Rout of the Dem-Shyr (The Ascendant Series) (16 page)

Would she ever find Ty?

“Hey,” Gren said, rubbing her shoulder. “We have two minds thinking this through now. We can come up with something.”

She knew he needed reassuring just as much as she did, so she nodded. “Okay. So maybe I can’t go right out and find Ty. But if we can prove he’s innocent, Vycor would have to bring him back, right? What if I reveal myself to everyone? It would be the quickest way to show them that Ty isn’t guilty.”

Gren looked hesitant. “I don’t think that’s the wisest course. I heard what everyone was thinking before the so-called judgment. They all believed Ty had influenced you. They would think anything you said now was a result of that.”

“But Ty doesn’t have his abilities anymore,” she argued. “He couldn’t possibly be influencing me right now.”

“That’s not what Vycor would say,” he muttered darkly. “Ty was the
Dem-Shyr
. No one really knows the extent of his abilities. It was left undisclosed to keep anyone from trying to test him and possibly harm you. I can tell you now that Vycor will allege that Ty’s influence was strong enough to affect you forever.”

Anger burned bright within her chest. “I can’t wait to kill him,” she said in a quiet voice.

“You’ll have to stand in line, Ma’jah.”

She tilted her head to meet his gaze. “Gren, after all of this, please just call me Kyr.”

He started to say something, then nodded.

“Thank you.” She settled her head back against his shoulder. “So, I guess they’ll be burying an empty death box tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “What a mess. The Vawn are holding an emergency meeting after the burial to discuss the future rule of Alametria. You’re right that it would be easiest if you could just announce yourself and spare them all the trouble.”

But she agreed with him about that being a bad idea. “Did you think Ty had killed me of his own free will?” she asked.

“Of course not.”

His honesty rang through every word, not that she had doubted it. “I’m sure there are others who feel as you do. People who doubt Vycor.”

Gren nodded. “You have a point. There are some, like me, who suspect that Vycor is behind what happened. But no one is capable of getting into his mind to verify it. He has strong blocks in place, blocks I’ve never encountered before. Unless we can get proof from his own head, it will just be our word against his.”

She inferred that he had tried to get past those blocks. Appreciating his efforts, she elbowed him lightly in the side. His face turned a delightful shade of pink.

“Those blocks are keeping you or anyone else from learning Vycor’s plans, aren’t they?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“I can get past them.”

He blinked. “What?”

“I can get past them,” she repeated.

“Kyr, I don’t think you grasp the significance of—”

“Oh, I grasp it. Ty mentioned the blocks to me, too, and if they were significant enough to keep Ty out, they’re damn strong. But trust me, Gren. If these blocks in Vycor’s mind are what stand between me and Ty, they don’t stand a chance.”

Chapter 20

An anguished cry sat in the back of Ty’s throat as he jerked awake. His breath left him in ragged draws as his heart slammed against his breastbone. Sweat dripped along his temples, blending with the tears in his eyes and trailing down both sides of his face.

After a moment, he blinked, clearing the moisture. It offered him a glimpse of a wood ceiling supporting a large air vent. The unremarkable sight brought him no recognition.

His recent memories felt clouded. Vague. Like someone else had lived them. As he stared at the ceiling, they started filtering back.

He remembered being roused on the shuttle that deposited him in the Dark Lands. Someone had sedated him in the judgment chamber almost as soon as the barrier lifted. He didn’t remember anything after that until he regained consciousness on the shuttle.

He remembered that, much like it had been for most of his life, his first thought was of Kyr…wondering where she was and if she was safe.

And then remembering the answer.

He remembered a masked Inquisitor standing before him and stating the crimes for which he had been convicted: the rape and murder of Ma’jah KyrVawn, the Ascendant of Alametria.

Then he remembered retching.

He remembered being shoved off of the shuttle once it landed. He had stumbled a few feet and fallen to his knees. He hadn’t bothered to move as the craft reversed, barely feeling the heat and gravel that struck him as it departed. He just lay down right there and waited to die.

Prayed to die.

He remembered time passing…fading in and out of consciousness as his body slowly shut down.

He remembered four faces hovering over him: three male and one female. He remembered lying on his back with the dark pink sky above him, a mask on his face and the surface beneath him moving. Being forced to drink water and some kind of flavored broth. Trying to refuse it.

Begging the strangers to let him die.

“Are ya actually with me this time, handsome?”

Ty tilted his head in the direction of the feminine voice. It was familiar, bearing the accent of someone from—or formerly from—the Herte megai. She must have been one of the group who had prevented his death.

He confirmed it when she stepped into his line of sight. Her curly strawberry blonde hair was pulled back in a youthful ponytail, but her indigo eyes held a solemnity he’d only seen in older Alametrians. The rest of her features made it difficult to determine her age. He guessed she was somewhere between his and his mother’s ages.

“Ah,” she said with a nod. “Ya are, and that’s a fact. I’m relieved ta see it. I haven’t seen anyone quite as far gone as ya were. ‘Twas like ya were the dead among the livin’. Seems somethin’ finally brought ya back ta us. I wonder what it was.”

Wretched, miserable fortune, he thought. That was what.

“My name’s Hope,” she said. “I’m one of the Harvesters. Ya probably don’t know much about us yet.”

He didn’t reply.

“Not feelin’ talkative yet, eh? Or maybe ya just don’t want ta tell me yer name.” She pulled a chair over near him and sat down, apparently unconcerned that he didn’t want to chat. “‘Tis all right. If ya want ta know the truth of it, few folks here in the Dark Lands use their birth-given names. ‘Tis a reminder of things they’d rather forget.”

Ty returned his gaze to the ceiling. He didn’t care about any of this. He wished he had at least some of his mental abilities so that he could use them to help him get away from this woman.

“I’ve a feelin’ I know who ya are just the same,” Hope said in a softer voice. “Those silver eyes, they’re not like anythin’ ya’d see ‘round these parts. Hell, ‘round all of Alametria.”

He briefly closed his eyes and willed her to leave him be. She didn’t.

Since it seemed there was no way that unconsciousness would grace him again, he shoved himself up into a sitting position and turned to face her. She brightened, apparently thinking that he was going to engage her in conversation.

He was checking to make sure she was alone so he could leave.

“Word reached us while ya were unconscious ‘bout what happened at the Vawn palace,” she said. “The timin’ of yer arrival here confirmed what I already thought as far as yer identity.”

His gaze moved back to hers. How in the hell had the people in the Dark Lands learned anything about what had happened across the planet? This was supposed to be a remote, desolate area without any contact with other Alametrians. An Outcast’s abilities were repressed after their sentencing, too, so it wasn’t as though they could establish a mental connection with someone on the other side of the protections.

“Caught yer attention with that, did I?” she said with another nod. “Ya probably didn’t think we had any idea what happened in the other megais. Truth be told, I’m not entirely sure how the information gets ta us. Word filters among the other groups and makes its way along. All I do know is that there’re more connections ‘tween the palace and us Outcasts than I ever knew about before I ended up out here. In fact, there’re rumors that there’s a direct connection ‘tween some of the Outcasts and the highest levels of authority in the Vawn palace, though no one has proved it yet.”

Ty studied her in silence. Once again, he longed for his Mynder abilities, but this time it was to determine her motives and sincerity.

Unable to glean anything from her expression, he glanced around, assessing the environment. So far, he hadn’t seen or heard any living beings other than Hope. They were in some kind of dwelling made out of wood and metal. There were no windows and only one door. Light glowed from a multitude of candles. He counted two different hallways, but he couldn’t see where they led.

To Hope’s right was a small area that appeared to be for food preparation and storage. A wooden table and three chairs stood nearby. Hope sat in the fourth. He was sitting on a padded bench that seemed to be the only item of furniture in what constituted the living space. The entire dwelling was probably only as big as Kyr’s receiving cham—

He cut the thought off, but not before it speared him in the heart.

He got to his feet. There was no use pretending that he would ever communicate with Hope or anyone else. He just wanted to walk out the door and die.

Hope jumped to her feet and grabbed his hand. “Please don’t go.”

Something in her tone had him looking at her. There were tears in her eyes. She clenched his hand so hard it was painful.

“Ya say her name,” she whispered. “It’s all I’ve heard ya say.”

His breathing grew shallower. He tried to pull his hand from hers, but she had an astonishing grip.

“I know where ya are right now, believe me,” she said. “We’ve all been there. Ya don’t think ya’ll ever recover. Ya want ta die.”

Again, he tried to retrieve his hand. She just held on tighter.

“But if ya die, ya won’t ever avenge her.”

He hesitated. He considered what she had said about contact between the Outcasts and the palace. Even if she was exaggerating or misinformed, what if there was some truth to what she said? What if he could somehow gain access to the palace?

What if he could kill Vycor?

“Out here in the Dark Lands,” she said, “there are those who die, and those who live on with the flame of vengeance in their hearts. That savage focus is the same across most groups out here. It sorta bonds us, ya could say.”

“Groups?”

Her eyes widened after he spoke the single word. “Yeah…groups. Out here, folks who survive their early days join with those of a similar persuasion, ya could say. They form groups. Most of us work well enough together. As I started ta tell ya before, me, Barto, Orran, and Reider are all Harvesters. We go out inta the Dark Lands and scavenge items that’ll fetch a price. ‘Tis hard, unpopular work, as it puts us out there in the harsh elements. Ya know what I mean, as they almost—”

She stopped abruptly and swallowed. He knew she had been about to say that the elements had almost killed him.

“Apologies,” she said, finally releasing his hand. “Truly, that was wayward of me. Anyhow, we do the collectin’, ya could say. We do most of our business with the Tinkers, who turn what we find inta useable, tradeable goods. We trade with the Growers, too, of course, ta get our nutritional items. And some of our haul goes ta payin’ off the Peace Keepers. They keep the Marauders off everyone’s backs.”

His attention began to wane. Suddenly, the idea of getting involved with these people seemed like far too much effort. He turned towards the door.

“I suspect ‘tis the Marauders who have the connection with the palace,” Hope said.

He looked back at her. Was she just feeding him whatever she thought he wanted to hear? She seemed pretty desperate to keep him there. If she wanted to hold his attention, she needed to get to the point.

“The Marauders are the most self-servin’ group, ya see,” she explained. “Everyone else has more of a sense of community. Marauders are inherently different than the rest of us.”

He debated whether it was worth pursuing the answer to the question she had just left begging to be asked. Then he thought of what she had said about avenging K—

His heart squeezed painfully. He couldn’t think her name.

Not yet.

Needing a distraction, he asked, “Why are the Marauders different?”

She lifted her shoulders as if the answer was obvious. “‘Tis because they actually murdered someone ta get sent here, of course. The rest of us were all influenced...just like you.”

Chapter 21

Kyr’s eyes opened. She didn’t remember dozing off.

After finding out that Gren had no idea how to use the eye color-changing wand, she had cleaned up the mess she had made, tied the second scarf over her hair, and followed him to his chambers. He hadn’t wanted to linger in her chambers in case another Mynder decided to conduct a search. The short trip through the palace halls was a good test-run of her disguise. Because of her outfit and the fact that she kept her eyes lowered in a submissive way, people took her for a Wrym and ignored her. It hadn’t taken much effort to sneak into Gren’s chambers.

Now, she was propped up against the headboard of Gren’s bed. He was sitting beside her, his arm over her shoulders. She recalled him comforting her during the night after he told her that they would have to wait before taking action to find Ty. They must have both fallen asleep.

She couldn’t remember ever seeing Gren in anything other than full guard mode. He had removed his Mynder uniform and put on a simple tunic and casual pants once they got to his chambers. He had communicated through thought that he wasn’t sure if his chambers were monitored, so he wanted to stick with his usual routine just in case. With his eyes closed as he slept, he looked incredibly sweet.

The sentimental thought made her smile. Then her gaze moved from him to sweep around the rest of his chambers. Was he being monitored? If so, did they know she was in his room? What if they did and they somehow figured out who she was?