deify
-to love or admire too much
-to glorify as of supreme worth
Lying to Larentia feels like I cut off the tail of a lizard. It wiggles and moves helpless, devoid of any function until it dies off and lies too still.
I cannot tell her about my deal with Maven. I cannot tell her I knew about the rebels at the sun shooting. I cannot tell her I knew about the lightning girl. I cannot tell her what the whispers want or do. I cannot speak about the death of my uncle or that my father waited so patiently to do it.
Too many words left to be unspoken.
Instead I tell her a pitiful truth first.
"I tried to gain some insight in my marriage, but I can only tell you what everyone knows about Samson. He is a cruel brute that tried to break me a few times. And now he uses my incompetent mother to gain access to every room in the house and wants to know every secret. She keeps distasteful parties and company too."
Larentia makes a displeased sound. Showing fangs, her white teeth blink through her lips a second. She looks back out. I follow her eyes into the grass littered with red flowers behind the house. The cups are delicate, more like weeds than actual petals, and their intense, spindling bodies reflect the light in hypnotic patterns. They remind me of spider legs, growing in colonies and running wild over cobwebs.
"Your mother never knew when to keep her legs or her mouth shut. I will take care of her. It is about time someone does."
"I'd be eternally grateful," I state and bow. I don't dare to pull a chair over. I can't turn my back. I am almost paralyzed. "You know my father is unwell. It keeps getting worse."
A nod. I feel how we draw everything that flutters and crawls into the room. The spiders, ants, moths. Everything gravitates towards me and her.
"I had a bad run-in with Queen Elara at dinner with my in-laws but I could convince her that I am utmostly interested in turning the rebels in. I mostly negotiate with her son. I wouldn't say Maven Calore likes me. But he likes to use me." He surely likes to unload on my poor spider whatever he feels like revealing.
"I offered myself up for arrests and special tasks regarding rebels and...and-" I flinch away from stating it. "Anomalies."
"New Bloods," Larentia corrects me. "Red rats." And of course, she knows that. She knows what they are.
Unfazed, she turns from the flowers in a cutting, but graceful motion. You can see where Evangeline has inherited it from. She sits down again. "And now?"
I draw my shoulders back. "The first arrests by myself were made today. I will reroute through Norta for a few more stops."
I cannot tell her that the children all weigh heavy on my consciousness, more so than the guards I killed, or even Ellyn and defusing Ara from her position, everyone I condemned. I remember myself slipping on silver blood of four-year-old twins and how I blamed Barrow for murdering our children. And then the muddy eyes of my red boy mix in.
I was taught indifference. Why do I feel so bad? This is not optimal. This is not how it should be. I am doing my job. I do what I have to. She can't save me. I am on my side and my side alone.
"They were children," I still tell her.
For a second, I am a stupid, lonely child myself again. I shrink under Larentia's eyes, wither away and try to reform. Her mouth coils a little, her neck stretches. She looks down on me, even if we are on the same level. She wagers about the thoughts in my brain.
The swirl of insects is so tight now it could be a maelstrom of my silent panic. It twitches and runs around us up the ceiling, just like it did in the Merandus' mansion. The moths flutter around and sink around her chair. My legs are still shaking. I pretend to lean down. In truth I don't squat in balance. I fall and kneel. My hands try to look inconspicuous picking one of the bigger ones up. I hold the black butterfly of the night softly. I cup it gently and try not to look at her.
"They were children," I repeat. "The first arrests. There is another family on the list. I am still uncertain where they bring them. No one yet has told me the location of the prison."
"A secret facility is called that because it is secret. Use your head."
"You know about it?" I perk my head, still cupping a moth. Do you know their location?"
"Who do you think helped to build a prison that's well hidden and extensively equipped? Where does the money come from? The guards?"
There are probably few things that ever go below Volo or any of the people licking at his boot, especially when it comes to money, and I should have known that my extended family was involved. There are few things that go above Larentia.
I swallow. "So Ptolemus and Evangeline..."
"Ptolemus will be there by the end of the week with you. Stand up." I expect her foot to kick me for a moment. She only shifts, one foot in a sharp heel cutting the air, drawing a circle. It makes her skirt rustle a little bit. "Stop being pathetic. What did I teach you?"
My tongue talks with mechanical memory. I look up. "Everything is expendable except family."
She nods once. "And this summer, what did I tell you to be?"
I stare at her foot when I answer. "A scorpion, Larentia."
"A scorpion doesn't winge for something below its status."
I choke on a breath. Larentia shifts again. Her heels hammer on the ground like nails in a coffin.
"Get up," she repeats, sharp this time. "And live with the decision you have made. You always wanted to lead, now you do, and you will not get soft. I need you to retain your status."
I stand up and smooth over my jacket, then move closer to her chair.
She is right. I made the decision to lead. I proposed the offer. I gave them away in order. And not every New Blood will be a child. Some of them are hazards. And some could be deadly weapons. Just the same as the lightning girl. And her jumping brother. Either way, giving them resources would be impossible. What is the alternative? There is none anyway. I rather want to know about the secretive circulations about the anomalies and whatever is happening to this sneaky little red-blooded pack of rats.
When I hunted a red rebel in tunnels below the fundaments of Archeon, I had it right.
Age doesn't matter. Not in this. Not in violence and wrath. Even our children get murdered, their children get murdered, and we all have grown up as soon as we emerged and got thrown into the wild world with all the rules. Innocence is lost and should be purged.
I catch my sister, mother, cousin studying my scars again.
"Do you like them?" I ask her. I didn't foresee that her fingers coil forward like the diamond-shaped head of our namesake, the backside of a ring presses cooly in my skin as she grabs upward to hold my face. She inspects the scattered jawline of scars and littered cheek, up to my lip that is split.
"Beauty was never a defining feature of you. You never cared for it." It doesn't even sound brutal. Her hand is almost soft. Her eyes are still burning. "Is it an insult to your husband or a reminder not to fall like your former family in law?"
I cringe under her touch. The sheer mention of Ellyn in my reflection makes me startled. How does she know?
"I thought it would make me more intimidating," I mutter. "Fierce, maybe? And I kept it to not forget that they almost killed me."
"Scars won't get you the respect you want. Not if you earn them by defeat." Her fingers let go of my chin. I snap back into position and straighten even more with her next words. "Stop slouching. Stand proud."
"Are you-" My voice shakes a little uncertain. I clear my throat, heavily. "Are you proud of me?"
"You've come very far from a widow to an heir in one month." She chooses the words with the same delicacy as a hand picks up a crystal glass. They are underlined with something careful. But to me, they are precious. "Don't fail your intended purpose and stay loyal, little bug. "
The last one is only one name to take into arrest. I have almost finished the task. I haven't faltered, I don't winge. This is the last one on my small errand list. The first run. The test done.
It is one name on my list to arrest. When I arrive though, the house is empty and the city is bustling with the crawling of a few too many guards. My contact is nervous. I soon find out that I am far from the only prominent person that is crossing by.
I have orders to retrieve a man in his better years this time, judging by the date etched beside the name.
It's a family on the run.
Runt and One Ear sniff at the ground and find the trace easily. They are sharp and angry, with their fur standing up and their teeth showing. They were trained for red blood, and now they chase it again.
My guards and I follow the small, narrow street. The houses are in better shape than the huts and miserable buildings in the villages. They are still smaller than most silver homes in this part, even the ones that are not nobility. And they are marked where the measures and every other law have to take marks and signs.
As we chase through the alleyway with our weapons drawn, something moves behind me, and I smell the two shapes.
Runt takes an opportunity to leap into the body to my right, but the one to my left moves fast. Way too fast. It's a fast, leaping motion. A jump. It is not red. It could be silver, but the smell betrays them.
I can't let him escape. But he is too fast. I may never catch him. So far, every target has been docile. Not one has tried to flee.
I try to aim for a leg and shoot. I can't line up a perfect shot. My bullet hits only a wall, leaving one big wound in the brick.
One Ear takes the chance and runs. But even a dog's legs can only bring him so far, and he is so, so fast.
The sound is piercing my ears in needles and tendrils. The crunching of metal, bending, and breaking. It sings in a cacophony of pain as it flies loose, a sirring like an arrow, or a bullet, and then it buries inside flesh with a wet thud. The body of the anomaly drops around fifty feet away. It hits the ground, from a mid-air leap. The man drops like a bird shot out of a tree in the courtyard of a mansion. A long metal piece sticks out of one side of his head. A wet sack with a binder around the arm to show the red status. That was a lie. Not red. Not with that ability.
I don't look at it. I don't look at the corpse. I only watch Ptolemus' hand retreating behind me in a flicker. Larentia told me I would be with her son in less than a week. And her words are the truth. He is pale in the lack of sunshine. I wager I look the same. We are bled out of color that drips in crimson over the stone.
One Ear has his head lowered and sniffs to where the red puddle spreads on the street. His tongue flicks out of his panting mouth and licks once. I pull him back with a worldless whistle and he whines and trots back to me.
Runt has started to drag the other one still alive over the paved way.
After a sharp comment in my guard's direction, I turn. I run towards the other end of the road because I don't want to see the corpse right now.
I turn away from my cousin to let him not see my shaking hand.
"Was killing my target necessary?"
"It is arrest or a kill at display," is all the answer. "Did you want to do it?"
"No." I still don't look at him while we walk and screams and orders pierce through the street behind me. "Why are you here?"
"We have the same destination."
"Ah."
A jet is waiting at the tiniest landing field.
Runt rolls together in my foot space, watchful. One Ear licks Ptolemus hand once and then huddles around him to sink against his legs. He leans against his boots and makes a low sound before closing his eyes. The grotesque tall bodies of the dogs squeeze in the space to fit.
My cousin's black eyes watch them with ease. He has nothing to fear from them. Even Runt wags her tail when she greeted him.
Just like the dogs, I feel tired. Sitting, traveling somewhere, is the only moment I ever get to rest my eyes. As we start to drift up, I rest my head against his shoulder. A thorn of metal pokes into my scarred cheek, but I don't care.
"I'm sorry," I mutter and shake a little up and down. My head sinks so deep against his shoulder the words are just a muffled sigh.
"For what?" He asks. His breath tickles me. It is an even breath. It is the breath of someone that has control over their thoughts and bodyparts.
I swim in the rattling sounds of the engine and don't answer anymore. I don't dream. I register faint sounds, the breathing of the dogs, the vibration of Ptolemus talking to someone. He puts an arm around me, and I take the comfort of this makeshift arrangement. Just like the night in Harbor Bay, he watches over me while I try to relax.
The jet shakes harder and harder for a while. It feels like we sink, but we don't stand still for long. And then the warmth of his shoulder is gone, but I am too drowsy to complain. After a while, I force my eyes open. The dogs at my feet growl low. It is an alarm that brings me to consciousness. The first thing I notice is the unfamiliar coat I am tugged in, a makeshift blanket of black, soft fabric. It's warmed up and big enough to surround me like some sort of a cocoon. Runt barks once, warning. I follow her yellow eyes.
To my right, on the other row of seats, a pair of waiting, blue eyes watches me. His black hair curls at the tip of his ears. No crown. Maven looks like he could also opt for a short nap in this transport, but knows better. So that is why we stopped. We picked up another passenger.
"Watching someone sleep is very unsettling," I say, voice coarse. Behind me, someone moves, guards, probably. So I raise my manners and keep up protocol. "Your Majesty."
My words only set loose the avalanche of the tiniest smile. "I didn't watch you very long, Lady Viper, don't worry. I am far from interested in that way at all."
Fingers nestling with my makeshift blanket, I loosen it to sit up. The seat beside me is empty. I whistle and Runt below me puts her head on the seat first, then her paws, and jumps. She sits straight and watches him cautiously. One Ear presses hard against my legs.
"Reassuring, because I am far from interested as well." My voice is almost lost in the brimming sounds the jet makes.
Even if I wasn't married and capable of love, he is barely an adult, the idea of it combined with the age discrepancy alone makes my toes curl.
I throw the jacket off now over the armrest. The dogs sniff interested at the dangling sleeves and wag their tails for a moment as they take the scent in.
"I assume you've joined on the way to the prison facility?" I inquire.
He says two words that make me curious. I have never heard them before. As Larentia said, a secret facility is supposed to be kept secret. "Corros Prison."