Eversworn: Daughters of Askara, Book 3 (2 page)

I had plans to make.

Different worlds, different colonies, but still the same damn meetings.

Responsibility weighted the air on this side of the desk. Each inhale settled heavily in Dillon’s lungs. He’d much rather occupy his usual spot by the tent flap, his gaze trained on the dunes beyond than wear the mantle of interim colony leader. Harper hadn’t done Dillon any favors by yoking him to the colony bandwagon, asking him to lead with fanfare in his absence.

Rolling his shoulders, he cast aside the niggling suspicion Harper had made the appointment out of pity. Another time he might have gloated when Harper brought in two males a quarter of his age as his replacements. Instead, it made him feel every day of his ninety-eight years. No dancing around it. He was getting old, even by their race’s standards. He should be finding a female, settling down, doing his duty to pump fresh blood, pure blood, into their dwindling race.

His leg twinged when he shifted in his seat, a reminder of how he ended up paper-pushing in the first place. Pinning his shoulders to the back of his chair kept him from leaning down and rubbing the dull ache in his calf, or where his calf used to be. His jaw tightened. No need to go there. Not now. Not while two fresh faces were staring him down, looking for signs of weakness.

While drumming his fingers on his knee, he inspected the two newest transplants from Earth. Two young males eager to taste what Askara had to offer, curious to see if their memories of enslavement held up against the new reality of this being a kingdom of freemen. Their optimism made him cringe. Then again, he’d seen the files the freeborn legion had kept on them.

They had both belonged to the
sthudal
slave caste, and slaves with that designation recalled their time spent in labor camps with fewer nightmares than those who wore the title of
sthudai
.

Dillon knew which life he would have chosen.

Better to break his back in a mine, die of hunger or thirst, than live on the end of a chain like a fucking animal, fed and watered only when his performance merited such a reward. Bile rose in his throat. He swallowed hard and ground his heel into the packed sand floor. Ruined muscle screamed in protest, but the burst of agony was his reward, his reprieve from the memories always a stray thought away from choking him. Yeah, he would have loved to have been
sthudal
.

Figuring he’d kept the pair waiting long enough, Dillon asked, “You two have any questions?” He lifted a cup and swallowed its tepid contents down to the grit in the bottom. His teeth crunched when he set his jaw. Damn, he’d be glad when the new aqueduct was completed.

“Yeah.” Church eyed the tent flap warily. “Is there anything out here besides sand?”

“Sure there is.” Dillon suppressed a grin when Church’s shoulders relaxed. “Didn’t you see all the tents? That’s why the colonists call this place tent city. The only buildings with walls are the clinic and the stable. You’ll get acquainted with those soon enough.” Harper would strangle him for adding, “You two arrived just in time for the winter sandstorm season. When they hit, all we can do is pack ourselves like sardines into those buildings and pray the spell crafting holds.”

Church cast one more glance past the flap to the desert beyond. “Great.” He twisted in his seat and eyed the male beside him. “Russ, you got any last requests before we’re blown away?”

Russ’s smile was faint. “What are our duties while Harper’s away?”

Scratching his cheek, Dillon admitted he wasn’t sure what to do with the pair. Until his leg mended, he was on light duty, in theory. These two had prior experience, as most legionaries did, so they knew the basics of guard duty. The rest, training them as bodyguards, hinged on Harper and Emma’s return since Dillon was a big believer in learning in the field.
Sink or swim
.

Until that happened… “You’ve got two choices. Our courier is swamped. One of you can train with Mason. He deserves the break.” He paused in consideration. “The other can train with Uriah, our silversmith. He oversees the extraction of silver and salt from the embolite we mine.”

At their blank expressions, Dillon exhaled on a curse. Their files expounded the fieldwork each had done for the freeborn legion, and each had service records spotless enough he felt Harper would be safe with them, but his decision to skim their locational information had just jumped up and bit him on the ass. “Where were you two working when the legion found you?”

“The outlands,” they replied in unison.

Okay, so maybe he had read their information right. “Were you in the mines?”

“No.” Church frowned. “I was a brickmaker by trade. I still am, or was, on Earth.”

Ah. That explained why Harper had picked him. As the colony expanded, so did the need for structures beyond tents they used for, well, everything. Dillon sized up Russ. “How about you?”

Russ held up ink-smudged fingers. “I was a scribe employed by an exiled noble.”

A scribe was, well, less useful. Dillon asked, “Do either of you know what progesaline is?”

“Females need it during pregnancy.” Church shrugged, signaling the end of his contribution.

Russ appeared to consider his answer. “Progesaline is a supplement females of some demon breeds require during pregnancy. Without it, they become anemic. They might die before or during childbirth, as could the children, unless they consume enough to maintain healthy levels.”

Dillon blinked. Maybe having a scribe around wasn’t such a bad idea.

“It’s found in rare salt veins,” Russ continued. “While I’ve never heard of it being found in veins of embolite, it’s certainly possible. I’d think the problem would be extraction.” He paused at Church’s scowl. “Embolite is a mineral containing both salt and silver in their natural forms.”

“Someone did his research.” Otherwise, he wouldn’t have guessed embolite over chlorargyrite. Dillon gave Russ a slow second glance. There was something familiar about him.

Russ frowned. “I’d hardly accept the position otherwise.”

“So what gives?” Church twisted in his seat. “How did Harper get such a sweet deal?”

“I’ll hazard a guess the queen’s advisors signed over this tract of land for two reasons.” Russ waited until Dillon nodded. “First, it shares a city with the vernal castle, which means it’s near enough for First Court to monitor and close enough for the queen’s troops to attack if necessary.”

“Go on.” Dillon caught himself leaning forward.

“Second, the mine had potential, enough First Court’s gift appealed to Harper and their offer wasn’t insulting. Though I bet they assumed even if he was foolhardy enough to work the mine, he wouldn’t figure out how to process the embolite and separate the silver and the salt from the core mineral. Yet he did, and he likely doubled his profits.” Russ smiled slowly. “Am I right?”

“Damn.” Church whistled. “That explains the raiders, plus the bounty on Harper’s head.”

“Right on both counts,” Dillon said, forcing his attention from Russ.

He was right, though Dillon and Harper were just drawing the same conclusions. They had guessed the only reason the queen’s advisors had given consent for Harper to take over the mine was they were certain there was nothing here worth mining. Now that Harper had proven them wrong? Yeah, they were pissed and wanted a share. Damn if Dillon didn’t find that a little bit funny.

“This colony pays its bills with the mine, and, as Russ said, we mine embolite.” No two ways about it, Harper must have told Russ. “It’s damn hard work and not worth much in the rough, if anything at all. Then Uriah works his magic and we get pure silver and pure salt. Six times more silver than salt, but silver has its uses and our salt, well, it’s almost pure progesaline.”

Russ murmured something Dillon didn’t catch because Church stood with a grunt.

“So do we pick now or what?” His back popped as he stretched. “Mason or Uriah, right?”

Good to know Dillon wasn’t the only one bored by meetings. “Yeah, have at it.”

Church didn’t miss a beat. “I’ll take Uriah.”

Dillon almost felt sorry for him. While they were the obvious match, Uriah burned through apprentices faster than he could match faces to names. Not that he tried too hard. Mostly he called them all the same thing,
dier hest eirdth
or
eirdth
for short, which was the Demonish equivalent of dirt. Those under his tutelage chose to believe he meant they were clay and he was molding them into…whatever struck their fancy. Dillon suspected Uriah meant the more literal translation of
ground beneath my feet
. His attitude explained why even his ex-masters had given him a wide berth. The male was a god at his forge, and he knew it. The fact a story was floating around about him flinging molten silver in the face of an Askaran noble had cemented his reputation as a bastard. Something Dillon could respect. So long as Uriah did his job, Dillon didn’t care.

“That leaves me with Mason.” Russ slanted a look toward Church that punctured his mood. “If I’m playing courier, then I guess I’ll find out if there’s any life beyond those dunes after all.”

“Now that we have that settled,” Dillon said, giving Church time to school his glower, “you’ll each pull border patrol and sentry duty. That won’t change even after Harper gets back.”

Russ frowned. “We won’t alternate day and night shifts?”

Church stilled. “Harper needs someone watching his back at night too.”

“He has someone.” Dillon stood, Church’s restlessness feeding his own. “Her name’s Emma.” Before they earned enough rope to hang themselves, he silenced their protests. “One of you will remain on perimeter duty after dayshift ends. That means frequent passes by their tent. The trick is being close enough you can keep an eye on Harper—and Emma—while giving them the illusion of privacy.” He admitted grudgingly, “No one’s more invested in Harper’s wellbeing, and few are more capable of ensuring his safety. Plus few realize what she is before it’s too late.”

Once they moved past the honeymoon period in their relationship, Harper might not need a guard beyond his mate. Emma was a halfling, stronger than most full demon males, and Harper had trained her to protect her sister, Askara’s Princess Ascendant Madelyn DeGray, since they were children. If it meant protecting Harper and Maddie, there was nothing Emma wouldn’t do.

Dillon ignored the tightness in his chest and sharpened his scowl. He wasn’t jealous.

“Fair enough.” Russ pushed from his seat. “Where do you want us?”

“Head back to your tents for now. I’m handling border patrol tonight.” No reason not to while Harper wasn’t here to bench him. “I expect to see both of you here at six.”

Russ’s gaze dipped toward Dillon’s leg, his brow furrowing, but he kept his mouth shut. Good. He just might make it here after all.

“The faster you learn your way around, the better.” Dillon crossed the tent and brushed aside the flap. “I want you two broken in by the time Harper and Emma get back.”

His first step outside blinded him. Hot air rushed into his lungs, baking them, and his tongue dried in the time it took for his mouth to open long enough to say, “Welcome to Askara, boys.”

Chapter Two

Waning sun beat hot upon my shoulders. Squinting upward, I calculated the remaining hours until my departure. Flexing my spine, I loosened muscles coiled tight by nerves and stole a final glimpse of the consulate’s garden lit by sunset colors. Red clay stained my pants and shoes, casualties of my private war to coax life where there was none. Rubbing a succulent leaf between my fingers, I hoped one of the boarders took an interest and tended my plants after I was gone.

Although, once I left and took my magic with me, they might die regardless.

On that somber note, I unearthed my grimoire. Oiled leather rubbed softly beneath my fingertips. As I brushed aside dirt clods and revealed the well-insulated tome, awareness sparked.

“Sleep,” I soothed it.

After allowing brief skin-to-page contact, the book’s flare of sentience snuffed out in a pulse of latent magic. Once I was sure it rested contentedly, I rewrapped it and tucked it under my arm.

I hadn’t added to its contents during my time at the consulate, or much at all during my life. Instead, I’d focused on my healing craft both before and after Roland. To his dismay, I loathed borrowing knowledge from the grimoire. More precisely, I hated paying its price for information.

I had no choice now. Brielle—

No
. I crushed the thought, not daring to even think her name.

Exhaling through the guilt making it hard to breathe, I unclasped my locket and stared at the portrait inside, a dangerous concession to my shame. I’d braided a portion of the hair Roland had given me, and it coiled inside the opposite frame. I took one last look, one dangerous glimpse, then I closed it as a child’s laughter tickled my ears and echoes from the past crackled my heart.

“Isabeau?” Lindsay jangled my nerves as she entered the yard. “Would you like a drink?”

“No, thank you.” A mumbled incantation tripped over my lips and hid the grimoire from view. “You don’t have to come to me.” I smiled and sat back on my ankles. “I’m on my way.”

“You’re fine where you are.” She waved away my words and stepped in my direction. “I was wondering what to prepare tonight. Do you have a taste for anything?” Another step and she would see the hole and wonder at its cause. “We have fresh vegetables. I thought a nice stew?”