AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Ravik merely glances over his shoulder, his tail twitching. “We’ll see.”
The others hardly notice my presence when I go to meet them, sorting through Skoropi clothing. Malix grimaces at the loose pants and lack of shirts, finally finding something long and sleeveless that fits. Everything is in neutral tones—from bright white and light tan, to brown as rich as soil. Malix settles on something in grey, while Frankie picks out a set of loose white tie-pants and a halter top. She puts everything on over her human underthings, a tight white binding around her breasts and her legs clad in equally tight shorts.
“I’m gonna be able to fight in this stuff, right?” she asks. “Like…it’s not going to fall off.”
“I’ve watched many Skoropi fight in these clothes,” I observe. “And besides—it is my hope that we will do very little fighting in Oasis, if any.”
“Your optimism is misplaced,” Malix mutters. “There is nowhere that we have been safe—if you consider our recent past.”
“True,” I say. “And yet…I would like tocontinueto be hopeful, and trust that the two of you are competent enough to protect me should anything happen.”
Frankie barks out a laugh as she holsters a weapon in a canvas satchel across her hips. “Don’t worry, princess,” she says. “We’ll protect you.”
We’ve packed light, so my bag isn’t all that heavy when I hoist it over my shoulder. If all goes according to plan—which I pray to the Divine that it will—we will meet with Jokahn, take a transport out to the desert, examine the ancestral temple, and return to Ikaray with useful information in hand. With any luck, there will be no resistance, no one to shoot at us, and more than anything else, no mysterious weapons that seem to be able to warp gravity.
I anticipate that at leastoneof those things is going to go wrong.
The hatch opens, Ikaray’s hull un-weaving in strands of bark and vine. The opening lets in a blast of bright summer light, along with the scent of the ocean and fresh fish. I inhale deeply, remembering summer days on Zanpi—colder than here, but just as fresh.
“Smells like home,” Frankie sighs.
“It does,” Malix agrees.
What a strange coincidence—that each of us was born beside the sea, albeit lightyears away.
Frankie leads the way, her hair blowing around her. She’s worn it down for the occasion, gold bedecking her ears in the style of Liatran nobility. The Skoropi have taken mates from other species—human and Lyra—since first contact, and we want Frankie to look the part. Malix goes next, posing as her bodyguard, and I follow up the rear.
I’m meant to be their keeper.
Their mate.
We catch a few looks as we stride across the salt-kissed dock,zephtanof every size grazing from enormous barrels of kelp as far as the eye can see. We walk at least a few hundred yards before we finally catch sight of anything butzephtandorsal fins and hulls, the sea off to one side and the city just ahead.
The city of Oasis is low and flat, made up of sprawling clay buildings moulded into strange and beautiful shapes. At the center of the city is the watchtower, a signal beacon jutting from the top in a golden spire. The buildings are each ringed by columns, colorful tapestries hanging across them while Skoropi shop and socialize underneath.
I come to stand level with Frankie and Malix, Frankie between us. She puts her hands on her hips, her fingers never far from her weapon.
“Wow,” she whispers. “I didn’t know anywhere in the Skoropi world was like this.”
I give her a skeptical glance. “You didn’t think we had cities?”
“It’s just…I don’t know,” she says. “Like a weird mashup of different time periods and cultures. This looks nothing like the Pit on Skoro, or like the jungle on Razakii. People just look…well, they look happy.”
She’s right—the mingled species here on Liatradolook happy, laughing and talking and walking freely about the city. We step onto the streets and azraki—a winged, amphibious creature—zooms past. I have to pull Frankie out of the way, the three of us nearly falling to the ground in a tangle of limbs.
That doesn’t sound too bad.
It’s a reminder that I need to focus on the task ahead.
“Their happiness comes at a price,” I say, giving Frankie a wary glance. “Most of the people who live here are the mates of warlords from other Houses—and many of them were forced into this life. They make of it what they can, but in the end…”
Frankie’s brow furrows. “They’re still slaves,” she finishes for me.
“Exactly,” I say. “Though it is a far superior fate to what Zandro faced on Skoro—joining the warlord’s household as a thrall.”
Malix frowns. “What is the Pit? What was going to happen to Zandro…?”
Frankie blows out a breath. “Well, it’s a bit of a story,” she says. “Basically, Zandro betrayed Dalphox and—”
