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No one speaks. My fear deepens.
After a moment, Daxo peers at his datapad and uncoils himself from his chair to walk to the balcony door. He opens it just as a streak of metal slams onto the stone parapet outside. I flinch as Niobe, fresh from the sky, walks in smelling like mine brimstone. Her armor is slick from the rain and leaves puddles on the floor as she stalks past her taller son into the room. Her snarling foxhead helmet stares at me with electric blue eyes before slithering from her face into the collar of her armor. Bloodyhell.
The pleasant, welcoming wife of the man who brought me from Mars is gone. Replaced by a violent warlord. Bags gather under her eyes. And her neck fat pushes against the collar of her too-tight armor. It’s been some time since she wore it, I know.
“Take off her muzzle,” Daxo tells Holiday. The woman undoes the metal arms around my mouth and extracts the plastic tongue depressor. I gasp air in through my mouth and work my tongue over the raw spots the plastic made on my gums. Holiday undoes the imprisoning armored jacket. I exhale in pain as my dislocated shoulder jostles.
“Lady Niobe—” I say quickly.
“Do not speak,” she says, barely able to look at me.
“Is Kavax—”
“Silence!” she roars. She slams a metal-clad hand down on the table, cracking the black wood. I reel back. “You will speak when spoken to, or Jove help me, I will…” Her words falter and she steps back. Her son reaches back to comfort her. I tremble, not just from fear, but from the inability to explain, to put into words how sorry I am. Rain patters against the windows. A fire crackles in the corner and I shift, unable to meet their eyes.
“Is Kavax alive?” I ask.
There’s no response. “Barely,” Niobe whispers. “He may still die.”
“Lyria of Lagalos.” Daxo leans toward me, his chair creaking under his immense weight. His voice alone is twice the size of me. “Your life, such as it is, depends on what y
ou say in the minutes that follow. Do you understand?”
“I understand. I got information. I saw them, the people that did this. I can help you.”
“Good. The truth is your only refuge.” He nods to Holiday behind me. “But…if I discern you are lying or being less than forthcoming, other measures will be taken.” His hand brushes the aquarium. The creature inside slams against the glass, seeking the heat from his skin. “Invasive measures.”
“There was a man named Philippe…” I begin.
Daxo holds up a hand. “We’re aware of what you told the Watchmen about this Philippe. But horse before the cart. Are they alive?”
I nod.
“Thank Jove,” Niobe murmurs. “Were they hurt?”
“Not badly.”
“Where did you last see them?” Daxo asks.
“In an industrial building. After they slagged the shuttle, Philippe took us there and gave over the children to the others.”
“Where were they taking them?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t hear.” It’s clear Daxo and Niobe don’t believe that. I want to explain about Philippe, but their questions come in a sudden spit.
“Were they Golds?” the Pink asks. “These others.”
“No.”
“What Color were they?”
“Mostly Obsidian, Gray, thought I saw Reds, and a Pink.”
“Obsidian…” Niobe says in fear. “We should tell Sefi.”
“We can’t tell Sefi,” Daxo says. “Who knows what she would do with the information? They won’t even meet with Virginia any longer.”
“The Pink was in charge,” I say.
