Page 84 of Shielded in the Shadows

Orqiel referring to himself as repugnant didn’t catch my attention nearly as much as what he’d said before that.

Owed. He’d owed this man his life. Past tense. What did that mean?

I’d survived all those years in the arena. Surely I could survive an emotional evisceration if that was what it took to free us. At least I’d have Jarrix to care for me after.

“Take down the bounty first,” I said. My voice didn’t sound like my own. “I give you my word I will listen to the recording in its entirety, but the bounty comes down first. Otherwise, you will die here and now and I will walk out and take my chances.”

Orqiel studied my expression, my body language, my stance, even my grip on the nivilus.

Once upon a time, on a blazingly hot day on Ganai, that calculating gaze had assessed my sister and I and led to a business transaction that brought an end to the first chapter of my life and began the next.

And once again, he took my measure and apparently decided to do business.

“Agreed.” He crouched and pressed his thumb to the datacube, activating its holographic menu. It was apparently a highly secure transmission device as well as data storage.

With a few taps and swipes of his fingers, he accessed the bounty posting. From this angle, the surveillance image of me with dark hair and eyes captured on Ghira was superimposed over the human man’s sallow face. My stomach tried to revolt. I swallowed hard.

A few more taps and a code later, the bounty’s status switched from Active to Retracted. An alert arrived on my wristcomm screen moments later confirming that the bounty had been canceled by the agent who’d posted it.

It was done.

My fingers tightened on the nivilus.

I’d left it untouched for a long time, but once I knew who we were going after, the choice of what weapon to bring had been surprisingly easy.

After painstaking cleaning and restoration, it was now in perfect condition. The blades and the tip of the hook had never been sharper. At my expert touch, the internal mechanism had expanded soundlessly and smoothly without the slightest scrape. The textured surface of the central staff was spotless and unmarred by even a fingerprint.

I could put the blades through Orqiel’s throat right now. In a single motion, I’d sever his spinal cord. He’d be dead in moments, possibly before he realized what had happened. It would be far more mercy than he deserved.

But I’d given him my word, and that had to mean something, even on Saistea.

I moved the blades away from his neck. “Play it,” I said.

He gave me a nod. With a swipe of his fingers, he closed the screen. My bounty listing vanished.

And the man in the chair began again.

“Hello, Keela. You don’t know me, but I know you. I’ve watched you and your sister for a long, long time.” He cleared his throat and flinched as he did so. “My name is Leomer Casso-Wren.”

Like his face, his full name meant nothing to me. And yet its final syllable hit my stomach like a sucker punch.

Casso-Wren.

The contents of the meal I’d shared with Jarrix aboard the Vespira before we’d disembarked threatened to surge into my mouth.

Leomer managed a thin smile that lacked any hint of humor. “You won’t care about my life story, I know, but I suppose you deserve to know who I am. It will sound familiar to you, at least some of it. Born on Ganai, sold to the arenas, survived to sixteen and got my collar removed. But unlike you, I stayed on Ganai. I found work in the arenas. I became a trainer⁠—”

He coughed again—a deep, wet, painful-sounding cough that doubled him over in his chair for almost a full minute.

When he straightened, he wiped a smear of red from his lips. “Became a trainer,” he repeated hoarsely. “I was sixteen and hungry and had nowhere else to go, so I sold myself to the same people who’d hurt me. Hated myself for it, but I told myself now I had good food to eat and a soft bed. Credits to spend. And I had knowledge and skill I could pass on to others, help them survive. Maybe you understand.”

I well remembered the feeling of when my own collar had come off and they dug the tracker out of my shoulder with minimal care or anesthetic. I’d been hungry too, and desperate, but I’d never given a moment’s consideration to picking up a whip and becoming one of the monsters who’d ruled our lives. I’d rather have starved to death on the street. So no, I didn’t understand. Not at all.

Orqiel was watching me instead of the hologram. I supposed he’d seen it before, maybe even helped Leomer create the recording, but he seemed far more interested in my reactions than anything else. So I did all I could to keep my face blank and not care about whatever bullshit this man—this complete and utter stranger—spewed.

After another bout of coughing, Leomer continued. “When I was twenty standard years of age, I met a woman named Marcila. She worked in the bar where I drank most nights. We were both angry and alone.” His lips turned up, but again there was no humor in it. “I will spare you the details, but I’m sure you know the result. First there was you, named after my mother who passed away before I was sold. And then Calla came the following year, named for my grandmother. Both good women who died much too young.”

The taste of bile made keeping my expression neural increasingly difficult. Mother had never told us anything about the man who’d sired us—not even his name, though I’d guessed our surname belonged to him since hers was different. She’d certainly never revealed the origins of our given names.