Steelhands - Jaida Jones [164]
I recognized the voice before I saw her face through the barred window: a dark, smoky accent I’d heard at countless parties, mostly events Royston dragged me to before abandoning me. It was his associate and occasional companion, Lady Antoinette.
She was th’Esar’s occasional companion, too. They’d been lovers once, or so Roy said, but it didn’t seem that could possibly still be the case unless th’Esar was up to something weird in the bedroom.
Antoinette was pacing the floor like a caged panther, stalking back and forth in a fine dress the color of blood-dark Ke-Han wine. Troius paused in front of her cell, and she ceased shouting long enough to give him a glare so cold I half expected him to turn to stone on the spot.
Just my luck that he didn’t.
“I take it you’re enjoying your stay,” Troius said.
“Insignificant worm,” Antoinette said, spitting on the floor of her cell. “I’ll crush your skull.”
Attagirl, I thought but didn’t say.
“Still out of sorts because you can’t get into our heads?” Troius asked, tapping the side of his temple. “You’re only going to tire yourself out trying. Best to quit while you’re ahead. That way, no one gets hurt.”
“How very droll,” Antoinette said, drawing close to the bars of the cage. “Because I was going to say precisely the same thing about your little revolution.”
“It’s hardly a revolution if the man in charge condones it,” Troius said.
“It’s amusing that you assume it is that man who controls Thremedon,” Antoinette snarled. She hadn’t noticed me until that point, but I saw a brief look of confusion pass over her face when she did.
“A pleasure, as always, my lady,” Troius said, bowing.
Antoinette reached her arm out between the bars so quickly that I acted on instinct, putting myself between her and Troius. One of her nails caught me on the back of the neck, so sharp it drew blood.
“Just like an angry cat,” Troius said. “Did she hurt you? How embarrassing.”
“Wasn’t even a scratch,” I said, wiping the blood off—without him noticing—before we continued on our way.
I’d heard all about this kind of thing from Royston, and I braced myself for things to get freaky.
Sure enough, they did.
Royston is coming to help us, murmured a smoky voice in my head. In one of my proudest moments, I somehow managed not to twitch like a fly’d landed on my neck. Troius was watching me for signs of that very communication, and I scratched my cheek, keeping a surly look on my face with my eyes focused straight ahead.
Oh, great, I thought, hoping she could hear me, because I sure as shit didn’t know if I was doing this thing right. We’re fucked now.
Don’t be absurd, Antoinette replied, her voice growing more distant the farther I moved from her. I cannot communicate with him directly—he is very far away—but we can still sense each other. It will be the way he finds us, once he realizes I’ve been taken as well.
Why can’t you read this idiot’s thoughts? I asked, trying to make it quick, before our connection was severed completely. Not enough thoughts in there to read?
Because of the … Antoinette replied. True to my luck, she faded out before I could hear the key piece of information I needed, but we’d already passed through a door and were ascending a flight of stairs, and I assumed it meant we just weren’t close enough anymore.
Maybe when I was back in my cell, then we could talk a little. That is, if I was even taken back there at all.
Troius took me through a small door, which led directly out onto a narrow stone bridge. We were still underground, I suspected; the bridge crossed over a dark body of deep water, and everything smelled like ancient, wet rock. The prison was behind us, and there was another door ahead, with the bridge connecting them.
“It’s just this way,” Troius said, turning to look at me over his shoulder. “She doesn’t like prisons, you see. She’s finicky about that.”
I wondered