-CHAPTER FOURTEEN-

Leontis was waiting for them on deck beneath a silk canopy that had been set up to shade another set of folding furniture. There were only two chairs. To her surprise, she was ushered into one, while Axion took up a stance behind and to the right of Leontis. It looked...almost ceremonial. Only the casualness behind every move both men made told her it wasn’t. Not quite.

“Have you eaten?” Leontis asked her. Behind him, Axion hid a laugh as a cough, likely recalling extracting her from the knot of handsy sailors.

“Yes,” she said, feeling her cheeks flush. “Thank you.”

He nodded, then pushed something on the table closer to her. It was a stack of papers, covered in writing that made her eyes cross trying to read it. It looked like it should have resembled normal English lettering… Except it didn’t. At all. She blinked at it, trying to focus on just the first word. She picked up the contract -since that was obviously what it was- and squinted at the elegant black markings. She almost thought…

Someone, either Axion or Leontis, snorted. She glanced up sharply, glaring. Axion was looking pained. Leontis looked amused, one perfect corner of those perfect lips tilted up. She felt her face flush a deeper shade of embarrassment. They thought she couldn’t read. Her hand holding the contract twitched, and it was a measure of her willpower that she didn’t crumple the thick paper.

When she looked back at the contract a second time, however, the words had changed. She blinked at them, surprise overriding her anger.

“Here,” Axion said, coming around to stand by her. “I should have realized you wouldn’t be able to-”

“‘In this, the fourteenth year of the reign of Hierarch Athrandes Dominicus, on the fortieth day of the third season, a Tal’hoz of Odriax, called Karlene, is granted the retention of her Als’canil. By the authority of Leonth-Leonthadarias...’” Oh, her tongue tripped beautifully over that one. “‘Prince of Odriax. Let no citizen or denizen of Enoi, neither Man nor Enochian, impede this lawfull decree.’” At the bottom were two signatures, each paired with a rune-like glyph that glittered.

She put down the paper, not a contract she realized now, and raised an eyebrow at Leontis. “Leonthadarias, huh? Bit of a mouthful.” She very deliberately did not think or speak the ‘prince’ part. She had enough to dwell on.

Axion was still standing next to her. The hand he’d held out initially to take the decree from her was now resting on the back of her seat. She glanced up at him, smirking despite her indignation at the letter’s contents. “Oh, you thought I was too stupid to know how to read?”

Axion’s lips quirked down at her. “No, I had thought your being supposedly from another world might indicate linguistic differences. Apparently, I was wrong.” His look said this display of hers had damaged the credibility she’d gained with him.

With a sinking feeling, she realized he was right to doubt. The chances of two different worlds using not only the same spoken language, but the same alphabet? The same pronunciation? She felt her jaw tighten, and her breathing became shallower. She wasn’t angry, precisely; she understood Axion’s doubt. She was frustrated, and regretful. It was her pride that had led her to not questioning the paper’s sudden self-translation, and if she had swallowed it then she might not have just lost her only supporter.

“Thank you for this,” she made herself say to Leontis. The words were bitter. A lifetime of being raised in a society with an abundance of personal freedom and entitlement made any indication to the contrary abrasive. Reality, however hard to swallow, had invaded her little bubble of existence and told her in no uncertain terms that she was probably going to need this little scrap of ink and paper if she wanted to get home, or even to just stay free. Maybe not now, but eventually. She could feel it.

“My Squire gave you certain assurances in exchange for your aide, and while he was not exactly in a position to promise such things, I would not allow my friend to make himself a liar.”

“There’s more,” Axion told her. He gestured, and from seemingly nowhere a young man approached. She knew what he was immediately by his drab, sack-like tunic and loose trousers, and his dull hair... His downcast face held no indication of his mood, or why he was here. She felt apprehensive, and wanted to grab at that letter, as if it would shield her from ever sharing this man’s fate.

“Show her,” Leontis commanded, and the boy tugged down the neckline of his red-belted tunic. The low-hanging neckline had already been showing half of it, but now all of it was revealed; a tattoo. A tattoo in the same glittering style as the sigils on her letter, bolder perhaps and more artful, but the same. It specifically matched the sigil below Leontis’ name.

“I cannot free what was not mine to begin with,” Leontis said casually. He tapped the paper. “This is only binding if you were mine to unbind in the first place.”

Faintly, she recalled that droplings were owned by either the King or the households of the members of some kind of Council. So was he ‘prince’ as in, son of the King, or ‘prince’ as in some other familial or political branch? The question was overshadowed by the dawning realization of what Leontis was telling her.

Horror spread through Karlene. He wanted to brand her?

“There is a reason he gave you the letter first, Karlene,” Axion said, and despite whatever he thought of her after her little reading display, his voice was gentle. “You having it in your hand makes the marking symbolic only. And it does not have to be on your chest, just somewhere visible.”

The man in the galley, she realized. That was what he’d been looking for. A mark to show who...who...owned her. Her blood. Seeing none, he’d decided she was up for grabs. Even without the red belt and the silver ear charm, he’d known her for a dropling. What had Axion said? Her coloring, her features gave her away more than those discardable trinkets ever could. She thought back to the people she’d seen in Pyroxis, and her gut sank like a stone. All had been dark haired, dark eyed. Only the winged people and the Droplings had fair hair and eyes.

Without this paper, she’d never be able to show her face on Enoi without trouble.

With a will, she slowed her racing heart, got a handle on her suddenly rapid breathing. She loosened her fists, where they’d clenched in her lap, and smoothed them over her dirty jeans. She looked at the letter, licked her lips. For all she knew, this was one giant scheme to…

No, she thought. If she started seeing plots in every corner, she’d stop seeing anything else. There was caution, and there was paranoia.

She looked at Leontis. Not Axion, this time. “Promise me,” she said, meeting his eyes.

He raised an eyebrow at her. She firmed her voice, her will. “Promise me this isn’t a trick, that you really mean to let me go once we’re...wherever we are.”

“I thought you’d want help getting home,” Axion said. She didn’t look at him when she replied.

“You don’t believe me,” she said flatly. “At least, not enough. I won’t expect you to help me.”

Besides, she’d gotten a new lead from Dox; the Library of Realms, in Cloudhold. She could ask to be taken there.

Leontis looked up, away from her, to Axion standing over her shoulder. She knew without looking that Axion was returning the look, that a silent exchange was happening.

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Leontis looked back at her and said, “My letter and my seal are not enough?”

“I want your promise, from you.” She said, stubbornly. One corner of Leontis’ lip twitched, and she could see there was a part of him that couldn’t quite believe he was having this conversation. If she found herself negotiating with the steering wheel of a city bus, she might feel a little incredulous, too, she supposed.

“You have my word,” he said at last. “That this is no trick. The marking is just to make my letter legal. Once we arrive in Hesteriox you will be given a sum of currency and sent on your way. All debt between us will be washed.” His gaze intensified. “And your interactions with us will never be referenced. Ever.”

Karlene blinked. Debt? That prickly, icy feeling was back, and she nodded numbly. Leontis wasted no time signalling to the other ‘tal’hoz’ -apparently the technical term for what she was- to lead her away.

“I’ll join you later,” Axion told her quietly.

“Wait!” She said, a few puzzle pieces clicking into place. She licked her lips nervously, looking at Leontis and Axion as they gave her inquisitive looks.

“Back...back at the fort,” she said, clearing her throat. “You wanted to know more about...about those two families. Their involvement. Astix and Izihal.”

Axion’s gaze darkened. For a moment, if she’d been asked which of the two men she was between was the more dangerous, she would not have named Leontis.

The winged prince looked at his squire. “You did not mention this.”

“We have not been among the most trusthworthy of souls,” Axion replied in a low murmur.

Leontis gave a noncommital grunt, then turned to Karlene again. “Very well. You already have my personal guarantee and a writ of citizenship. What else would you have?”

“Cloudhold,” she said in a rush. “I want to be taken to Cloudhold, and that ‘sum of currency’ needs to be enough to tide me over at least six months. Long enough for me to figure out how to get home.”

Axion’s dark expression shifted, slightly, and he grinned. Leontis raised an eyebrow.

“Simple enough,” he said. “As that is already where we are headed.”

Karlene blinked. Shit.

“We...are?”

Axion came to take her arm, again, and pull her away to where the tattooed dropling waited for her by the hatch. In her ear he said, non too quietly, “Cloudhold is an unofficial name. It’s real name is Hesteriox.”

Karlene groaned. Hesteriox, the city Leontis had already told her they were going to.

“Cheer up,” Axion said. “At least you re-convinced me you’re not from here, after all. No real Enoivian one would be dumb enough to make that mistake.”

“Watch me,” she mumbled.

It could have been worse, she told herself as she followed the tattooed dropling belowdeck.

“Did...did it hurt? When you got yours?” She asked the quite man she was following. She’d heard tattoos hurt, a combination of cigarette burns and cat scratches.

The dropling looked at her, and blinked. He hadn’t looked quite as lifeless as the drudges at Diom’s fort, but maybe this one was just better fed and not beaten regularly.

“Do, ah...do you still have your...your last drop? Your Als’canil?”

“Yes,” was the brief reply.

“Oh, so you’re just naturally quiet and grumpy, got it.”

The dropling didn’t reply. Hadn’t Sid said that every time a drop is taken, it took something from the Dropling? So even if someone hadn’t had their last drop taken, the longer they were used as a battery, the less themselves they became.

Karlene regretted her flippant remark, but could not think of anything to say to make up for it before she was deposited with Dox, who apparently would be doing the tattooing.

“Well, I suppose this is one way to sort it out,” Dox said when she explained why she was there. He did not sound pleased, but he invited her to sit backwards on a leather cushioned chair.

“Pick a spot,” he told her. She already had; the back of her shoulder. With her tank top, it would be visible, but easily hidden with clothing or a new tattoo of her own selection once she was home.

Karlene pulled down the strap of her top while Dox gathered his implements, muttering to himself. She watched long enough to make sure he sterilized everything, then buried her face in her arms that were crossed along the back of the chair in front of her.

She waited for pain, but the first touch of the needles felt more like a feather’s touch, if the feather were first dipped in IcyHot. Dox’s hands were gentle on her shoulder as he guided the long brass instrument along the skin of her left shoulder blade, it’s ink cartridge a thing of luminescence-filled glass. He hummed as he worked, and Karlene tried to fight down the nauseating feeling of making a huge, monumental mistake. It was a fight not to clutch the freedom-guaranteeing letter in her hand and crumple the pristine paper.

“Not too big,” she said, trying not to move so much as a hair. She wanted to be able to cover it with something of her choosing when she got home.

Dox chuckled, a warm sound that did more than it should have to ease the frantic butterflies in her middle. “Bit late to determine size,” he said. “I’m nearly finished.”

“So quick?”

“Mhm.”

There was a mirror in front of her, though that was happenstance. She glanced up at her reflection. Her sink-bath earlier had washed away the worst of the grime, but she still definitely looked like someone who hadn’t seen a shower in longer than socially acceptable. Her dull hair hung limply, framing a face full of shadows. There were circles under her eyes, and her clothes might need to bypass a wash and go straight to burning.

But she wasn’t looking at all that; she was looking at the now ordinary white-blonde head hovering over her left shoulder, tattoo’ing tool in hand, his full attention narrowed to a four-inch patch on the back of her shoulder. Long, elegant fingers glided across her shoulder, framing his workspace. She had to repress a shiver as two of those fingers swiped at at errant drip of glittering ink.

She knew, abruptly, that at that moment nothing existed for him, nothing but that patch of her skin. It was, somehow, a realization that alleviated some of the pressure in her skull.

“There,” he said suddenly, stepping back. “Done.”

He handed her a hand mirror he’d produced from somewhere, and she stood to go take a better look. Using the two mirrors, she examined his work and admitted that at least it was pretty. While it’s base color was white, the ink had a shimmering, opalescent quality she’d never seen before, and would probably never see again once she was back home.

The main part of the design reminded her of the curving black marks found on the main body of a cello or violin, ‘F Holes’ she thought they were called. The space between them was filled with runic markings made with exaggerated strokes, the whole thing encased in a circle. She reached a tentative hand across her body and over her shoulder, her fingers just brushing the edge of the circle. There was no pain. No inflammation, no redness, no blood. Her fingers encountered nothing but smooth, healthy skin.

“Amazing,” she breathed, impressed despite everything.

In the mirror, Dox’s reflection beamed at her.

“I’m good with artwork, and I’ve steady fingers,” he said, sounding merely truthful. She turned away from the mirror and smiled at him. Whatever else was going on, she didn’t blame him for any of it.

She sighed, and moved to put her letter in her back pocket. Dox rose and waved a hand at her, at her hand moving to her jeans. Somehow, without him actually speaking, she managed to guess that he wanted her to stop. She pulled the paper back out of her pocket, and waited while he went to one of the many desks and, after rummaging around for a moment, returned with a fold of leather, wrapped with a cord.

“To protect it,” he said. He then took the paper, and put it carefully inside the protective, waterproof folds of waxed cloth inside. “Don’t want to lose this.” He grinned at her as he handed it back. “Would hate to see my...well, would be a shame to see that mark used against you. Actually used, I mean, not just for the decorative purposes it’s meant for now, that is.”

The leather fold was still narrow enough to fit in her back pocket, and she gave him a grateful smile as she put it away.

“Thank you,” she said. She glanced at a shelf behind her, at the objects on it she’d been staring at while Dox worked. She jerked her head towards them.

“I have a sneaky suspicion that wherever they put me until we arrive, I won’t be allowed to leave it much. Could I borrow some of those books?”

Both white-blonde eyebrows flew up, disappearing behind the fringe of pale hair that fell over his forehead in untidy waves.

“Borrow...my books?” He sounded incredulous. Amused.

“Er,” Karlene said eloquently. “Yes? In case I get bored.”

“Ah, boredom,” Dox said, as if the word had completely changed things. “I hate boredom, myself.” He gestured to the lab and winked at her. “Since they wouldn’t be leaving the ship, and I could find you easily enough… Yes. I suppose you may.” He sounded surprised at his own acquiescence. Karlene hesitated. She needed those books, but…

“If it’s that big a deal, don’t worry, I’ll-”

“No, no no,” he said, suddenly moving past her towards the shelves. “Which ones caught your eye? Marlov’s Travels and Observations? Ashieriz Interplanar Theories? Or, A Study of Gates and their Keys? These are copies, of course, my originals are all…” He trailed off as he darted away from the shelves again, stopping at a cabinet bolted to the hull. He threw open the doors and began tossing its contents onto the floor until he found what he was looking for. He returned to the books with a canvas satchel with leather straps, not unlike the messenger bag Karlene had purchased not so long ago in preparation for the new college year.

Dox stopped at the shelf and looked at her, pointedly. She realized she’d never answered him.

“All the ones to do with the, uh, keyholes and gates,” she said, trying to remember the terms. “And uh, if there’s any on droplings. Tal’hozes.”

“Tal’hozi,” he corrected, sounding absent minded as he proceeded to select volumes seemingly at random, since she didn’t think he was actually reading their titles. Could he seriously just know where every single one was? She had trouble remembering where her shoes ended up when she got home.

Dox moved beyond the one shelf, picking out books that were both small and large, thin and thick, until the bag was bulging. Now that he’d decided to let some of his -apparently- precious books out of his sight, he seemed determined to pack her off with half his library. When he finally handed her the bag, it was nearly too heavy to lift and clearly ready to burst at the seams.

“I, er, don’t know how much time I’ll have to get through all of these,” she confessed, not wanting to sound ungrateful.

“Four days,” he said. “Ten hours. The minutes will depend on how efficient the docking crew is. Will be. Hmmm…” Something about discussing their arrival apparently didn’t sit well with him, since his face dimmed considerably. A frown replaced the absent minded half-grin that hadn’t left his face since she’d met him. His gaze met hers, suddenly intent and completely void of the haziness his eyes normally held.

“Read what you can, fast as you can,” he said. Then he went to the door, knocked at it, and when the drab dropling who’d brought her entered he said, “We’re finished.”

Just like that, she was summarily kicked out. Least, that was what it felt like it. The dropling took her by her arm, and Dox didn’t even look at her when she was dragged out.