Shrewd eyes took my measure as Yeshar sipped out of his cup, swallowing the last bite of mayapa down. His drink had to be sweetstalk nectar by the carmine color and heady odor. My gaze followed the cup, almost of its own accord. “It’s always baffled me how someone so young gets imprisoned for overcrowding.”
Hot guilt washed over me at the use of the word 'overcrowding', but I breathed past it and kept my expression blank. Shoving my hands into the pockets of my jacket, I let my fingers wrap around the metal yo-yo inside. The smooth texture and faint weight brought me immediate comfort.
Commenting on Yeshar’s own crimes involving dust distribution would decrease the odds of him believing me later. I kept my mouth stiffly shut.
Diego gave me a leering look. “When a pretty blonde like this one,” he jerked his chin at me, “gets too wrapped up in a good time–”
“I’m perfectly aware of how reproduction works,” Yeshar interrupted. “Please excuse him, he is quite crude.”
Diego winked at me, gaze falling to my cleavage. “I’d get crude with you anytime.”
No amount of nectar would lower my standards that far.
A server brought a fresh flagon of the nectar and a cup to the table before I could respond. Yeshar pushed the spare cup toward me, filling it to the brim. “Have a drink,” he said.
Warning, danger ahead.
I needed all my wits for this conversation. “Oh, I’m fine,” I nudged the cup away.
Yeshar pushed the cup back at me, tapping its side. “Everyone at my table drinks, or they don’t keep their seat. Consider it a celebratory drink for your release.”
It was an order and a test, one I was accustomed to from inside the Reformatory. I couldn’t afford to expose any vulnerability here, or it would be noticed. And exploited.
Picking up the cup, I tipped back a swallow of the familiar oversweet contents. An intoxicating warmth surged through me. Sweetstalk nectar had always softened life into something less cutting, blunting any sticky emotions.
It was also a convenient contraception method, and liquid inhibition annihilator.
Drinking in front of Yeshar was a risk, but making him more comfortable would predispose him to trust me, making him easier to deal with. Easier to manipulate.
Yeshar peered at me as if trying to see through to my bones. “The Mistrun is tomorrow. Curious timing on your release.” I swallowed what felt like a brick, cicadas of anxiety fluttering to life in my stomach as I offered him my best unreadable shrug.
It was all part of the plan. Leaving the Reformatory five days early meant I was out in time to participate in the annual Mistrun, a few days ahead of my birthday. I'd done shameful, terrible things to make sure my name was on today’s list for release.
My odds of staying out of the Reformatory weren't good. But they were better than my odds if I stayed in, which were noodds at all. Nikolach had threatened to kill me, but he wouldn’t cross the threshold into adulthood for several months yet, and he would stay imprisoned until then. Nikolach didn't make idle threats.
Participating in the Mistrun to qualify as a Voyager, as daunting as it was, was safer than being trapped inside with Nikolach.
I sipped my drink. “I’d have preferred being released with enough time to train before the Mistrun.”
Like your release, ten months ago.
“You’ll be entering the Mistrun, then?” Diego asked.
I nodded. “Yeshar will too. It’s required for all Apostates to become Voyagers, or return to the Reformatory.”
Diego scratched at his Skinscript glyphs. “Oh I’m well aware he’ll be participating. It’s a rotten gig though, Voyager service. Collecting Starshells until the miasma or its inhabitants get you. Just last week we lost another of my crewmates.”
It wasn’t surprising, Voyager service was the deadliest of all services possible on Mesmoria. Hearing it aloud from a seasoned Voyager was disquieting. I had no desire to become a Voyager, but the universe didn’t care.
“That’s news to me. Tell me what happened,” Yeshar ordered.
Diego blew out a heavy breath. “It was Ander. He was fetching Starshells, just your everyday retrieval assignment. But he went too far past the tideline and didn’t notice a Shredder.” His maimed fist clenched, eyes hard. “Took his whole hand. Hate those fuckers.” With a bang, his fist came down on the table. “He panicked and ended up falling into the miasma. It cooked him into a puddle of mush before we could fish him out. Smelled something awful, didn’t come out of my clothes for weeks.”
I kept my eyes downcast as tightness squeezed between my shoulder blades. Miasma was a horrible way to die. One of countless unfortunate daily risks for Voyagers, who had to venture across the corrosive acid ocean surrounding Mesmoria to obtain precious Starshells from the outer isles.
Shredders were the smallest creatures in the miasma, black fish with bladed teeth perilous enough that anytime they washed ashore it was an emergency for the outer perimeter patrol. The full gamut of lethal living nightmares thrived in the miasma, everything from leech-like larva to Leviathans and Krakens. And the largest creature that lived in it, the Devourer, was so massive that legend told its mere presence could create waves tall enough to drown all of Mesmoria.
I downed the rest of the contents in my cup in one gulp.
