“What is it, Kori?” Aspect pleads at an unholy pitch and volume.
The dog (dogs?) recoils, whining. The sound is like air slowly escaping a punctured radiation suit.
“Aspect, careful,” I whisper. “It has six ears, and they’re very sensitive.”
“Sorry!” Aspect shrieks, still grating, before applying the instruction and dropping their voice to a mechanized mumble. “IsthisbetterKoriisAspectmakingyouhappynow?”
“Yes, that’s better, thanks.” I turn my attention back to the dog. “Hey, hey. Hey. It’s all right. I’m a …” Trespasser? Prisoner? Temporary resident? “Friend.”
Head Three, the rightmost head, spits a gross lump of saliva on the floor. I nickname it Grumpy. Head One (Silly) and Head Two (Sillier) loll in opposite directions, but with matching dorky expressions of amusement, tongues sprawling, gazes wide and hopeful. I gently massage Silly and Sillier while side-eyeing Grumpy, who pointedly looks away.
“Odd.” The cold, heavy voice lurches from behind me like a startled snowbank. “Usually, Russ accepts cuddles only from me.”
Aspect mutters a four-letter word I definitely didn’t intend to teach them just as Adria, in all her towering winged glory, steps out of the dark. Her teeth are nearly bared, her visage locked into rage beyond words, but when she looks to the dog, her ruby lips curl into an amused smile, teeth kept inside.
Russ bobbles over to Adria, even Grumpy seeming mildly pleased at her arrival. Silly and Sillier lick at her wrists, pawing at her chest. Adria lowers her head briefly to accept a loving lick from Silly.
“I thought you would’ve been fighting,” I say, before I can think better of it.
“My appearances on the front have done little to intimidate the rebellion. Even less so to convince them that their cause is wrong, and I am the queen the Shadowlands deserves,” Adria says, wiping dog saliva from her cheek with a clawed hand. “My advisors have deemed it better to prioritize my safety, keep me inside these walls.”
Oh, do I ever know what that feels like. A pang of foolish empathy flutters in my chest.
“My soldiers will hold the gate.” Adria’s eyes travel pointedly up and down my body, and a blush burns my face. “Your assigned chamber was meant to hold you.”
Russ has taken the bite out of Adria’s voice, slightly softened the glass-sharp edges of her ever-serious face. Despite my worst fears, Adriaisn’t going to harm me. I can’t help but feel that she is, in fact, toying with me, not unlike her pet.
“If you wanted me to stay put,” I venture, “clearly you should’ve assigned some of those soldiers.”
“Clearly,” Adria echoes.
My mother would berate my snark, reminding me that the future Daylands monarch ought to be calm and dignified, but Adria has so far only ever pushed back with equal force. It’s infuriating that I can’t seem to break through her steely exterior, but exhilarating to be answered in kind instead of deflected. Even knowing my face is concealed by my mask, I dare her to launch a comeback with my eyes.
“If I didn’t know better,” Adria says, sauntering closer, “I’d say you were hoping to invoke my wrath. But I think you’re just too curious for your own good. And to barrel straight into Russ … You must have a death wish.”
She laughs, that same youthful, brittle sound from before, and again, it does something ridiculous to my heart rate. I’d love to deny it if not for the floating notification inside my visor, concerned for my health.
“I should order you back to your quarters.”
“But you won’t,” I bite back; and then, after a moment’s pause: “I should retreat of my own volition.”
“But you won’t,” she echoes.
Silence stretches between us, thick and palpable.
Adria breaks it with a blunt question. “What were you looking for, stubborn girl?”
I could snap back reflexively, challenging her to duel me with jabs and barbs, but her voice dares to ask me for honesty, maybe even promises some in return.
Information on your people,I mean to say.Something to redeem me to my government. Something to fully awaken my friend.
But truth is a slippery thing, and it slithers out of my grasp and seizes a sentence all its own: “I showed you something of me and how it felt to look upon the sun. I’d like to see something of you.”
“You might have asked me.” Her voice is a low growl.
“Better to ask forgiveness than permission.”
“The Shadowlands do not forgive. But there’s more truth in the dark than you know, heiress. You only have to let your eyes adjust.” She lays a hand on my forearm, claws splayed but not piercing, grip firm but not painful. “Follow me.”
