Page 68 of Bride of the Enemy Alien

Kessa does not forgive me, which is good. Smart even.

Forgiveness can become another leash when offered too soon. I have seen warriors kneel for it in arenas. I have seen owners make a feast of it. Forgive me becomes obey me with softer hands.

Kessa offers neither soft hands nor obedience. She offers a route.

We move south through the burn flats in a line she shapes without speaking. Syin ahead and right. Orek farther left, wound wrapped and blade ready. Renn near my damaged wing, pretending he is not watching for the moment I fail to lift it. Lio and Maro between the Zmaj guards where their human speed is useful and their human bones are less likely to become decoration.

Kessa leads from the middle.

Only someone who does not understand leading would think the front is always command.

She keeps me within sight but not close enough for the hook to feed on her heat, which is clever. She is furious and more tired than she lets anyone see. The connection to her respects none of that. It pulses when she signs left. It cools when she falls silent. It flares when she says my name, so she stops saying it.

That cuts. It should not. I must not let it.

“You are thinking too loudly,” she says without looking back.

“I did not know that was possible.”

“It is when someone looks like he is about to turn into a tragic wall decoration.”

“Your concern is moving.”

“My concern is logistical. If you collapse, we have to carry you, and I have enough problems.”

“Yes,” I say. “I have noticed you collect them.”

Her shoulders tighten in response, which is my mistake. I have made many today. I should not engage with her. Worse, I should not enjoy it this much.

We walk another hundred paces before she speaks again.

“How did they put it in you?”

Syin’s head turns. Renn’s wing rustles. Orek pretends not to listen with his entire body. Lio and Maro become very interested in the sand. Kessa does not soften the question. Good. Soft questions rot in wounds.

“Arena house,” I say. “After I refused a command bell.”

Her pace does not change. “What command?”

“Kill a boy too young to hold a blade properly.”

Maro’s breath catches.

Stopping now accomplishes nothing, so I tell her the rest.

“Refusal is expensive in Krix houses. They fitted the visible collar first. Later they buried the command anchor beneath it, where cutting would be dangerous. The blood relay came after that, under the ribs. Near vessels. Near nerves. Harder to remove. Easier to punish through.”

Kessa looks back. It is not a long look. One glance, quick and sharp, then away again. She does not give me pity and I am grateful and resentful at the same time.

“Arcan removed the collar?”

“His people did. After they took the arena compound. They burned what they could see and cut what they could reach. The command anchor at my throat and the blood relay under my ribs were too close to living lines. Removing either could have killed me or woken every hunter still listening to the old house codes.”

“You could have said that.”

“Yes.”

The answer earns me a glare over her shoulder.