Patch held her in his lap, his arms as tight as any rope. The platform clicked on, monotonous, irritating. No talking, just her sobs, which faded as her body wilted, exhausted.
How had she reached it? She could not recall. Everything narrowed to disbelief and gut-wrenching mourning, filled with memories of Jarosa, modern day and the past twisting around each other.
Memories . . . Her mother and Lady Thyra, dressed in colorful gowns that rustled against the fat bush leaves, laughing with leather-clad Jarosa in the garden, absorbing the cool caress of wind while clinking their wine glasses and whispering about whatnot. She and Neola, drawn to them because the roar of the guests overwhelmed them and they needed comfort, trotted up and raised their fancy juice cups for a ting. The three obliged with wide smiles, and Jarosa winked, claiming they would join them soon enough.
Jarosa and her father snipping at each other before he muttered an off-comment and they laughed, their amusement ringing through the mansion. The memory faded into Faelan and Jarosa, sitting in comfortable chairs in the rebel House’s parlor, arguing over a book, more twinkle than annoyance in their eyes.
The twins huddled together, peering through the second-floor balusters, whispering about the scary veritiate deathknell standing in the foyer with their mother and uncle, and she defending her from her astonished siblings. Stern aplomb was not scary, and she looked nice in her subdued attire, even if it wasn’t the frilly gowns and pastel daywear the typical Coriy noble wore.
The stern aplomb never left her, and when she turned it on Meinrad, the once-rebel, full of vinegar rage, backed up, refusing to confront her and lose more than his self-confidence. A word, a blade-sharp smile, and Jarosa sent him scurrying away.
Happier times burst forth, of rides with the deathknell, her father, her brother, in the breezy forest shadows; of berry picking and her sneaking more of the juicier ones than Lapis; the arguments about story meanings and her huffiness at the woman’s calm certainty while Faelan looked on, refusing to interfere.
Jarosa, with over-bright brown eyes, joyous she had survived Kale’s men. Jarosa, smiling at Gabby, telling her the wildcat of a pet she rescued from a raging river still lived in all its fierce glory. Jarosa, taking out the Black Hat by tech beam to the face . . .
More poured forth, bludgeoning her, as devastating as the news clip shown on repeat before someone turned the screen off.
Silence had reigned but for the ringing in her ears; no khentauree buzzed or spoke, the eeriness only broken by Cassa, then Patch’s answer, their murmurs distant, unintelligible.
“The workstation has not reached the mansion,” Chiddle said, his nonchalance another irritation. He stood at the back of the platform, scanning for LX70 in case she stepped to the side, let them pass, then initiated an attack. “We will soon be out of range of their updates.”
Lapis closed her swollen eyes and sucked in a trembly breath. Updates. What was there to update? The Jiy rebel House had to already know. If they didn’t catch the broadcast, the Minq had, and the syndicate members in Dentheria would have informed Jo Ban.
All this, on the tail of Midir’s speech, after his promise of unity, as the dawn of a free Ramira peeked over the horizon . . .
“You do not mourn.”
She peered blearily up at Dov, who regarded her partner with a cocked head.
“I don’t believe the Dentherions.”
“They said—” she began, rage shining through her chest.
“Yeah, they said. They had a puffed-up uniform say some drivel in front of a fake tent on a fake battlefield aimed at a populace who doesn’t think Celem has the guts to lead. It’s all show.”
“They didn’t fake the battle.”
“No, but whoever ran from behind the shields didn’t have to be Jarosa.”
Lapis blew her breath—and a good deal of spit—through her lips. “No, it was Jarosa.” Who else but the veritiate deathknell would brave enemy fire to throw something back at them, protecting her people above all else. New tears raced down her cheeks.
“Whoever flung the explosive away saved many lives,” Dov said, their voice just loud enough to overcome the platform’s rushing wind, humming motor, and clicking. “It was meant to take out the tech shields. It did not. The rebels remained whole, protected, and continued to fight their enemy uninjured.” They straightened their head. “The film cut at a strange time. The explosion did not destroy it, but the replay ended before we saw the injured one taken from the field.”
“If it was Jarosa, it’s because they got her back behind rebel lines without mishap.” Patch laid his cheek on top of her head, easier to do now that she had uncurled from her shell and rested against him rather than burying her face into his chest. “Kinda hard to declare she’d died when her side rescued her. They have no definitive proof, so they’re lying and doing what they can to make the camera work for them.”
“You sound so sure,” she accused, hating he refused to accept her devastation. She had seen—
“I’m sure they’re lying. That doesn’t mean Jarosa wasn’t hurt, but she didn’t die on that field.” He kissed her tresses. “It was all too neatly packaged and there wasn’t enough gloating.”
“There is hope,” Chiddle agreed. “The lies of the enemy compound, and soon they will prove their truths will only engender disbelief.”
“Probably quicker than you think,” the driver said. He didn’t take his eyes off the tracks, but he raised his voice so all could hear. “After the ‘shroud went down in Trave, everything was a frantic mess, and the Dentherions seeded the news with the demise of high-ranking syndicate members, including a few Minq. They not only claimed that Jo Ban and Vu Ne had died, but that Terrboss Orsha Kan and her family’s mansion got incinerated by the crash. They said it was in the Manghens neighborhood. It’s not. Her place is up in Highland Lakes, nowhere near the Leads.
“She made certain to get interviewed by a Kardell reporter going through the richer neighborhoods, getting people to talk on camera. Guy was oblivious to who she was, but rival stations picked it up and tore apart the narrative.”
“They’re interested in optics, not reality,” Patch said. “That’s a good example. The councils won’t be able to lie too many more times before the general public stops believing what they say. They won’t have the excuse of chaos for the mistakes. I doubt Celem’s thought that far ahead.”
“Celem doesn’t think,” the driver said. “He’s never had to. As long as he whined loud enough, someone would give him what he wanted. No thought involved in that. That’s why so many of us Minq think someone else planned to off Makethryn and stick Celem in her seat to distract from what they—SHIT, HOLD ON!”
They all crashed forward as he slammed on the breaks. The wheels screeched loud enough to cause an avalanche, and the back tipped up. Lapis, the sudden gorge in her throat preventing her from screaming, crashed into Dov, and they caught her, holding her against their chassis so she did not fly in another direction while their grip on a pole kept them in place.
The back thumped down, and a shudder raced through the vehicle.
Her racing heart slowed, and the ringing in her ears faded, finally eclipsed by heavy breathing and khentauree buzzing, which, too, dwindled into confused silence.
“What happened?” Patch asked. He clutched another pole, which had prevented him from careening into the driver’s seat. His legs rested on top of hers; he must have smacked her, but she hadn’t noticed.
“I think LX70 made it this far.”
What?
Lapis crawled from Dov as Chiddle deployed the back ramp and trotted to the front. Light from his head flashed as she pulled herself up using the pole Patch held onto and leaned into it, unsteady. “Thank you, Dov,” she whispered.
They patted her leg in acknowledgement and rose from their knees. They did not look injured, either.
“I see the length of track. She melted it,” Chiddle called. He illuminated grooves where the rails had lain, and the missing section rested against the side of the tunnel, the metal ends a globby mess. No popping it back in place, and she doubted they could drag the vehicle across the platform-long gap.
“She slows us down,” Dov said, the buzz after the words thick with annoyance.
“Yes,” Chiddle said. “But it slows her down as well. It takes time to do this, which she has little of.”
“I’ll see if I can contact the patrol headquarters,” the driver said. “We’d planned a late-day run with supplies, which isn’t going to happen with a broken track.” He sighed as he pulled out a new, Dentherion-shiny backpack from beneath the front console and dug inside. “We’ve been talking about getting a better comm setup in the tunnel, but it hasn’t happened yet.” He half-laughed. “We need to finish installing straps in back, too. I’ll bug the engineers about it.”
“We are past the point I can still reach the workstation,” Chiddle said. “But it is not far back. I will gallop there and tell them LX70 broke the track.”
“Good. Tell them she took out a section of track between the 221 and 220 markers and the length if you can measure it. We just stocked the 275 cache, so there’s enough there to fix this.”
She broke the track . . . The belated shing of hate that raced through Lapis shocked her, and quelling it failed. LX70 wanted to make life the Pit for them out of spite. She wanted to slow them down, get to Tuft first before the mansion learned about the danger. Why Tuft, why Tuft?
“Chiddle, you need to take someone with you.” Backup was not an option with LX70.
He swiveled his head to her, and Patch rose. “I’ll go,” he said, dusting at his pants. “We’ll be quick.”
“A good precaution,” Dov agreed. “We cannot trust that LX70 has continued on to Jiy. She may plan an ambush or other attack.”
The sick terror she experienced while racing from Dreamer swirled in her tummy as Patch and Chiddle took off. Her acts depended on her programming, and who knew what the ancient siscousige wanted installed. Something nasty, she bet.
Dov remained at the front, their head rotating, their forehead bright with cyan light. She stood at the rear, peering into the shadowy tunnel dimly lit by the platform and her handheld tech, doubting she would see a blur of motion against the broken tiles before the khentauree took her out.
On the bench behind his seat, the driver arranged a square device with a speaker and dial in front and a hand-sized black oval mouthpiece with a button on one side. Clicking a switch on the top turned it on, and static blared. Wincing, he turned the volume down and put the mouthpiece to his lips. “Jef to Deri,” he said. No response. He tried a couple more times, but no one answered.
He sighed and lowered the mouthpiece. “Lanth, I need to check the wheels and brakes. Would you keep trying to contact the patrol comms room?”
“Yeah, sure.”
She sank down next to it as he hopped down the right-hand stairs behind the driver's seat. Dov went with him, a stout defender as he crawled under the platform and peered at the wheels with a handheld tech light. She repeated his call while searching the shadows for movement, but only static answered.
Damn her, damn her. Damn Dentheria. Damn the tech that wouldn’t connect.
The clang from beneath startled her, then Jef stood and brushed at the dirt coating him. “There’s some damage to the front right wheel. This platform isn’t going anywhere until it’s replaced. We have a few choices. We can call for the second one up at the workstation, take it after they repair the tracks, or walk down until we contact Deri. The patrol headquarters will send a platform to get us.”
Her stomach fell. “Which will be faster?”
“The walk. The workstation crew needs to get the supplies, get down here, repair the track, and test it. The patrol headquarters is close enough, we should be able to contact them after a few markers, and they have platforms waiting in case one dies on the tracks and they have to replace it. Drafen insisted we needed several, and we’re lucky he made a stink.”
“Chiddle has reached the workstation,” Dov said. “He will tell them we walk to the patrol headquarters.”
“Good.” Jef pulled himself up the stairs and took the comms from Lapis. “I’ll keep at it. Don’t worry, we’ll get you there as quick as we can.”
She nodded. As quick as they could, but would it be fast enough?
Probably not.
Chiddle must have remembered the fear that plagued her at Meinrad’s mansion, because the brightness of his and Dov’s headlights far outperformed what they had used while on the platform, and her unease in dark places did not sit as heavily in her chest. Or maybe they attempted to discover the wayward khentauree by forcing her to cast a shadow. That was more likely. Why bother with her growing terror when a worse one stalked them?
The khentauree took front and rear, and they humans walked between. No one spoke but Jef, who continued his attempts to contact the patrol headquarters. Their feet crunched along the way, accompanied by the random shower of dirt from the ceiling. At least the windy chill did not reach them that far underground; while cold, she did not have to hunch over to conserve warmth.
Good thing, too, because her shoulder ached. Now that she had nothing else besides Jarosa’s memory to think on, her arm reminded her it had sustained an injury and needed healing care, not a crashing stop and an exhausting tromp through a rail tunnel.
“Jef, we hear you.”
She jumped at the crackle of voice.
“Deri! We’ve got a problem. The military khentauree we took to the workstation snuck off. We think she’s headed back to Jiy. She broke and melted the track between 221 and 220, and the platform I drove had wheel issues after I braked. We’re walking down, and need another ride.”
“Well, that’ll get the lads and lasses to stop complaining of boredom,” she said drily.
“Deri, the workstation’s on the way to repair the track, so you won’t have to scramble to get someone there. And please contact the rebel House and tell them LX70’s on her way.”
“Understood. They’re getting the platform ready. They’ll be there soon.”
“Thanks, Deri. Out.”
Dov raised a hand as Jef lowered the mouthpiece, then pointed.
On the other side of the tracks, softer dirt displayed khentauree divots. From the long stride, she galloped. Lapis gritted her teeth. She would make it to Jiy long before they did, and the mansion had little time to prepare.
The tracks continued along the eastern wall, disappearing on harder surfaces and reappearing in loose soil. They did not veer until they reached an intersection Lapis did not recall from the earlier ride. The prints left the rails and headed down the unused tunnel.
“We haven’t cleared that way yet,” Jef murmured, rubbing at his chest in unease. “There’s a lot of debris and the exit’s blocked. There’s an old station towards the end she could use to get to offices that have a door leading to the northern Blossom farms. The area has a few crumbling walls and lots of rubble, though I’m not sure how useful they’d be in hiding a being her size.”
“I know where that is,” Lapis said, unable to keep the quiver from her voice. “It’s near Bramble Farmstead.”
“Yeah. Nothing there but wide open fields and snow between there and Jiy.”
“So she will be easy to track,” Dov said, stepping towards the tunnel.
Chiddle buzzed. “Or she plans a trap.”
“It’s best, if we keep moving,” Patch said. “Sending a well-equipped Minq patrol down here would be better than us trailing her with no equipment.”
“That is true,” Dov said.
“We have to get to Tuft.” Lapis did not see another reason for the khentauree to return to Jiy, and the more people at the mansion guarding him, the better.
