He waves me off. “I see my friends weren’t wrong when they spoke of your temperament,” he says. “I can only hope they weren’t wrong when they spoke of your bravery, too.”
I turn to Aramis. “Am I supposed to be offended?” I ask them.
Aramis cracks a smile. “I’m not sure yet.”
“I don’t want to offend you,” the barkeep says, and I suddenly realize I should’ve asked for his name. “My harshness comes from necessity. You understand that I must keep these meetings brief.”
“I didn’t realize we were having a meeting,” I say. “I thought we were just having a drink.”
“Did you really think you were going to walk into Hyperborean space and not find a rebellion front?” he asks. “I understand that you can’t trust me yet. But you can ask anyone around here about Nuvar, and they’ll all tell you the same thing. The reason I remain on Vehyris, despite the havoc it wreaks on my body, is so I can help people. I wish I could…it doesn’t matter. I can’t help everyone who comes to me. And there’s something I’ve been trying to get away from this planet for a long time now; something that endangers every single person sitting in this room right now.”
I take the bait. “What?”
Nuvar takes a deep breath before he answers. This time, when he speaks, his voice is so quiet I have to strain to hear him. “Elixir,” he says. “A crateful of it.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
FIONA
I don’t think I understood exactly what the others meant when they described the Boreans as truly alien.
We’re guided from the sterile, strangely shaped room into a chamber with absolutely no light besides eerie green floor lamps set into the edges. They provide just enough visibility that I can see where I’m walking, but I don’t know who’s in the room or where any furniture is. Orion takes my arm and I try to take comfort in the hard scales under my palm, reminding myself that he’s one of the deadliest warriors in the whole galaxy.
Even if we’re up against immortal vampires that suck the life out of planets, he can save me—right?
…right?
“Is there anyone here?” I blurt out, directing the question at Orion more than anyone else. But it isn’t the Mlok hunter that answers me; instead, I hear a deep, raspy chuckle from the opposite side of the room, and then a voice.
“Be at ease, child. I mean you no harm.”
It sends a chill down my spine, especially because I still can’t see who’s there. It also gets me a little frustrated; I’m sick of everyone in this galaxy calling me a child. So I throw my shoulders back and settle myself into an uncomfortable sofa that Orion guides me to, staring toward the voice as if I can glare straight into his eyes.
“You must be the brave little princess,” the voice continues, taunting and ugly. “Cressida spoke highly of you.”
“And you must be her associate,” I say. She didnotdescribe this man as a friend. “Xanthos?”
“That is what they call me.”
I don’t know what the fuck that means, but okay.
“It seems somewhat disrespectful to force me to adapt to complete darkness when you can see me perfectly well,” I say. “I thought you were a diplomat.”
“Spoken like a true Merati, self-righteous and prim,” the voice says. Now that my eyes are adjusting to the light, I can make out the vague form of a tall, slender humanoid—more humanoid than I was expecting, in fact. He’s not a lizard man or a tentacle monster, at least.
I guess my definition of “alien” has shifted pretty dramatically.
“So? I ask. “Will you turn up the lights?”
“Hm…” he muses. “I think not. Because you see, we don’t have diplomats here in the Empire. We have traders. And I have no interest in courtly manners.”
Orion’s talons squeeze my knee in aI told you so. I shrug him off. Because at least this shows me what I’m dealing with: capitalists.
And I get that. At my heart, I’m an American girl. And my daddidendorse Ronald Reagan.
“Okay,” I say. “So you’re interested in a trade. I understand that. Cressida should have sent along details of what we’re looking for?”
“Peace, and an arbitrator amongst my people,” he says. “I may be able to facilitate that; the real question is what you have to offer in return.”