The Shape of Surrender

The sun had long set on Orphila, but still Tor’laen and Nalyra walked the halls of the capital building.

It had been a very long day, by the Ydani’s reckoning, and he hadn’t even taken the brunt of it. Privately, he was worried about the Crown Daughter, but he knew better than to voice his concern. She didn’t seem on the verge of collapse, at least.

Their “investigation” had lasted for hours after Nalyra tore into the mind of the treasonous minister, Nekiin, then executed him on the spot. A brutal act, but one that didn’t seem to bother the Ydani as much as it probably should have.

Mercifully, the minister had been the only death that day. Three arrests, five accounts frozen, and countless documents and devices had been seized, but no other bodies to put in the ground. At least, not today.

The pair walked the empty hallways of the building alone, the peacekeeper entourage given their tasks and dismissed. Nalyra had grown tired of being fretted and fawned over, and having to painstakingly explain every order and action. Tor’laen had balked at the idea at first, but maybe he was being overly cautious. Not only were they in a secure wing of the building, but any visitors had to pass through weapon scanners. And there couldn’t be that many ministers concealing firearms, right?

“I tire of this building,” Nalyra remarked suddenly, the Ydani glancing down at her. “I look forward to our return to the Aegis. My cabin beckons me.”

“It has been a long day, Crown Daughter.”

“Indeed. It has.” She rolled her shoulders. “It’s not every day that one must bury their sibling, after all.”

Tor’laen shook his head slightly at the black humor, a wry smile touching his lips.

“Kel lae, Oae’sil wan ti’ril aen dou gel’an,” he said quietly in Tali’nev.

Nalyra looked back at him, an expression of mild surprise on her face.

“What was that? Your language?”

“That was Tali’nev. It’s an ancient religious tongue of my people,” Tor’laen explained. “It was an old saying…the closest translation I can give is: And yet, light shall always shine once more.” He tried his best to shape the phrase properly in Zakkili.

She gazed at him for a few breaths, out of the corner of her eye.

“I did not know you spoke another language.”

The Ydani raised his hand, holding up a pair of fingers.

“I speak two, actually. Besides Zakkili, of course. The other is Hylec, my people’s trading language.” He glanced at her. “That was the language I spoke to you in before we departed for the surface of Zakkil. Before our audience with the Queen.”

“Oh? And just what did you say to me?” she asked slyly.

“It’s my strategic opinion that revealing that particular information would be a gross tactical error, Crown Daughter,” he deadpanned.

That got a chuckle from the woman, her eyes returning to the front. She was silent for nearly half a mark, before she glanced at him again.

“I am…pleased to hear that,” she said quietly. “It is good that something of your languages survived what my mo—what the Queen was forced to do to you.”

Tor’laen stared at the back of her head. The Crown Daughter must have been more exhausted than he had guessed. Still, it was nice to have someone acknowledge what he had lost. What he had sacrificed.

“Yes, Crown Daughter.”

Nalyra made a soft hmmm sound, somewhere between amused and satisfied.

They turned the corner, and Nalyra stopped.

“Oh?” She folded her arms.

Ahead, where the hallway intersected with another, a group of three Zakkili women were clustered together. They were wearing the robes of Zakkili clergy, the same type he had seen countless times that day at the church. The trio of women were huddled together discussing something in low voices. It wasn’t an unusual sight, at least not that day. Dozens of clergy had been coming and going from the building since before the ceremony.

Nalyra made a small tsk sound, a tiny bit of her irritation brushing Tor’laen’s mind.

“What is it now? Some problem at the church?” she muttered. “The service is long finished. Do not tell me there’s been an incident there...”

“I will find out what they need, Crown Daughter.” Tor’laen volunteered, moving past her.

He had only taken a pair of steps when something buzzed past him. He stopped, puzzled, and glanced back. His eye widened as he did.

Sticking out of the Crown Daughter, right below her collarbone, was a small plastic dart. The woman stared down at it, disbelief clear on her face. The world seemed to freeze for a heartbeat.

Immediately, Tor’laen lunged at her, grabbing the small projectile and yanking it out. It was too late. The tiny injector had already delivered its payload, the clear plastic cylinder empty.

Nalyra swayed a bit, then gracelessly collapsed in a heap on the ground, as if every bit of strength had left her body. The Ydani was down on one knee in an instant, at her side.

The Crown Daughter was not unconscious, her purple eyes wide open, and tracking him from where she lay on the floor. He reached for her, then hesitated, hands hovering above her body. A noise from behind made him glance down the hall.

The women had shed their robes, revealing that they wore black tactical gear beneath. It was compact, minimal. Clearly designed to be hidden under clothing. Two of them dashed down the hallway towards him, each wielding a ceramic knife, the black material barely catching the light. The woman in the back bore some kind of launcher, a bizarre-looking weapon that Tor’laen could tell was made of plastic, even at this distance.

That explained how they got past the weapon scanners.

The Ydani turned back to the Crown Daughter. Her firearm was custom-made for her, and therefore far too small for him to use — his finger would never fit into the trigger guard. His dagger was on her other hip, but currently buried somewhere beneath her body. There was no way he’d be able to locate and extract it before the assassins were upon him. That left just one option. His fists.

The thoughts passed through his head in an instant.

As he moved to stand, he caught her gaze for a fraction of a second. Her eyes were dilated, irises a narrow purple band around her pupils. He clenched his jaw.

Tor’laen spun to his feet, raising his fists. If these assassins wanted them dead, they were going to have to work for it.

Another dart came whizzing down the corridor, moving too fast to dodge. It buried itself in his shoulder, and he wasted no time in yanking it out, ripping a piece of his uniform away with it. There was a faint burning sensation, but it was gone within moments. Either he had gotten it out fast enough, or whatever was in there didn’t work on Ydani physiology.

The shooter threw down her weapon, and started dashing toward him as well. A second later, he felt her mental touch trying to worm its way into his mind. He had no time to think. He fell into the darkest part of his mind, his worst memory. Sobbing over the still body of his closest friend, holding the woman close in the aftermath of a battle, her golden eyes dark. He let the nightmare fill his mind, the despair, rage, fury, and regret surging within, almost threatening to overwhelm him.

The Zakkili woman stumbled, falling to her hands and knees, and vomited on the floor. Maybe she had prepared for mental resistance, but she certainly hadn’t expected that.

He stepped forward to meet the first knife-wielding assassin. She was slightly quicker than the other woman, a few strides ahead. Tor’laen had only one advantage — the hallway was too narrow for the two assassins to fight side-by-side. They wouldn’t have any room to dodge, and would risk getting tangled up in each other.

The Zakkili came in more cautiously than he expected, making a few probing strikes, carefully staying clear of his grasp. The Ydani batted at her wrist, disrupting the path of her attacks. Still, the woman would not be denied. She feinted, moving in to stab at his chest, only to reverse the strike into a slash as he swayed back. The blade whistled through the air, cutting open his uniform and slicing a line across his thigh as he jumped back.

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It was painful, but wouldn’t hinder him.

The second knife-wielding Zakkili hovered a few steps behind her ally, looking for any openings she could exploit.

The Ydani gritted his teeth as another mental intrusion started to push into his head. The woman in the back had apparently recovered enough to try again. He batted away another thrust from the woman in front of him and winced. He tried to pull his mind into another memory, but faltered, distracted by having to dodge a slash aimed at his belly.

The Zakkili began to worm her way deeper into his mind. Tor’laen wanted to scream in frustration.

A familiar mind touched his. Nalyra’s mental contact was almost wispy, far diminished from her usual power. Even he could tell that much. Still, he could feel her thoughts winding around his mind, girding it. Pushing back against the intruder.

Tor’laen left Nalyra to her mental battle over the ownership of the insides of his skull, now finally free of distractions. Free to focus on the fight.

The Zakkili in front of him was skilled, well-trained. But she faced off against a Ydani veteran who had been fighting in a desperate war long before she had even been conceived. She could not even comprehend the danger.

Tor’laen moved in aggressively, making use of his longer reach, threatening to land a decisive strike on the smaller woman’s skull. She waved her knife back and forth, trying to dissuade him, to keep him at bay.

The Ydani stepped in, feinting a haymaker with his left. She shied away, bringing her weapon up to defend. Instantly, Tor’laen’s right hand shot forward, seizing the woman by her forearm, his grip iron. To her credit, she reacted quickly — immediately tossing the knife to her free hand. However, the Ydani saw it coming, and smacked the weapon out of the air with his left, sending the blade clattering to the ground.

Before his opponent could go for any hidden armaments, Tor’laen jerked her arm upwards, locking her elbow out straight. Without hesitation, he brought his torso forward, slamming his forehead into hers, right below the base of his thick horns.

There was a sickening, wet crunch as he caved her skull in.

He tossed her limp body to the floor, getting it out of the way.

The second knife-wielding Zakkili must have seen her chance. Her shoulder nearly touching the wall, she dashed forward, staying low to the ground. She clearly planned to bypass the Ydani and strike at the still-helpless Crown Daughter on the floor behind him.

Unfortunately for her, she underestimated the length of his legs. Tor’laen didn’t bother spinning, simply tracking her movement with his one good eye. He lifted his leg, coiling it under himself. He took the span of a single heartbeat to aim, and snapped his foot out into a turning kick with every last ounce of strength.

She never even saw it coming.

His boot caught her in the side, slamming her into the wall. Tor’laen could feel her ribs break under his heel. Could feel her spine snap. The woman gave a strangled gasp, then slid down the wall, before finally toppling over, face first.

The Ydani turned his attention to the last assassin. The woman was on her feet, her pale yellow eyes darting between the Ydani and the bodies of her comrades. For a breath, no one moved, the hallway completely still.

One step backwards. Two. The assassin’s spirit broke, the woman turning to run. Tor’laen didn’t pursue, simply reaching down and picking up his first opponent’s knife. He took half a second to test its balance, then grasped it by the blade.

He gave a mirthless smile. Apparently, no one ever taught this woman to serpentine.

The blade spun through the air, whistling quietly as it traveled. With a dull thud, it sank into the back of the woman’s neck. She dropped, skidding on the floor for a foot or two before coming to rest.

Tor’laen took a single breath, willing his heart to slow down.

Without hesitation, he spun, dropping to his knees next to the Crown Daughter. Nalyra’s eyes were still open, focusing on the Ydani as he leaned over her. Alarmingly, her breaths were now coming fast and shallow. The woman was still inside his head, but the connection was growing increasingly faint.

“Oh, by the First Light…” he muttered, leaning closer. The smell. Around the area the dart had pierced lingered the smell of crushed leaves or grass. “A neurotoxin. Your lungs are failing.” Her eyes widened in recognition.

He fumbled for his communicator, pulling the device from his belt. He slammed a finger down on the screen.

“Tor’laen to the Aegis. I need the command staff, immediately!” he barked into the microphone.

There was a moment’s pause, then a voice came from the device.

“Vessa here. Go ahead, Tor’laen.”

The Ydani almost offered a prayer of thanks. The Admiral was the exact person he wanted to hear.

“We’ve been attacked,” he said urgently into the communicator. “Three assassins, all neutralized. The Crown Daughter has been dosed with some kind of neurotoxin. She cannot move, and her mental powers seem greatly diminished. The poison smells of…some kind of crushed leaves.”

“Maker’s ire, it’s Xylaris. Damnit, how did they get access to a Crown-kin killer?” Vessa swore, the act unusual enough to make the Ydani do a double take. “I’ll send Mikka down with an antitoxin. Her shuttle will burn in as hard as feasible. She’ll be there soon.”

“Acknowledged. I will keep her alive as long as I can. Hurry.”

Tor’laen terminated the call, dropping the device to the floor.

Nalyra’s eyes were starting to lose focus, her breathing now just thin whistles as the muscles around her lungs failed.

“Stay with me, Nalyra.” He fell back into his Captain voice, firm and certain. “And please, Crown Daughter, forgive me this trespass.”

A flicker of recognition passed through her eyes, and there was a slight pulse of acknowledgement from her mind, the mental contact weak, unfocused.

The Ydani placed his hands on her sternum, and gave three careful pumps, expelling the stale air from her lungs. He took a deep breath, and brought his mouth to hers, forcing fresh air back into her body.

It was purely an emergency necessity, he intoned inside his head. Tor’laen did his best to ignore the softness of her dark green lips, focused only on saving her life.

Pump, pump, pump, breath.

The surroundings had become a blur, fading out of the Ydani’s awareness. The walls were closing in around him. There was nothing outside this hallway. His entire world was now this little green tyrant, who was struggling to breathe. Who would die without his help.

Pump, pump, pump, breath.

His heart pounded behind his ears. His tail twitched as he concentrated. He would save her life.

Pump, pump, pump, breath.

The seconds dragged on, as he struggled to keep the Crown Daughter alive. Her eyes were half-closed now, but he could see her within them. She was still fighting.

Pump, pump, pump, breath.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, and soaked into the cloth band he wore over his ruined eye. How long would it take Mikka to get here?

Pump, pump, pump, breath.

By the First Light, she did not deserve to die like this! His entire being rebelled against it.

Pump, pump, pump, breath.

She was still watching him, her unfocused eyes fixed on his face. The small part of her inside his mind quivered. The marks ticked by.

Pump, pump, pump, breath.

Once again.

Pump, pump, pump, breath.

Finally, Tor’laen heard the clatter of combat boots against the floor tiles. A squad of Armswomen poured around the corner, Mikka three strides ahead of all of them. She had an injector in her hand. The Lieutenant Commander dropped to her knees, the plating on her legs squealing as she slid along the floor. Her eyes met his for a split second. There was no anger there, no suspicion. Just gratitude. Worry. Tor’laen lifted the Crown Daughter, offering her neck to the woman.

Without hesitation, Mikka jabbed the injector into Nalyra, the device delivering its payload. For one long, terrible moment, nothing happened. Every muscle in Tor’laen’s body tensed, disbelief rolling through his mind.

Then it passed, and Crown Daughter Nalyra started to sputter and cough, her body moving under its own power once more.

She took a long, shaky breath and retched. Still sputtering, she reached out, her hands gripping the Ydani’s uniform tightly, pulling herself into his chest. She clung to him tightly, eyes screwed shut, body trembling. One of those thin tendrils, crownthreads Saia had named them, pulled itself out from the Crown Daughter’s pinned hair, and firmly wrapped itself around his bicep. Tor’laen glanced down at it, unsure of what to do.

The Armswomen had surrounded the trio now, weapons raised. Covering every possible ingress that might threaten their Royal Hand.

The piece of Nalyra that was still inside his head pulsed with emotion. Fear, relief, shame, gratitude…the feelings were too mixed for the Ydani to completely grasp.

After a few more unstable breaths, she pulled away from Tor’laen, trying to regain her composure.

“I…I am…” she gasped, her hand on her chest.

“Nalyra…” Mikka started softly.

Nalyra’s glare could have cut steel, had her eyes not been rimmed with tears.

“Do not finish that sentence, Mikka.”

Her crownthread released the Ydani, and she pushed herself to her feet, only to stagger wildly, both Tor’laen and Mikka moving to catch her.

“Damn this…this venom!” she cursed, sagging back into their grip. Her gaze met Tor’laen’s. “Ydani. You…you will carry me to our shuttle. I order you.” She leaned against his sturdy body, her eyes narrowing.

“Nalyra, are you sure…?” Mikka dared to ask, her expression complicated.

“I will not be carried by one of my Armswomen back to my shuttle!” the Crown Daughter hissed. “The Ydani is quite suitable for the task. Do you not agree?”

“Whatever you say, Nalyra.”

There was a smirk on Mikka’s face, her eyes finding Tor’laen’s. He gave a tiny shrug, then moved to lift the Crown Daughter. He hooked an arm under her knees, supporting her upper back with his other.

“Get these bodies back to the Aegis, as soon as possible. I want scans running on them immediately. Facial recognition, fingerprints, DNA scans…I want to know every last sordid secret hiding within their bodies,” Nalyra ordered from her place in Tor’laen’s arms. She glanced up at him. “Well done on not destroying their faces, Ydani. Well, at least most of their faces.”

Mikka already had her finger on her earpiece, ordering specialized equipment from the Aegis to transport the bodies, while the Armswomen moved to establish a perimeter.

A few soldiers fell in beside the Ydani, guarding him on his way back to the landing pad. Nalyra crossed her arms and kept her gaze forward. She didn’t lean into him, didn’t huddle against his chest. However, that one loose crownthread slowly, tentatively, slithered around his forearm once again.

Tor’laen knew better than to mention that fact to the Crown Daughter.