Blood Crown (13 page)

Minn places her hand on Mal’s arm. “None of us. Not one.”

“It’s because she likes it, that’s what. It’s because she’s prettier ’an any o’ you.” His eyes flick back to Sher. “No offense.”

“There’s a reason she’s prettier, you dolt,” Dillon growls.

“She doesn’t like it, Mal. She doesn’t even let them get close to her. But what she does do is unman them. They are afraid of her and because they’re afraid, they’ve left us alone.” Minn’s tone is soothing, and her words meant to disarm my detractors—but they leave me completely undone.
Is this true? Does she really feel this way?

“They still come for my woman!” a man calls from the back.

“Yeah, well she
does
like it!” Dillon shouts. A ruckus starts out then, both women and men rushing against one another, curses, insults and jabs flying. My protector stands in front of me and backs up so I’m standing inside the transport again. I don’t know where to go though. I can’t go up—Galen and the stranger be there.

“Because of her, my Sher is still pure. It’s because of that Sera, that’s what. And I for one, thank her for it.” The woman’s voice is so quiet, I don’t know how it penetrates the noise in the room, but we all hear her. She makes her way through the crowd until she’s standing between Sher and Tam. She puts her arms around each of their waists.

“Sher is pure, and Tam too. When was the last time we’ve seen one of our young girls remain innocent so long? Did any of you take a woman to wife and find her innocent?”

Another murmur winds through the crowd.

“Maybe she’s kept our girls safe. And maybe that’s a good thing,” Mal finally concedes. “But she ain’t no princess. Look at her!”

Dillon doesn’t move out of the way though, so I’m sure no one can see me clearly. I feel suddenly worried about what they might see if they truly looked. What is a princess supposed to look like? Minn turns her dark eyes toward me and gasps. She rushes forward and pulls me out of the transport, pointing to my face. “Look!”

She takes my arm and pulls me around the room, pointing to my face, making sure everyone gets a good look at me. I finally have enough and pull my arm from her grasp, but she’s already won, she’s smiling with pride. “You all saw what Gart did to her
two days ago
. You can’t just explain it away like we did all those little things when she was just a girl. She’s not just a girl anymore. She’s our princess.” With a quieter voice she adds, “She’s the prophesied one. The
evolved
one.” She makes a point of getting as many people as possible to make eye contact with her. To acknowledge her words. “You saw it!” A few nod their heads, dropping their gazes to their feet. “She shouldn’t even be alive with the way he cut her. And she most certainly shouldn’t look like this!”

Of their own accord, my fingers find my cheek, my lip, searching for the bumpy scar. Now my skin as smooth on one side as it is on the other.

“She’s been healed. How many of you can do that?”

“She’s an andie!” someone shouts from the back of the room.

“She’s too beautiful, you dimwit,” Dillon calls. A few people mutter in agreement.

“Then she’s one o’ them fancy ones—the ones that tried to use our girls last night.”

Dillon just shakes his head. “You’ve seen her bleed. All of you have seen her bleed! She’s bled for you! She’s been black and blue and cut all over stepping in and taking the abuse of that blasted Gart and his cronies.” Then he thinks of something else and points his baton at my eyes. “And look at her eyes! She’s no Elite.”

Dillon marches forward, pulling Minn behind him. She moves to my side and smiles. I am without words, without action. I’ve never considered anything like this. Never considered any one of them would stand for me. Never considered I was different from them in a way I could never have imagined.

Me, a princess? A queen?

“Princess?” It’s Dillon who’s speaking, but it’s not until he tugs on my wrist that I realize he’s addressing me. When I make eye contact with him, he kneels once more. And this time nearly three quarters of the people join him.

“Will you forgive us, lady?”

I am speechless.

I am no lady.

But can I forgive them?

Years of neglect, years of them letting me take the guards’ attentions, their abuse, if it meant saving one of them—shouldn’t I hate them? I search my feelings.
Do I hate them?
I don’t think I do.

I nod my head the barest amount and Dillon’s shoulders relax and Minn’s smile reaches her eyes.

“Lady, will you lead us?” The words have barely flown from Dillon’s mouth when the ship lurches and I’m thrown forward, falling onto Minn. We help each other up just in time for another blast.

And now the ship is crying out in pain. I feel her burning pain race through my veins, hear her cries for help. I must cry out, too, because Dillon is on his feet, his arms reaching to brace me. “My lady?”

I look around at all of them. It would be easiest to step back in the transport and just go somewhere else. Somewhere nothing is expected of me. Somewhere I don’t have to see the distrusting gazes of a quarter of these people. Fury beats off them in palpable waves and I’m sure they will kill me the first chance they get. Why should I help a people who have been nothing but awful to me?

Finally it’s Minn who convinces me. She’s been so kind. It might have only been the last thirty-six hours, but hers have been the first kindnesses of my life—the first that I remember, anyway. And Tam and Sher. And now Dillon. How can I deny them?

I might not know everything Galen seemed to think I should, but I do know this ship. I can feel her reaching to me, demanding I help her. For her, then. And for these few. I will lead them.

A violent shockwave rocks our pod and several events occur at once: I am physically thrust from my station, the lights in the pod flash with a pattern between red and yellow; and orders from my unit leader enter with highest priority through my mind. We are under attack. We must be ready to respond without prejudice.

I feel the urgency, feel the weapons embedded in my arms powering up. I know my orders. Know that I have been reprogrammed to accept and follow my orders without thought. The desire to be a good soldier is strong.

But no directive is stronger than the purpose of my creation.

Nothing can overwrite my need to protect Sera.

Nothing can replace my love for her.

Satisfaction courses through my body, as electrifying as the volts shooting from my gun into Galen’s back. His shoulders arch and he jerks uncontrollably. The thrill of it is almost overwhelming.

“Your weapon will have—” Galen pauses as he forces his shoulders to square off, even though the electricity still pounds into him from my gun, “no lasting impact on me.” He turns, my charge still connected with his back, and faces me. His cheeks twitch with each volt, but his eyes are clear. He has the same sharp intelligence Natalya possessed—but there’s something else, an edge that makes him seem almost demonic. Maniacal.

Galen forces his lip into an upward curve that’s given a sinister look by the twitching in his face. “You are such an innocent, Nicolai. So completely unaware of the world around you. The ship. Its . . . people.”

There’s a deliberateness to his words that disturbs me. I’m tempted to glance around because I know he’s implying that I should have, that I was too focused on him to properly assess my surroundings. But I resist. I refuse to give him any kind of satisfaction.

He laughs anyway, the sound jarring and jerking along with the electricity that still slams into him. It won’t last long—I can already feel the gun’s power fading. Soon there will be no more juice and I will have to face Galen hand-to-hand.

The thought is intoxicating and I throw the gun to the ground.

A moment later I jump into the air, bringing a kick down on Galen at the curve of his neck.

He grabs my ankle and wrenches my leg around, forcing me to the ground, face first. I tense, ready to turn on him the second he lands on me—but nothing happens.

I whip around, bringing my fists up—but Galen is gone.

Seconds only, not enough time to run for the bridge, the transport or any conventional means of escape.

I access my com and hail my ship. “Kevin! Where did he go?”

But my com is dead and there is no response.

Blazes
. My mind is awash with the implications of what just transpired. Galen was here, and then he was not.
What other tech have they developed that we are not aware of?

I rush to the console and try to open a com to the rebel ship, but it is out of range. Another scan tells me there are no other ships nearby.
How can this be? What is going on here?
I access the ship’s data and discover there are only a handful of people onboard and none of them andies or Servants.

I slump back in the chair momentarily stymied over what I should do, when a light pulses above the in-ship transport. I lurch to my feet, ready to fight, when a girl with hate in her eyes steps into the room.

Minn and Dillon step into the transport with me. “Are you sure it’s safe?” asks Minn as the wall closes around us.

I place my hands on the wall and focus my gaze inward, seeking the ship, but the ship is crying, screaming. The Mind ship is under attack from two smaller unidentified vessels. We are not directly in the line of fire, but still receiving collateral damage.

I am overwhelmed by the options and consequences laid before my mind: erect shields—shields that haven’t been tested in nine years; retaliate and risk drawing direct fire. Or flee.

With my mind connected with the ship, I can see where the people are—all on the support level, all but one. There are no andies, no Elites. The person on the Com is a human.

“Your hands!” Minn exclaims. I open my eyes and see what she sees—streams of white light slipping beneath the skin on my hands, into the wall and back again.

My gut reaction is to run, to hide. The ship responds to my need and I step back, releasing the dialog between myself and the ship and say nothing.