Page 18 of Bride of the Enemy Alien

“Do it,” Rosalind says, pointing to Ila.

Ila takes the slate from Kessa with one smooth motion, reads the marks, and leaves without waiting for permission from anyone else. So. Kessa commands through use, not title. That is harder to sever. Adran watches Ila leave.

“We cannot empty shelter sections every time stone twitches.”

Kessa turns on him.

“We can empty one when an alien device hums the same rhythm that opened a throat under the City.”

“Fear is not strategy.”

“Neither is pretending the floor isn’t speaking.”

I almost laugh, but not from amusement so much as recognition.

On Krix, the arena sand spoke too. It told you where blood pooled, where a gate would rise, where the crowd’s eyes moved before the beast came out. Fools listened only to the announcer. Fools died decorated.

Kessa would have survived longer than most. The thought irritates me. Rosalind touches two fingers to the copper sphere. The hum drops, then steadies. She tightens her jaw.

“The message?” Rosalind asks.

“It will not open here,” I say. Syin makes a sound low in his throat. I shift my gaze to him. “It was built not to open near active signal noise. Arcan is cautious, not suicidal.”

“Where will it open?” Visidion asks, shifting his wings.

“Where the signal cannot listen.”

“There is nowhere in the City the signal cannot listen,” Sera says.

No one speaks. That is not fear speaking; it is experience. Kavor’s hand closes more firmly over hers and she lets him.

“There may be places,” Kessa says slowly. “Old dry cisterns. The dead side corridors past the east ash rooms. Some of the sealed storage hollows.”

“Sealed?” I ask.

She glares at me. Good. I prefer it to the way she listens.

“Old damage. Collapsed access. Bad air. Places we don’t use unless we want to find new and educational ways to die.”

“Better than using this chamber,” I say.

“I didn’t suggest staying here.”

“No. You suggested routes.”

“I often do that. Terrible habit. Saves lives. Very inconvenient for everyone who prefers standing around,” she says.

Merra snorts. Rosalind does not smile, but she looks briefly amused. Adran notices that too. Yes. This room is full of cracks.

The City calls itself a City, but it is more a net stretched over a pit. Pull one knot and five others tighten. Cut the wrong strand and everyone falls.

Arcan did not send me to save this place. He sent me to stop confirmation, and those are not the same task. I must remember that.

Merra tightens the binding at my side. A hiss escapes through my teeth. Kessa sees. Of course she does.

“What’s in your wound?” she asks.

Merra’s head snaps up from her healer’s roll.