Empress Hiding Page 3

  Raylen breathed a frustrated breath.

  “And so very not factory-worker,” his statement was followed by an equally frustrated growl and a small strike of his fist on the control panel.

  Chiyoto let out a slight chuckle.

  “I accept your compliment, formidable one,” she paused to think and mull over the young male’s assessment in her head – Runa preening and purring in the glow of the adolescent crush the hydenna seemed to have on them, “As well as your honest assessment – you have pointed out an aspect of this scenario I had not considered.” Chiyoto took a deep breath and let it out, “It is no wonder we trusted you with our lives in both the beginning and the end of this voyage.”

  She watched as Raylen’s back stiffened with his pride in response to Chiyoto’s words and a small, satisfied grin tried to pull across his face – although it was also evident that the young male fought its appearance there. She could also feel and almost see Runa roll her huge, partially-segmented eyes.

  “I will remember to come to you, Raylen, whenever I need an honest assessment of anything. Thank you, my faithful attendant.”

  Raylen sat straight and proud.

  “I am honored to serve Chiyoto-sama.”

  Chiyoto and Runa spent the remainder of the trip in quiet conflict about the Keeper until the Commerce Terminal loomed large in the viewports. So large, in fact, that one could make out beings on both the docking platforms ahead as well as on the some of the observation levels that looked out over the docks.

  At that point, it took all of the will inside of Chiyoto to let the Keeper remain clasped around the base of her middle finger and firmly fastened around her wrist even though she continued to roll the small unbreakable chain that connected the two.

  She blinked and wiped her eyes more than once to make sure she was not seeing things.

  Because it was then that she latched onto Runa’s resolve and channeled her altare’s strength for them both – it seemed their magic had not only strengthened but had evolved over the past two decades. In Chiyoto’s sight, the Crimsons now carried a distinctive aura about them – making them easily distinguishable from the Blood-bornes – who had always been recognizable – or any other species for that matter.

  And she felt Runa hum with satisfaction.

  But what ate at the back of Chiyoto’s mind – what scared her such that she felt Runa try to reassure her in her unique and uncivilized manner – was the question of how much her empathic senses had changed.

  Or, more importantly, had been heightened.

  When they had left Bohrea Cardinal over two decades ago, Chiyoto could just barely sense the negative feelings of the Crimsons toward her and her people.

  If those empathic senses were now magnified like her sight recognition obviously had been, how could she ever hope to stay sane over the next seven days?

  More importantly, how could Runa?

  The crowd parted quite a ways ahead of them as Prime Magistrate Rafal Sadid and his Black Guard Detail strolled toward the meeting halls on the far side of the Terminal. Their trek took them through the outskirts of the loading docks and directly across one of the main walkways that ended in one of the few large viewports of the entire Terminal: the ones over-seeing arrivals and departures into the multiple bays beneath the structural behemoth.

  Already distracted at not wanting to attend this second round of negotiations, Rafal found himself slow his pace and slightly angle his steps toward the viewport. As the intimidating Prime Magistrate did so, the many children that had been glued to the glass watching the outside activities were quickly and, yes, fearfully whisked away by their parents and older siblings, thus leaving a sizeable opening to look over the bustling ships.

  The onlookers’ attitudes and stares did not so much as phase the towering Rafal – he had stopped noticing such actions toward his family and, especially, toward himself, cycles ago.

  Hurt was an emotion he did well without – he mentally filed it all as respect for him and his position.

  He felt his beast rumble with discontent inside.

  But Rafal simply let it be.

  “Look at that old runner, Jaylis,” Rafal indicated the antique ag-runner that was currently docking – his emerald eyes alight with an almost childlike interest. Although an older vehicle, it was, without question, one of the ships in the best condition in one of the designated Green Slots on the far end of the area – in fact, it was in what collectors might call mint condition.

  The Captain of his Guard stepped up to stand beside Rafal, the guard’s lethal although smaller than his Magistrate’s muscular build no less frightening to the pedestrians in the area – that fright clearly on display as many of them chose to simply leave the viewport area altogether. Jaylis lifted his hunter-specialized glasses to attentively follow Rafal’s indicating finger as his other men stood warily at the ready surrounding them.

  “Impressive, Prime Magistrate,” Jaylis’ tone was all formality as he raised a questioning eye-brow, “It does not look anywhere near its easily fifty or sixty cycles of age – the Green owner must have some semblance of intelligence and mechanical ability.”

  Rafal glanced over at the older soldier who commanded his personal Guard at the behest of his sire, the aging and increasingly paranoid Khedive. The mature Magistrate took but a moment to discern the male soldier’s insincerity and speciatic jab, and a threatening growl rolled up from his beast inside as a result.

  “Siktir git, Jaylis,” Rafal’s tone was cold and aggressive and the emerald of his eyes darkened with his mood, “Step away from me. Now.”

  It was not just Jaylis that instantly gave Rafal the extra space he demanded, but the entire Detail did as well – save the Guard with the unusually long, ebony braid. And, as Rafal breathed deeply and fisted and opened his hands slowly to calm both himself and his beast, a small bundle of energy clothed in very worn clothing – but with giggles that reached inside of the tense Magistrate and calmed something there – barreled past the guards and right into Rafal’s booted shin.

  Rafal’s first instinct was to growl and swipe at the child who unmistakably scented of Green blood, but she looked up at Rafal with a grin on her little face as well as in her white, sightless eyes as she grasped his boot for leverage to shakily stand, all the while her little nose obviously discerning Rafal’s Crimson make up as well.

  And he saw the unease begin to slowly rise in her gaunt features.

  But the smile quickly ran away from her face to be replaced by stark fear as Jaylis’ hand reached down to grasp her roughly by the nape and lift her unceremoniously off the ground.

  Rafal’s beast roared inside of him in protest of Jaylis’ handling of the small and obviously malnourished blind child, and before panic could completely overtake the innocent little female face, the massive prince had reached across with one hand to grab the child around her fragile waist and the other to grab Jaylis tightly around the throat.

  The entire viewing area fell ominously silent as Rafal ground out his two words between bared, clenched teeth.

  “Let. Go.”

  It was at that tense moment as the child was being held by both neck and mid-section that her visibly panicked mother broke through the wall of silent and staring observers, both Crimson and Blood-borne alike.

  And the mother immediately threw herself on the ground prostrate at Rafal’s feet and fell into sobbing imploration to the Prime Magistrate for the life of her child, her weeping easily heard above the silence that was now spreading beyond the immediate viewing area.

  There was not a hole big or deep enough that Rafal would have been happy in which to crawl at that moment – he absolutely hated public spectacles, especially when he seemed to find himself at the center of them. Because no matter how an incident began or transpired or even ended, it would be written of or spoken of from the perspective that, somehow, the
Prime Magistrate had been the aggressor with an evil or some sort of malevolent-like intent.

  Such was what fit with his rumored reputation – a reputation his sire encouraged heartily.

  Such was the presence his build and his aura seemed to project.

  Getting angry or hurt would only reinforce any or all of it.

  So, Rafal just let it be.

  And, as Rafal’s beast clawed him from the inside in defense of the child, Rafal tightened his grip on Jaylis’ throat as another growl rolled up from the agitated animal inside of the Prime Magistrate.

  Jaylis reluctantly released his handhold on the tiny neck only to have his body flung against the other Guards as Rafal gently and without formality placed the little female beside her mother’s sobbing form.

  The little female’s hands gently brushed aside her mother’s hair and tears as she was swept up into those loving maternal arms and whisked quickly away from Rafal and his Guards.

  Without any explanation or further ado, Rafal stood to full height, adjusted his annoying and heavy garments, and continued walking through the viewing area – his long, wavy auburn hair flowing behind him along with his onyx vestments as the silent and fearful crowds parted in front of him.

  The Black Guards quickly re-grouped and caught up to their charge somewhere just beyond the edge of the crowd with Jaylis quickly re-positioning himself at Rafal’s right side.

  It was almost as if the entire incident had never happened.

  At least to Jaylis and the other Guards.

  At first.

  The Captain spoke with a noted rasp in his voice but did not focus anywhere but straight ahead of them.

  “One day you will realize that showing mercy for the Green trash does nothing but erode your authority, Magistrate.”

  As they entered a more deserted hallway and without warning, Rafal stepped and spun toward Jaylis and pinned the Captain to the wall in a grip similar to the one in which he had just held him – only this time the hold immobilized the Guard Captain against the wall with his feet suspended above the floor.

  Growls and snarls emanated from Rafal and his beast as the talons in his hands began to extend, and the irate Prince felt his beast tried to present as he struggled both physically and mentally to hold onto his cognate form.

  “One day, I will be Khedive and you will be clothed as that child, Jaylis,” the hatred seethed from Rafal’s pores as well as his lips, “And I will be sure to guarantee your eyesight is just as exceptional as hers.”

  Rafal simply let Jaylis drop, choking, to his knees as he turned to continue walking.

  Three of the Guards stayed behind to help Jaylis stand.

  But one Guard ran ahead to keep up with Rafal, his sleek, midnight braid bouncing along his spinal column as he resumed his silent, steady pace just behind and to the left of his Prime Magistrate.

  Rafal made a mental note to himself regarding the unique Guard but did not slow his pace.

  The heir to the throne of the Bohrean Empire had a contract to negotiate.

  As she followed the gentle male into the sleeping quarters, Chiyoto took a deep breath to try to contain her Runa’s shock at how small their housing would to be for the night. A quick three-sixty showed a small bunk, a two-drawer chest, a sink with mirror on the wall and a smallish door that must lead to a bilikman, of sorts.

  Very small sorts.

  Runa could no more fit into four such rooms than she could fit into this one.

  All the more reason the Keeper had to stay on – what if Chiyoto had one of her nightmares that had recently returned? Runa’s unleashing would blow out walls up and down this Blood-borne segregated housing area.

  Chiyoto sighed as she found herself once again concentrating on calming her incensed altare.

  The older, slow-moving male, whose name was Harnon, meticulously placed Chiyoto’s pack on the bed and turned to face her, the worry clearly displayed on his face.

  “Are the accommodations not satisfactory, Chiyoto-sama? Perhaps, I could talk to Franjin about …,” his words were halted as she gently placed three fingers across his lips and released just a slight bit of soothing magic into his skin.

  “Please, my faithful servant, just Mistress for now,” the older male calmly nodded his understanding as she continued, “And the accommodations are wonderful” – she heard and felt Runa protest vehemently from within – this was so not the open plains to which they had become happily accustomed, but Runa was going to have to deal – “you and Franjin are both a blessing for their provision. It has simply been a very long day.”

  Harnon smiled and bowed his head to Chiyoto.

  “May we do anything else to serve you, Mistress?”

  Chiyoto smiled in return as she asked, “Could you recommend a noshery where I may obtain sustenance? It seems we have gone through our provisions much quicker than expected.”

  Harnon shifted his somewhat hefty weight back and forth as his eyes darted about.

  “True sustenance is now banned off-planet, Mistress,” he looked and sounded genuinely apologetic, “But the owner of the Midori Moon would be able to supply anything you may require. It is at the lower end of the food wing near the docking security exit – it is a very small establishment so, do not look for all the flash of the larger places.”

  It was Chiyoto’s turn to nod her understanding – besides, nodding was the most appropriate response on her part rather than opening her mouth and shocking poor Harnon and his docile pack-animal altare with Runa’s howling outrage at the nourishment ban. The Keeper kept Chiyoto’s presentation under control, but Runa was still part of her – besides she was quite sure poor Spirit was cowering in fear inside of their gentle Harnon. Yes, Runa was still living inside and entwined with her very being.

  And still very pissed off at the moment.

  Chiyoto swallowed Runa’s bellow and spoke slowly and intentionally so as to mask her altare’s growling.

  “Our thanks to you, Harnon,” she smiled and reached up to lay her palm flat against the large, humble male’s chest, “Both you and Spirit.”

  Harnon smiled at the fact that she knew his altare’s name without even asking – yes, she was their Heiress. He bowed with his whole body this time before turning to leave.

  “I am thinking of taking a walk before evening meal, Harnon,” Chiyoto turned to pull from her pack her small tinted glasses to disguise her unusually colored pale pink eyes and a colorful scarf to tie around her hair which, in reality was much more of a mane and a long scarf was the best way to disguise such – she knew she had to stay out of this enclosed room until her and Runa were both well-fed and ready to collapse from exhaustion, “Where should I avoid?”

  Harnon let out a long, ragged breath.

  “Stay in the well-lit, open areas, Mistress,” he turned to glance over his shoulder in dismay, “And please, Mistress, avoid any lower-lit areas with red or pink lights – even if there is the slightest tinge to the lighting, do not chance it – it is considered trespassing if you venture there.”

  Trespassing, Chiyoto knew, that was punishable by public beating or death.

  Or both.

  The defeat and desolation that rang in every one of Harnon’s syllables nearly broke Chiyoto’s heart – Runa wanted to strike some one or some thing, and Chiyoto fisted her hands in response. Chiyoto could tell by the hurt and the pain in Harnon’s voice that he had lost a special someone to the penalty for such, but his emotions were so raw that she could not bring herself to inquire further.

  “We will be especially careful, my faithful attendant,” she tried to reassure him.

  Harnon continued walking out the doorway as he spoke, “See that you do, Chi-,” the slow-moving male caught himself, “Mistress. For if anything were to happen to you, we would all surely die of heartbreak and hopelessness if not from the fulfillment of the anc
ient prophecy.”

  He turned out into the passageway and was gone.

  Better that the prophecy come to pass than to endure these Makers-forsaken rules, Runa growled in her head.

  Chiyoto finished tying the bright scarf behind her neck as she sank onto the side of the small bunk and closed her eyes tightly in whispered prayer.

  “Oh, sweet Makers, why? How much more? They are all so fragile, so beautiful … why do you continue to allow it?”

  Runa had no patience for such appeals that obviously fell on deaf ears – afterall, the useless appeals had been sent to the heavens for nearly four centuries now with no response. Even when Mamere had withstood from intercourse over two centuries to stop the cycle – to let the killing and suffering end with her death – still, the short-sighted and stupid Makers had sent Runa with her beautiful Chiyoto from the beyond without a sire (a fact of which her Treasure remained unaware) to continue the grisly cycle of Crimson on Blood-borne violence.

  Chiyoto began to sob with grief as she implored – in vain, in Runa’s opinion – for mercy from the Makers.

  Without the gift of passing sight that would be given her in the joining ritual with Shizu, Runa had simply given up on the Makers and had solely committed herself to the protection of her innocent Chiyoto – her beautiful and precious Treasure. Perhaps the Makers enjoyed the blood and the strife that existed in this realm, but Runa would not let her Treasure be one of its victims. If Runa had to kill every last Crimson to protect Chiyoto, she would do so.

  Without hesitation.

  Yes, they would go to Capital City and send Mamere and Shizu on their way, but then they would return to Haven as soon as possible – get as far away as they could from this violence and desolation about which they could do nothing.

  That exact and final resolve flowed from Runa into Chiyoto’s prayers and spurred her forward.

  “Aye, my beautiful altare,” Chiyoto whispered through the tears that had fallen down her cheeks, and she wiped them away stridently as she stood, “Let us explore and find some nourishment. We depart on the morrow and will return to Haven as soon as possible.”