Chapter 20: You Can Hate This Later
Liana tried to remove her collar first, with no success. “Do you know who this sick bastard is? He is obviously not from the tribe.”
Dorian tested his own restraints. “He is from Veyra 16. A filthy old world, not under the Council. Veyrans are illegal.”
Liana looked at him sharply.
“They take Walkers when they can,” Dorian said. “Keep them. Use them. Breed them if fortune allows it.”
Her face tightened. “Breed their own Walkers?”
He gave the smallest nod, still testing the iron. “If they are lucky enough. They raise the child for service, according to Veyra’s twisted rules.”
She went still. “And what about what Walker’s body produces?”
Dorian’s exhaled. “They believed our release is a youth elixir. Expensive.”
Liana stopped trying to free from her collar.
He looked at her then. “As long as they believe you are mine, you keep some value.”
“And if not?”
Dorian went back to the restraints. “Then you become whatever they need.”
Liana breathed out slowly through her nose. “Right.”
Then she moved to him and tried his restraints instead. It did not take long to understand. Nothing here was made to fail.
Dorian watched her properly then and saw the colour had gone from her face beneath the dirt. All the sharpness in her had turned inward.
“Liana,” he said quietly.
She looked up.
“We cannot break these. Not now.”
He shifted his wrists against the metal in a brief, useless demonstration. “And as you can see, I am currently decorative. My hands are quite unavailable.”
Her eyes flicked to the flask. Then back to him. “You cannot be serious.”
“I assure you,” he said dryly, “this is an exceptionally serious humiliation.”
She stared at him.
Dorian kept his voice level. “Pick up the flask.”
She did not move.
“Liana.” A fraction softer. “Look at me.”
She did.
“This buys us time. Nothing more.” A faint twist of his mouth. “A deeply unpleasant investment.”
She stepped closer, still rigid. Dorian glanced down briefly, then back to her face. “Try not to look as though you are about to kill me. It complicates the process.”
She shot him a furious look.
“Liana,” he said again, quieter now. “We survive today. You can hate this later.”
That did it.
She touched him at last. Her grip was awkward, mechanical. No grace. No softness. Only necessity. After a moment Dorian muttered, “Gentler. I am restrained, not indestructible.”
She froze and looked up at him in disbelief. “What?”
“If we are to endure this,” he said evenly, “let us avoid actual injury.”
Her face tightened. “You are unbearable.”
“Yes,” Dorian said. “I know.”
She adjusted, still pale, still furious.
When it was finally done, she caught his release in the flask. Not all of it. Enough.
Dorian let his head rest back against the wall and exhaled slowly, “That was without question one of the least romantic experiences of my life.”
She nearly smiled, still staring at the metallic shine in the flask with fascination.
The Veyran returned exactly when he said he would. He stepped in, checked the flask, and scowled. “Pathetic. Is she that unattractive, or are you simply that weak?”
He glanced at Liana. “How about you? Anything taking root yet?”
He moved close and laid a cold six-fingered palm against her belly. Liana’s stomach turned at once. She folded in half and vomited across his boots.
The man threw his head back and laughed, loud and genuine. “All right, all right. I’ll give you a little more time.” He reached into a drawer and produced a device that looked like a thick glass pump with soft internal rings. “Primitive methods rely too much on cooperation,” he said lightly. “Fortunately, we have better tools.”
He fitted the device onto Dorian and pressed a button. The machine whirred to life, its pull tight and mechanical. Dorian’s body reacted despite himself, forced through another wave of helpless release. After a while, the flask filled again. The man watched in silence, then gave a small, satisfied nod.
“You see,” The Veyran said, almost pleasantly, “technology spares us inconvenience.”
He removed the device, set it aside, and picked up the filled flask.
“Try harder tomorrow.” He placed a fresh flask on the floor. “Or your value becomes negotiable.”
A few hours later, the door unlocked again. A huge tribal guard let in an older, heavy-set woman carrying a bucket, food, and a jar of drinking water.
She went to Dorian first. Without a word, she inspected him, dipped a cloth into the bucket, and washed him with quick, efficient hands. Then she poured water over the urine on the floor and swept it down the drain.
She set the bucket of remaining water, the food, and the jar in front of Liana, then left in silence.
Liana drank first, forcing the water down. Then she stepped closer and held it to Dorian. He bent enough to drink. The water was warm and tasted faintly of rot. She did not move away at once. For a moment she stayed there, closer than necessary. Dorian looked at her face.
“Liana,” he said, his voice dry, almost gently sarcastic, “if you continue hovering like that, I may begin to think you are concerned.”
That did it. Her expression broke. Tears slipped down her cheeks.
“Look at me,” he said again, quieter now.
She did, barely.
“We sleep,” he said. “As much as we can. Then we think again.”
Something in her gave way. She stepped forward and held him, arms tight, face pressed into his shoulder. Dorian could not return it. After a moment, he lowered his head and pressed a light kiss into her hair.
“Careful,” he murmured. “You will have me thinking I am actually yours.” He paused. “What a horror. For you.”
A small, uneven laugh escaped her. It was enough.
They shifted as best they could and slept, if that deserved the name.
In the morning, Dorian told Liana to fit the pump on him again and press the button.
She did exactly that, filling the flask.
The Veyran came to collect it. He was quieter today. He pointed at Liana’s belly. “Do not waste your time,” he said. After a moment, he added, “I need more. Do not be lazy.”
He returned a few more times after that, each visit shorter than the last, each one quieter.
By the end of the day Dorian was completely spent. The pump drew nothing now. Bruising had darkened his skin, and each breath cost him effort.
The Veyran came for the last time that evening. He stood in silence for a moment, looking at the empty flask. Then his eyes lifted to Liana then to Dorian.
Before leaving, he said, “Right. I gave you a chance.”
Liana nearly came apart again.
Dorian saw it and was just finding the words to pull her back when voices rose outside. A rough male voice, pleased with itself, and the softer, flirtatious sound of a woman.
The door opened.
The woman from the night before returned with the guard. She held the bucket and he carried the tray, smiling like an idiot, eyes fixed shamelessly on her body.
As they stepped inside, she turned and brushed against him.
Liana looked away, revolted.
Dorian did not.
From where he was restrained, he had the better angle. He saw the woman’s hand move once, quick and neat, and lift the key from the guard’s belt.
That got his attention.
The guard set the tray down. The woman leaned close and murmured something low into his ear. He grinned, thick with satisfaction, and backed out of the shed.
The moment the door closed, her face changed. The flirtation vanished. What remained was hard disgust.
Without a word, she pulled out the key and went to Dorian first. The lock clicked open. He lowered his arms with a sharp breath and flexed life back into his fingers. Then she crossed to Liana and unlocked the collar.
She raised two fingers to her lips.
Silence.
They both watched her.
The woman pulled aside the rough cloth at her shoulder and showed them the mark hidden there. A raven, dark and old against her skin. At the same moment, the sign on Dorian’s wrist shimmered faintly in reply.
Then she whispered in Raven dialect, “Ravens look after Ravens.”
Liana swallowed. She understood. Dorian did not, but the shimmer told him enough.
They dressed quickly, pulling on the damp clothes from the corner. Dorian fastened the brass cuff back onto his arm. The woman watched them, then gave them each a herbal pastila. It tasted sweet, then sharply bitter.
“For strength,” she said.
Then she drew a slim hidden knife from beneath her clothes and gave it to Dorian. He looked at her properly then.
“She will be in trouble for this,” he said quietly.
Liana understood at once and asked the woman to come with them.
The woman shook her head. “My child,” she said in broken Common.
That ended the matter.
Using elastic cords from the cabinet, they tied her loosely to the centre post, enough to suggest a struggle without hurting her.
Then she called for the guard. Her voice changed again, soft and coaxing. The guard came at once. Of course he did. He stepped inside already smiling.
Dorian killed him before he could speak. One clean forward movement, the knife driven hard into the guard’s neck. The man made a broken sound and folded. Dorian caught the body and lowered it carefully.
Before they left, Liana thanked the woman in Raven dialect. Dorian gave her a small, sincere bow, then picked up the capsule holding Lucky.
The woman answered in Raven dialect, low and quick. A blessing neither of them fully understood, but both felt for what it was.
Then they slipped out into the dark.
The night covered them well enough, and for a few precious moments no one looked their way. They crossed the edge of the settlement and reached a rough clearing cut into the forest beside it.
The open ground looked too deliberate to be natural, broken into broad sections by light metal partitions. Dorian guessed the Veyrans used it for their machines. Most of the clearing lay in darkness. Only the metal warehouse at one side was lit, harsh lamps throwing white light across its open door. Inside, hundreds of bags were stacked in tight rows. The earthy, familiar smell reached them even from the shadows.
Bud. Not a private stash. A harvest.
Then a watcher shouted.
The camp erupted. Warriors spilled from the huts, torches flaring, voices rising. Arrows hissed through the dark.
Liana swore under her breath. Her Solbloom Bow was somewhere back in the settlement, and there was no time to find it.
Dorian threw up reflective protection. His brass cuff, fully charged after two days on the reflective metal table, answered at once. Light flashed across his arm. The first arrows struck the shield and flew off course.
They ran across the clearing towards the nearest partition. For a moment, it almost looked possible.
Then a flaming arrow tore into Liana’s thigh. Another struck her shoulder. She cried out and stumbled. Dorian caught her before she fell. Blood ran hot down her leg and arm.
Behind them, the shouting swelled. More arrows came. Dorian threw up reflective protection again, counting the seconds it would buy them.
They ducked behind the partition as arrows slammed into the metal. Dorian dropped to one knee and tore open the capsule. For one ugly second, he practically prayed Lucky would behave.
It did. With a quick unfurling, Lucky sprang into shape.
Dorian dragged Liana onto the machine in front of him and locked one arm around her waist. With the other, he seized the controls.
Lucky roared beneath them.
They shot forward and lifted clear of the ground as more arrows flew below. The tribe howled in fury. Somewhere among them, the Veyran was swearing.
The forest dropped away.