Page 8 of Bride of the Enemy Alien

Renn took him off of me, which is good because Renn is taller, stronger, and not fighting the urge to shove our guest off the nearest ledge. Guest is the wrong word. Prisoner might be closer, but not quite. Warning feels closest, which is inconvenient because warnings aren’t supposed to bleed on your floors or look at you like they already know all your secrets.

Syin leads us back through the eastern gate while dozens of wary watchers spy on us from hidden niches. We’ve become practiced at swallowing fear, but shock still ripples through the onlookers. An alien has come from the sky. He’s not Zmaj, Urr’ki, or human, he’s other. Other means hunger, chains, invasion, or death.

“Clear the lower east passage,” I say to Penr, who has somehow survived and made it back before us because panic gives his legs ambitions his brain can’t approve. “No crowd. No rumors. Tell Ila to move ration line three to the inner hall.”

Penr’s eyes flick to Rhazek and stick there. “Is he...”

“Dangerous? Yes. Dying? Also yes. Move.”

He moves. Rhazek’s good eye tracks him, then slides back to me. The look shouldn’t feel like a touch. It does, though, and that gives me one more thing to hate about him.

“You command without title,” he says.

“You bleed without permission.”

Renn coughs like he’s trying not to laugh and failing nobly.

Rhazek gives Renn a dry look. “Your people are odd.”

I frown, staring at him. Dying and still being snarky. Great. I shrug.

“We have a sky corpse insulting us at our gate. We’re adapting.”

“I am not a corpse.”

“Give it time.”

Syin turns on us. “Enough.”

The word is loud enough to echo. The Zmaj stop moving. The humans freeze even faster. Rhazek doesn’t. He looks at Syin like stillness is something other people do when danger is close.

That may be the worst thing about him so far. He’s not reckless. Reckless people are easy to understand. They fling themselves at problems and become examples. Rhazek is controlled in a way that makes violence feel like a decision he’s already made and has held in reserve for a time of his choosing.

Syin points toward the inner route. “Council chamber. Now.”

“He needs Merra first,” I say.

“He needs a cage.”

“He needs to not die before the Council hears whatever warning this Arcan fellow sent.”

At Arcan’s name, a few of the older Zmaj rustle their wings and tails. It’s subtle, but definite. They all know something that I don’t and that irritates me even more.

The copper sphere is still clutched in Rhazek’s hand. No one has taken it from him. Not because anyone trusts him. Because nobody wants to be the first fool to touch an off-world device after a ship exploded and a zemlja emerged under our feet.

“He walks to the council chamber,” Syin says, his nostrils flaring.

“He bleeds out in the council chamber, that’s on your tally.”

“This isn’t your decision, Kessa.”

“No, but it’s my floor he’s dripping on.”

It goes quiet in the specific way that means I’ve gone too far and everyone is waiting to see if Syin removes my head with ceremony or without. I don’t care. I’m tired and frustrated. Syin bares a hint of fang.

Rhazek laughs. It’s barely a sound, more breath than humor, but it lands like sparks in dry grass. Syin snaps his head toward him. Rhazek straightens off Renn’s shoulder with a visible cost. Sweat slides down the side of his face, cutting tracks through soot and blood.

“She is correct.”