming free.

“Lafdo feels honored to greet you.” His harsh vowels and r’s grated in my ears, as did his third-person reference to himself. It was proper grammar in Laysis, the international language of Shlykrii, but it sounded too odd in Sishgil.

My father laughed. “Lafdo will stay as a guest here until further notice. I am certain you will get along wonderfully.”

Was that an invitation for irony or sarcasm?

Why is he here? I wanted to shout, but my father already walked away, accepting my sister’s aid as they reached the steps that led down into the citadel. The crowd parted and scuttled off. I wanted to follow my father and wring more information from him, but he had implied Lafdo was my guest. Etiquette required I wait for him to follow my father first.

Etiquette is annoying.

“Lafdo wonders why you appear here so filthy and disheveled. You seem old enough to know better.”

I looked at the mud-splashed hems hiding my bare feet. The formerly white satin of my skirt dragged on the ground when I didn’t hold it up, as did my pant legs. The sheer sleeves of my sullied blouse draped to my knees. Even the ocean blue of my corseted top showed mud and berry splotches.

It wasn’t the best choice of garb for berry romping, but others usually had the privilege of selecting my attire since Lady Lokma found me reckless and lacking in this regard. They had hoped I would attend all my lessons today.

They didn’t realize that sometimes my lessons got messy, too.

I said nothing. I was muddy, I was old enough to know better, and I didn’t want to talk to him.

He held up a hand. “You also stained Lafdo.”

Thanks to his illegal grab, the budding vines I had spent an hour painting on my knuckles and wrist were now a colorful blur on both of us. The dye looked like a bruised purple smudge against his russet skin.

Go ahead, point out you touched me. Do it again, and Fredo will kill you.

I still hadn’t spotted Fredo even with the crowd cleared out, but he lurked nearby. He wouldn’t abandon me.

“Lafdo wonders what should be asked for in compensation. Perhaps a lock of your incredibly colored hair.”

Oh, who cares about etiquette?

I dodged the grope aimed at my head and stomped a muddy foot on his shoe before I spun and strode away.

“Caution, Ambassador.” Fredo’s voice came from behind me. Did he know this was an ambassador? I had assumed, but I didn’t know. Sometimes Fredo assumed things with me.

I shouldn’t have stomped on an ambassador. Even an ambassador from Shlykrii.

I looked back over my shoulder, gaze covert through my net-inspired hairdo, but his eyes were not on me. Fredo stood between us in that nonchalant stance he took when assessing a threat, and the Shlykrii-na stared at him, mouth ajar.

Well, my guard had appeared out of nowhere. Plus, if Lafdo had thought my coloring remarkable, it was only because he hadn’t yet seen Fredo. My hair was red, but it was a washed-out shade, like embers peeking through ashes. Fredo’s hair resembled a sky on fire, a deep scarlet sunset somehow tamed in a long, thick braid.

He stepped back, following me without taking his eyes off our guest. Facing forward, I descended the steps into the citadel, confident Fredo always had my back.

At the bottom of the staircase, a shadow glided out of a corner. His skin matched the color of the mountains silhouetted against the night sky, hair a perfect braided coif carved from hematite and eyes a blazing orange.

“Sine, your attention please.”

As if I could have ignored him standing like a tree in the middle of the walkway. His whisper retained a booming quality that sent fear sliding down my spine. Like Fredo, he wore a fitted suit of dark mail and layered strips, but unlike with my trusted guard, my head only came level with this man’s weapon-laden belt.

Being called Sine often annoyed me, but he was particular about titles, so I addressed him by his own. “Yes, Mykta Kietyn?”

He bowed. “I would speak to you in a less conspicuous place.”

Really? It wasn’t like an ambassador followed me or anything.

With an acknowledging nod, I led Kietyn around a corner, not daring a glance behind for Fredo or our guest. This was my sister’s guard, a part of her entourage. She knew everything he did. If possible, Fredo would avoid being spotted.

I brushed my fingers along the uneven stones of the wall, and they took on a metallic sheen, waiting to see if I meant that command.

The citadel that was my home was a self-sufficient city, five levels of labyrinthine corridors and hidden spaces, all constructed—apparently—of marble, stone, and mortar. Such materials were fragile, though, and static, unfit to compose the only official entrance into the River Guardians’ clandestine metropolis, Menyaza.

The walls responded to my touch because access to Menyaza was my right.

I pressed my palm against a shimmering stone, and the wall spun, scooping Kietyn and I into a parallel passage. At another swipe of my fingertips on the correct rock, the mortar glowed, providing illumination as I hurried Kietyn along.

As a young child, I had found my sister’s guard, well, creepy. Often, he seemed a shadow come to life—a very large shadow who normally wore an expression of indifference. I couldn’t identify what was pinned to his countenance now: malcontent, worry, hatred, indigestion?

It made me nervous, and when nervous, I walked and talked fast. And sometimes I was squeaky.

“You-can-speak-freely-here-Mykta.” The sentence sounded like a drumroll.

His glossy eyebrows rose. “In the body of Menyaza?”

I frowned and took a deep breath through my nose to prevent my explanation from sounding like a stampede of chatty geunda—not an animal one should ever proudly compare oneself to unless speaking of luxurious fur growing from one’s rear end.

“The acoustics of this passage are designed to secure secrets, so you must stand within an arm’s length of your listener to be heard.”

“Sufficient. Knowledge is the mightiest and most essential weapon.”

I heard those words so frequently, sometimes I suspected they were written on my forehead and everyone just read them aloud because what else were you supposed to do when you saw something scrawled on someone’s face?

My frown returned. “Is there a reason you’re quoting Eteriq River?”

His fiery gaze narrowed on me. “Do you know the meaning of the phrase?”

Of course, I did. River of Menyaza unified our world, and the value he placed on knowledge was what made it a commodity on Seallaii.

“Knowledge is the most important component.” I mimed a lunge with a rapier. “A sword is worth nothing if you don’t know which end to hold or where to stab. Spears, arrows, and shuriken all require some awareness to wield. Explosives demand a certain finesse. Even words can prove lethal if dipped in the right blend of wisdom.”

Only the edge of his eyebrow lifted, and I wondered how he did that.

“Do you believe these methodologies could be stumbled upon in ignorance?”

Unable to hold back a smile, I answered with another quote of River. “Ignorance is a blade, and knowledge forms its hilt.”

Again, I couldn’t tell what his expression held, but I felt his smile before it appeared.

See, this is a mykta. It’s right for me to sense his inner self. It means I’m growing up.

“Forgive my doubt. You are a child, but it seems your sister’s faith in you is not as unfounded as I argued.”

My sister has faith in me?

The tingle returned, warm and fluttering through every part of me. Had I said anything aloud, it would have been a garbled squeak, so I just nodded.

Was my sister watching this?

“Since you recognize the value of knowledge, you understand I do not reveal this lightly. Shlykrii plans an attack.”

“What?” My eyes grew so wide, they must have looked like two halves of a sliced grapefruit. “Then the Shlykrii-na who just arrived, you’ll”—torture was an improper word for a River Guardian—“um, coax information out of him? Use him as a hostage? Or is he a defector?”

“He is a spy, as ambassadors are.”

Ouch. Ambassador was one interpretation for my Sine title. I hadn’t been born to the River Guardian clans. Like the mathematical term that expressed the relationship between two parts of a triangle, I stood in the middle, an outsider who might blab River Guardian secrets or a River Guardian who might channel information on outsiders.

Paranoia and etiquette are equally annoying.

I let the jab roll off my shoulders and imagined it crunched beneath my heel. “Their target isn’t anywhere on Seallaii.”

“We believe the attack will be on the planet Grenswa, yet Shlykrii is our ally.”

“As is Grenswa!” I loved how their culture dripped in art, beauty, and a legendary determination. I hadn’t been there or met one of its people, but I was sure that future experience would only make me love it more.

“We are the allies of notorious enemies, and we will not be seen interfering between them. This is only the surface of Shlykrii’s secrets. For example, we do not know why Ambassador Lafdo requested to meet you specifically.”

They brought him here just to see what would happen?

Dismay dragged down on my expression.

“That being said,” Kietyn continued, “Grenswa deserves a warning.”

“Am I supposed to be present at that conference call”—I bounced on my heels—“to provide a River Guardian presence?”

“Shlykrii would make themselves privy to that. They watch us too closely.”

“Then…”

“You will be our messenger. You will find a datapin in your jewelry box. It contains what information we can share with our Grenswa-na allies and is encrypted in the Menyazé language so only a River Guardian will be able to read it.”

My uncle must have prepared it for them, another Sine like me.

“You will go alone and remain unseen, arranging your own transportation and telling no one your itinerary. You will inform only one person here of your departure, one capable of covering for you before the Shlykrii-na ambassador.”

Elation and dread warred over me. I wanted to leap for joy. I wanted to sink to my knees in despair. Instead, I stood there with my legs shaking, barely holding my weight.

“The Grenswa-nas won’t know I’m coming? Trespassers are forbidden.”

A tiny smirk peeked from the corner of Kietyn’s thin lips, though it was more sarcastic than anything else. “Those pretty pink eyes of yours are the sign of an eteriq, yes? Surely you are smart enough to figure something out.”

Continued in Chapter 2: You See My Dreams

Thank you for reading!

This would be my first time leaving my homeworld. Excitement hummed within me. I wanted to rush to the roof and shout I was finally beginning an adventure.

I was also terrified. Go alone and tell no one exactly where? What if I disappeared from the universe? Would anyone notice?

Ordering myself not to be so pessimistic, I slipped into my room, an octagonal space with each wall dedicated to a different function. My bed sat across from the door, blossoms sleeping as they ought during the day, closed into buds on tangled vines.

The feel of Lafdo’s touch lingered on my hand, and I marched to the wall alongside my bed. The swipe of my fingers on the pebbles prompted tiny valves in the ceiling to open. As cool, delicately scented water rained from above, a shelf popped out of the stones to offer an array of soaps, sponges, and oils.

With my pockets emptied onto my vanity, I peeled off my stained dress and flung it at my reading chair, then scrubbed vigorously until no trace of annoying ambassadors remained on my skin. When I was done, a potted tree provided an absorbent leaf to wrap around myself.

I ignored the heavy lavender getup hung out for me and threw open my closet. Cardinal red begged my notice, slipping over my head in an instant.

Zipping up the back of the fitted top and arranging the wild straps over my shoulders, I spun to watch the hem of the loose capris dance at my knees. Another piece hooked at my waist, a few shades darker and embossed with the swirled pattern required to appear somewhere on my attire. Once I added tall shoes, the overskirt’s pointed shape barely reached the floor.

The outfit framed my figure well, and the bold color bespoke power.

I could do this.

Like Kietyn had said, the datapin waited in my jewelry box. It was a lone ebony chopstick with crystalline beads cascading down near-invisible strings. Though they resembled frosted glass, the fossilized beads contained rewritable DNA for storing information.

Now I just had to find somewhere to put—

Fire. Everywhere.

With a gasp, I stumbled back. My closet had vanished, at least to my perception. My body still stood where it had been, but my mind and senses had been yanked through time and space to share a nightmare.

Flames cackled and roared, lapping at my ankles. The blaze formed an undulating blanket over the hills in every direction, and even the ocean burned beyond the shores of this island. Waves churned but did little to douse the inferno.

This was not the first time I had stood lost atop this pyramid’s staircase and witnessed this scene. As before, soft metal dented beneath my feet and hissed against my skin. Heat and smoke climbed up my nostrils.

I couldn’t breathe.

Through watery eyes, I scanned the horizon as I weaved through the maze of fire.

Where is he?

More explosions shook the structure, and one of the silver tiers near the top sloughed off. I fell to my knees, face to face with a toddler. Tears streaked the soot on his cheeks. He flinched as he saw me, amethyst eyes wide under a mess of scarlet hair.

“You can’t be here, Rosa.” A new line. Always before in this vision, he refused to acknowledge my presence at all.

“You shouldn’t be here either, Fredo. What’s going on?”

“It’s too hot. I’m not strong enough to shield you from it.” His helplessness seeped into me, an anchor dragging us both to the bottom of an ocean. Livid boils marred the small arms he threw around my neck. Smoke, tears, and pain choked his voice. “Please, Rosa, I’m sorry. I must have fallen asleep. I didn’t mean to drag you in here again.”

I squeezed him back. His tiny body was delicate in my arms, malnourished and lacking the muscle he had since acquired.

“If you know this is a nightmare, Fredo, change it. Douse the flames.”

“No,” he whispered. “Get out, Rosa, please.”

“Come with me. We’ll find a better dream.”

Just like last time, he tore out of my embrace and raced up the stairway. Already knowing what he would see, I didn’t follow. I didn’t wish to again witness the screams and terror. The helplessness. The woman at the top of the pyramid with raven curls aflame and deep purple eyes in search of any way out. Her pinched features twisted in pain.

My mother. Aside from the almond shape of my eyes and my curvy figure, I looked nothing like her.

Another explosion rang out on cue, and the pyramid collapsed.

It’s not real, I told myself as I fell, surrounded by debris and shrapnel. It’s in the past. I was never here.

But Fredo was. Recognition had brightened my mother’s eyes. She had grabbed him, wrapped around him, shielded and cushioned him with her own body. Had she known him? Or had she striven to save him only because he was a child and Seallaii-na children were far-between and precious?

When help finally came, nothing remained on that island but parched stone and Fredo.

The scene faded, replaced with the environs of my closet. My jewelry box sat open on its shelf. Tears wet my face, dripping onto the datapin clutched tightly to my chest, and I panted, blinking rapidly.

“A week,” I breathed. “One week since I first saw that nightmare, and now I’ve lived it three times.”

Twisting my wet hair and skewering it with the datapin, I tried to chase away the dream’s lingering unease by concentrating on what I needed to do now. My instructions said I could only inform one person of my departure, someone who could cover for me. Fredo naturally came to mind first, but he had no authority here, especially not while hiding from my sister.

After choosing a sheer red veil that didn’t conceal anything—particularly as I left one side unclipped and let it dangle in front of my right ear—I slipped back into the hidden passages, determined to track down my other best friend.

Her room was unoccupied, as were the next three locations where I thought her likely to be. Finally, I spotted Dollii—or Dollicia as her mother insisted she be called—in a narrow back corridor, peering around a corner into the armory.

Sidling up next to her with my back against the dark marble wall, I whispered, “Spying on the trainees again?”

She covered her mouth to stifle a yelp and whirled to face me. Loops of braids the color of sunshine swayed about her ears.

“I, um…Rose.” Dollii had a naturally breathy voice, but strain pitched it high this time. “Have you gotten taller?”

“Nope.” I stood straight so my chin came level with hers. “I’m wearing shoes, though, and you apparently aren’t.”

A violet blush colored her cheeks as if trying to match the cool periwinkle of her eyes. “You’ve told me some cultures never wear shoes, so I thought I’d try it.”

“And your verdict?”

“It makes sneaking easier.”

I giggled and leaned around her to catch a glimpse inside the weapon room. “Any cute ones?”

Before I saw anything, Dollii blocked my view and herded me away from the door. “Rose, um, about my bare feet, don’t say anything to my mother? Her head might explode.”

“Your mother’s head explodes on a daily basis.”

I insert here that at our introduction, Lady Lokma told me not to bother remembering her first name as I would never be in a position to use it. I used it anyway and was punished. I then rebelled by claiming she had no first name. In this official record, Lady Lokma has no first name. So there.

Petty, I know.

I twirled around Dollii, again attempting a peek in the armory, but she pirouetted like a ballerina. Her overskirt’s floor-length cascade of cyan silk resembled a whirlpool as she impeded me again.

“Were you looking for me for a reason?”

Recalling Kietyn’s words about the Shlykrii-nas watching us, I pulled Dollii far into the hidden catacombs before telling her anything.

“I’m going to Grenswa.”

The smile that curved her soft, slender features matched the exuberance I had forced to the forefront of my voice, all doubt stamped down.

“How intriguing! For a lesson, I assume. It has been a while since they took you on an outing, and it’s not just to a nearby village, but another planet!”

I shook my head, and her delicate brows twisted.

“No, it’s a mission. Shlykrii plans to attack Grenswa, and I’m supposed to warn them. I’ll carry information they can use to protect themselves.”

A blank glaze overtook her. This was Dollii’s I’m-not-freaking-out-at-least-on-the-outside face.

My words rushed on, nervousness sliding over me like high tide, and I spilled the story as if I only had that one last breath. “Kietyn said Shlykrii watches us and we cannot be seen to interfere, so this is all top secret, and I can only tell one person I’m leaving, so I chose you because you have to cover for me while the Shlykrii-na ambassador is here.”

“Rose, we are children.”

True. I was almost eighteen, Fredo was nineteen, and Dollii had just turned twenty-one. We wouldn’t be considered adolescents until thirty or adults until ninety.

I waved dismissively. “Are you implying we’re not good enough to be entrusted with important things?”

“I’m saying this sounds suspicious and you should question it.”

“Then I might not get to go,” I grumbled, gaze on the thin line of grout beneath my heel.

“I know this is your dream.” The loose portions of her wavy, golden hair cascaded over her shoulders as she leaned, arms extended in an embrace that didn’t touch me. “Still, no foreigner has stepped foot on Grenswa’s soil for decades, and our last ambassador was killed.”

“Accidently killed.” My stomach churned, but I met her concerned stare. “Merchants go to Grenswa.”

“They don’t get off their ships.” She sighed, two fingers rubbing at her left eye. “The Grenswa-nas have made themselves plain: Any body part that touches their land will get cut off.”

I gulped. “They wouldn’t do that to someone who came to help them.”

“If they’re not expecting you, how will they know you aren’t a trespasser?”

Good point.

I looked sideways at her. “I’ll tell them I have an important message for their leaders.”

“They won’t give you time to say that. They’ll turn into a mob and throw you off a cliff. Or maybe they’ll drown you in their myriad of oceans. Or—”

“What if I look like them? I can go in disguise.” I put a hand on my hip. “And don’t discount our charisma. The Sojourners use it all the time. All I have to do is smile, and the Grenswa-nas will love me.” At least, I hoped it worked that way.

Dollii’s small lips pursed. “Maybe you should try it on Ambassador Lafdo first to make sure yours is working.”

“I don’t want that guy to love me.” I crossed my arms. “Maybe I could capture him somehow and take him to Grenswa with me. Then the mob could drown him in the oceans.”

“That would be ten times worse.”

“Joking, Dollii. I have to leave him here to entertain you.”

Her sightline dropped to the dusty floor. “I’m supposed to just watch you fly off to your death? You weren’t given any more instruction? No network of covert operatives? No contacts on Grenswa? No ship?”

“Kietyn said my pretty pink eyes are the sign of an eteriq, so I should be able to figure something out.”

Her gaze jumped to me, sharp and bold. Its palest purple held none of its usual softness. “You are not an eteriq.”

“No, but I am a Sine. The River Guardians claim me because I have the potential for genius.”

Dollii paced in small circles, skirt sweeping a shiny path on the floor. “The River Guardians take any pink-eyed children because eteriq always have eyes of that hue, but not all those with pink eyes turn out to be eteriq.”

“I’m still smart.” My fingers curled. “I think Kietyn’s words are a test.”

She paused, eyes narrowed. “Like a riddle?”

“What pink-eyed historical figure helped Grenswa rebuild when Shlykrii nearly wiped them out?”

She didn’t move, and it worried me. I couldn’t tell if she found this theory plausible or preposterous.

“You think your Uncle Sjaealam is involved.”

“I know he is. This is my chance to be like him, to be a Sine who matters.” I stood as straight as I could, chin perhaps a little higher than hers.

“What if it’s more than that?” Dollii sucked on the corner of her lip. “What if his name is a code, and if you transmit it to the world he saved, they’ll welcome you with open arms?”

“That’s brilliant!”

“It’s only a guess. Promise me something, Rose?” Her fingers twitched as she turned to me, hands pulled rigid to her sides. She had on her oversweet, I-am-perfectly-in-control face, eyes closed in crescent moons over her high cheeks. “Send a message to Grenswa before you step on their land.”

I nodded with no reservations. Dollii always had amazing ideas.

“This is why I’m glad you’re my friend.”

Her eyes opened above a wan smile. Serenity sketched her posture with long, smooth strokes, but desperate energy hid in her stillness. “Be safe, Rose. Keep Fredo safe.”

I stepped back. “I’m not telling him I’m leaving.”

The distance between me and this tsunami of cyan and gold vanished. I planted my heeled shoes, but she never touched me.

Her swirling skirt brushed my toes as she whispered in my ear. “Fredo is your mykta, official or not. Even if you try to leave him behind, he will go with you.”

“If he doesn’t know—”

“He will know.” As she leaned back, her sightline pounced on me, doubt nowhere in her expression. “Fredo will go with you.” A promise. A threat and an assurance.

Dollii was not a River Guardian and so not allowed to touch me, but the confidence and concern teeming in her steadfast gaze was the equivalent of a hug.

* * *

Dollii’s words echoed in my mind after we parted. I wandered aimlessly, lost in a sea of memories and old promises.

The first thing I ever said to Fredo was, “Hey.”

I was three, and after a morning spent studying Grenswa, I had been sent to the citadel’s lab to experiment with color. His crimson hair had distracted me. Undeterred by the doctor’s warning that I couldn’t come into the treatment room, I approached the boy sitting on the end of a table staring at the wall.

He didn’t look at me, not even after I called, “Hey!” eight times.

“Honored Elder not much older than me, you’re being rude!”

He turned, slowly, as if he had to fight a riptide to do it. He had a lot of bandages and was skinny, but Lady Lokma would have griped at me for pointing that out. Instead, I asked, “Have you ever met anybody younger than you before?”

He blinked. I waited patiently for him to answer, but he didn’t say anything. My feet grew tired of being still.

I stood on my toes. “Do you not know how to talk?”

A narrowing of the clearest amethyst eyes, something between a wince and a glare, and I took that as a yes.

“That’s okay, I can teach you. I’ve always wanted a student I can boss around, and I’m good at talking.”

I climbed up to sit next to him, legs swinging over the side of the experiment table. He tilted his head, peering at me like my face was on upside down, but he didn’t specifically say I couldn’t be his teacher.

“Learning to talk starts with lots of listening, so I’ll tell you about all my adventures.”

I never stopped. I always told Fredo everything.

My steps stilled at the entrance to the armory. Inside, Fredo sat on a bench and polished a set of wicked knives—hybrids of daggers, arrowheads, and hooks. I didn’t know how I knew where he was. I wasn’t looking for him anyway.

I didn’t say anything, but he knew I was there.

“Lafdo has a strange name, don’t you think?”

“How so?” I prompted.

“The first part is like the English word for laugh, right, and isn’t the last bit Menyazé for weird?”

“That’s dedó!” I corrected, quickly lowering my voice. I wasn’t supposed to have taught him any Menyazé. Or Earth-na languages, for that matter.

“What about—”

“Please let’s not talk about him.” Again, I stared at the floor.

“Tell me about our trip and why you thought you could hide it from me.”

I stiffened. “You can’t read my mind, Fredo.”

“I can’t?”

“Then I’ll pick a number between one and a billion, and you tell me what it is, decimal places and all.” I threw him a grin in challenge, but he didn’t see it, gaze on his hands and the sharp objects they held.

“You know it doesn’t work like that.” With a slow sigh, he set down the knives and looked up at me. “What Kietyn said both scares and thrills you.”

“What Kietyn said...” I retreated a pace.

“I don’t know exactly what he said. I know you’re going somewhere dangerous, and I am going with you.” He stood. “You can read my mind, too, so you know I mean it.”

Disobey my sister, future ruler of the world, by keeping Fredo at my side? We did that every day. But he had to let the mind-sharing thing go.

“I can’t read your mind, Fredo.”

“Keep telling yourself that, but you can’t deny”—he leaned close, breath tickling my ear—“you see my dreams.”

My heart fluttered like the wings of my sister’s golden transport, and my face surely matched the purple of Fredo’s eyes. “You do that on purpose.”

He grinned.

My voice escaped on a barely audible breath. “Seriously, Fredo, I wish you had better dreams.”

He matched my volume. “Maybe you could give me a better memory?”

“What kind of cavorting is going on in here?” Our favorite Shlykrii-na ambassador plodded into the armory. Recollection flashed—his hand reaching for my hair, my fingers trapped in his grip.

Before I registered it, my veil was clipped crookedly across the lower half of my face, but I still felt exposed. I wished I had chosen a more opaque covering. My skin retched at the thought of the ambassador touching me again, and I determined to take another shower.

I hadn’t noticed Fredo move, but discreet distance appeared between us. I followed his dagger-like gaze, whirling as he again placed himself between Lafdo and I. Three Sentinels followed the ambassador, automaton soldiers that resembled skeletons with viridian diodes for eyes.

A frown fell on me. Menyaza was devoted to peace. By extension, so was the Citadel of Menyaza. Mechanical soldiers should not have been allowed here. It should have been an offense for them even to step on Seallaii’s soil.

“Are you lost, Ambassador?” I beckoned with more disgust than politeness would call for. He had already been on the bottom rung of my ‘approval ladder.’ Now that I knew what his people planned, that rung was broken, the ground had collapsed under him, and he plunged headlong into the molten mantle of this symbolic planet.

“A Surra-na is never lost, but Lafdo’s room appears to be. This maze must rearrange itself when our back is turned.”

“It doesn’t do that.” Well, it could, but it usually didn’t. “Admit you are lost, and I will help you find your way.”

Stubbornness flared in his cat-slit eyes. Shlykrii-nas valued competence and honor. Getting lost diminished both qualities. His gaze darted around in search of excuses amid all the sharp objects hanging on the walls.

“This is an armory.” He shuffled closer, eyes dropping pointedly to the knives Fredo brandished. “Artful swords of every size and shape. More advanced weaponry, too. You can’t deny it, so answer: Why have an armory if the Druojojneerpsrii are devoted to peace?”

I rolled my eyes at his use of the Menyazé word for River Guardian. Like most foreigners, he would have said it was out of respect for the caretakers of the universe, but really, Druojojneerpsrii was such a mouthful. Like most ‘respectful foreigners,’ he was only showing off.

He continued, “If Seallaii has no army, why the weapons?”

“Seallaii has no civilians. All will rise should the need emerge. Only River Guardians do not fight, and we provide the weapons.”

“That’s hypocritical.” Lafdo chuckled. “The Druojojneerpsrii do not kill, yet they provide others with the means.”

I clenched my fists. “Sometimes it’s necessary to prune off a few bad limbs to protect the whole plant.”

“That’s not the mantra.” Lafdo tutted. “Druojojneerpsrii do not kill anything. It’s a pithy excuse to pass a weapon to another and ask them to make a choice you would not.”

I had never thought about it like that. His reasoning pricked my conscience, but I wouldn’t lose an argument with him.

Quietly, I said, “Our weapons repay a debt.”

“Ah, because River of Menyaza killed so many?”

“Without Eteriq River, your people would still be trying to figure out what number comes after ten.”

“Hence, he has a special place in Lafdo’s memory and in the history books.” The Shlykrii-na’s hand waved over his heart. “The River Guardians are his namesake, correct? His relatives who took it upon themselves to ration the discoveries of the eteriq.”

I gave a sharp nod. “We watch over the universe and protect it. To do that correctly, we have to know all its secrets.”

“That is precisely why Lafdo, your humble ambassador, is here.” His gaze shifted to Fredo. “Is this another of your weapons?”

To Fredo’s brief glance, one eyebrow raised, I gave a shrug. Dressed as the night and with a glittering blade held between each of his fingers, my guard did look menacing.

“Come now, the Druojojneerpsrii are known for genetic tampering, and there is no way he is natural. The way he glides out of nothing. How his hair is the color of a planet’s core.”

The Shlykrii-nas’ coloring typically blended with their world of pastels and browns. While a few stood out, none were as vibrant as Fredo. For that matter, few on Seallaii were either. Yet, Fredo’s origins were too close to a topic I feared, so I took too long to reply, and the ambassador advanced his argument.

“In that vein, he is little different from these Sentinels. Wouldn’t you rather—”

He tried to sidestep Fredo, but my guard moved like the wind.

So did the Sentinels.

Within the time it took me to gasp, their blur of movement stopped. Knives lay scattered on the stone floor. Lafdo stood less than a handspan from me. Fredo was held against the wall beside us with a Sentinel’s built-in gun pressed against his temple and another to his heart. A machine gripped him on either side while the third’s clawed grasp viced his extended arm. The lone knife in that hand hovered a hairsbreadth from Lafdo’s ribs.

The Sentinels’ impassive faces sported red diode eyes aimed at their master, awaiting his next command. He told them nothing, gaze on me and grin predatory.

“The eteriq are amazing. We would value you properly. Seallaii cannot compare to a world of geniuses like ours.”

Though every instinct told me to run, I stood my ground. “I thought Shlykrii was a small planet. How did your head ever fit there?”

A flush and a sneer raced onto his expression. He spoke through his teeth. “We allowed our planet to be called Shlykrii before we knew what that meant, but our world’s name is Surra.”

Surra meant ‘strength that powers the universe’ or something pompous like that.

“Shlykrii describes your people well.”

“We are not murderers.”

“If I were Grenswa-na, I’d slap your face and hope you keeled over from the shame of that lie.” I whirled and stomped away, heels clacking a finite tune.

The ambassador’s lips flapped a few times before he sputtered, “D-did you hear how she spoke to Lafdo?”

“Sorry, I only hear what she tells me to.”

Lafdo’s jaw almost fell off as he turned to find my guard leaning against the wall, one knife flipping in his left hand, and all three Sentinels decommissioned on the floor.

As I reached the open doorway, my steps halted.

I shouldn’t leave this spy in the armory.

Fixing up my sweetest expression, I turned back. “Ambassador Lafdo, do you want to go somewhere fun?”

He was wary, and I let him at least get his machine soldiers standing again. Fredo stood alongside me, and we both watched his hasty repairs, I with a look of mild fascination mixed with superiority, and my guard with disapproval tempered by boredom. I think we succeeded in making him feel super awkward.

As the Shlykrii-na and his mechanical stalkers followed me into the corridor, I slid my hand along the wall, and it scooped him into another passage. He squawked like a befuddled bird, and I giggled.

“He’ll starve if you don’t let him out of there.”

Striding down the hall, I waved Fredo’s warning aside. “Dollii can come get him later.” After I left.

Fredo trailed me, long paces quickly catching up. “Dollii’s not a River Guardian. She can’t command the citadel with her fingertips.”

I didn’t slow or look at him. “As the lordly family elected for the Lokma clan, her parents have a key, and she knows where it is.”

“It only opens one passage in the deepest basement. Your sister’s royal key would be better.”

I shrugged. “Eh, hers doesn’t work as well since it’s a replacement. The original was that silver, wing-shaped pendant my mother was wearing when—”

We both stopped.

After a beat, Fredo finished, “When everything went up in flames.” Another beat. “Rosa, we need to talk about this.”

Tears warmed my eyes, and I walked on, strides as long and swift as I could make them. “Unknown origins aside, Fredo, you are not supposed to be capable of forming a mykta’s bond.”

“We can’t ignore my unknown origins. We don’t know who or what my parents were.” He stepped in front of me.

I turned left and advanced down another corridor, heels clomping against the stone floor.

A memory splashed over me, my own three-year-old voice thrown at my face like a bucket of cold water. “You have to talk sometime, or I’ll be a failure of a teacher. And you probably have a pretty voice, Fredo. Don’t you want to hear it?”

He had frowned, and finally, months after our first encounter, he spoke his first words to me. “Why do you call me that?”

“Because the doctors call you Fredondii.”

“That’s my name.”

“Did the doctors give it to you? Or your family?”

His gaze had fallen to his lap. “I don’t remember.”

“Probably the doctors, then. Fredondii is the name of an alien plant that makes friends with whatever you stick it next to, but for a name it’s boring and too long. Fredo’s better.”

Point made, the voices faded, leaving me motionless in the present. I pivoted my head and peered at Fredo through my twisted hair. Arms crossed, he leaned against the wall and stared at me. Had he pushed me into that memory?

That was impossible.

But there was that dream. Surely it wasn’t a creation of my own imagination.

Fredo officially had no recollection from before they found him, but what if that wasn’t true? What if that nightmare was his memory haunting him?

They had found him on that charred island. He was there when my mother died.

The faded scars on the backs of his hands matched the boils on the burned flesh of his child self in the vision. It had been real, and somehow he had pulled me in to witness it. By accident.

“We can’t read each other’s minds,” I whispered.

Another memory crashed into me, and I saw my own ten-year-old profile from the perspective of someone hiding behind my chair in a theater, a talent act on the sunken stage beyond me.

Fredo’s preteen voice came out of the observer. “Why does your sister know everything Kietyn does?”

“Because he’s her mykta, part of her entourage. A royal’s mind is linked to each person in her entourage, so she can see through his eyes if she wants.”

Fredo’s hands alighted on my shoulders, yanking me back to the now.

“Stop doing that! It’s making me dizzy.”

No apology rested in his gaze. His irises claimed neither the whispering periwinkle Dollii’s did nor the night-sky purple that belonged to my mother and sister. His was more vibrant, like dawn.

Staring into those eyes also made me dizzy.

“If this is the beginnings of a mykta’s bond, you understand why it’s unfair for you to leave me behind, right?”

“Yes.”

That was exactly why I feared and denied this was such a bond. My mother’s face from the dream flashed in my mind—the only memory I had of her, and it wasn’t even my own. Not all of her entourage had been there on that island, but those safely at home had perished anyway. Because she did.

Fredo put my worst fear into words. “If I fail to protect you and you die, I’ll die with you.”

Continued in chapter 3- Stand Back! I’ve Got Sauce!

Thank you for reading!

My heart squeaked, racing as if pursued by some predator. There was nowhere to flee, though, and nothing to outrun. I might as well have stood on a tiny, sinking island in an ocean with no shores in sight.

“Don’t say such things aloud, Fredo. You’ll give the universe ideas.” My attempt at levity crumbled into a breathless whine.

He didn’t tease me for it, lips set in a grim stroke. His gaze held steady, but I sensed he also felt adrift.

I shoved the feeling away and backpedaled, head wagging. Distance. Would distance help?

“Distance makes no difference with a mykta’s bond,” Fredo supplied.

I knew that. A member of my uncle’s entourage spent most of his life traipsing between galaxies, and my uncle lived those adventures through him.

If we were more confident in this, I might have left Fredo here as a connection to home. As it was, all I had were his nightmares and a niggling at the back of my mind.

I would rather have him with me, a sturdy shoulder to lean on.

He was kind of a weapon, not in the way Lafdo had alluded to, but he was brave, uncannily accurate, and had a knack for pulling solutions out of thin air. I didn’t intend to fight, but should the situation where I must defend myself arise, how would Fredo feel, trapped here unable to help?

“Kietyn said to go alone,” I admitted, “but that is based on the assumption that you still live in the dungeons and I forgot about you long ago.”

That tugged the corner of his mouth into a slight smirk. “You gave me no peace in there, always unlocking the door and insisting I come on an adventure with you.”

I met his gaze, sheepish, scared, and thrilled. “If you want to go with me this time, meet me at the citadel’s gates just before dawn’s fingers reach the western hills.”

I had no doubt he would be there.

* * *

When I returned to my room, the blossoms of my bed were beginning to open for the night in anticipation of my company, but they would put me in too deep a sleep. Darkness was brief on Seallaii, and I needed to leave before the sun rose in the west.

After a short nap in my reading chair, I withdrew emergency funds from the treasury, then got out my dyes. A few visible differences existed between the Grenswa-nas and us. Dollii was right: To get the first word, I couldn’t be a foreigner at first glance. I needed a simple disguise, and it needed to be waterproof.

With the ingredients whipped into a thick, metallic pink paste, I smeared it from my eyelids to my ears. After dipping the first joint of each toe and finger in the concoction, I carefully swabbed the tips of my nails clean, added lines for texture, then applied a sealant over it all.

Inspecting my handiwork, I chuckled at the irony. Grenswa-nas breathed through this colored, scaly part of their skin in a process called cutaneous respiration. Thanks to the paste and sealant, my skin in these areas would not be able to breathe.

The rest of my olive complexion wouldn’t be a problem. As with many human-like beings, the Grenswa-na epidermis came in a range of browns, from the fairest cream to the richest ebony. My skin’s flower-petal texture differed from their amphibious, shark-like weave, but that wouldn’t be noticeable if I didn’t allow anyone to touch me.

I would also be too tall and thickly structured, and while I knew of medicines that could quickly emaciate me, I opted against those dangerous drugs and hoped no one would notice how well-endowed I was.

Satisfied with my disguise and the scant contents of my messenger bag, I stepped into a pair of clunky, brown shoes and threw a hooded cloak around my shoulders. Its pale, velvety gray melted into the hallway’s uneven shadows. At regular intervals, one or two of the stones set in the walls glowed at my approach and dimmed after I passed.

Excitement lent a spring to my step at first, but the further I walked, the more my giddiness soured into unease. I had never traveled far from the citadel without a mentor and an educational objective. This seemed like an act of defiance. I was supposed to leave unnoticed, yet my crisscrossing, copper belts clinked with every step. So did the beads dangling from the datapin stabbed crookedly through my pretzel-inspired bun. I grabbed them both, one arm pressed to my torso and other hand hovering near my ear.

I probably looked both hard of hearing and nauseated.

To spite my wish for stealth, the knees of my soft, black capris rustled against my shirt’s hem of overlapping triangles, their tarnished-copper green reflecting the stones’ luminescence.

I pulled my cloak tighter and lifted my scarf to cover my nose. In view of the previous day’s experiences, its deep russet and pale gray fabric was breathe-through but not see-through. It was a refuge to hide in, concealing my face from the cheeks down and snaking around my neck to drape over my bosom.

It let me pretend no one could see me.

Who was I kidding? Of course they could see me traipsing down the grand staircase. The steps were wide, shallow, and plentiful, looping around the grand hall, the most open space in the citadel. No rooms were above it, only a glass ceiling. Moonlight bathed the opalite pillars and ancient rugs. Seallaii had over thirty moons, so our nights were never truly dark.

Pillar shadows striped my path, and the Sentinels’ brilliant eyes flashed in my mind.

They watch us too closely.

Were they watching now? Could they see me flouncing down the most obvious path in my home?

Where was Fredo? The enormous gates that barred entrance to the citadel’s main hall loomed at the bottom of these stairs, but my guard was nowhere in sight. Had he run into those mechanical soldiers, and had they taken revenge? What if he lay dying within the passages somewhere? Surely, I would be able to tell.

What if this was that premonition?

I had opened my mouth to ask the citadel when a loud crack echoed through the hall. I dove over the railing into the safety of deep shadows. Was that the sound of an arrow striking the wall just above my head? A sword stabbing the floor behind my back? A bullet smashing into the rail at my heels?

I landed in someone’s arms, and they cradled me firmly as panic insisted I fight. A scream rose, but a hand clamped over my mouth.

“If stealth is a priority, I suggest you remain quiet, Rosa,” Fredo whispered in my ear.

I stilled, heart pounding.

He held in a laugh. “If you bothered to listen to my thoughts, you would know I rigged several things to go crack, bump, and whoosh to provide a little fun for anyone watching.”

I hugged him tightly as he set me down. “You’re a genius!”

“But not an eteriq. See, purple eyes.”

“Regarding those eyes of yours, I brought something to match them, but you’ll have to put it on later.” I grabbed his hand and tugged him after me. A non-River Guardian was not supposed to touch a River Guardian, but he had ignored that rule plenty of times in the past, more frequently of late, and I didn’t mind.

“If your gift is a purple tutu, I’ll kill you.”

I scoffed, louder now as we left the walls of the citadel. Our shoes crunched against the gravel path leading into Rokanaye Forest. The trees here were massive and entwined, leaves a pale blue like fog and trunks the deep color of plums.

“In my dreams,” he told me, “which you see and participate in, I could kill you over and over.”

“That’s disturbing!”

He ignored my denouncement and inspected our surroundings. “We should have taken the catacombs beneath the forest.”

“That’s so claustrophobic. The forest is much more beautiful.” Arms wide, I spun in a swift circle.

Fredo shrugged, gaze still wandering. “The eteriq say beauty is a deception and distraction.”

I swung around him and slid my hands over his eyes. “Would you reject all beauty, then?”

“I would rather see your face.”

I let go and ducked around him, pickpocketing the tablet from his belt. Mine was back in my room in case anyone tried to track it. “Is that your way of calling me beautiful or something else?”

“You certainly are a distraction. And easily distracted. What are you doing?”

I walked backward, fingers flying over the touchscreen. The hand-sized, flat trapezoid buzzed with each contact. “I’m listening. Keep talking,” I mumbled with a wave.

“I asked a question. It’s your turn to talk.”

“Huh, that’s nice.”

He plucked the device out of my hand. “You didn’t hear anything I said. Why are you looking up permits of merchant ships going to Grenswa?”

I wiggled my painted fingers. “Why do you think I’m also wearing Grenswa-na scales?”

One might think these should have been the first clue, but I applied such makeup for fun sometimes.

Fredo’s eyes widened, then dropped into a serious frown. “Your sister wants those xenophobes to kill us off.”

“How pessimistic! My sister cares a great deal about me, and she doesn’t know you’re going.”

“If she did, she would have one of her mykta shoot me,” he grumbled.

“Because she worries for me. I finally have a chance to be of use to her.” I snatched back the tablet. “Plus, we get to have an adventure.”

“I’m here to remind you how dangerous this adventure will turn out.” He lifted a leafy branch out of my way, but a dry note flattened his voice.

I caught it and sent it right back, raking my gaze along him as I passed. “Well, I’m here to remind you how fun life can be. While I didn’t pack any purple tutus, I do wish you would have worn something that didn’t shout Seallaii-na mykta.”

The most feared creatures on our world, scyuen, shed their scales in spring. Their discarded hide provided the material for the obsidian chevrons that formed his chest plate, greave-boots, and arm guards. Beneath those, his suit of chain mail shone like hematite, crafted from slivers of scyuen claws. His throwing knives waited in sheaths on the back-left of his belt, while other weapons rested in well-hidden pockets. My Sine pattern was even scrawled twice in silver on his right vambrace.

Fredo released the branch and crossed his arms. “This is my favorite outfit. If I’m going to be running for our lives, I want to be comfortable.”

“We won’t be running for our lives if you blend in better.”

“Then thank you for telling me where we’re going. You make it so easy to plan ahead.”

I mimicked his stance. “I thought you could read my mind.”

“Let’s test that reciprocally: How do I feel right now?”

I knew, a knowledge as innate as my limbs reporting where they were. Like being able to tell how many fingers I held up behind my back, I knew Fredo was there.

“You’re annoyed at me,” I whispered.

“Because?” One eyebrow rose.

“For too many reasons.” My arms held each other. “Let’s talk about something else.”

I felt his hands on my shoulders a moment before they landed there, and the blue foliage became a blur as he spun me to face him.

“We need to talk about this because it’s growing. You take part in nearly every dream I have now, sometimes even when you’re awake.”

“Only when it really affects you.”

“And when something really affects you, that’s what I see. It’s not going away. I can even reach out to your mind like reaching out my hand to you, but…” His voice stopped, yet I heard the words anyway, just like I did in his dreams.

I spoke them aloud. “We’re not supposed to have this bond.”

“We need to tell our honored elders.”

“They’ll take you away!” I threw my arms around his middle.

His hands were light on my back. “I won’t let them.”

“Promise?”

His answer was delivered to my mind in a steel box. ‘Would I say it if I didn’t mean it? I won’t leave you.’

“Then, when we get back, we’ll tell someone I trust.”

“Dollii already knows.”

I had suspected that.

“I meant someone who will know what to do.”

Like my Sine uncle. What would he say? He had mykta of his own, ones approved by all parties, not with dubious origins like Fredo.

What if it turned into a huge ordeal, if our bond was forbidden and the only way to stop it was to kill one of us? I knew which one they would choose. What would I do?

My hold around Fredo’s waist cinched tighter. Surely, he felt my fear.

He patted the top of my head. “Cheer up. It’s always been your dream to travel and have adventures far beyond the citadel.”

The tablet beeped, and while it had nothing to do with my arms around Fredo, I realized I gave him no personal space. I scampered back and lifted the screen to see what it had to say.

“It’s found us a ride, but we’ll have to hurry.”

* * *

It was a long hike, and as the sun rose above the distant Seekii Hills, hunger grumbled in my stomach. Fortunately, the Rokanaye Forest offered plenty of wild fruit, berries, and gourds. We didn’t stop to eat, picking food and chewing as we walked.

“Did you know if you bite a baffble and a blasc at the same time, it doesn’t taste like anything?” Fredo mused. “It’s like the tartness of one is cancelled out by the extreme blandness of the other.”

“Maybe you should make a sauce and call it Fredo’s Taste of Nothingness.” I laughed too loud at my own joke. The bushes rustled, and I hopped closer to my guard. “What was that?”

“What do you think it was?”

It was probably a geunda or some other small, innocuous forest creature, but my heart refused to leave my throat until I knew for sure Saurids hadn’t surrounded us.

Movement to the right caught my eye, and I whirled, back-to-back with Fredo. He kept walking like none of this was a big deal.

Was that a scaly tail or a stick wet with dew peeking out of that shrub? A talon or a rock beneath that hedge?

Because one time it was a tail. It was a talon. It was a mouth full of teeth larger than my fingers.

Old scenes flashed through my mind: a ravine with massive trees coating its sides like fuzz. A nest full of tiny eggs my teacher wanted fifteen-year-old me to see. Gentle rain. Rapid lightning and quiet thunder. An electric green eye the size of my head.

Scaled and feathered bird-like bodies painted blue by moonlight melted up from the undergrowth.

My teacher had apologized as was custom when one ran into a Saurid hunting party. They were Seallaii’s other sapient species, and we mostly tried to stay out of each other’s way.

They had accepted my teacher’s words. And Fredo’s. And Dollii’s. But not mine because “Eteriq are a blight on this land carved for us by the Minshyal.”

Basically, they didn’t think their god-like creature—which wasn’t intelligent and wouldn’t have survived aboveground anyway—would approve of me living. So, they tried to kill me.

One pounced. His teeth snapped a hairsbreadth from my face. Fredo held his tail. The brawl began—Fredo and Dollii versus five natural killers. The sound of blades against bone rang in my ears. The metallic scent of blood clogged my nostrils. I couldn’t breathe.

“Rosa, stop. You’re making yourself hyperventilate.” Fredo’s warm palms on my shoulders were an anchor holding me here in the present.

I put my hands atop his. “I’m not doing it on purpose.”

“Try purposely thinking of something else.” His voice was like a calming tea, but his eyes darted to every flicker of shadow. I wasn’t only scaring myself. My fear was contagious.

“Do you purposely think of other things when you’re trying not to pull me into your nightmares?”

He let go and walked on. “Yes.”

Then it doesn’t always work.

I puffed my cheeks. Did my emotions have to pour into him? Or could I choose what I wanted to share? Was there a way to keep myself from experiencing his deepest fears?

With a long sigh, Fredo slowed. “Have you read the book Samayale Drobele Lerstes?”

“Beyond the Edge of the Universe?” I held a finger to my lips, deep in thought, but I didn’t recall having seen that title. “Practicing your Laysis reading skills?”

He shrugged and grabbed a handful of berries from an overladen bush. “The Shlykrii-na ambassador made me wonder what literature the citadel’s library had in his language, and that’s what caught my eye.”

“Which library?”

“Fourth floor, north wing.”

The one closest to Dollii’s room and her favorite. I pictured the three-sided hall and scanned my memories of its shelves, but it wasn’t until Fredo said, “The cover’s gray with a planet etched into it,” that I found a match.

Snapping my fingers, I hurried to catch up. “It’s a historical account of the first time Sojourners took Shlykrii-nas beyond our galaxy. They encountered an empire called Napix.”

As a reward, I snatched a berry from his hand and popped it in my mouth. The sour tang pulled my cheeks between my teeth and rendered my eyes watery slits.

Fredo discarded the rest of the handful. “The version I read last night was pure fiction.”

Through my shriveled throat, my, “How so?” sounded more like an inhale.

Fredo spun me around and lightly rubbed my spine. “The Napix-na aliens had ridiculous abilities like spontaneous combustion or moving objects without touching them.”

“Is that so impossible?” I cleared my throat and turned to face him. “Even things we consider normal, like our tablets’ wireless connection to the databases, would seem farfetched to someone who didn’t know the science that makes them work.”

His nod fell as gradual as a sinking sun. “Someone who didn’t know would probably also exaggerate the tablets’ abilities.”

“Would that make it fiction, though? I mean, yes, by our definition. Our storytellers include the impossible to make it obvious that these events didn’t really happen, but this Shlykrii-na author recorded the truth as he saw it.”

Fredo’s mouth twisted to the side, and I mirrored the expression, standing on the edge of an epiphany with stars filling my view. I had read about so many worlds, but knowledge gleaned from books was a shadow compared to firsthand experience. If I had stood alongside that first intergalactic-travelling Shlykrii-na, what would I have thought of the creatures of Napix?

My heel struck a stair, and I stumbled. Walking backward wasn’t the wisest, especially as we reached the outskirts of the Village of Vefii with its porous carpet of moss on stone staircases and structures built into the precipitous lay of the land. It allowed me the best view of Fredo’s reactions, though. Watching him process information was just as fun as watching him sink knives into an army of practice dummies.

He caught me without breaking stride. “Point is, the Napix-na monsters aren’t real, but if they were, they’d be scarier than Saurids.”

“So frightful! How would we ever fight them?” I said in falsetto, hands framing my cheeks.

He laughed. “I could feed them Fredo’s Taste of Nothingness.”

“Surely, they would know better than to eat foreign foods not approved for their consumption.” As we descended a curved slope onto a wider, more beaten path between the trees, I whispered, “You know what I told you about the Sojourner who ate an Earth-na tomato.”

That story was highly classified, as were any that detailed a Sojourner breaking rules or doing foolish things. The contents of nearly all my lessons were considered classified, though.

“Earth-na food sounds dangerous.” Fredo seemed too intrigued by the prospect. “With the right ingredients, my Taste of Nothingness sauce could actually be a weapon.”

With a guffaw, I plucked another baffble and wielded it as a prop. “Stand back! I’ve got sauce!”

Fredo raised a finger, perhaps in judgement, perhaps in warning. Before he got a word out, I fell over backward.

Continued in chapter 4: Oh High Heavens! We're All Going to Prison!

Thank you for reading!

At first, I thought I had tumbled over inconvenient boulders. Then I realized whatever I had hit was yelling. Somehow, Fredo caught both me and the crone I had trampled.

“Watch it!” She clung to me, and I had never been more grateful for the padding on my bag’s strap.

The face hovering only a hand’s span from mine belonged to Brikla of the Bukuu, famed second-oldest person in the world.

She recognized me, too. “Pink eyes. You must be the little Sine. Any particular reason you slammed into me?”

“Sorry, Honored Elder.” I dropped into a quick curtsy. “I have no excuse.”

She brushed herself off, flicking pale pieces of baffble from her sleeve. “Dining with a River Guardian is supposed to bring good fortune. What does it mean when one smashes fruit on your shoulder?”

“That you’ll live a long life?”

“I was old before you were born. Where is the tardy prophet headed this morning?”

Fredo chimed in, “To accomplish imperative tasks beyond comprehension.”

Fancy and very vague. Way to go Fredo.

Our elder’s gaze narrowed on him. “You are young, but you are cute. Sine, I will trade you.”

“Trade what?”

Fredo glared, but she had piqued my curiosity. Not that I would have ever traded him, but I wanted to hear what she would say.

“The wild dapkie around here. They make a game of trying to knock me over. If I could run as fast as them, they would get what they deserve!” She shook her fist.

Stifling a giggle, I chirped, “It seems they trained you for today, saving you from a fall when I came barreling into town. Sorry for the short visit, but we need to go.” I scampered off, Fredo at my heels. “Tell no one you’ve seen us, please.”

“Dearie, it is not my business to go telling everyone everything. My business is much more profitable.”

She would tell for the right price, but the Shlykrii-nas couldn’t pay it. Ancient, honorable Brikla of the Bukuu, a Shlykrii-na spy? Never.

* * *

Imagine a cube two stories tall.

Now stretch the cube into a rectangular prism. Tilt it onto a corner and squash it a little.

Hold that image in your mind. The smaller sides should be rhombuses. Cover these with pyramids, one on either end of the structure.

This is the construct of the ship we found on the other side of Vefii.

It was a simple shape, metallic hull painted many times with varying shades of black, and still a disconcerting amount of orange rust showed through. Fredo glanced back at me, questions in his eyes. This tin bucket would fall apart halfway through the atmosphere. Was I sure this was our ride?

I nodded and pulled my hood low over my telltale eyes. This ship was unpretentious, exactly what we needed. Plus, it was already headed to Grenswa, carrying tradestuffs from the merchants of Vefii.

Fredo knocked loud on the hull and grimaced when his knuckles came away flecked with black and orange.

“I already told you,” came a bellow from inside, “we don’t—” As a man’s mostly bald head appeared through the hatch opening above us and he realized we were not whomever he had already told, his tone dropped from vexed to reserved. “We are legal, and I have the papers to prove it.”

“We aren’t here to say otherwise,” Fredo conceded.

The man’s mouth drew a thin line. He had the narrow, blue eyes and dark hair—what remained of it—of a northerner, and a luxurious beard compensated for his glabrous crown, matching the description of the ship’s listed owner, Bongii of the Twal.

“Then what does a mykta and a—what’s she, a vedia? What do members of the heir’s entourage want with me?”

He thought we belonged to my sister, and I wouldn’t correct him.

Fredo didn’t either. “We seek transport.”

“No. That’s prohibited.”

Fredo’s eyebrows rose, and his head tilted. “You’re going.”

“I have a permit and arrangements with native merchants. You can’t go to Grenswa uninvited, and if you had been invited, you wouldn’t be asking me to take you.”

“Arguing here with me will put you behind schedule, so I’ll cut this short,” Fredo offered. “You will take us with you.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because if you don’t, you won’t be going either. If you deny us again, my compatriots will storm from the trees and help me confiscate this ship.”

Bongii scanned the forest at the edge of the cleared launch pad as Fredo’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial stage whisper.

“This is a test to see how well you take orders when we need you to. I wasn’t supposed to tell you, but you’re kind of failing, so…”

A stiff breeze rustled the foliage where Bongii stared, and his eyes widened. Saying nothing, he disappeared inside and threw a steel-rung rope ladder through the hatch.

I climbed up first, rolled through the round opening, and dropped into the lap of a stranger who sat behind neatly labeled cargo loading controls. He had the same northern design as Bongii, likely a younger relative.

“Um, hello.” The young merchant raised his left hand in greeting, and I reflexively returned the gesture.

The pink scales on my fingertips shimmered as they caught the light from the open hatch.

“She’s Grenswa-na!” Bongii shrilled and snatched my wrist. My skin was Seallaii-na soft. “No, she’s only meant to look Grenswa-na. What are you up to?”

Fredo plucked me off the younger’s lap and carried me under his arm like a sack of grain. I didn’t protest at first as his long strides hurried us through a slender corridor into the large cargo area. I couldn’t breathe, though, and the deeper we got in the ship, the less it felt like he had any intention of setting me down.

“This is un-dignifying!”

“Good,” Fredo growled. “Maybe you’ll learn to look before you dive in somewhere. That’s a useful life skill.”

Maybe so, but I felt something else from him. “You’re jealous.”

“A non-River Guardian is not supposed to touch a River Guardian.”

“Okay, hypocrite.”

He dropped me.

“Ow!”

His retort echoed in our minds, an answer he wouldn’t say aloud. ‘I consider myself at least partly River Guardian, you know.’ Or something like that. It was more a notion than an articulated sentence, less distinct than a whisper or dream speak, but somehow more meaningful.

He watched me, but I didn’t know what to say, and I didn’t think I wanted him to see my thoughts like that. Fredo was probably the one person with whom I could be completely honest, but even so…

I stalled, getting to my feet as slowly as possible.

Bongii rushed up behind me. His beard rippled with his panting breaths, and I wondered if it really was meant to make up for the lack of hair on the top of his head. The length of our locks denoted not only physical age but maturity and wisdom. Criminals and the mentally ill were shaved, and though I doubted that was the reason for his baldness, did others? How much disrespect did he encounter from this small defect?

Because he certainly wasn’t stupid.

“She’s the young royal Sine, isn’t she?”

With a sigh, I whirled to face him and put on my noblest air. “Honored Elder Bongii, understand it is imperative this matter be kept under the strictest confidentiality, and I am willing to pay for both your cooperation and your secrecy.”

“You mean with real money? Not with ‘River Guardian good will’ or nothing like that?”

I shook my head, pretzel bun exaggerating the motion. “Name your price.”

“A hundred thousand vi. Each.”

One vi equaled a day’s wage for an average Seallaii-na. Two hundred thousand vi would have bought that ship. Actually, it would have bought a better one.

I reached into my messenger bag and pulled out a string of currency. Chrome strands wove a net-like disc thin as a hairsbreadth and with the diameter of my pinky-nail, flecked with blue fire opal. One of these blue vi was worth one thousand base vi, and I hadn’t counted how many were on this string, but they were normally stored like this in sets of five hundred.

I held out the laden cord. “For your services, swift, safe, and secret. There will be more when you return us to Seallaii.”

“Well…” Bongii snatched the vi and clutched them in a two-handed vice as if they might slither away. “Can’t turn down a pretty lady in need. We’re behind schedule, so I’d better hurry off. Make yourselves comfy and don’t touch anything if it looks like it’ll explode in a bad way.”

Fredo’s agreement warmed me from within as he eyed a caged plant. It looked like it might have been eaten once already.

As Bongii made himself scarce, I scanned the space for a good spot to sit. Crates and sheet-covered lumps were haphazardly packed in here, leaving a serrated pathway between random piles. There didn’t appear to be any actual seats with cushions, safety-straps, and cup holders.

Time to put on a Grenswa-na mentality. Climb to the highest spot and sit there.

I ascended a jagged stack of wide crates.

Fredo stood behind me. “The money?”

I shrugged. “I took two strings of blue vi from the Treasury of Menyaza, and don’t give me that look. As an adopted Sine, I have a right to it, and Menyaza won’t suffer for the loss of that paltry amount.”

Fredo lifted an eyebrow and gnawed at the inside corner of his lip. “That kind of money will attract attention. Couldn’t you have taken something smaller than thousand vi coins?”

I curled my fingers into a tiny circle. “Blue vi are the smallest coins.”

“You know what I meant.”

“Blue vi are the lightest and easiest to carry.” Reaching the top of the stack, I plopped down. “They are also viable currency on Grenswa thanks to my uncle helping rebuild the world the last time Shlykrii tried to destroy it.”

Fredo sighed and leaned against another pile of crates. “I would like to hear our plan for when we land on Grenswa.”

“Really? So would I.”

As the engines revved and the walls shook, I caught only a glimpse of his dubious and chiding look. My pedestal tilted, and I tumbled down the side of the stack.

He caught me and stepped back to evade a rocking crate. “I’m guessing by your makeup, at least, you’ll pretend to be Grenswa-na.”

“I brought makeup for you, too.”

“Oh joy.”

A repeated clang pounded above the engines’ hum. “Open up! Open for the customs patrol!”

Fredo and I looked at each other, one shared thought in tandem: Hide!

Also by unspoken agreement, we scrambled in opposite directions. Fredo disappeared into an upright container. I chose a long, wooden trunk embossed with a flowery design and a simple latch.

It only looked simple. I still fiddled with it when Bongii entered the cargo area.

“Are you sure you don’t want to read the papers again? There might be something you missed.”

“I did not miss anything. Step aside, now.” The customs officer had a voice like Kietyn’s, the type of timbre I imagined a volcano would have.

“I can’t let you in there. I just can’t!” Bongii protested as I finally flipped the latch free and swung open the trunk’s lid. “There’s a deadly virus, and I need to disinfect the area before you can go in.”

As I dove into the trunk, lowered the lid, and buried myself under layers of scented fabrics, the officer shoved the merchant aside. Heavy boots marched through the maze, and the sharper click of claws trotted alongside them.

A dapkie, most likely.

They were wide-bodied canines with a twin spine that resembled a double helix. This gave them a wavy ridge along their backs, and the spine split into two bushy tails. More importantly, dapkie were eager to please, easily trained, and had an excellent sense of smell.

The customs patrol officer would look for items that shouldn’t be taken to Grenswa, but his dapkie partner would be more likely to find what he searched for. A pair of stowaways would be on that list. A royal Sine and her mykta would at least arouse his suspicion and be detained, perhaps causing Bongii’s ship to miss launch.

It would call the attention of watching Shlykrii-nas.

Great, now the Shlykrii-nas are omnipresent monsters in my head. Thanks, Kietyn.

The officer kicked my trunk. “Open one of these containers.”

“Right away!” Bongii shuffled closer.

Don’t pick this one. Don’t pick this one!

Of course, he picked the flowery trunk filled with sweet fabrics. Why not?

I held my breath, already woozy from the overabundance of perfume in this box, and a sneeze burned in my sinuses, threatening me with its inevitability.

The dapkie sniffed and huffed. It didn’t like the perfume either and quickly moved on. The officer lowered the lid.

“I told you, I’m no drug smuggler!” The petulance Bongii poured into the statement seemed to come naturally to him.

As their steps retreated, I rolled onto my side and squeezed my nose between my thumbs to hold in that insistent sneeze. What I really needed was fresh air. I found a small gap in the trunk’s wooden slats and pressed my face to it.

“I’m already behind schedule. Aren’t you satisfied yet?”

I was relieved to see they headed away from Fredo’s corner. The officer towered over Bongii, tanned skin and khaki uniform blending with the muted shadows between boxes. Light glinted off a variety of weapons tucked into his belt, and lumps beneath his knee-length jacket hinted at more.

“You do not look like an honest man, Bongii of the Twal, but—”

The dapkie whined and scratched at Fredo’s crate, dual tails whipping back and forth.

The officer strode toward his canine partner. “What do you have there?”

“There’s expensive stuff in here, and if he ruins it...” Bongii trailed off. The fear of one caught in a lie was plastered on his face, and he looked like he might run for it.

The officer couldn’t open the crate. It had a fancy locking mechanism, but surely Fredo hadn’t bolted it from the inside. Maybe he held it closed. Regardless, the officer assumed it was locked.

With the warning, “Stand back,” he retreated a pace, drew a laser pistol, and blasted off the latch.

A small gasp escaped me, but no one noticed.

With an eerie creak, the crate’s door swung wide, and there stood Fredo, shielding his face.

“You, come out of there.”

Fredo obeyed.

The dapkie stiffened, on high alert, a pounce ready, but the officer staid him with an open hand.

“What is your name?”

“If I wanted to tell you, would I have been hiding in a box?” Fredo shifted as he spoke.

The officer grabbed for him, and the dapkie leapt, but Fredo was faster. My guard moved like sly wind as he redirected the dapkie’s tackle onto his master and dictated the man’s fall with sharp nudges. Within a second, the officer lay on the floor, legs akimbo, eyes half-closed and glazed.

“Oh, high heavens! We’re all going to prison!”

I started at Bongii’s use of this River Guardian phrase, adapted from the famous poem:

Oh, how high are the heavens

That I could travel forever

And somewhere see this impossible sight

“No one’s going to prison.” The trunk lid slammed against the other containers as I sat up. “Honored Elder Bongii, go start up the engines and get us into space.” Rifling through my bag, I knelt alongside the comatose officer.

“We’re not taking him with us, are we? Oh, higher heavens, is he dead?”

“He’s very much alive, and he won’t remember a lot when he wakes up. Now, go.”

Bongii scrambled off as I sprinkled powders into a clear vial, added a few drops of water from my canteen, and shook the mixture into a milky froth.

A rope, likely from the pouches on the back of Fredo’s belt, had noosed the dapkie, and Fredo held it taut. These canines were affectionate to those they considered family. They were also territorial and protective of said family. Fredo had hurt his master and earned the designation ‘evil’ in this dapkie’s mind. The animal spun in circles, unable to reach his foe and making quite the fuss.

“Are you going to hold him like that the entire trip?”

“No, because you have a better idea.”

I grinned. “Of course I do. Hold your breath for a bit.”

Fredo’s and my olfactory senses were nowhere near as keen as a dapkie’s, but better safe than sorry. After capturing a heavy breath, I drizzled a small amount of my concoction onto my palm and flung it at the hyper canine’s face. He sneezed once, twice, then fell over with the third and remained limp on the ground.

Effective.

As I poured the rest up our human captive’s nose, Fredo stole a set of magnetic shackles from his pocket and secured them on the man’s wrists. I nodded my approval. I would ensure the officer slept for the duration of the trip, but in the event he did awaken, it would be better to have him already restrained.

We also didn’t want him and his partner lying somewhere a Grenswa-na harbor worker might spot them while unloading, so Fredo slung him over his shoulders, scooped up the dapkie, and sought out a place to hide them.

Continued in chapter 5: My Carefully Cultivated Positive Attitude

Thank you for reading!

After launch, Fredo found me sitting atop some stable crates and looking out one of the face-sized portals that dotted the length of the ship.

“Alright, Rosa, we seriously need to discuss our plan.”

That feeling of knowing where your limbs are even when you can’t see them is called proprioception. I had a kind of proprioception for Fredo, only it was about as coordinated as a two-year-old’s. Have you ever seen a baby smack itself in the face? That’s because its proprioception hasn’t really developed yet.

He wanted to know the plan, but I didn’t really have one, and the fear that motivated him to ask distracted me. So, as with most things that distracted me, I called attention to it.

“You’re afraid.”

He seemed about to deny it, then decided that would be pointless. Instead, he put on his lecture face, fingertips tapping against one another. “Let me recite a hypothetical discussion between you and me. Feel free to chime in and play the part of you:

“I ask why I should be afraid, and you counter by asking me how dangerous could a Grenswa-na be. I then ask you to tell me of the Shlykrii war.”

I whirled toward him, dangling heels clunking against the wooden crate. “The Grenswa-nas were the victims.”

“Yes, but the Shlykrii-nas had the advantage, all the technology, and who won?”

“The Grenswa-nas, because they were that cunning, skilled, and determined.”

“And ruthless,” Fredo added. “Don’t sugarcoat them.”

“I know I should be afraid, but I’m also elated and determined. This mission must succeed, even if it costs our lives.”

Fredo’s brows tugged upward, but I barreled on.

“Today we are messengers. Tomorrow we’ll be heroes. We must go, so I wish everyone would quit reminding me how horribly dangerous all this is. It’s suffocating my carefully cultivated positive attitude.”

“Because your optimism is built on a shakier foundation than these unsecured crates.” He rocked my seat, and I cringed, gaze falling to my tangled hands hovering above my lap.

Again, Kietyn’s words tamped through my head.

Surely, you’re smart enough to figure something out.

My optimism was based on that mocking hope, a shaky cornerstone indeed.

“Please trust in my intelligence,” I murmured, glancing up from the corner of my eye. As Fredo’s lips twisted into a half grin, I realized how much that statement begged an insulting comeback and hastily added, “Don’t you dare say anything to imply I lack a brain or the ability to use it.”

He chuckled quietly, and my curiosity rose like a sprout seeking sunlight. What would he have said? Could I sneak into his head and eavesdrop on his now private joke?

As I thought I might try it, he sobered. “I have utmost confidence in your intelligence, Rosa, but I need your trust in return. Tell me what scheme we’ve landed in. What is our message? Who is it for and from?”

I took a deep breath. “Shlykrii plans to attack Grenswa. That is Seallaii’s official message to that endangered world. The datapin in my hair contains more details coded in Menyazé. I’m not an idiot; I know we can’t just stand in the doorframe of this transport and call out Shlykrii plans an attack, and I also know as foreigners we can’t step foot off this ship without invitation from the proper authorities. Dollii thinks my uncle’s name is a code, so when we get closer, I’ll send it as a herald, but just to be safe, until we reach the protective entities of Grenswa, we’ll have to pretend to be Grenswa-nas.”

I dug in my bag and pulled out the purple cosmetics I would use to emulate scales on Fredo’s skin.

As I captured his hand and unwound his vambrace, Fredo objected, “Neither of us has the stature of a Grenswa-na. We’re too tall and strongly structured.”

“I won’t be any taller than most of the men.” I applied the color to his knuckles with a swirling motion, trying to give the appearance of a scalloped texture.

Unlike the females’ stained fingertips, males’ scales speckled their knuckles and wrists, the latter fading in a short gradient across the base of their palms and up their forearms. The metallic purple matched Fredo’s eyes and brightly contrasted his ruddy skin.

“It’s you who will stand out like a tree,” I teased.

“Then in your infinite wisdom, you’d have me disguise myself by carrying foliage. I’ll be sure to inform anyone who inquires that I’m a walking tree.”

“If you think that’s best,” I chirped as I applied sealant to the artwork on his left hand. “We could instead chop you in half at the waist. Then I’d have two mykta.”

“One for kicking and the other for punching.”

“Sure, I’d kick and punch both halves a lot and sew you back together eventually. Give me your other hand.”

“I underestimated your skills in persuasion. The tree disguise is starting to have some appeal.”

I chuckled. “By some Earth-na measurements, we need you to lose at least half a foot.”

“Earth-nas measure in feet, as in the appendages held on by ankles?”

I finished the seal on his right hand. “Yep. Speaking of feet, take your shoes off.”

“Feet aren’t consistently sized though.” His bared toes settled on the smooth wooden surface between us. Fredo was rarely missing his boots and greaves, and as I repeated the scaly pattern on his ankles, heels, and toes, I realized feet in general had an odd shape.

I shrugged. “They measure in hands as well.”

“Where does it end?” he exclaimed too dramatically. “Do they officially measure by forearms, hairsbreadths, noses? And whose body are they using?”

He held his hand to mine, straightening my fingers with his own, and his palm alone was nearly the size of my whole hand. Our pink and purple faux scales made it an alien sight.

“Any reason I can’t be the standard? Turn your head.”

“I think you would get annoyed when they came and got you every time they needed to measure something.”

“Be more clever, Fredo.” I brushed shimmery purple on the top of his earlobe. “They would make a cast and have as many copies of my body parts as they needed.” I paused. “On second thought, that sounds creepy. Let me see your other ear.”

Fredo turned his head. “So, back to my tree disguise.”

“You could always walk on your knees.”

“That also sounds crippling.”

Thick, stray strands of his fiery hair kept sticking in the creamy pigment, and I swept them away impatiently. Fredo’s braid began at his bangs, taking in more sections as it trekked down the middle of his scalp. It hung loose from his nape all the way to mid-thigh, yet some strands refused to grow past chin-length, and these inevitably escaped the neat plait, hanging in his face or over his ears.

As long as Fredo’s hair managed not to stick to his scales, its vibrancy would only add to his Grenswa-na disguise.

“I think we’re making a bigger deal of your height than we need to. I’m sure exceptionally tall Grenswa-nas come along every once in a while. You’ll just have to play a convincing Grenswa-na in every other aspect, such as your makeup.” With one last flourish of my sealant brush, I finished with his left ear.

“It’s lovely. Thank you.”

“I also brought Grenswa-na clothes for you from the Sojourners’ treasure trove.”

Scrounging in my bag again, I pulled out a pair of baggy pants and a stretchy shirt, both black as Fredo preferred. “They should be your size. You change while I find Bongii and work out more details.” I dropped the garments in his lap.

“There had better not be anyone else hiding in these boxes,” he muttered as I walked away.

* * *

“Honored Elder!” I called as I entered the narrow corridor between the cargo hold and the hatch.

“Up here, Sine.”

“Up where?”

He directed me up the ladder, past the hatch, and into a slanted compartment inside the pointed pyramid nose of the ship. Bongii and his assistant sat at a complex of controls, guiding our course, but the view beyond the transparent ceiling and walls stole my attention.

“This is amazing!”

Bongii scoffed. “Surely, the Sine has seen such sights before and more amazing sights beyond.”

I resisted the urge to correct him. No matter how young we were, Sine were to maintain the reputation of knowing everything about the natural aspects of the universe. Of course, I had seen pictures of Seallaii’s magnificent rings; I had studied why they dazzled, but that was nothing compared to standing here and seeing it with my own eyes.

We surfed along the underside of the rings, boulders and pebbles scattered for an unfathomable distance, all crystallized with ice and refracting every conceivable color. Just ahead, Sysoosii, one of many child moons, splashed in this craggy rainbow ocean, a panorama of stars laughing at her young antics.

“There is nothing to trump this sight.”

Yet even more dazzling were the Lorsknu—or Unfettered Stars—the rulers of this environment. They were creatures not made of matter but of radiation. The rings were theirs to shape, build, and consume, debris of victims Seallaii had captured for them. They looked like glitter, like galaxies and nebulae sweeping along our transport.

I knew little about them other than they were meant to protect us. They did not like us to leave the safety of Seallaii, but they would not stop us. In their presence, we had to travel slowly, whether for reasons of respect or for threat of physical consequence, I wasn’t sure, but no one should speed by such a sight anyway.

Bongii pulled me from my gawking. “Where’s your mykta?”

“Practicing his hiding skills.”

“He could stand to improve in that after the way that dapkie found him.”

I placed my fists on my hips. “That dapkie would have easily found you, too, Honored Elder.”

“True, but I’m not a mighty mykta.”

“Right, you are a shipman, and I’ve ventured up here to have you answer some shipman questions.”

“Oh, just what I’ve always wanted, to be quizzed by a Sine.”

I ignored his sarcasm. “This ship will land in the Onyx city of Tils?”

“In the shipyard on the city’s northernmost fringes, yes.” He turned to his controls as if double-checking.

“How long could you remain docked there?”

“A Seallaii-na day, at most.” He rubbed his bearded chin. “A week if I feigned engine trouble.”

“Would you—”

“Not for all the treasure of Menyaza. It’s not worth my life, and yes, they’ll kill all involved in this little plot when it’s discovered.”

Frustration furrowed my brow and pulled my lips into a thoughtful pout. If even all the treasure of Menyaza would fail to sway him, as would future River Guardian goodwill, what else could I offer? Feminine wiles, maybe, but I really didn’t want to.

“Do I hear you refusing the Sine when she came to you for help?”

I whirled as Fredo appeared on the ladder behind me, amethyst gaze vibrant at the prospect of action.

I’m handling this, I thought at him.

Whether or not he heard, my imperious countenance was clear enough, and he raised an eyebrow at me as he stepped into the compartment. His movements were like the graceful chaos outside, a display of measured power and control as he slid into a position between Bongii and I, a tangible shield but not blocking my line of sight.

“You know, Honored Elder,” Fredo supposed, “I could tie you up with the customs officer and make all this look like a hijacking.”

I don’t think Bongii registered the suggestion, shocked gaze raking Fredo’s disguise.

Disregarding the fact that I had never met a Grenswa-na in person, Fredo looked pretty convincing to me with his shimmering scales, bare feet in deference to how Grenswa-nas never wore shoes, and long, baggy pants cinched at the waist with a purple sash. His muscles were well sculpted, perhaps a little conspicuously when showcased by the tight, sleeveless shirt, but it certainly didn’t look bad.

My triumphant smirk fell as my eyes caught a glint of silver on Fredo’ right wrist. He had removed one of the shield emitters from his vambrace and now wore it as a bracelet, which wouldn’t have been egregious at all had it not mimicked the design of my Sine swirls.

“Oh, high heavens, you really do plan to sneak off on Grenswa. I’ll tell you I’ve made this trip dozens of times and not even my pinky toe has ever touched their land.”

“A shame, Honored Elder, that the cowardice in your pinky toe outweighs the scant ambition in the rest of your body,” Fredo goaded. “It must be hard to walk.”

Bongii smiled. “How old are you, boy? Not even a year, I’d bet.”

True, since the time it took Seallaii to travel once around our sun, Pyr, was thirty times the length of the moon cycles we used to count our ages. The moons controlled our seasons, and the interval that passed before they reset was a period close to an Earth-na year.

“When this mission succeeds, and it will, won’t the one who transported the Sine to her destination and safely home be showered with the greatest honor Seallaii can offer?”

“You would turn me into a legendary mykta?” Bongii shook his head. “That may be your ambition, but I’m a simple man. I’m older than your ages squared, combined, and tripled, and it’s listening to wisdom’s whisper that has kept me alive so long. Sometimes wisdom requires a bit of cowardice. Sometimes it requires the spine to stand here and say no, even to a Sine and a mykta with a scary glint in his eyes.”

I stepped forward, protests springing to my lips, but Bongii held up a hand.

“I’m sure you have your reasons, Sine, but I want as little as possible to do with all of this.”

“Then you leave your safety and that of your family and world to chance?” I pressed.

“Leave safety to gain safety?” He grunted. “I’ll leave that to brave souls and famous faces like you.”

“So, a hijacking, then?” Fredo glanced back for my confirmation.

Bongii sighed. “I’ve got no wish to join the customs officer. How about this: I’ll choose the slowest harbor workers and stay in the shipyard for as long as I can, but the moment something goes down, I’m leaving. Fair enough?”

I nodded. “As fair as we can expect from a cowardly old man, I suppose.”

“A little tact goes a long way.” Bongii’s hand smeared down his face. “Here’s the best advice a cowardly old man can give you: If you want to live, do whatever it takes to survive, even if it means swallowing your pride.” There was no humor in the austere gaze he pinned on me, only sympathy and a bit of worry. “Now, I’d advise you find some cushy spot and get some rest. Grenswa’s day is a lot longer than Seallaii’s.”

I knew that. Since Grenswa’s distant sun appeared barely distinguishable from other stars, its day was based on its light cycle, not on how long it took to turn around. On Grenswa, day was associated with the moon, and one light cycle lasted twenty-five hours.

A Seallaii-na day lasted only ten hours, six of light and four of darkness. We weren’t designed to stay awake or asleep for the extended periods of Grenswa’s day or night.

With a nod, I headed back to the cargo area, Fredo following.

After the view of outside, the ladder’s corridor seemed narrow, as if my hips would get stuck at any moment. I closed my eyes, listening to the rhythm of our hands and feet on the rungs. A metallic chime accompanied every move of Fredo’s right arm.

“Nice bracelet.”

“Thank you, it reminds me of a friend of mine.”

I gritted my teeth. “Because it denotes affiliation with a Sine.”

“It’s more because my friend gets in over her head a lot, and this could save both our lives.”

Beneath his teasing tone, his fear and determination sloshed. It was an odd concoction, a little intimidating, a little intoxicating.

“It could identify us,” I warned, feet on the floor and backing away, “but you’d rather take that chance and fight than need a shield and not have it.”

With a smirk, Fredo slid down to stand alongside me. “It’s like you read my mind. Bongii had a point, though.”

Ducking through a doorway that seemed smaller than when I had come through it earlier, I squinted sideways at him. “What would that be?”

“The Sojourners’ Hierarchy of Directives. The wisdom of the eteriq is to be used first to protect Seallaii, then to help others in need wherever they may be, even at the edge of the universe.”

“We’re doing this to help Grenswa.”

Seriously, were the rusty walls closing in?

Fredo’s gaze bored into the scale-covered fist at his side. “Our duty is to protect Seallaii first.”

“Seallaii isn’t in trouble. Grenswa is.” I raised my chin.

His eyes jumped to mine. “While we are there, we are Seallaii, and we will be in danger.”

“As long as you continue to work that disguise, we’ll probably be fine,” I dismissed and reclaimed my perch atop crates near one of the portals.

“Maybe I really am Grenswa-na,” he countered with a shrug, “you know, since we don’t know where I actually came from.”

My smirk returned. “Hiding a tail and your natural scales, then?”

His eyebrows performed a cute hop, his tell when he feigned nonchalance but the subject meant more to him than he preferred others see. “The River Guardians say a Seallaii-na will change to become what he believes he is.”

“Which adds nothing to the theory of you being Grenswa-na.”

My thumb tapped the side of the tablet I had borrowed from him, scrolling through articles in Menyazé about Grenswa. Fredo sat next to me, peering over my shoulder in companionable silence as I perused accounts of tribal segregation, the implications of the length of one’s name, and other details of Grenswa-na culture.

* * *

The Sojourners had the fastest ships in existence. Unfortunately, Bongii’s clunker was not quite at that level, and several boring and stir-crazy days passed.

Bongii and his nephew assistant had sleeping quarters, of course, complete with traditional Seallaii-na beds. These were thin sod and yewn, animate vines symbiotic with us. As we slumbered, they would curl around us, trapping our heat.

The nightly flowers produced an aroma that garnered deep, peaceful dreams, streamlined memory compartmentalization, and jumpstarted rejuvenating processes. In return, the plants fed on our exhales, excess oils, and slough. Used regularly, they required little water or light.

These beds came in portable versions, but yewn would have withered quickly once exposed to Grenswa’s air, and I wouldn’t be so cruel as to carry it to its death. Instead, I slept on or in the crates. Fredo claimed to as well, but despite many attempts, I couldn’t catch him asleep.

I wasn’t pulled into any nightmares either.

Halfway there, I hacked into the ship’s transmitter and sent my uncle’s name to Grenswa. The computer assured me the message arrived and was read, but no response came.

With nothing better to do, I studied, snacked, exercised, and napped randomly.

During one such snooze, a shudder shot through the ship, and I jolted awake. My head knocked against the round window with a disturbingly hollow sound.

As I blinked away the land of lullaby, the ice on the portal came into focus, thick, geometric shapes constantly stripped and rearranged by screeching wind. Dense clouds glided beyond.

“Fredo, look!”

Head heavy on my shoulder, he finally dozed. Normally, he was a light sleeper, so his continued slumber was a little worrisome, and he was missing the view.

“Fredo, wake up! Fredo!” I shook him until his amethyst eyes flew open, bewildered and confused.

“What?”

“How long had it been since you slept?”

“You woke me to ask me that?” His eyebrows lifted nearly to his hairline.

“No, I woke you to show you we’re entering Grenswa’s atmosphere.” I bounced on my knees in excitement.

“I’m up.” He rose and squinted out the window.

The horizon was a subtle curve, a vibrant green against the blackness of space. Rays shot through the clouds and glistened off an ocean striped with narrow strips of land. The island chains looked like scars scratched across a glittery, glass orb.

By the time the ship touched down with a soft jolt like in an elevator, Fredo and I stood at the base of the ladder to the main hatch. We still hadn’t received a response. Likely, my uncle’s name wasn’t a code after all.

Nerves threw a wild party in my stomach. A land I had always dreamed of seeing, a whole world of beauty and adventure, waited on the other side of that door, a handle turn and push away.

Continued in chapter 6: How a Real Man Handles a Crisis

Thank you for reading!

Picture a moon snuggled within a planet’s wispy atmosphere and clothed in phosphorous fungi. Below, molten gorges weave webs beneath the oceans, and while their default glow is faint green, when the moon draws near, they blaze white.

This was the light cycle of the planet Grenswa and its largest satellite, Harta.

It didn’t sound like it would be so very bright or warm, but it was enough to evoke instant squint and sweat from me.

“Did we come here to stand and gawk at this place, or are we going to try to find Grenswa’s protective entities?” Fredo deadpanned.

We hid behind a bush near Bongii’s landing pad, and I had been a little distracted by the newness of this world. True, the things I ogled were all ancient constants I had read about many times: the sky being the pale color of a cucumber’s innards, foliage filled with chlorophyll painting each leaf a deep green, humidity levels at upwards of ninety percent and steam wafting from the ground. But now I could see them, experience them for myself.

We were also a lot lighter here than on Seallaii, and walking felt like swimming. It took some getting used to.

“These flowers, Fredo!” With a gasp, I cupped a spidery white blossom streaked with vibrant yellow. “Have you ever seen anything more cheerful? They’re called lalakrii, and I’m told they taste as sweet as they smell. Their nectar gives the illusion it’s cold and will inebriate Grenswa-nas. They can’t have actual alcohol, you know. Even alcohol splashed on their skin can prove lethal.”

Fredo gave me a smile sewn of faux patience. “I’m sure the Grenswa-nas will give you whatever drunken bouquet you want once you save their world. We should get on with the saving their world part.”

“Sorry, I’m just trying to soak it all in.” I giggled, grin sliced from ear to ear. “This place is so…”

“Different?”

“No, well, yes, but I was going to say unique.”

A far cry from Menyaza and its surroundings.

I removed my shoes and scarf, tucking the items safely in my satchel. I felt so free. Also, underdressed.

Fredo’s smile frayed, and he shook his head, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “Unique or not, we have to abandon this hospitable bush before someone spots us and thinks we’re suspicious.”

“We are in the middle of a shipyard crawling with people. How do you suggest we get out without being noticed, oh Wise Master of Sneaking Around?”

His brows hopped. “Did you dress me up like this for nothing?”

“The disguise will work.” A grimace pulled at my lower lip. “Surrounded by Seallaii-na ships, though, anything that makes us stand out is more noticeable.”

“Right.” He sighed. “Follow me and try to stay quiet.”

Grip firm on my wrist, he towed me under a ship larger than Bongii’s. Beyond this one was another, even more massive. The shipyard was a maze of flowered hedges and towering transports, traffic racing to and fro.

Fredo slinked alongside this largest ship, as silent as if he touched nothing. Reaching the aft, he paused, peered around the edge, waited a beat, then gripped my arm even tighter and sprinted across an open aisle to duck beside a stout freighter.

We continued in like manner past several Seallaii-na vehicles, moving faster the further we ventured. I concentrated on not bounding too high with each step. With his masterful coordination, Fredo had little trouble adjusting.

He stopped, and I ran into him, eyes darting to every crack in the path. “What is it?”

“Stay right here, Rosa.” He released me as we reached the shadow of a ridge-striped ship. The columns were each a body’s length apart, and he wedged himself between them, arms spread, legs not quite in a full split as he shimmied up the hull.

“What are you doing?” I hissed. “Fancy a trip back to Seallaii on the outside of a ship?”

“Trust me.”

“Always, but—”

Like an epiphany, his intention struck me. He was scouting, and a scout’s purpose in venturing up was to better survey the lay of the land.

I pursed my lips, cowed by my slowness and not content to sit here idle and useless.

Scanning our surroundings, I spotted a repairman perched on the ship’s summit, only one ridge to the right of Fredo’s. He hadn’t noticed my comrade yet, but if he saw Fredo before Fredo saw him…

“Fredo!”

He was too far to hear me. Any louder, and the repairman would also hear.

Fredo! I thought at him, but I didn’t know how to speak to him in my mind any more than I knew how to shoot lightning from my eyes or lasers from my fingertips.

He didn’t seem to hear this either.

As fear soured in my gut, my eyes raked our surroundings for anything that could call his attention.

A rock!

I snatched a large piece of gravel and threw it at Fredo. It struck his back as I had aimed, and he caught it before it could bounce noisily onto the metal hull.

He tossed an annoyed look over his shoulder. ‘What?’

How did he know how to mind-speak so well?

There’s a guy over there. I gestured wildly at the repairman.

‘You want me to move over a ridge?’

No! I waved my arms like a flustered talent coach, and a chuckle cracked his confused expression.

‘I know he’s there, Rosa. You’re hilarious, though. Thanks for the pebble.’

Hidden in the valley between ridges, Fredo performed his survey, then lobbed the stone. It landed behind the repairman with a clang. He shot to his feet and looked in the opposite direction as Fredo slid down the ship’s side and returned to me.

“Unfortunately, we need to go that way,” he whispered, pointing eighty degrees to the left of where the repairman looked.

“Why is that unfortunate?”

“It’s the most crowded area I’ve seen so far.”

“So, we need to distract them.” I bit my lip as I thought. Now that I knew they were there, all the people we needed to sidetrack chorused in my ears like a busy hive.

“What’s all the ruckus?” someone hollered at the repairman.

“Don’t ask me. You nincompoops need to be more careful.”

The plan came to me. Careful was what the nincompoops would become the opposite of, with a little help.

I extended my hand expectantly. “Fredo, give me your pistol.”

“No.”

I huffed, more at his lack of hesitation than the refusal. “If we shoot out the bottoms of the boxes, their cargo will fall out.”

“And that shipman will be furious,” he caught on.

“Right, then we knock him off the roof with a rock.” I smirked. “Genius distraction?”

“It’ll work, but you’re not shooting anything.”

Lying flat, Fredo elbow-crawled under the ship. His pistol was of River Guardian design, no larger than my hand and L-shaped, with a thin barrel and wider, ambidextrously ergonomic handle. The trigger was on the back, toggled by a thumb. It made its own ammunition, bullets conceived from studies of the ethereal Lorsknu and formed of light, air, and power. As long as the pistol had charge, it could fire as many times as desired.

Its report sounded like an exhale as Fredo discharged round after round. With one hit per box, cargo soon fell like rain.

“What are you doing?” the shipman shouted. “Why am I asking you? You obviously don’t know. Get away from my stuff!”

As he screamed and hopped around, I snuck up the ship’s side, gravel tucked in my hood and frenzied insects crashing the party of nerves in my gut. I kept seeing him turn and call me out, but he didn’t.

I dumped the gravel under him. He lost his balance and tumbled down the less-steep side of the ship, yelling the whole way. A lot more than his pinky toe touched their land, so he had that to brag about now.

While workers put down their burdens and gathered around where he landed, Fredo and I snuck by, grabbing boxes to further our disguise.

“Get back to your jobs, you idiots. I’m fine!”

“Your crates’re defective.”

I paused, stunned by the Grenswa-na accent. They really did slur everything together.

“Child, bring me my wrench, and I will show you how a real man handles a crisis!”

Fredo and I had almost reached the shadow of the next ship, but to our dismay, the shipman pointed us out.

“Look at them, still loyally doing their jobs. You should take a lesson from that well-built pair.”

“Hey!” a teen standing closest to us shrieked. “Y’all’ren’t loaders!”

My panicked gaze slid to Fredo. He dropped his box and pushed me ahead of him, breaking into a run.

“Come back here!” someone called.

The cacophony of shattered glass echoed as more boxes were abandoned and the crowd pursued us. Several drew slingshots off their belts and ammo from a plethora of pockets. The latter looked like berry-sized balls of yarn, if that yarn had been spun of lightning. They rained around us with the sound of sizzling explosions.

I pulled my hood up over my pale red hair, hoping the fabric’s velvety gray would be better camouflage. The wind tugged at its folds, breeze scented with the sweet, intoxicating smell of the hedge flowers.

It was too hot and humid to be running for our lives.

We came to a dead end where a crane vehicle blocked our escape. Fredo pushed me behind him as a translucent red shield extended from his bracelet. The barrier was nearly as tall as him, but the lack of a second emitter rendered it as a very narrow rhombus. The lightning spheres hissed and snapped as they hit it, absorbed into the shield, and my hair stood on end.

Two soft exhales sounded, and my eyes flew to the pistol in Fredo’s left hand. Two Grenswa-nas dropped.

“Stop!” I pushed down his arm. “We are all civilized. Let’s handle this in a manner which befits rational people.”

“Foreigners’ren’t welcome here,” the first man declared, eyes slender and sharp with distrust. The onyx scales on his ears glistened.

I clung to my last shard of calm and forced it into my voice. “We are diplomatic representatives, honorably here to—”

“Why’d honored representatives travel in a freighter?” an old man called.

“Good question,” Fredo muttered. Not helping.

I raised my hands. “This is important. We need to see your authorities.”

“Authorities?” bellowed the same, rugged elder. “My haillet’s all the authority I need.” Movements like water, he snatched a sling from his waistband and flung another lightning sphere at us.

He was trying to kill us. His motions were violent and, well, horrifying, but still somehow beautiful. Grenswa-nas had such natural rhythm.

The haillet vanished against our shield, and the crowd rushed us.

“Get going, Rosa. I’m right behind you.”

Fredo’s shield assimilated a dozen more haillets as I dropped and rolled under the crane. He kept close, not allowing anyone to slip between us. Following, the crowd swarmed both under and over the machine.

Still not accustomed to the weak gravity, I stumbled as I got to my feet, but Fredo’s right arm caught my shoulders and pushed me onward. His left hand stretched behind us to fire off a few threatening shots.

“Don’t shoot at them, Fredo. They’re not our enemies.”

“They were shooting first.”

“A child’s excuse.” I tried to elbow him but missed.

He pushed me faster. “On Seallaii, we are children.”

“We’re not on Seallaii.”

“Exactly.”

I frowned as fat raindrops pelted my face. One, two, three—fair warning before the sky broke loose in a downpour.

We wove through the maze, yet the rain and rising steam made it difficult to see far even when the path was straight. I led, but I barely knew which way to go. I hadn’t been the one to spy the layout of this place, but Fredo gave me silent cues as we ran. At this speed, it was not easy to maintain a semblance of a normal gait. I ran more up and down than forward.

Pain stabbed through my left thigh as if a burning torch impaled it. I stumbled, hands flying to the injury, but there was no wound.

Fredo, then. Is this his pain?

I had no time to dwell on that. The land growled like an empty belly demanding breakfast. Metal rails shook beneath my feet, and I leapt back as a sleek train zipped along them.

Fredo was at my side, arm around my waist and other hand extended toward the train to catch a lever near one of the many doors. As it whisked us along, he kicked out one of the windows, and I swung through to land amidst a hundred stares.

Fredo followed. “What? We’re in a hurry, and we missed the train.”

Plausible, I supposed, but no one stopped staring.

One open seat remained, padded with a cobalt cushion. I sidled up to Fredo, who clung to one of the evenly-spaced poles provided for standing passengers.

“Sit down, Fredo. You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine.” He clenched his jaw, again chewing on the inside of his cheek. Despite gripping the pole hard enough to dent it, his hands shook.

We were both soaked, but purple Seallaii-na blood tinted the rain dripping from Fredo. The pool beneath him grew darker, and my thigh twinged again.

“If you’re fine, why were you limping?”

“I like limping. It adds excitement.”

“Would you just sit down and stop—”

A small girl tugged at the light turquoise fabric of my long shirt.

“Yes?”

“You’re pretty.” She beamed as if she had won some contest, and she had the most spectacular eyes, green like the sky but a dozen shades more brilliant.

I had never seen green eyes as such were not natural for a Seallaii-na, but beyond even their remarkable color, her eyes glittered. If I were looking for impostors, that would be my first tell. My eyes did not glitter like that. Not even Fredo’s did.

“Thank you.” With a sweet smile, I bent to her height. I had never before spoken to a child younger than me, and self-consciousness softened my voice. She was incredibly tiny and delicate. “Right now, I’m trying to convince my friend he’s being ridiculous, so if you could—”

“He scares me.”

Fredo rolled his eyes, and terror streaked the girl’s face.

“Do you have a problem?” He feigned a step in her direction.

Shrieking, she ran away.

This only intensified the staring.

“You like making little girls scream, don’t you?” I hissed, leaning against Fredo in hopes of taking some of his weight. My leg really hurt, and it wasn’t even my wound.

“Sometimes making little girls scream is the only highlight of my day.” He attempted a light grin.

As if calling his bluff, the train screeched to a halt, sending passengers flying. For once, Fredo did not catch me. As the scene stilled, we were both sprawled on the floor, tangled with a dozen others. At least the commotion redirected the stares.

Babies cried, adults griped, and an insane burst of laughter cut above the murmurs before the intercom reported, “Illegal aliens’ve fled in this area, and this train’ll be searched. Have your identification and tickets ready. Be prepared to have your luggage opened. Remember, the peace officers’re here to keep you safe, so cooperate.”

I met Fredo’s gaze, dread in my stomach like a paperweight. Men uniformed in deep teal, wide-legged pants, high-collared, netted jackets, and front-brimmed hats were at the front of the train car, scouring everyone with harsh glares, but there were a lot of displaced people between them and me.

I scrambled to my feet and headed toward the back of the car. Did it connect to the next one in line? It appeared like it might, and if peace officers had started their search at the front of that compartment also, maybe we could slip in behind them and remain overlooked.

Fredo fell in step behind me, another twinge in my leg a warning as he collapsed.

A peace officer noticed our movement, eyes falling to Fredo’s conspicuous blood trail. His already serious expression darkened in recognition, and his umber, glittering gaze rose to meet mine. Shoving other passengers aside, he started toward us.

Fredo struggled to rise. With a panicked gasp, I plucked his hand from an empty seat and ran, dragging my guard.

“This is humiliating.” Fredo grabbed one of the poles and righted himself, but it was too late. The short and agile peace officers had caught up.

“Mind if I sit here? Thanks.” Fredo nearly plopped down on a seated passenger, who scooted away, looking offended.

“We need to see your identification.” The peace officer standing before Fredo had piercing hematite eyes to match his scales and shaggy hair. It gave him a shadowy appearance, especially with as gracefully as he moved.

I tried to swallow past my heart in my throat. “I’m sorry, peaceable ones, but we forgot our identification at home.”

“How conveniently careless of you.” He didn’t look at me. Fredo stared back at him in silence.

I edged closer. “Forgive us, please, and don’t waste your time. We wouldn’t want to hinder you in catching whomever you’re after.”

I wanted to yell, ‘Go away!’ unscrew one of the poles, and knock them off the train with it, but wisdom whispered that would lead nowhere good.

They ignored me anyway.

“You appear injured.” Officer Serious produced a strip of cloth from his pocket and knelt to better inspect Fredo’s injury. His two companions flanked him like a pack of predators.

Fredo flinched as the cloth looped over his wound. My own leg threatened to buckle.

“Tell me how you’re so badly hurt.”

“I don’t remember,” Fredo mumbled. Wrong thing to say. Grenswa-nas had eidetic memories; they remembered everything they noticed.

“You don’t recall gettin’ shot in the leg?” Officer Serious pulled the strip tight, and Fredo’s face contorted in pain, evoking a cry from me.

“Ah! Leave my brother alone!”

Though differently colored, we could have passed for siblings. Pink was not an official race of Grenswa, and some with this hue were born to Ruby or Amethyst families.

“There’ren’t any Amethyst cities near here. What brings an Amethyst pair to Tils?”

Fredo squeezed the edge of his seat, knuckles bleached around his painted scales. “We came to look at the aliens. My sister’s obsessed with them.”

“See any?”

“Nope.”

The officer pulled the bandage tight again, and Fredo jerked his leg away, eyes closed. He was a second from either passing out or attacking them, and I was tired of being ignored.

“I told you to leave him alone!” Barging between them, I shoved Officer Serious.

A lot lighter than I thought he would be, he flew and alighted in a crouch on a narrow armrest. His long, slender tail flicked like an annoyed feline’s, and the light glaring off the windows rendered an odd translucency to his skin. Was he of the Onyx or Hematite race? Either had black scales, and this was an Onyx city, but a land-dwelling Onyx should have had more opaque skin. Such as the officer who crowded in my face.

“Apologize and step aside.” He was the largest of their group, but I was still a smidgen taller and quite a bit more solid.

“Think you can make me?” I strode forward, forcing him back one step, two, three.

“It’s a serious offense to refuse to cooperate with peace officers.” He reached for a weapon at his belt as his back hit the door.

“Really?” I jabbed the open button on the frame. With a hiss, the door split in two and slid aside. I shoved the peace officer off the train, and his landing was nowhere near as graceful as that of Officer Serious.

A thud sounded, and I whirled to find Serious had leapt at me but Fredo had knocked him out of the air. The third officer was already unconscious. Or at least, I hoped Fredo hadn’t killed him.

“Go!” He pushed me ahead of him.

More peace officers took up the chase as we charged off the train into the labyrinth of luggage waiting to be searched. As if I could have fit more than an elbow within any of the handbags piled by the door.

Rain still poured, and rumbling thunder echoed my heartbeat. The growing twinge in my leg told me Fredo wouldn’t be able to run far.

As I glanced back, Officer Serious led our pursuers. Fredo yanked me aside, and we tumbled over a tall stack of crates. We wove and dove. Then he threw me behind a pile of elaborate trunks.

“Stay there, Rosa. I’ll lead them away, then circle back for you.”

“But Fredo…”

He was already gone, lost to my sight through the wall of rain.

Putting on my obedient face, I ducked low behind the chests, soaked, scared, and miserable. All I heard was chaos. The scene blinked out a few times, replaced by the view through Fredo’s eyes. Was he surrounded?

As worried as I was, I had to push that away. If I lost myself in Fredo’s mind, no longer able to detect my own surroundings, then I would be an easy catch.

Yet, I couldn’t abandon Fredo, surrounded and alone.

I crouched along rows of boxes and bags, following my proprioception of my mykta. That and the loudest shouting.

I was nearly there when another flash came. He fought. The Grenswa-nas were fragile but nimble, and there were so many.

‘No, Rosa, get out of here!’

I didn’t know if he meant for me to get out of his mind or the area, but I would not abandon him.

Pain tore through my head like it had through my leg, only so much worse. A raw scream ripped from me as I fell limp on the puddle–ridden gravel.

“We got him!” someone shouted as another called, “That scream came from this way!”

Splashing footsteps raced in my direction, but I couldn’t move.

Continued in chapter 7: Pay Any Price

Thank you for reading!

The pain stopped, abrupt as a door slamming. Yet, it was not like something had closed, not like turning a valve on a faucet where more water waited to be summoned. This was a cloud dissipating, rain ceasing because the ground had already drunk all the sky had to give.

I felt hollow, not a pouch that had been tipped over and its contents dumped, but a purse sundered by the sharp edge of a knife—not only empty, but injured and unable to hold anything ever again.

Fredo!

Nothing. Less than nothing. A void where he should have been in my mind.

Try imagining you have a sixth finger. It is a new and clumsy discovery. It should not be there. Do you accept it? Prick it, and it bleeds. You bleed. It hurts. Rip it off, and it leaves a hole in your hand.

I had a horrible thought Fredo was…

Fredo was…

I found him. Stumbling in the pounding rain amid a warren of luggage, I fell at Fredo’s side. My tears drowned in the downpour’s generosity, and watery blood pooled around him. Tugging on his shoulders, I gathered him to me.

“Fredo, please. Get up. Fredo!”

Not even a twitch. He hung limp in my arms, and there was so very much blood. His hair was sticky with it, red strands nearly black.

“No, Fredo,” I sobbed. He couldn’t be dead. Such a world made no sense, like a night with no moon or a storm with no rain. Grenswa was a world of beauty and color, of surviving against all odds. Fredo fit that description much better than I did. It could not have killed him.

I choked on a drenched breath, cascades streaming down my cheeks as I put my ear to Fredo’s chest, listening for a heartbeat, an inhale, anything. I heard nothing over the rain hammering my back like a stampede of tiny warriors. Whether these intended to shroud and protect me or keep me pinned, I didn’t care.

I held my cloak over Fredo’s head to shield his face from the torrent. How could they have left him here in the rain as if he were of no consequence, discarded him as if he had no worth?

Anger crackled within me like the thunder all around, flaring with the lighting that streaked between the raindrops. I would not leave him.

And I would not be caught.

Still holding Fredo, I got to my feet. I was strong here, able to carry him, not like on heavy Seallaii. I carried him, and I ran.

With Fredo’s weight added to mine, my legs bore a load closer to what they were accustomed, so at least I didn’t bounce like a broken-winged insect attempting to fly. Yet, Fredo was tall. Not letting his drooping limbs drag or knock against anything was difficult, like carrying an empty, floppy box as big as me and again by half.

I left the train and the luggage behind, once again racing along hedges. I followed the tracks, hastening back the way the train had come, back to Bongii’s ship. I would complete my mission, but I would do all I could for Fredo first.

My lungs burned. Running was not a regular habit of mine, and Grenswa’s air was both wet and oxygen-rich. Seallaii-na blood prevented chemical reactions with oxygen. Instead, our respiratory system required gaseous forms of nitrogen and hydrogen. Every gasping breath here contained plenty of the latter but precious little of the former. By the time I reached the vacant pad where Bongii’s ship should have been, my shaking knees could barely take another step.

I collapsed, staring up into the storm. Many species of senseless birds drowned doing exactly that, but I didn’t care how much I resembled them. I could not hope Bongii would return, that his ship would appear where I needed it to be, but I wished. If only that wish were a lasso, a signal that could touch his heart.

My wish would have reached Fredo.

Fredo. I held him closer, still so warm. He smelled burnt and wet and somehow faintly of home, the tangy scent of baffble wood, herby grasses, and chalky stone.

We can’t give up, I reminded myself, but sitting there, vision blurred by the deluge, I couldn’t find the right path, either physically or figuratively. Though I may have looked like one, I was not an eteriq.

I stood, drenched and miserable and lost. I didn’t know where I headed, but surely if I walked in one direction long enough, I would leave the shipyard behind and find something. Maybe inspiration would strike me before lightning did.

A silhouette appeared an arm’s length in front of me. My gasp sucked in more water than air, and I coughed, allowing the figure time to draw closer. Officer Serious.

I drew Fredo’s pistol from his belt and aimed it at the shadowy Grenswa-na. “Stop!”

He froze, but his dark eyes were calm and calculating. “Put down the weapon, Seallaii-na.”

“Why, so you can kill me?”

He was nothing like the bright, alacritous people I had imagined. His gracefulness was undeniable, but it had a sinister edge, distrust in every line. His willowy tail slowly swayed.

I did not see him move, but the pistol wrenched down. In my surprise, I fell with it. Kicking out, I hit nothing. My weapon landed with a splash beyond my sight, and Serious gripped my arm. I twisted free, soft skin stinging, scoured by his rough scales.

Though still unconscious, Fredo was between us, still my shield. As I slid two of his throwing knives into my hands, I shoved him at the Grenswa-na. Serious stumbled back, struggling under Fredo’s weight. Grenswa-na bones were more web than solid and allowed for extreme flexibility. My skeleton was a fifth of my total weight, theirs a twentieth. Fredo would have been an exceptionally heavy Grenswa-na.

I charged, but a flying kick met my sternum, and I dropped. The officer twisted into a backflip and landed in a crouch. It was simple physics. I weighed more, so he flew further, but still I couldn’t breathe. I heaved as if his foot were lodged in my chest, denying me another full inhale.

One of the knives escaped my grasp in the exchange. The other, I threw at Serious as he rushed toward me. It missed him by a wide margin as I scrambled back.

My hand landed on a cold, hard object. Fredo’s pistol.

Clutching it like a lifeline, I once again pointed the weapon at Serious. He paused, and in his narrowed eyes, I saw him trying to determine if I had better aim with a pistol than with a throwing knife.

In truth, I didn’t know. I had only held a pistol once before, and I had read several manuals since then.

“You will take us to a medical facility and treat him,” I ordered.

“I doubt he’s still alive, but just to make sure…” Serious knelt alongside Fredo, loosed a faintly glowing claw from his own belt, and placed its curved point against Fredo’s throat. “Now, drop that gun and come here.”

I let my aim lower but didn’t step closer, exhausted and terrified. “Don’t hurt him.”

I doubt he’s still alive.

The words ricocheted in my mind like bullets.

“I came here with a message, a warning—” I broke off as more figures appeared. Fear brought the pistol back up.

“No!” Serious snapped and leapt, calling my aim to him. I triggered the pistol, and he dropped. I turned and ran.

And ran.

And ran, the shipyard left behind, pursuers closing in.

A wide river cut across my path. I raced along its banks, but it turned sharply and enclosed me on three sides.

With one glance back at the silhouettes charging through the rain, I jumped.

* * *

Forgive me, Fredo.

I lay on a wooded bank. A thick bed of rotting foliage cushioned me, itchy and concealing jagged rocks. The ground smelled of water, pitch, and rubber, only faintly retaining the airy, menthol scent of the tall trees. These clothed themselves in shaggy, black bark and thick bunches of green needles.

The river had split in many streams, and the one that carried me gradually narrowed into this rocky creek. It gurgled and cackled as if trying to tell me something, but I was so tired.

I should not have survived my journey in the river. It played a wild tug-o-war over my limbs, denied me breath, and pummeled me more than an old rug. I bet I had more bruises than skin.

I needed to rest. Forests back home on Seallaii were deep, their darkest parts primarily uninhabited. Was it the same for Grenswa? Surely it would be safe to close my eyes here for a bit.

* * *

“You’re alright, Jnoino?”

My brows furrowed, and I did not open my eyes. The word stroked the back pages of my mental dictionary: an old Sapphire term of endearment for beloved children. No one ever called me that. Nor did I know this voice, creamy smooth and not quite deep, cadence slurred. Where was I? Fredo wouldn’t have let anyone near—

Fredo!

My eyes flew open to a sea of glittering blue.

“You’re alright?” a man said again, lightly tapping my cheek.

He was upside down, or rather, I lay flat, bare feet wrinkling in the creek, and he knelt by the top of my head. His eyes were mesmerizing, vivid as cobalt and swirling with life as if a school of fish waltzed just below the surface. The shimmering scales at his ears, wrists, and knuckles held that same brilliant blue.

He was a Grenswa-na of the Sapphire race. That explained the word, at least.

I sat up. “Who are you?”

“Name’s Timqé,” he offered with a grin. “Yours?”

Something tickled my elbow, and I flinched away. White birds, tiny and delicate, surrounded us, their soft cooing a quiet symphony. With a sweep of his arm, Timqé shooed them further off.

“Wansas,” I labeled them.

Timqé’s head tilted. “That’s what the River Guardians called them, but they’re actually tye.”

I nodded, watching the birds settle on rocks and roots. This was a canyon, dozens of waterfalls glinting white in the dimness. Had I fallen over one of those?

I sat, not on the riverbank, but on a slender bar of rock. Rapids chortled past other boulders and skirted deeper, darker pools. Though some trees braved standing in the water, most congregated behind me.

“Why are you here?”

Not to hunt down the Seallaii-na trespasser and kill me, I hoped.

He shrugged. “I’s runnin’ an errand and saw the tye sittin’ all over something. That something’s you, so I shooed them off. Why’re you here?”

“The river carried me.”

He raised his eyebrows, expecting more, but I didn’t elaborate.

“Okay.” He rose slowly.

I absently noted his shirt was the same aqua as mine, though his had a braided texture and a sparse scattering of silver threads running diagonally. These winked in the uncertain illumination.

Beyond the wide circle of light cast by a lamp he had set nearby, the forest and canyon loomed incredibly dark. Night must have fallen while I rested. I shivered twice: once at the thought of deep darkness in the absence of familiar moons, and again when I realized how long it would last.

Timqé plodded a dozen paces downstream, furry tail rippling with each step, and I watched him with interest. Granted a moment to observe a Grenswa-na without running for my life, I noted his odd gait. He had narrow feet and kept his slightly webbed toes spread. The ball of his foot touched the ground first, and his heel tapped last, if at all, giving his step a springy quality.

In the glow of the luminous rocks that filled his lamp, Timqé’s scales shone a vibrant blue even on his soiled feet, and my imitation scales were not nearly as brilliant. I buried my dull toes and fingers in the soft needles, wishing I could inconspicuously do the same to my face.

Near a wide log fallen across part of the creek, Timqé sunk to his knees and crawled inside.

“What are you doing?” I winced as I got to my feet and bounced after him, trying to copy his gait. My bruises had bruises.

“You expect people to answer your questions when you don’t answer theirs?”

My hands rested on my hips. “I answer questions, just you blurted out one I shouldn’t. Ask me something else.”

“Where’re you from?”

I puffed my cheeks, eyes narrowed. “You’re bad at picking questions.”

“Or you’re too picky.” Timqé backed out of the log, a glob of white slime clutched in his hand. He extended it for me to see. “I’m gatherin’ srymal.”

Upon closer inspection, I could distinguish the individual, slug-like creatures, each about the size of my thumb. They were known for their symbiotic relationship with many Grenswa-na plants.

“Did these guys help grow this forest?”

He laughed and dumped the handful into a cloth sack. “These ones’re only a day old.”

“Need some for your garden?”

“Nope. These ones’re for soup.”

“Soup?” My nose wrinkled as my imagination supplied a taste to match the disgusting picture in my head.

He gave me a knowing look. “Yes, it’s srymal hatchin’ season, so it’s technically illegal to gather them. That’s why the merchants’ren’t sellin’ them, so if you want srymal, you’ve to go illegally gather them yourself. And yes, srymal soup’s the most bitter, nastiest sludge ever concocted.”

“Then why—”

“My wife requested some.”

I looked around at the darkness. “Now?”

“Lucky for you. You seem to be in a bad way.”

Dare I tell him of my message? Would he help me reach the protective authorities? Would said authorities even listen to me?

My hand rose to my sodden plaits, fingering the datapin still securely lodged through one twisted twintail.

As I opened my mouth to spill my story, he turned and sat on the log, dumping another catch of srymal larva into his bag. The latter didn’t bother me much. What caught my eye and stilled my tongue was a dagger strapped to his right thigh.

Unornate and nearly camouflaged against his black pants, the weapon rested in a scabbard. I couldn’t see the blade, but its sheath implied a length equal to his forearm, and I imagined it as awfully sharp.

With the sight of that dagger, images flared in my mind: an unruly mob chasing us, a peace officer holding a curved knife to Fredo’s throat, Fredo unmoving.

I would not let that repeat again and again. I had to play a better Grenswa-na and be more circumspect with my true identity. Before mentioning anything about having an important message or associating myself in any way with Seallaii, I needed to find out how this Timqé would react.

“Before the river carried me here, I was in Tils.” I kept my gaze on my toes, which were once again buried in the mushy needles. “There was a disturbance. A pair of Seallaii-nas were chased down.”

I peeked at him. Timqé appeared neither surprised nor intrigued, as if such events were a common occurrence.

“One was killed.”

A slight flinch, maybe. “I may’ve heard somethin’ about that.”

“Do you think it was right?”

“The law’s the law.” His face was made of stone for all it moved. “It’s there for a reason.”

“But what if they had come to bear a message, a warning that would save millions?”

Timqé shook his head. “It’sn’t gone about the right way. Seallaii-nas’re curious creatures, always lookin’ for an excuse to go where they shouldn’t. Even if these ones’d been true messengers, they’d set a precedent, and all the other trespassers then’d claim they carried important messages. They’d spin elaborate tales, and truth’d become muddled.”

“What’s so wrong with sharing our world anyway? What if they brought a warning because they cared?”

Timqé’s eyebrows rose questioningly. “They mentioned somethin’ about a message?”

I shrank back. “Well, no, but—”

“Then this’s hypothetical. Why defend them?”

Because we did care. We were here to save them, and they wouldn’t listen.

Because Fredo. Should. Not. Be. Dead.

I couldn’t say this. My silence stretched out guiltily.

“If the message’s valuable enough,” Timqé reasoned, sounding much like one of my mentors, “then the messenger’s willin’ to pay any price to see it delivered. That’s how we know the message’s important.”

Was saving this cruel, beautiful world worth Fredo’s life? Anger sizzled in my veins, saying no. No matter how many this warning saved, would they remember him? Or would they dismiss his sacrifice as easily as Timqé shooed the birds? With his increased distance, they had decided I was a fair perch again.

“I’ve to get back to…where I’m from,” he said, sliding to his feet, “but somethin’ tells me I shouldn't walk away from you. Come with me. I’ll take you back to civilization.”

I shook my head, waterlogged pretzel bun swaying heavily. Timqé would be no friend if he knew what I was, and the longer I remained in his presence, the more likely he would discover me.

“Just tell me which direction Tils is in, please.”

He pointed. “Follow the river.”

I should have been able to figure that out. I really wasn’t an eteriq after all.

As I turned and climbed into a web of roots that would lead me to the actual shore, he called after me, “I don’t know your situation, but if you need help in Tils, ask for a place called The Azure Cascade. Friendly people there.”

Right, friendly. What was the definition of that word on a world of xenophobes?

Continued in chapter 8: I Just Wanted A Sandwich

Thank you for reading!

It was truly, utterly dark away from Timqé’s lantern. The rocks purposefully got in the way of my feet, and I stumbled often, scuffing my palms with fine scratches. Worn out, I soon had to sit, spine against a sturdy, companionable tree.

The wansas—the tye followed me. Seallaii-nas had excellent vision, and I could perceive the birds’ white feathers and some outline of the forest around me, but not much else.

In lieu of my sight, my second dominant sense took over, the sensations categorized under touch.

We had separate systems for detecting dampness, temperature, pressure, pain, and body orientation—all highly sensitive. This granted us the potential for gracefulness, coordination, and external awareness. It also gave us a low pain tolerance and a narrow range of comfort concerning temperature and humidity.

Every time I drifted off in sleep, the breath of some monster slid across my shoulder, though many shrieks and much flailing revealed nothing. The tree thought I was crazy.

I pulled my cloak tighter around my shoulders, a palm resting on Fredo’s pistol. Judging by my hand’s soreness, I kept a death grip on the weapon throughout my time in the river. My chain belts now acted as a makeshift holster for it.

The water had turned my hair into a massive knot, and while the snarls had secured the datapin, it was a chore to extricate. I detangled, wrung, and smoothed my sodden locks, then retwisted them into a slightly different pretzel bun. The rope-like ends hung to my shoulders.

I stared at the pin’s sparkly beads for a long time, resentment souring my heart. They had given me an excuse for adventure. I had stupidly dragged Fredo along, and now I had lost him.

The datapin’s contents were important. I only knew Shlykrii planned an attack, not when, where, why, or how. This glittery accessory would provide those details once presented to the proper device. Out here in the forest, I didn’t have any way of accessing its secrets.

Its message, not mine, could save myriads of lives, yet a wicked part of me wanted to withhold it. They killed Fredo. I should let them meet their demise.

Yet, Timqé’s words wafted through my head, too, beating back that terrible me.

If the message’s valuable enough, then the messenger’s willin’ to pay any price to see it delivered. That’s how we know the message’s important.

Just, why did the price have to be so high?

* * *

I slept at some point, and dawn awakened me, tossing light across the sky and returning color to the world. With the appearance of the day-moon, steam wafted from the ground again, carrying a wooded, primal scent.

Sans any pockets, I tucked the datapin in my shirt and washed quickly in the tepid creek, noting my turquoise top had been stained splotchy purple by Fredo’s blood. A grim reminder.

I missed him. So many times as I walked, I spotted something and started to point it out to him. ‘Do you know what this is famous for; why that flower is orange; what gigantic tree this tiny seed will become if it has just the right environment?’

Several times I cried as what he would have said recited in my head. His voice rang clearer than the cooing of the tye that still insisted on accompanying me. I wasn’t alone, not really, but I was lonely. I wanted to find others.

Yet, I dreaded doing so. Would they chase me again?

My satchel was lost in the river, so I didn’t have any of the tools or food I had packed. My stomach groaned, a pitiable sound, but I didn’t spy any edible plants. A real Grenswa-na would have eaten one of the birds, but the notion held little appeal, and I didn’t know how to go about that anyway.

The day-moon was high and my stomach very insistent by the time I reached Tils, a sprawling city with large swaths of swampy land between significant structures. Their architecture reminded me of bubbles and trees.

It was too hot, and I felt as if Harta concentrated all its attention on me alone, trying to see just how miserable it could make me. The city’s smell—that of wet sand with a faint undercurrent of fish—turned my empty stomach.

The birds still followed me, and passersby stared. Head held high, I ignored them, and no one spoke to me. I proceeded toward the city’s center, where the Office of the Royal Representative would be.

Apparently, ‘city’s center’ was not specific enough. Lost and sure I had passed the same trinket shop three times, I paused in the shade of a building, cooling my bruised and blistered feet in a stream that bubbled up from beneath the stone path.

The moon was pretty, but its sparkling radiance set a pot of hatred to boil atop my head.

The building’s shadow was porous thanks to its looped-ribbon design. Flat metal sheets curled and folded back on themselves in rising tiers. Rapid clunks came from within, and curiosity prodded me to peer into these holes.

“Hello?”

The silhouette of a buff man pivoted, a furnace raging behind him. Its ardor stung my cheeks, and I wasn’t even inside.

As the man stepped closer, his details filled in—middle-aged and Onyx with droopy, dark eyes and hair. Soot splotched his pale skin, and I couldn’t quite tell where it ended and his scales began.

“Need somethin’, Miss?”

I meant to ask him for directions to the Office of the Royal Representative. Yet, as I noted what he held—a mallet in one hand and a huge cutlass in the other, its blade glowing with heat—I retreated a pace. “D-do you know how to get to The Azure Cascade?”

“You’ren’t from around here, huh?”

“No, I live in this puddle on the sidewalk, and I never leave it.”

He laughed, a booming, melodious sound. “Brave little girl. Pass ten streets that way.” He pointed behind me. “Then turn right. It’s almost on the corner.”

“Thank you,” I squeaked with a partial curtsy and hastened in the direction indicated.

If the people of The Azure Cascade were as friendly as Timqé claimed, they could give me directions, and they wouldn’t be holding swords and hammers.

Ten streets and one right turn later, I stopped, embraced by the warm scent of fresh bread and fruit tarts. My stomach let out a mournful cry, begging me to find the source of such wondrous odors.

I tracked the scent through a glass archway into a squat building of peculiar design. Cascades formed the walls, some more opaque than others. The ceiling was glass, channeling water throughout the structure, but I couldn’t see what held it up.

A sign sitting crooked on an easel read: Welcome to The Azure Cascade. Seat yourself. Enjoy!

In a corner, I found a table with only one chair and sat, careful to do so as a Grenswa-na would, feet hidden beneath me on the soft seat cushion. Getting food first, then asking for directions seemed like an excellent idea.

“Pardon me, Miss,” a metallic voice shrilled, and I whirled, heart throbbing in my throat.

I had studied countless sketches, diagrams, snapshots, and models of the terrible machines Shlykrii used against Grenswa so long ago. Here, standing within kicking distance, was one of these renders come to life: a skeletal Shlykrii Sentinel painted an eerie, green-based white like it might have glowed in the dark.

It was different from those with Ambassador Lafdo, simpler, more primal, more menacing.

“Pardon me,” it said again, indigo diode eyes flashing and stiff jaw flapping. “You cannot sit here, so if you could kindly find it within yourself to move, that would be greatly appreciated.”

Such polite words. Weird.

I rested my elbows on the table and locked my hands together. “May I ask why I cannot sit here?”

The Sentinel scanned the dining area. I was the only occupant.

“Forgive me. Perhaps I was mistaken. Are you here with anyone?”

No, because Fredo should have been there with me.

I glared. “Why would you want to know?”

“Because it is information vital to the issue of whether you may sit here or not.” Its clawed hands waved in wide, elaborate circles.

“Would I understand you better if I were also insane?”

“I am not a psychiatrist, Miss. Please simply answer the question.”

“I...” My gaze dropped to the azure-tiled floor. “I’m with a friend.”

“Then you will wish to wait and order once your friend arrives.” It produced a small, laminated menu from an apron tied around its waist.

My gaze leapt on the booklet’s pastel blue pages edged in brown hide—a ticket to food.

As the machine turned away without offering me the menu, I snatched at it.

“No, I want to order now.”

A dreadful whine escaped my lips as the Sentinel yanked the booklet away and slapped it against its leg in another of its elaborate gestures.

“Why not wait for your friend? That is outrageously rude!”

I did not want to have an argument with anyone about why Fredo wasn’t with me, much less with a machine designed for killing.

“He’s not coming, okay!” I snatched the menu. It felt warm and slightly squishy, like broiled fruit.

Before I could open it, the Sentinel’s claws hooked over the booklet’s top. I did not let go.

“You cannot sit here. A party of two is required to sit at this table.”

“There’s only one chair.” I ripped the menu from the machine’s grasp.

“I would have gotten another chair had you needed it.” It tittered on, mimicking offense, its broad, circular gestures on repeat.

“Insane machine,” I muttered. This argument was stupid, and I refused to take part in it further.

Righting myself in my chair, which meant turning my back to the Sentinel, I opened my menu and scanned the listings hand-scrawled in blocky Grenswa-na text.

Circled at the top and traced over many times was the message: Our world-famous soufflés’re made with dwanal flour imported from Seallaii because that makes them super fluffy and delicious. If you don’t like it, don’t order it.

Perfect, I thought with a wan smile. They’re approved for Seallaii-na consumption, then, and eating them won’t make me horribly ill.

A party of three waltzed through the arch and claimed a table clearly set for five. The Sentinel deemed this more pressing than a party of one sitting at a table for two with only one chair, and it left to argue with them.

A live waiter dressed in black, baggy pants with a blue belt, a matching hat, and a shirt that was more like a net hurried over, halting next to me. “May I take your order?” He emphasized the first word with a hasty glance thrown over his shoulder at the most annoying machine in the universe.

“What smells so wonderful?”

“You.”

I shook my head. “Thank you, but I’d rather not eat myself.”

“I’m serious.” He leaned against the table in such a way that he practically sat on it. His slender tail would have brushed the ground had it hung limp. Instead, it swayed in long, eager arcs, like a feline readying a pounce. “You smell like”—he snapped his fingers as he found the word—“adventure.”

If by ‘adventure’ he meant I smelled like I had bathed in a wild creek and spent the morning trudging through the forest with birds for company, then I agreed. The birds were still with me even, leaving little messes wherever they felt like it.

He leaned closer, so close I had to tilt my three-legged chair back to maintain my personal space. His eyes were just as mesmerizing as Timqé’s, with that same quality of life teeming right below the surface, though his blue was a shade paler.

Also Sapphire, and Timqé did tell me to come here. Are they related?

He sniffed, and I furrowed my brows.

His round features stretched in a way that again reminded me of bubbles. “You smell like adventure and crysslist soufflé.”

I laughed. “Ironic, since the latter is exactly what I want to eat. Have any?”

“Fresh out of the oven!” He rushed off, and the milk chocolate color of his short, shaggy hair was the last I saw of him disappearing through double doors in the back wall. This was the most opaque of the cascades. There must have been a physical wall there as well.

Vexed by the Sentinel, the party of three left. I watched them retreat under the arch, movements charged with disgruntlement, but my mind’s sight was on crysslist, my mouth watering as I anticipated how the fruit would taste. I pictured its distorted ovoid shape, imagined its tart, crisp flesh and flavorful, waxy peel softening under an oven’s heat, its panorama of colors bleeding into the soufflé’s bread.

It would be like eating a rainbow.

The reflection of movement caught my eye as the waiter barged back through the double doors, balancing a shallow, steaming bowl. Meeting my eager gaze, he grinned and twisted into a backflip.

Sure my soufflé would end up on the floor, I gasped, halfway standing as he landed and folded into a backbend to gently set my meal before me. Not a mote was out of place, except for the waiter, who was mostly upside-down, hat fallen and hair like a muddy waterfall.

“Um, thank you,” I awed, wide eyes on the soufflé. It definitely looked like rainbows had some part in making it.

“My name’s Blu.” The waiter presented me with a scalloped eating utensil. “If you need anythin’ else, just holler for me.”

With a nod, I took the shell and dug in. It was amazing, a lot more sour than a baffble, but in a good way.

Four or five bites later, I realized Blu still stood there, staring at me.

“Don’t you have anything else to do?”

He shrugged. “Nothin’ important. Paqo does a lot.” He gestured at the Sentinel, who was straightening already perfectly straight chairs.

“Uh-huh. Well, could you do something other than stare at me? It makes me feel weird.”

“Alright.” But he didn’t walk away.

Blu tossed his pen and caught it in the hat rolling down his arm. When it reached his hands, he flipped the cap back onto his head and again flung the writing utensil. In mid-bow, he caught the pen in his mouth and dropped to his knees, hat crooked.

“Good job. You get bored easily, don’t you?”

His brow wrinkled. “Who doesn’t?”

Disturbed by his antics, the tye perched on my shoulder flew at his face as if to scold him. With predatory reflexes, Blu snatched the small bird out of the air.

I gulped. Of course. Grenswa-nas were predators.

Knowing this, the tye struggled furiously, squawking.

“What’s with the birds anyway?”

“They followed me. I don’t know why.”

Though I suspected it was because of my Seallaii-na charisma.

The other birds dove at him, trying to help their panicked companion.

Blu snatched a second with his other hand and a third with his tail. “I can keep them? I mean, I’lln’t charge you for your meal then. Fair trade?”

Good, since my money was in a satchel in the river.

“Fair trade. Did you mean for your pen to write on your face when you caught it?”

His smile fell, eyes crossing as he tried to confirm the existence of any such mark, but I doubted he could see his own cheek. He rushed off and disappeared again through the double doors. With a betrayed chirp, the fourth and only remaining tye followed its captured compatriots.

I didn’t think Blu would eat them. Or I hoped he wouldn’t. I also hadn’t thought the dockworkers would shoot at us or that the peace officers would kill Fredo. What was peaceful about that?

Angry tears burned my eyes again, threatening to spill.

“This belongs to you.” The war machine dropped a tall, liquid-filled vase on my table. As I reached for it, the Sentinel regressed, “It is a major break of propriety to sit alone at a table with four sides.”

“Two sides are against the walls, and there’s only one chair.” I sipped the cyan-tinted drink.

A faint, sour syrup tickled my tongue. It called up a long-ago memory of when Fredo had decided he needed to taste all my food first in case it was poisoned. I hadn’t appreciated it because preteen Fredo’s idea of a bite was half the dish. Unless it was something he didn’t like.

He didn’t like sour things.

A tear repelled down my cheek. I needed to stop thinking of him.

Paqo took a chair from another table and slid it in alongside me. The legs squealed on the tile. “See, the lacking chair issue could be easily solved in the event the other member of your party bothered to show up.”

Bothered to show up? As if he had any choice!

I took another swig to douse the fire of my emotions and plunked the empty vase down hard. “Now that table for four only has three chairs.”

Paqo replaced the missing chair with another.

“Now that table’s short.” Simmering in feelings I did not want, I reveled in my superior intellect, denouncing, “Idiot,” as the Sentinel continued rearranging chairs. No matter how many were moved, the dining room would still lack one seat.

More potential customers started through the arch, took one look at the manic machine, and turned around.

Paqo continued, ever more raucous as it shifted tables now, too, even turning some upside-down.

With a roll of my eyes, I turned back to my soufflé.

Just as I scooped up the last morsel of my meal, that pest of a machine rammed into me. Half of the rainbow-colored spoonful plopped down the front of my outfit, leaving bright stains. The other half slithered into my shirt.

It was uncomfortably hot and slimy, and I screamed, jumping too high in the light gravity. As my chair clattered over backward, I landed ungracefully on my backside, feeling every bruise the river had given me.

Oblivious, Paqo continued its rampage.

No one was looking, right? I bent over and tried to scrape the stray food out of my shirt.

Blu burst through the double doors, and I paused, embarrassment coloring my skin to match Fredo’s eyes. Fortunately, Paqo completely stole his attention.

“Paqo! Ugh, we’re in so much trouble. Stop!”

The machine ignored him.

“I said stop!” Blu’s hands landed on the Sentinel’s shoulders, and streaks of cobalt lightning webbed out from that point, crawling down the machine.

Paqo collapsed.

“Ack! Not again.”

Standing behind Blu, I said, “I don’t know who is more frightful, that machine or you.”

“Yeah, sometimes I zap things on accident, but my charge’sn’t any stronger than anyone else’s. It’dn’t hurt a person.” His hands wrung his hair, and his tail flicked, once again reminding me of an agitated feline. “Oh, I’m gonna be in trouble.”

“Because you broke the Sentinel? Does it belong to a Shlykrii-na?”

Had I just witnessed exactly how Grenswa won the war when Shlykrii had all the advantage in technology?

Blu shook his head. “Paqo’s mine, and my family’lln’t care he broke. They think he’s annoyin’.”

My eyes rolled to the collapsed machine. “Can’t fathom why.”

“But when my dad sees this mess, he’ll go ballistic, and he’s gonna be back from his grocery run any moment now.”

The room was a mess. Tables and chairs were strewn everywhere, several broken and splintered. Shards of shattered glass glittered ominously. At least one tile was cracked.

“Your family runs this restaurant?” Details of Grenswa’s social traditions scrolled through my head. Family ties were the core of everything.

Blu nodded. “This restaurant’s my dad’s dream. He came to Tils with nothin’ but a blessin’ letter, built this place and a name for himself hopin’ to impress my mom. He’d followed her all the way from Etriis.”

A Sapphire city in the very far north. That explained his coloring, at least. If I remembered correctly, the current queen was also from Etriis.

“You should probably go before my dad gets back.”

He was right. Belly satiated, I needed to rush off to find the royal representative. Blu would likely even give me directions if I asked.

Instead, I offered, “I’ll help you clean up. And repair Paqo. If you want it repaired.”

“Really?”

Earth’s sky was supposed to be the clearest, most dramatic blue in existence. I had never seen it, but Blu’s eyes at that moment were exactly as I imagined the view through the round portals of a ship dipping into those heavens.

“Thanks!” Grabbing my hands, he twirled me in a quick circle. “Hey, your skin’s really soft!” Both my hands captured in his, he turned them over and inspected my palms. “It’s like touching flowers.”

His skin felt like sand.

As I stumbled backward and tugged free of his grip, the rule about not touching River Guardians almost spilled from my lips. I clamped my jaw shut, barring that ill-advised objection, but I couldn’t stop the heat that flooded my cheeks and blotched my flesh purple again.

Facing the double doors, Blu didn’t notice. “Hey, Hent, get out here and meet this girl!”

“Hold on a second,” the person in the kitchen—apparently Hent—called back.

A crash eked through the closed doors.

Blu tilted his head, tail flicking. “What’re you doin’, Hent?”

“Nothin’! I said wait!”

Blu plodded to the double doors, hand extended to swing them aside.

“No, don’t come in here!”

Too late. Blu shoved the doors open, and a thick, white cloud billowed into the dining area before the last of that sentence reached me.

Blu was lost to my sight. “Hent, what’d you do?”

Unable to breathe, I retreated, hands covering my mouth to form an ineffective filter. A grainy, beige powder clogged the air, its bitter smell identifying it: leyrah, a common Grenswa-na grain not approved for Seallaii-na consumption.

“I just wanted a sandwich.”

That did not explain the leyrah flour at all, not unless he planned to make stinky bread from scratch first.

Some of the flour got in my mouth, tasting of bad cheese, and I choked. Stumbling back, I tripped over Paqo.

“Why’d you need leyrah for a sandwich?” Blu asked as if he read my mind.

Of course, had he really read my mind, he would have realized that me lying on the floor suffocating was a more urgent issue. He should have been able to hear me. Grenswa-nas were supposed to have excellent hearing, and I wasn’t hacking up my lungs quietly.

Coughing like a volcano, I missed whatever they said, eyes scrunched shut as I concentrated on not dying. I don’t know how long that lasted.

Finally, I found clean breaths, and my panting calmed into deep, sonorous wheezes. Cool fingers tapped my cheek, and my eyes fluttered open, greeted by the color green.

Pointed eyes the exact shape Timqé’s had been hovered indecently close, parti-green like the rind of a watermelon, and I stared into their electric depths.

A relieved smile softened his face, smooth cheek pulling back to wrinkle the tiny scar just beneath his left eye. “Looks like your lack of manners didn’t kill her after all, Blu.”

I sneezed. No warning. Right in his face.

Continued in Chapter 9: Best Left to Professionals

Thank you for reading!

The green-eyed stranger scurried back, and I covered my mouth, inadvertently inhaling another lungful of leyrah from my hands. This effected another round of poorly concealed coughs that sounded too much like maniacal laughter.

As my breaths calmed, I rolled into a near-sitting position and dared a peek through my fingers at Hent. He was gorgeous, features delicate and long. His thick hair, darker than the deepest corner of space, hung over one cheek.

He glared at me.

Since Grenswa-nas didn’t breathe by the typical definition of that word, neither did they sneeze. Hent probably thought I spit on him.

My brain scrambled to find any fluke of Grenswa-na culture that might make it not offensive to spit directly in someone’s face.

I came up with nothing. Spitting in someone’s face was offensive to every tribe of Grenswa, especially among the Sapphire, where it was equivalent to saying, ‘Go crawl in a hole and die.’ Which was exactly what I felt like doing at that moment.

At least this green-eyed Hent was Emerald or Viridian, not Sapphire.

Emerald, I decided, based on his pale skin’s opacity and his scales’ metallic luster. A Viridian’s scales would have been more neon.

Despite his coloring, he had to be related to Timqé. It was as if someone had taken the same model and thinned its lines, but from what I had read, mixed families were rare.

Now a long arm’s length away, Hent still glared.

Apologies poured from my mouth, muffled through my hands. “I’m so, so sorry! I…I’m allergic to leyrah, and it was in my mouth, and…I didn’t know you were there!”

“You looked right at me.”

His eyes were not the streaked peridot I had first seen, instead pools of the deepest, darkest teal. If I’d had to color the word ‘suspicion,’ that would have been the marker I chose, and then I’d have framed it with his sharply featured face.

“People in the middle of allergic reactions’ren’t always the most coherent.” Blu wrapped an arm around my shoulders as he offered me a clean napkin. I didn’t know where he got it from. Everything had a coating of leyrah, like off-white snow. “Show a little more sympathy. The real question here’s how this leyrah ended up turnin’ into a typhoon and redecoratin’ the dinin’ room.”

“Like I said, I wanted a sandwich,” Hent explained, glare undiminished. “The last of the bread’s on the top shelf, and the stool’d been replaced by a note from Paqo claimin’ such devices’re unsafe and to ask for his assistance if I couldn’t reach anythin’.”

Blu had had his arm around me for an awkward amount of time, and I discreetly wriggled away.

With me out of reach, he crossed his arms, brows rising. “So, instead of askin’ for help, you threw a fit and created a leyrah storm?”

“No, I climbed, but the fifth shelf’s overloaded with heavy leyrah sacks and another note from Paqo about categorizin’ and alphabetizin’ the inventory. Obviously, he put them there because no one else’d be dumb enough to lift them that high. The shelf broke, and the bags exploded.”

Blu waved in a gesture almost like the Sentinel’s. “And you didn’t use the cleanin’ system to take care of the mess because…?”

“That’s the best part.” Hent said it like one might say discovering that a slaeqa had injected her eggs in them and the hatchlings would soon devour them from the inside out was the best part of their day. “Dear Paqo tampered with the control settin’s. Instead of suckin’ the mess away, the system blew it into that typhoon, and I couldn’t do anythin’ to stop it because dear Paqo put a password on the panel. After that one command to turn it on, I couldn’t do anythin’.”

“Well, you’d better get to work now, Mess Maker.” Blu rummaged through a closet just beyond the double doors, found a short broom, and tossed it at Hent.

Sweeping up this mess with that little tool would take him the rest of the very long Grenswa-na day and night.

Hent drooped, semi-bushy, black silken tail brushing the floor. “This’s mostly Paqo’s fault.”

“Paqo’s broken at the moment.” Blu motioned to me. “Though this girl…what’s your name, actually?”

“Rose, like the Earth-na flower.”

“That’s kind of weird, but also cool. Anyway, Rose’s gonna fix Paqo, and he’ll fix the cleanin’ system, but you’d better get a head start in case Rose can’t actually fix Paqo.”

“Thank you for that overwhelming expression of confidence,” I mumbled, kneeling alongside the collapsed machine.

Hent turned a pitiful gaze on me. “I never thought I’d say this in anythin’ regardin’ Paqo, but may your repairs be swift and successful.”

I blinked, but the scene didn’t change. Hent’s eyes were no longer teal. Deep sapphires had taken the place of his irises, his pupils almost lost amongst their darkness.

“What color are you?”

Hent turned away and started sweeping, flustered strokes creating more of a cloud than a neat pile.

I let my gaze drop to Paqo, chastened.

A Grenswa-na’s color was supposed to be glaringly obvious. One who went to great lengths to hide his race usually did so for good reason, and Hent had hidden every clue he could. His baggy pants covered his feet. On each hand, a tight, soft gauntlet extended to mid-forearm, concealing wrist and knuckles in azure fabric. Same as Blu’s, a shoulder-length sheet draped from his hat to veil his ears.

Instead of acknowledging my rudeness, Hent ignored me, which was probably for the best. Still, I had an idea as to what he was, and I wanted to hear him admit it. As I worked on Paqo, I lobbed corner-eye glances at him, hoping to catch him manifesting yet another color.

Blu plodded off to the back of the kitchen, and the faint beeps of him stabbing buttons trickled through the doors amid curses directed at Paqo. I had to finish these repairs quickly and prove his lack of confidence in me unwarranted.

Paqo stunk like scorched metal, but my nose wouldn’t tell me exactly where the problem was; my delicate sense of temperature would. Like a trained dapkie followed its nose to its quarry, I followed my sensitive fingers, tracking the heat to the Sentinel’s chest beneath a series of white ribs.

I pried my nails under them, shimmied a few free, and shoved a collection of muscle-like black cords aside to reveal a seared panel made of glass and thin wires.

Waterproof but susceptible to surges. If I scratch away the black ash and splice the damaged wiring, that should fix it, as long as the polarity of the metal hasn’t been reversed.

My work was swift. By the time I pushed the last refurbished slide into Paqo’s chest, Hent had cleaned a circle barely an arm’s length in diameter. Granted, he was a slow sweeper.

The Sentinel shot into the air with a squeal like a microphone crashing into a speaker. I shuffled back. Hent dropped his broom and covered his ears.

Blu rushed into the dining room. “Paqo!” Equal parts anger and joy rode the exclamation.

The Sentinel glanced around in a good imitation of bewilderment. “Who are all of you?”

Blu’s jaw dropped. “You don’t remember? Not even me?”

“I remember nothing whatsoever. Why is this lady sitting on such a filthy floor? This is all uncommonly strange.”

I got to my feet. “You’re sure you don’t remember anything about the cleaning system? Nothing at all?”

“How you insult me, Miss. I know everything there is to know about cleaning systems. What information do you require? One for this size building—”

Hent held his broom like a hammer aimed at Paqo’s head. “No, what do you remember about you messin’ with the controls and enactin’ a password on them that no one else knows?”

“Another insult!” More circle gestures. “I would have done no such thing. I only do exactly as I am told.”

“Ha!” That came from Blu.

“Do you find these accusations amusing, young man?” Paqo whirled on him, and the waiter didn’t have a chance to move before the Sentinel had him pinned against the kitchen wall. At least his scales were just as capable of breathing water as they were air and he didn’t have to worry about drowning in the cascade.

“No, it’sn’t actually that funny.”

“Then you like performing rude noises in front of all?”

“Put me down.” Blu squirmed to no avail. “Laughin’s not rude. If somethin’s funny or if a point needs to be made, everyone laughs.”

“I do not laugh,” Paqo claimed, and I very much believed it.

“Well, you’re just a loony wacko-head.”

Paqo stiffened, diode eyes switching from indigo to red. I had seen that before, when Ambassador Lafdo’s Sentinels attacked Fredo. But Fredo had weapons and a shipload of skill. I would have bet on him every time.

Blu’s only defense was, “What? I didn’t say anythin’ that’sn’t true.”

Paqo smashed him against the wall again and again.

Hent and I jumped on Paqo, but it accomplished little. The war machine maintained balance even with Hent clinging to its shoulders and me tugging on its waist. I kicked at its legs, bruising my bare toes.

Both boys zapped the Sentinel—and me, incidentally—with another round of electricity. My muscles locked, and I was on fire. Neon, psychedelic fire that stole all my senses.

I fell into that void, unaware of the arms that caught me.

* * *

“Rose, wake up. Wake up!”

The voice of a stranger. Why would I sleep in a stranger’s arms?

Because I can’t move.

Nausea clawed through me, talons raking deeper at even the thought of moving.

“No. The world is spinning.”

The stranger laughed, a warm, sweet sound like brown sugar sprinkled over a steaming breakfast. My eyes fluttered open.

“The world’s always spinnin’, just mostly people don’t notice.” Hent’s eyes were a mesmerizing azure—deeper than Blu’s and brighter than Timqé’s—matching the color of his gauntlets and the shirt beneath his dark, leathery vest.

I must admit I stared.

After an awkward pause, he added, “Don’t spit on me.”

Blu snorted. “Though it’s a proper, unblamable reaction, seein’ that ugly mug first thin’ wakin’ up.”

“Don’t be so mean. Hent is not at all ugly.” Heat flooded my cheeks, and I shut my mouth before I could confess that Hent was one of the most handsom people I had ever seen.

“But I’m cuter, right?” Blu fished.

I affected a snobbish glare and trained it on him. “You’re certainly more vain.”

Eclipsing my view of his reaction, Paqo jumped in—not a scorched mess this time because I guess I had taken the brunt of the surge. “Worry for you nearly consumed me like an incinerator’s fire!”

“Crazy machine! What is wrong with you?” I scrambled out of Hent’s hold and hid behind him. My hands hovered just above his shoulders.

Arms flailing, Paqo decried, “How outrageously rude!”

“Describing yourself?”

“Jumping candysticks! I could never—”

“Before we veer too off subject...” Hent leaned against a broken table, dark tail swaying in long, slow spirals, keeping a broom upright without actually holding it.

I must not have been out long enough for them to clean anything. Splintered furniture and shattered dishes still littered the tile floor. Flour caked every surface, clouding the stream that formed the base of the cascade walls.

“Paqo, you rarely interpret commands in any practical way, but you’ve never attacked Blu before. What’s wrong?”

“I think he lost his somewhat-short-term memory.” Blu rubbed at the Paqo-hand-shaped mark on his bicep. “That happens sometimes when he gets zapped.”

“We can prove that?” Hent’s azure eyes dipped into teal again.

Fascinated, I contemplated how to prove my own theory.

Paqo stirred the dusty air with rapid, circular gestures. “If anything is for certain—”

“I don’t want to hear anythin’ from the insane machine.” Hent kept his gaze on Blu, who shrugged.

“We all just met Rose. Ask Paqo who’s she. If he doesn’t know, that should prove he doesn’t remember recent stuff.”

Hent casually hooked a thumb in my direction. “Paqo, who’s she?”

Paqo didn’t make a sound.

“Hello? If there’s anythin’ inside your head, we’d really like to know.”

Still no response.

“Someone get me a hammer.”

Paqo shivered, posture a praiseworthy emulation of terror despite its mostly immobile countenance. The machine’s jaw could move up and down—open when talking, closed when quiet—but that was the extent of its facial mobility. I guess if my face were stripped down to a skull with diodes for eyes and outrageous, horn-like ears, I’d be limited in my expressions, too.

Blu waved. “Paqo, you can talk now, you know.”

“Phew!” The machine drooped as if it exhaled. “What a relief. I wondered how long you would cruelly have me continue like that, and under threats, no less!”

Blu cut a sly glance at Hent. “It’s because you told him you didn’t want to hear anythin’ from him.”

“I’d prefer he answer the question with the least possible added drama.”

Blu grinned, tail flicking playfully. “With Paqo, that’s like leaving crysslist out of a crysslist soufflé.”

Hent whirled around me, gloved hands landing on my shoulders and shoving me toward the Sentinel. “Answer Paqo: Who’s she?”

“She does appear a trifle familiar.” Paqo’s indigo diodes fixed on me too intently.

With a jolt, I realized I didn’t know how much data this machine had access to. It might have been about to reveal my true identity.

Before it had too much time to analyze, I interrupted, “The more specific question is if you remember what happened when I walked into the restaurant earlier today.”

“I do not recall earlier today.”

“That settles that.” Hent tossed his broom, and it speared halfway through the nearest water wall. “I vote Paqo gets to clean up the mess he’s entirely responsible for, and we get to watch until we find somethin’ better to do.”

That sounded fair, if not the most entertaining.

The Sentinel commenced vacuuming via some apparatus in its arm, but Blu objected, “Paqo can’t clean up anythin’ by himself. It’ll never get done.”

Hent begrudgingly reclaimed the broom. Purple pooled in his eyes. “I never did get my sandwich.”

Wringing my idle hands, I stepped around him. “Blu, can you show me the cleaning system controls?”

Blu shoved open one of the kitchen doors and pointed at a blinking panel on the back wall. “They’re right over there next to the pantry.”

Hent perked up. “You can fix it?”

“I can try.” I pried off the panel’s front casing, and five million wires greeted me. “Paqo, you know-it-all, come here. I need your help.”

The machine plodded over proudly. “How may I be of assistance?”

Blu’s round face scrunched. “You don’t know what you’re doin’, but you’re takin’ it apart anyway?”

“To know exactly what you’re doing is a rare commodity. Paqo, which of these wires carries the electrical current activated when a correct password character is keyed?”

“This one.” It reached into the snarled mess and plucked out a rubber-wrapped cord. Whatever good intentions the machine had toward handing it to me, its fingers were claws. The wire snapped, frayed ends recoiling in opposite directions.

“Thanks a lot, Paqo.” Hent stood behind me, pretending to sweep.

As Paqo’s circuitous gestures resumed and it again denied its ability to be guilty, I called, “Blu, come here.”

“I don’t think I want to.” He remained sitting on the leyrah-covered counter.

“Don’t be so stubborn. Nothing will happen to you.”

He crossed his arms, cyan eyes and scales gleaming eerily in the shadow of his hat’s brim. “How do you know? You don’t know what you’re doin’.”

“Blu can be a big baby sometimes. Can I help instead?” Hent stepped closer, and an odd chill ran through me. Normally, if anyone stood this near, I could feel their warmth, but Hent’s presence was a cool breeze whisking away all heat.

Would he notice that I didn’t do the same?

Putting on a gracious smile, I retreated a pace. “You know how you zapped Paqo? Can you do it again?”

Hent smirked, eyes sliding back into azure. “Sure, I’ll zap Paqo again if you think it’ll help.”

Hands raised, I stepped between him and the machine. “No, can you zap anything you want to, the wire in particular?”

“Of course. Anyone can do that.” He held out his hand, and I dug out the broken cord.

“Just making sure you aren’t some freak who can’t.”

Did I just call myself a freak? At least he didn’t ask why I don’t shock it myself.

I placed the frayed wire on his palm. “Zap this in short, gentle bursts until it says access granted.”

Hent’s partially covered fingers curled around the wire, and tiny electric buzzes counted off the seconds. I had his divided attention, and we had to wait anyway. What a perfect time to commence with operation interrogation.

I donned a coy smile. “If Blu is a vain baby, are you an adventurer?”

Hent’s gaze hopped to me, then returned to his hand. “When I get an opportunity.”

“Hey, don’t let her disrespect me like that!” Blu called.

Hand on my hip, I half twisted in his direction. “If you’re not a fraidy-quunee, come over here.”

Blu leaned back against the wall. “Nope. When you blow up that half of the buildin’, someone has to be over here to survive and tell the tale.”

I rolled my eyes. “Hent, do you believe I will blow us all up?”

Hent’s head listed to one side. “Manufacturers work hard to make that extremely unlikely.”

“You’d place more confidence in some abstract manufacturers than in me, who’s standing right in front of you?”

The corners of Hent’s lips folded, like a semblance of a shrug that only moved the lower portion of his face. “I don’t really know you.”

“Fair point, but you don’t really know the manufacturers either, do you?”

“Paqo, how many letters’re in your stupid password?”

One hundred forty-seven correct characters filled the screen already.

The machine’s offended circle gestures resumed. “I would never—”

“Does teal mean worry?” I inserted.

“Green’s worry. Teal’s suspicion and caut—” Hent clamped his mouth shut, irises submerged in teal again.

Pride stretched a smile across my face. “You do change color based on your emotions.”

“What of it?” Barely visible beneath the drape of his hat, the deepest blue-green swirled over the scales at his temples like contradictory, glistening shadows.

“That’s awesome. Why try to hide it?” I pushed his hat back, and more midnight black hair spilled over his face. Starting at his ears, the color of eggplant swept in, overtaking his eyes last.

“Because sometimes I’d rather not be immediately recognized.” He re-positioned his hat, and from the way he glared at me, deep purple must have meant annoyance.

I blinked. My pink eyes immediately identified me as a Sine on Seallaii, but I never thought of that as a drawback.

He’s a color-changing Opal. They’re treasured, practically worshipped. They’re supposed to be the kindest, most rational, pure-hearted people.

They were also extremely rare. According to our records, only three Opals currently lived in all the world and beyond.

Hent was not King Ranjial, who at forty-nine would have been middle-aged for a Grenswa-na. Nor was he Lintzii, a girl of about ten.

“Hent.” I gasped, both hands covering my mouth. “Your full name is Hentanjinii Etris Tyawanya|”—the name ended with a shallow clicking sound like a single tsk—“Grenswa’s second prin—”

Hent dropped the wire and clapped a hand over my mouth. “If you remind Paqo of my title, I’ll stuff you down the drain.”

A sink lurked behind me, a deep sink with small, unfiltered drains. Some mechanism likely waited to chop large food debris or victims like me into finer pieces so nothing clogged the pipes.

So much for ‘kindest’ being part of the Opal description.

Blu was instantly between us, shoving Hent back. “Whoa! Back off. Rose kind of freaks out when you touch her.”

Embarrassment broiled my cheeks again, and my hands curled into fists. “I do not freak out when…Blu stay out of this.”

I elbowed him, and he flailed before falling into a somersault.

“Hent, I apologize for figuring out your poorly concealed secret.” To prove I could stand near people and not freak out, I swiped the hat off his head and positioned myself close enough to whisper in the prince’s ear. “In exchange, I’ll share one of my own secrets. I can’t zap anything.”

Deep purple faded to lavender. “Can’t? Why?”

I shrugged. “I was born this way.”

“How…” His face twisted, and I knew the question he tried to phrase. A Grenswa-na’s electrical system was closely linked with their digestive and respiratory systems and a vital part of their immune system.

I shrugged again and added a sweet smile. “I’m alive, so don’t worry about it.”

“Hello?” a man’s voice called from the front entrance.

Hent and I jumped apart.

“A customer!” Paqo turned toward the doors.

Leaping on the Sentinel, Blu shoved it over and sailed into the dining room. “You stay here. I’ll handle it.”

I didn’t think there was a place for the customer to sit or a clean spot for us to make his order, but I wasn’t an expert. Such things were best left to professionals.

Hent still stared at me with some mixture of concern and fascination, color churning into a pale aqua.

I giggled. “What, no green?”

With a scowl, he snatched the hat and shoved it down over his head. Return of the eggplant.

“I wish my every fleeting emotion didn’t flash for everyone to see. Don’t point them out.”

Blu’s voice cut through the still-swinging door. “Hey, Hent! This peace officer says he wants to talk to everyone.”

Peace officer. I froze at the title, recalling our mad dash through the drenched shipyard.

The sound of an electric bullet ripping the air.

Fredo…

Fredo…

Hent glided past me and pushed through the doors, and I saw him.

It was the same peace officer who had killed Fredo.

Continued in chapter 10: Volcanos are a Planets Pimples

Thank you for reading!