Ransom

Astaria

He’s very strong. And he’s very smart. I can tell he’s smart because he’s still alive. I have been looking for a chance to destroy him, though admittedly not very hard, and he has not given me one. He has better instincts for survival than most.

He has not been cruel, either. Most become vicious when they discover that I have been inflicting death on their fellow soldiers. They get angry and try to hurt me, blaming me for their losses. He has not done that. At all. He doesn’t seem to hold me responsible for my recent atrocities, and that seems to be because he holds himself responsible instead.

He is being careful without being timid. He is in control without being a tyrant. I think I might be starting to like him. Just a little. Not enough to stop me from wanting to kill him, of course. But I do feel a little spark of good will toward him, a sort of respect. I have rarely respected anyone since I became an adult. When I was very small I respected everybody and hurt nobody. Now I respect no one and hurt everyone. It is how I survive.

I am curious about Blackmane. Pressed over his shoulder, I feel the strength of his massive body beneath me. I am used to being physically weaker than those who seek to control me. I am accustomed to being manhandled and restrained. But though he has tied my hands, I feel more free with this raven-haired alien than I have felt in living memory. It is not merely that he has barely tied me up — I am almost certain I could wrench my wrists from these soft bindings without issue. It is the way I feel when he holds me. There is no fear in him. There is concern, and there is a sort of intelligent caution, but he doesn’t hate me. Yet.

Chapter Four

Blackmane

She’s a good girl all the way to the medical bay, where there are several soldiers being treated for injuries she inflicted upon them. I notice the way they flinch and shy upon seeing her. These are not weak men. These are hardened warriors, every one of them. I understand their reaction. There is something about this female, something cold and hard at the very core of her, something that bleeds through her eyes and trips lightly on the tone of her words. Something to fear.

The doctor, Redvane, shoots one look at me and her and shakes his head furiously, waving his hands in a crossing motion. His mane, just as long and thick as mine, is tied back and braided to stop bits of hair getting into the wounds of his patients. To say that he is not pleased to see us is a grave understatement. Redvane may be the only officer on my ship with the nerve to question me directly. Doctors always seem to have more ego than even the most fearsome of warmakers.

“If that’s the human I think it is, she cannot be here. She’s a menace! I will not treat her!”

“She has to be here, and yes, she is a menace. We’re going to the scanner. You're not treating her. You’re aiding us all. Come with me.”

He makes a cursing sound under his breath but follows my order.

The scanner is located in its own room because of shielding or some other medical nonsense Redvane is familiar with and I accept. The princess has started to squirm over my shoulder. I give her a hard slap to her hindquarters, but it barely makes any impression thanks to the vast amounts of fabric between us. It will not be there for long.

“What am I expected to do with this thing?” Redvane looks at her with open hostility. I hear Astaria laugh as I place her down between us; apparently, she and I both enjoy tormenting our enemies.

“She needs to be scanned. This dress is not so much a dress as a minor arsenal. I want to see what's inside it before we remove it.”

“Sneaky and underhanded. Very human,” he growls. “They're bad luck. Shouldn't have one on the vessel.”

Redvane has been a doctor longer than I have been alive. He has many opinions and he shares them frequently. Astaria seems greatly amused. She has her arms folded over her chest and a smirk on her adorable face.

“Put her in the box,” Dr. Redvane says.

The box is not designed to hold humans. It is too large. I have to hold her in place by the back of her neck, a grip that seems quite effective in temporarily quietening her down.

The doctor activates the scanner and begins the procedure. It is very swift. I imagine that within seconds we will know what she has hidden beneath the fabric.

“Well, this isn’t going to work!” he grumps immediately.