I stared at Ikamja, the obvious question not even appearing on my lips. The twitch, the tension, the animalistic hunger in her eyes, it was all gone, Ikamja returned to how I remembered her from before this ordeal. It was completely impossible. No amount of willpower or self-flagellation would have allowed her to conceal the degradation of her condition so completely, so perfectly, which meant only that it must have been a genuine recovery.
I gave myself another once-over, just to make sure she hadn’t taken a chunk out. No bite marks. Just doing that was enough to make me feel winded, sort of like how I’d been in the days after getting out of my hospital bed, but minus the nerve damage.
“I will repeat the question, Emma Farrier: how were you able to cure my hunger?”
I gave her a look. “Do you really, honestly think that if I had any fucking idea that that was something I could do, let alone how, that I would have waited until you nearly strangled me to death before doing it?”
Ikamja chortled softly. “A strong argument. It wouldn’t have been the first time you sprang one of your strange biological tricks on me.”
“Well, the first time it needed to be a surprise, or I wouldn’t have been able to pull it off.” I pivoted in bed, getting my legs off the side, only for more exhaustion to strike in a wave. “I’m exhausted, though. Whatever I did, it completely took it out of me.”
“Then eat, if you can.” Ikamja gestured to the table, somehow not broken, where a bowl of lukewarm gruel sat waiting for me.
I slipped off the bed, but as soon as my feet hit the floor, I knew standing wasn’t going to be an option. “Mind helping me? I’m not a fan of collapsing.”
Ikamja sighed. “I suppose after what you’ve done, I am rather in your debt.”
Food, as it happened, did help. Somewhat. It turned the bone-deep exhaustion into a more ordinary kind, the kind I had never really felt before in my Selene body, the sort of thing that would’ve happened if my pre-coma Earth body was forced to run a mile. All the while, I was trying to wrap my head around the implications of what I’d done.
The basis of my regeneration is the EV field, an extension of the electromagnetic force which is deeply involved in the functioning of biological life under Selene’s regime of physics. Élan Vital, vital force, somehow both a reflection of the underlying biology while also having influence over it, a feedback system that scientists could and did spend their entire lives trying to understand. Generation of artificial EV fields could turn a soup of organic compounds into a living organism, and strengthening the EV field could allow for incredible powers of bio-electricity and regeneration. But never, as far as I knew, any kind of influence over another creature.
Except, that wasn’t fully true. The first time Ikamja and I fought, I’d won by using my blood-coated blade trick, extending my EV field to cover my sword. My EV could cut another being’s in such a way that their regeneration no longer applied. If I could extend my EV to harm another EV, it only made sense that I could do something similar to heal.
But I had no idea how I’d done it. It was all so of-the-moment, so instinctual, so driven by the terror of my impending death, that recalling what it was that I’d done to induce the effect was nearly impossible. It wasn’t as though I could test it, anyway. Considering how much even one application had drained me–more than any amount of physical exertion–I had the feeling that trying to do it again without recharging would not have a good outcome.
But Ikamja didn’t hear about any of that, and if she had heard, I doubt she would have cared. Her thoughts, now that they were clear of the encroaching influence of hunger, had turned to our position in relation to Tarvaka and the Final City.
“This is all well and good,” I said when I’d finally stopped eating for long enough to speak, “But you’re making the assumption that Tarvaka hasn’t just locked us in here to die.”
Ikamja shook her head. “If she wanted us dead, she would have had us executed. She would not delay nor hesitate, and she has more than enough strength of arms to make the attempt.”
“Yeah, and then I’d be able to kill her back instead of just sitting here waiting.”
“Furthermore, if her intention was to keep us prisoner indefinitely, then she would certainly be providing… necessary sustenance.”
“Right, right. Hence why you think that she’s… softening us up?”
“Softening me up. I doubt she thinks of you as anything more important than a cherished pet. A pet whose death might, perhaps, prove emotionally devastating.”
I paused, suddenly starting to understand Ikamja’s viewpoint. “So you think her plan was, ‘right, let’s lock my enemy and her favorite human in a room together—’”
“Or lock said pet in with any of my followers; Tarvaka had no guarantee the two of us, specifically, would choose to room together.”
I nodded. “Eventually, you go crazy for lack of meat, overpower me, and eat me. Once you’ve had some time to really stew in the guilt from that, maybe get sick off of my rotting corpse, only then does Tarvaka let you out for negotiations. And you’ll be in such an awful state that you’ll agree to almost anything.”
“Precisely.”
I grinned. “In that case, Queen Tarvaka is going to be in for a hell of a surprise when she lets us out. Assuming she lets us out…”
“She will. I may have spent the time you were unconscious engaging in some… staged theatrics, for the benefit of any who happen to be passing by the door to the chamber. She no doubt believes that I have fallen apart.”
I tried, and failed, to suppress a chuckle at the mental image of Ikamja pretending to cry and scream over my supposed death. I wondered if she was any good.
Regardless of whether she was any good at acting, it turned out that Ikamja wasn’t any good at timing. Her assumption that we would be let out within a day or two of the attack was rapidly proven false. In the end, it was only the halfway point of our imprisonment: almost an entire month elapsed before the door to the guest room was finally unlocked. I won’t bore you by trying to encapsulate how utterly miserable of an experience it all was.
The sound of the door latch unlocking came so suddenly, so unexpectedly, that neither of us realized what the noise was when we first heard it. In fact, both of us were confused, me thinking it was some kind of rodent in the walls, right up until the door opened. Two of Tarvaka’s knights stepped through, accompanied by a stonewose whose clothing indicated she was one of Ikamja’s. Upon prodding from one of the knights, she spoke in Ikamja’s language, some kind of formal-sounding pronouncement.
I dashed forward, crossing the entire breadth of the room in moments. Both knights flinched, drawing swords in preparation for a fight, but I stopped just out of reach. It was a show of force, not an actual attack.
“The new translator won’t be necessary,” I said in Old Mahasha. “The old one happens to be perfectly intact.”
I relished the looks of shock and confusion on their faces, looks that only grew stronger as Ikamja rose from the chair she’d been resting on and appeared over my shoulder. Both of us looked, externally, like complete messes, as would be expected from two people who’d gone a month without anything but the most basic hygiene. At the same time, though, both of us were strong, and both of us were ready.
“Your presence is requested before the Queen of the Final City,” said one knight, her voice quivering with disbelief. “Y-you shall follow us.”
“Of course,” I said. “Lead the way.”
We didn’t get to go directly to Tarvaka, as much as I would have appreciated giving her a piece of my mind. No, we needed to be made presentable first, which meant a trip to the royal salon. I got scrubbed, soaped, brushed, and scented, a full-body cleaning up that almost made me forget that the person I was preparing to meet had very deliberately tried to get me killed. Maybe that was on purpose, an attempt at bribing me into not being mad?
Either way, by the end of it, I was wearing a new set of clothes and smelled faintly of some kind of earthy, herbal mixture. Ikamja, meanwhile, was wearing her full military uniform, a new one that she’d had brought in from the baggage train. While we were escorted to the throne room, Ikamja did her best to fill me in on the situation, using the Rochathan language so as not to be overheard.
The good news was that the rest of the band was still more or less intact; the people of the Final City treated them with disdain, but not outright violence, and there was technically enough goods in the city to sustain them. The problem was acquisition. There was no real hospitality for barbarians here, especially not a warband of several thousand of them. Every meal that Ikamja’s people ate, every sip of water they drank, they had to pay for, usually exorbitantly. They were starving, bit by bit, forced to stretch out whatever they could acquire to cover their needs.
And then we were in Tarvaka’s chamber, and all other concerns became secondary. Her throne room was built to impress, with the high vaulted ceiling and vast quantities of beautiful artwork and gold foil festooned across every surface. A hundred stonewose knights, clad in shining scale armor, stood in ranked rows before her, forming either wall of a long corridor down which we two petitioners were guided.
I wasn’t going to be intimidated. If Ikamja was nervous, she didn’t show it in the slightest. All of Tarvaka’s attempts to put us off-balance had about the same effect as if she’d slapped me in the face and hoped that would convince me to surrender.
And I think she must have known that. When we first entered the hall, the Queen of the Final City was calm, even smug, reclining in her chair with the spread-legged posture of one who held a total domination over the space. As the two of us came closer, passing by rank after rank of her knights and giving her a better view of our state, she visibly fell to pieces. No matter how much she tried to conceal it, even from a distance I could see the way her stance stiffened, the way she started to fidget and look around to her advisors. Just by walking into the room, we had her in a psychological ruin.
Two knights gestured for us to stop about ten feet in front of the throne. Close enough to be understood without having to raise one’s voice, close enough to read expressions, but far enough that there was no way to close the distance without getting caught. At least in theory. As with the previous times, it fell to me to negotiate.
“You’ve kept us waiting for quite a long time.”
“It matters not,” Tarvaka sneered. “I keep you here at my pleasure. That we are negotiating at all is because of my beneficence.”
“And because you’re afraid of what Ikamja’s forces could do if we were forced to resort to violence. If it is true that you are so beneficent, Queen Tarvaka, then surely you will be willing to make compromises?”
Just because I wasn’t feeling actively murderous anymore didn’t mean that I wasn’t going to be a catty bitch about the attempted murder. Tarvaka understood my tone fully.
“Do not mock me!” Tarvaka said, leaning forward on her throne. “I am not afraid of you, and I remind you that all it will take is a single word from me and my knights will strike you down without hesitation.”
“If you did not wish to be mocked…” I paused, struggling against the hyper-formal language in which we were holding the conversation. “If you did not wish to be mocked, then perhaps it would be wise to recognize that, after what you have done, your threats will have no effect. Now, please. Let us actually negotiate terms.”
Tarvaka fell silent. I realized, when I had a moment to look around, that there was an awkward silence in the throne room. Probably because of all the yelling.
Ikamja raised an eyebrow at me. “Negotiations not starting off well?” she whispered.
“Negotiations not starting at all,” I replied. “Had to get the flexing of muscles out of the way first.”
I turned back to Tarvaka, and gestured for her to begin.
“Just state your demands. Bastard.”
“To be allowed to pass,” I said. “Safely and freely through your domain, until such time as our business here is complete and we can go peacefully on our way. It is all that we have ever asked for.”
“So, you invade my territory, and then ask for my forgiveness?” Tarvaka said, hands gripping on the arms of her throne. “I don’t think so.”
“Very well then. Two demands. Firstly, forgiveness for our trespass. And secondly, to be allowed to pass safely and freely for your domain, and so on and so forth.”
Tarvaka snorted. “And what can you offer in exchange?”
“My own forgiveness,” I said. “Forgiveness for your poor hospitality over these last few weeks.”
Tarvaka laughed, looking around at her courtiers for support. But I could see in her eyes that it was a nervous laugh, a deliberate show of confidence rather than a spontaneous display of it. The reminder of what she had put me and Ikamja through was also reminding her of how little we had been affected.
“Is there anything else you require?” I continued.
Tarvaka nodded. “While your forgiveness holds great value to me, I must admit that the cost of such a violation of my sovereignty is… great. There is, however, a matter which has proven concerning. Deal with it for me and I will consider the ledger balanced.”
I muttered something about side-quests. “What is it, then?”
“Another intruder to my domain. Several days ago, I received reports from the northern border of a… how did you describe it?”
She turned to a specific stonewose who had been standing at the side of the throne. Not a knight, I realized, but similarly dressed, in a lighter version of the standard scale armor. She replied to Tarvaka in brief language.
“A great flying body, a vast tent that hovered in the air in total violation of natural law. It has continued to reappear again and again, and one recent report even says that it disgorged a crew of human beings to raid the border outposts. Rid me of it.”
Immediately, I turned to Ikamja. After relaying to her everything that Tarvaka had told me, I added, “That sounds like an airship. Has Cassandra been using anything like that in the war? That could be what we’re looking for!”
Ikamja’s eyes widened, and the slightest hint of a smile crossed her features. “Indeed, I believe it is. Cassandran flying machines have been the thing that gives Bluerose high command nightmares for the past several months.”
“Perfect.” I turned back to Tarvaka. “That foe of which you speak is the very same foe which we came here to hunt. Let us go freely and we will pursue that enemy until one of us is destroyed.”
“How very convenient,” Tarvaka replied. “It all comes up so perfectly, that I must only give you everything you desire and it shall all come up as I wish it. Go to hell.”
I rolled my eyes. “Very well. But if you can’t let us go free, how exactly do you intend for us to hunt down the flying machine without…” I paused, surprised. I hadn’t expected a language as archaically constructed and as formal as Old Mahasha to have a word for ‘flying machine’. And not a constructed word, either, but a completely unique one.
I shook my head, setting that thought aside. “How shall we defeat your foes if you cannot trust us enough to leave?”
“You may have four hundred,” Tarvaka said without hesitation. “The rest remain here, where they can be prevented from engaging in any ill will.”
Left unspoken was the threat that they could be killed just as easily. It was… not an arrangement I felt good about, but whether Ikamja and I had any alternative was an unanswered question. I conferred with her about it for a short while, and we came to a conclusion. I stepped forward again, and this time relayed Ikamja’s words as exactly as I could.
“This deal is acceptable, but if Ikamja’s followers are to remain as your… guests, then there is another matter which must be discussed. She has received reports that her people are being treated poorly and taken advantage of, and this must come to an end. She would like to discuss terms for rules and regulations, fixed prices and the like, to ensure that her people are treated well.”
I paused before saying the next bit. Not that I was afraid to say it, more that I was… nervous.
“Ikamja also says that, if she is not allowed to negotiate terms of hospitality, then she shall be forced to treat you, Tarvaka, as an enemy, and she will order her most loyal retainer and bodyguard, yours truly, to strike you down on the spot. I assure you that I am very much capable of such a feat, and remind you that you have already seen a glimpse of my capabilities.”
I was referring, of course, to the fact that I was still alive. Oh, what I wouldn’t have given to find out what Tarvaka thought about that, what anxious theories were circling in her mind about the mysterious human girl who had survived a month locked in a cell with a starving stonewose.
The risk was that Tarvaka would consider the threat a bridge too far and order her multiple hundreds of knights to have us executed. Then things would have gotten dicey. I was unarmed, but that was easy to rectify. I could have lunged to the side, grabbed the nearest stonewose knight, and taken her down in a second. Her sword would go to me and her halberd to Ikamja. Then we would have a few seconds before getting completely surrounded.
With my small size and incredible speed, weaving between the few stonewose standing between myself and the Queen would have been effortless. She might have been a warrior, but I doubted someone like her had enough raw combat experience to overcome the severe disadvantage in speed. Killing her would do me no good, but holding a dagger to the Queen’s throat and demanding she call off her knights or be slain? That might have paid off. Then it would be a race against time, moving out of the palace and into the main camp of Ikamja’s followers and out of the Final City before it turned into a siege.
Or maybe the threat wouldn’t have worked, and the knights would continue advancing. I didn’t know whether I would have been able to carry through on the threat, but either way it would have meant fighting through an entire company of armed warriors. It was simply too much meat separating myself from the exit. Immortal or not, I’d get swamped.
A good thing, then, that I never had to put any of those hypotheticals into practice. Tarvaka considered for several long, breathless moments, eyes flickering back and forth between Ikamja and me. “Of course. If we are to maintain some semblance of good relations, it would not do us well to be treating our guests so inhospitably.”
“Good,” I replied. “And let’s hope we can negotiate quickly; I’d rather not have to delay the end of this arrangement more than necessary.”