“And then you jumped into the river, and you managed to swim upstream against the current and get out and get that secret pack?” Disbelief rings in his voice. “The only way out of the fenced in slave area, and you managed to escape.”
I nod.
“Then you were attacked by an Ocretion guard, you killed him with this syringe and he died?”
I nod again. I omitted the part about the coin. After all, Leylah said it was for Lamira alone. Plus, I’m not even on Zandia yet.
“And no other being saw you.”
I look away. “No. No being saw me after that.”
This is not quite true.
I made it out of the river and took the pack, changed clothing. I ran back to the market, disguised in a shawl to hide my face. I even made it to the edge of the tarmac where the ships waited, a vast baked expanse of earth with shimmering craft. And after killing the guard, my nerves were shot—it was obvious that if I didn’t get onto a ship now, I’d be dead.
Hiding behind the ever present red boulders, I waited, watching as beings readied pallets of goods for upload onto various craft. Eyeing the one I needed.
But then–
A hurried committee materialized: Master, his visitor, and Rannah, her wrists tied. Face angry, tears staining it.
“I told you, she fell in! She drowned!” Rannah’s voice was shrill and carried the conviction of truth. “She died. I saw it. She went under and was carried away. No being could survive the current.”
And then I saw the little smile across her face, the one that said she was glad. And they all saw it too, and when Master saw it, his face relaxed somewhat.
Not enough, though. Because his visitor—the one who wanted me, who’d touched my face with his disgusting hand—was dissatisfied. He looked all around, as if he might spot me lingering in the area.
“She could have escaped.” He scowled. “Perhaps she is hiding here, trying to get onto a ship. Search the area for her.”
“Impossible.” Master spat. “These ships are too advanced for stowaways, and all the slaves know it means torture and death if they even try.” I don’t think he likes to be challenged, especially by a guest, and in front of others. Hopefully, he’ll disagree just because he’s angry.
All it would take is one finger, though. He needed to lift just his finger and make a command, and then his guards would carry out a search, and I would be found. And this time, the syringe that saved my life earlier, would only mean torture before death—for me and possibly for some of my friends, too.
Rannah twisted her shoulders. “She’s shredded up in the river,” she repeated, and the pleasure in her voice, undisguisable, sends a knife into my heart.
Still, Master wasn’t sure.
And I knew my fate was over when his son, standing to the side as always, looked right at me and spotted me behind the boulder. Our eyes met, just like when he was in the river, dying, and I was on the bank. Those odd eyes, the color brighter than ever, so different from his father’s.
I was dead, and I knew it.
But then the son said the words that changed my life: “I saw it. She went under and didn’t come up. Just some red, her blood, and then nothing.” He spreads his legs and crosses his arms. “But they are replaceable, Father. If you allow me, I will attend auction and purchase you another. I am ready to take my place with you. I am ready to grow up.”
He locked eyes with his father, and the two of them gazed for a long time. After a beat, Master stepped back.
“You heard him.” His voice was almost jubilant. “My son has seen it. Let us go.” He fell back to walk alongside the young. “Find me a replacement as soon as you can.”
The Ocretion visitor cursed under his breath and waved his hand. Good riddance. “Well, no matter,” he said. “I will choose another.” Still, he looked back once more, one last glance around the tarmac.
“You will choose any one you want. I will let you take two.” Master grinned and put his hand onto his son’s shoulder. “My young and I will see to it.”
And that was the last I saw of the Ocretions before I climbed into a spare sack on the pallet of goods waiting for upload onto the Zandian ship.
I look back up at the Zandian now. “Nobody knows I am here.”
He examines me for a long second, and it’s like his eyes drill into my skull. Does he know I’m lying? If he mistrusts me, will he shoot me out into space? Bring me back to the Ocretions? I hold my breath and look as earnest as I can.
Finally he looks away. “Give her food and more medical care,” he says in Ocretion, the language in which we converse, and I let out a tremulous breath. “I will question her more when she is stronger.”