Empress of a Thousand Skies(44)
Her royal guard.
She couldn’t tear her eyes off the stunners on their belts. The broad-chested man she’d bumped into wiped the spot on his khaki uniform where they’d touched, making a big show of being disgusted. The mark on Rhee’s face felt as if it were on fire. The other guard stood there, smiling. She noticed for the first time how cocky they seemed, like they owned every place they cared to set foot on. Had they been like that even under her charge? Under her father’s charge?
Dahlen had gone perfectly still, and Rhee felt a pressure inside her mounting.
“Apologies,” she said in a terrible Fontisian accent, then bowed out of nervousness—realizing too late that bowing was reserved for diplomats and Tais.
The taller Tasinn got a good laugh. He took a step forward to block the threshold, standing so close that Rhee had to tilt her head all the way back to see his face—a long chin and a sloped nose. He looked like a jackal. She suppressed the urge to bare her teeth. What were they even doing here, outside of Kalusian territory? Rhee felt Dahlen’s hand squeeze her shoulder protectively. She swatted it off.
“Don’t I get a bow too?” the taller Tasinn asked in his crisp capital accent, the one Tai Reyanna had preferred she spoke with.
Rhee balled her fists at her side. Suddenly, she remembered Julian flicking his hair out of his face, explaining how diamonds form under high temperature and pressure. How did beings in the Outer Belt deal with organic memories like this, flooding your brain without warning, at the worst possible moments?
She’d come all this way to find out the truth about her family. It wouldn’t end here, at the mercy of two arrogant men heady with the tiniest bit of power. Rhee couldn’t be caught, couldn’t afford to have their cubes scanned. And so she bowed. It was a beat too late, though, and they must’ve noticed.
The big-chested one hooked his thumbs in his belt. “Where are you two headed?”
“Nau Fruma.” She felt Dahlen stiffen. Too late, she realized she should have named somewhere on Fontis instead. She hadn’t known why she said it—only that it was the first place that had formed on her tongue. It was home.
“The moon? I didn’t know there were convents for the Marked there.”
“There are likely a number of things you don’t know,” Rhee mumbled.
“What did you say?” he demanded. He tried to push her hood back, but Rhee dodged out of his reach.
“That there are a number of things to see if you go,” she said, with a simpering smile.
The taller Tasinn to the right laughed. “It’s best you didn’t touch her,” he said to his partner. “Marked and a Fontisian? If the little thing’s not covered in germs, then she’s certainly got the worst luck I’ve ever seen.”
“Probably right,” the round one said. He eyed Dahlen. “You don’t talk much.”
“Afternoon, sirs,” Dahlen said, lowering his head. He was a looming presence at Rhee’s back, but his voice remained passive.
“Sirs! I like that. This one’s got the right idea.”
The taller one nodded. “Perhaps you could teach this one a thing or two about manners.”
As if she needed the lesson in manners. Her guards had acted as shadows in the quiet palace of Nau Fruma, receding into the background when she became focused on history lessons or lost herself in play. They rotated in and out, so she never became acquainted with one for long—though they hadn’t seemed interested, standing like sentries at doorways, their faces neutral whenever she passed. Rhee wondered now if they’d been instructed to do that, and where their instructions came from today. Seotra’s council?
Rhee’s ears popped again. With a clap like a lightning bolt, they emerged from the atmospheric pressure patch. People sighed happily and even cheered. The Tasinn looked relieved too.
But Rhee felt panic moving down her body like sweat. The doors behind them opened with a hiss, and now the mechanical voices of both ticket collectors crested in unison, like a shout.
“Please provide your ticket information before proceeding. Please provide your ticket information before proceeding.”
With no options left, Rhee broke into a run. She tried to push past the Tasinn, but a blow to her chest knocked her off her feet and drove the breath straight out of her lungs. Stars exploded in her head. Dimly, she could hear Dahlen shouting, and the droids announcing trouble. When she could finally take a breath, the oxygen shocked her into awareness again: The taller Tasinn had hit her with one of the steel batons the royal guard always carried.
“Jumpers,” the guard said. “I’d bet Kalu on it.” By the way he smiled, Rhee could tell he’d been baiting them, that he’d known the whole time. Turning to the droids, he gave them a dismissive flick of his wrist. “Leave. We’ll handle it from here.”
“Want me to get a read on them?” The big-chested man stepped forward, and Rhee saw he was holding a cube reader.
Time slowed. He was Veyron’s build, and Rhee grasped for organic memories of her trainer—of all the sparring sessions she’d had with him over the past year. Every recollection was a pin shoved through her beating heart, but she pushed the pain aside, calculating all the ways she could break this man’s arm should he try to access her cube. Assuming Dahlen didn’t kill him first.
She tried to climb to her feet, but the taller Tasinn pinned her again with the end of his baton. “Don’t bother,” he said, with the pinched expression of someone confronting a particularly disgusting piece of garbage. “Like you said, these two probably carry diseases. Throw ’em straight into the pen instead.”