DeathWatch No. 138 – Give It To Me. It Is Mine Now.

This is Issue #138 of DeathWatch, an ongoing Serial. Click that link to go find ‘DeathWatch’ then go to ‘#0 – A Beginning’ and read from there, or go find the issue # you remember, and catch up from there!

Happy Reading!

PREVIOUS

* * *

“What I want to know is where’s Ki–” Sha began, but a commotion across the room caught her attention.

Coryphaeus was holding Jules, who was struggling, a bloody-looking froth at her lips. She made a low, gagging noise at her throat and reached out a hand to claw at him, writhing in his arms.

Nate turned, and was running before Sha could stop him, shouldering guests out of his way, fear and rage on his face. He ducked past one, two, three guests, leapt over a buffet table, knocked out a guard with a roundhouse and kept running. Nothing was going to stop him — until more guards had their wits about them, and wanted to control the potential panic.

Swords were drawn, but Nate charged at the men without flinching. When the first one swung low, he leapt over it; when the second swung high, he dropped to his knees and slid on the marble tile, leaning back. The very tip of the sword carved a thin line from his jaw over his nose, but Nate didn’t stop. He reached Jules as Coryphaeus flinched back from her strike. Her legs buckled, and she fell into Nate’s arms, while Coryphaeus stumbled back, surprised.

“I’ve got you, Jules,” Nate said, twisting her to her side, keeping her head in his lap.

Einin,” she gasped, her pale eyes wide, looking up at him.

Nate couldn’t tell if she could really see him; her eyes seemed to be looking through him, at something impossibly far in the heavens. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” he promised, brushing her hair out of her face, trying to keep his hands from shaking, feeling the hot sear of the cut over his cheek as it bled.

Ilonan guards came to try to wrestle him away, but the Prince stopped them, watching from nearby, dark eyes keen and hungry. He looked from the convulsed Westlander to Coryphaeus, who seemed to vacillate between furious and helpless. He moved to stand beside the Legatus and said, “This is an interesting development, is it not?”

“Majesty,” Coryphaeus said, his cheeks darkening. “I–”

As if to steal the Prince’s attention away in that moment, Jules focused, drawing in a ragged, broken breath, and one hand reached up to grab Nathan’s collar and hold it tight. “Run,” she Jules begged. “Nathan. Oh fuck, my little bird, y’have t’run,” she said. “Don’ let’im hunt you. The sword. Goes right through,” she wheezed, and then her hand fell away, and her back arched as she screamed, thrashing.

Gemma was backing away, slowly, when Secta grabbed hold of her wrist, pulling her close. “What did you do?” he hissed, his eyes narrowed. “If she dies because you’ve poisoned her, Gemma–”

“She won’t die,” Gemma said, her eyes wet with tears. “She’ll only wish she had. I was right, Secta. The woman’s a seer. And I think Coryphaeus knew it. He doesn’t look surprised, just worried.”

“…I think his Majesty knows that, as well,” Secta said, watching Immanis, who was beginning to bare his teeth.

The dinner was quickly becoming scandalous, as those who would be prey defied the guards and the Prince himself confronted the Legatus. “And what is the meaning of this?” Immanis hissed at Coryphaeus. “The creature you suggested I take has not had a single vision, while the one you ungraciously wormed your way into being offered turns out to be a seer, instead? What manner of betrayal!” he growled.

“Majesty,” Coryphaeus began, looking helpless.

“I should take your head for this deception,” Immanis growled.

“Yes,” Coryphaeus wept, kneeling. “Please, Majesty. I am wretched in my dishonesty. I am unfit to serve you. Would that my death may please you,” he said, and drew his own belt knife.

Jules thrashed in Nate’s arms; she uttered low, guttural noises, and finally sagged, going limp, whispering exhaustedly.

Nate leaned down, trying to listen to Jules’s mutterings. He pressed his bloodied cheek to hers, and breathed her in, having no idea when he might see her after these frantic moments. “I love you, Jules,” he whispered. “I love you.”

“He’ll save you,” she murmured. “He promised, Nate. He promised me. You gotta run.”

Guests were shocked by the frankly dramatic and ridiculous display going on in the midst of their gathering; rumors were already flying, and several noble houses were speculating on precisely what had happened to cause such a ferociously uncouth display. Mass murder at their feet by their all-powerful Prince was one thing… but here, the Prince seemed to have lost his own control over the enemy and his army both.

Tace!” Immanis demanded of the entire room; his voice cut through the crowd, and everyone was silent and still. The fury on his face was a terribly beautiful thing to behold.

Coryphaeus knelt, still, his own knife at his throat, tears in his eyes.

Nate held Jules close, still, his cheek pressed to hers.

Sha was nearly to them, paused in midstep.

Jet was unaffected, and slowly came to Immanis’s side to put a hand to his shoulder. “Brother,” he said quietly to Immanis, reaching down to take the knife from Coryphaeus’s fingers. “Release your guests. If you are truly betrayed by the Legatus, put him in the hunt, and take the gift you’d given him. You can punish him to your heart’s content.”

Immanis looked to Jet for a moment, as if weighing his words. He sighed, nodding, letting the tension bleed from his frame; he reached up to touch Jet’s hand on his shoulder, and smiled. “Ah, my Guardian. I will not let this ruin anything; if anything, having another thing to be hunted is something to celebrate.” He looked down upon the Legatus, a great and terrible God looming over the officer, who stared up in abject love and misery.

“Majesty,” Coryphaeus whispered, tears glittering in his eyes.

Immanis knelt down in front of Coryphaeus and tilted the man’s head up to meet his gaze. “You have disappointed me, Legatus,” he said quietly, and rubbed a thumb just under Coryphaeus’s eye, wiping the tears from the man’s cheek. “But I shall offer you a chance. You shall join me in the hunt, as prey. If you survive, you shall have forgiveness.” He stood, looking around at the crowd, and said, “Return to the entertainment; I leave you in the care of your Guardian, and my sister.” He looked to Lucida and Jet, who summoned Gemma and Secta to their sides, to stir the guests back into a proper sort of revelry

The crowd immediately complied, happy to, and the only grouping that was left were the three Westlanders, at Immanis’s feet, while the guards took Coryphaeus away to be readied.

Sha laid a hand to Jules’s cheek, and looked up at Immanis, trying hard to hold to her sense of self.

For his part, Nate kissed Jules’s forehead as he held her, while she kept trembling. “Looks like he’ll be busy savin himself,” Nate said apologetically to Jules.

“He’s a good man,” Jules stuttered, her eyes rolling, her limbs jerking. “Einin–” And then she slipped away, and in Nate’s arms, went still.

“Give it to me,” Immanis murmured, and reached down to carefully lift her from Nathan’s arms. “It is mine, now. I will make sure it is cared for.”

“Jules?” Nate whispered, panic touching his face. “Jules?” he begged, and released his hold, watching Immanis in both hope and hatred. His heart raged; begged to disobey, but he let her go. Nate could do no more than watch as the Prince of Ilona left, carrying with him a piece of his soul.

* * *

NEXT

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Opportunity

The day they gave out opportunity,
I imagine I was daydreaming
of some far-off wonderland,
imagining
the crystal waters,
the bluest skies
and greenest meadows,
lush fields
of flower and fruit.
I may have been contemplating you,
and the way your fingers curve,
ferns unfurling
in the warmth of my hand.
I was dreaming so hard
of might’ve-beens
I missed the moment,
missed the mark,
and missed you.

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DeathWatch No. 137 – Would You Like A Taste?

This is Issue #137 of DeathWatch, an ongoing Serial. Click that link to go find ‘DeathWatch’ then go to ‘#0 – A Beginning’ and read from there, or go find the issue # you remember, and catch up from there!

Happy Reading!

PREVIOUS

* * *

Secta gawped, then closed his lips and stood tall, clearing his throat. “We were contemplating the various reasons the Legatus had for choosing that particular Westlander.”

Gemma pursed her lips briefly, but did not contradict the page; she glanced again at Lucida, and smiled faintly.

“It is plain,” Immanis declared. “Coryphaeus bears love in his heart for the paleskinned thing. He will ruin the name of his family if he outright declares it, and so he will be forced to keep the slave as a slave. It will remain close to him, rather than be shepherded out for hard labor or used by the soldiers for whatever purpose. In this fashion, he can have it as he desires, and people will gossip less than if he were to free it and attempt to make it his equal. That would have his family in an uproar. Now, if the two of you would mingle, hm? Make certain the Guardian and his lovely bride are well-escorted, and that our guests have all they desire.”

Secta bowed, and turned to head toward Lucida and Jet — and was somewhat shocked to see Gemma determinedly heading for Jules. “Where are you–” he began, looking for the Prince. Immanis had turned and left them, off to mingle as well; he couldn’t imagine not complying — he followed Gemma and hissed, “What are you doing?”

“Mingling,” Gemma said, looking almost wild with determination. She searched the buffets until she found what she was looking for, pulled a gilded dish of malagranata seeds from the table, looking triumphant. “I have to know,” she said to Secta, and went up to Jules and Coryphaeus, offering them. “Would you like a taste?” she said sweetly to both of them.

Benigne facis,” Coryphaeus said, picking some with his fingers. “Try them,” he instructed Jules. “The pips are almost sour, but the flesh is a burst of sweet juice,” he said, and promptly ate his own, pleased.

Jules nodded, scooping up the ruby jewels of fruit — she put them on her tongue and chewed thoughtfully, her eyes lighting up in surprise and delight at the texture and sweetness. The instant the juice touched her tongue, she realized she’d had them once or twice before — when she was a little girl. Her mother had brought some home from a tour East. Eager, she took another handful, and ate them happily, nodding to Gemma.

For that instant, to have seen the honest wonder and gratitude on Jules’s face, Gemma felt terrible for what was soon to happen. She set the dish of seeds back on one of the tables without touching any of them; she herself had not eaten malagranata seeds in years, once she’d learned what happened to a seer who ate them. The juice itself was pleasant, and did not often cause trouble, but chewing the pips released a chemical quite similar to aether dust, something Jules might remember, with no small amount of fear. It, too, induced violent convulsions and left the victim nearly comatose while slipping from vision to vision. The only problem was, the chemical could not be washed off to relieve the effects, leaving the victim stuck in their own hellish torment until the seeds left their body.

Coryphaeus smiled at Jules; they shared a look of warmth that Nate had the unfortunate timing of catching. Lucida and the Guardian had just been pulled away by another set of nobles, and were talking animatedly nearby, paying little to no attention to either he, or Sha for the moment. Because the Guardian and his Princess were no longer talking to them, he watched his wife from across the room. His expression flitted between a mixture of longing and determination, and something darker; the way the Ilonan officer acted with her made a low fire wake behind his eyes.

“Y’makin th’face,” Sha said to Nate, whispering an aside to him.

“What face,” Nate growled, not taking his eyes off the pair. It wasn’t a question, really.

“Y’know damn well what face. Th’face that says y’fists itch,” Sha said, and handed him a glass of something cold and fruited. “Now ain’t th’time,” she said.

“Y’been sayin that. When they grabbed us outside the ship. In the camps. In their ship. In the dungeon,” Nate said irritably, and took the glass, making himself smile at the Ilonans who came over to touch his skin, his clothes, and marvel at him in a language in which he only knew a few trade words.

“Ain’t been the time, Quarter,” Sha said lowly, through her teeth, as she smiled as well.

“S’no ship, Sha,” Nathan said, sounding exhausted, trying not to wince as he watched Jules eat fruit and smile with the enemy. “M’no Quarter.”

“Ship or no ship, I will always be your fucking Captain, O’Malley,” Sha hissed, leaning in, her words sharp. A few Ilonans looked half-surprised at her outburst, and laughed and cooed, talking with one another excitedly; their surety at her helplessness infuriated Sha, but she kept it to herself, letting her own inner fire smolder. Not yet. Not yet. Soon, but not yet.

Nate turned to look at her and his expression softened, to see the hurt and anger on her face. “Aye,” he said, nodding in earnest, his eyes widening. “You got orders for me, Captain? Because we’re dead in the sky’n’without our charts.”

“The hunt,” Sha said. “The hunt’s where we can get out of here. They give us weapons, and they’ll turn us loose in a section of the city that’s dedicated wildlands. They’ve got a gated jungle full of cameras and such. The citystate and everyone on this side of the Ridge… they watch, when their Prince hunts. They’ve been looking forward to this. We don’t need to get him; we need to get to a gate. We get out… we’re free. I’m bettin we’re savvy enough to manage that.”

Nate turned his head subtly and looked at the Prince of Ilona, beast that he was, wild-eyed and covered in tattoos and paint. He marveled at the man’s leonine grace, at the cunning and arrogance he saw on his face and frame, and wondered aloud, “What I want to know is… how many of the hunted bet the same thing?”

* * *

NEXT

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Older Than We Think We Are

Remember I remember I remember I
set my blender to eleven
but I only use pulse
I only use it but a moment;
half the world,
half my world is thinned
to blood
and the rest is tectonic plates,
too huge to
do anything but
fit together and be obvious.
I came all this way —
but I came all this way.
I look into your eyes and I
taste the smoke I know
was on your lips.

Why didn’t you stop me?
Why didn’t you save me?

I don’t want you to save me.
If you walked back into my life
right now
it’s even odds I’d
kiss you or kill you.
I miss you.
I hate you.
The elephant in the room
is me.
Everyone stares.
It’s all right; it’s all right —
I’ve always
been this way, my
insides on the outside,
so I’m used to it.

Why don’t you stop me?
Why don’t you save me?

I came all this way.
Nobody owes me
anything.
Sometimes I close my eyes and I
forget to breathe.
None of these things go
together.
I don’t go
together.
I remember

You can’t stop me.
You can’t save me.

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DeathWatch No. 136 – Did You See That?

This is Issue #136 of DeathWatch, an ongoing Serial. Click that link to go find ‘DeathWatch’ then go to ‘#0 – A Beginning’ and read from there, or go find the issue # you remember, and catch up from there!

Happy Reading!

PREVIOUS

* * *

Immanis rolled his eyes, laughing, and turned to look at Jules, saying, “Cover yourself, servus. I don’t imagine our dear Legatus is interested in that kind of slave.”

Coryphaeus’s skin darkened at that statement; he said nothing, but glanced at Jules as she quickly squatted to grab her robes and cover herself, murmuring, “Yes, your Majesty, of course.”

Jules stood back up, replacing her smile as she re-smoothed her clothes — but the smile faltered as her world greyed out. She held quite still for a moment, keeping her expression as neutral as she could; when she could see again, she moved to be closer to Coryphaeus. She nearly bumped against him, saying something quiet to him as her eyes unfocused again, staring out at nothing and no one.

Sharp-eyed Gemma seized Secta’s wrist, hissing, “Did you see that?”

“No,” Secta said, looking around curiously, watching the gathering of the crowd, everyone talking, laughing, even the prisoners eating, talking with the group, even if wary. “What am I looking for?” he asked her.

“The girl’s a seer,” Gemma whispered, shifting to have Secta turn and look at Jules, who still looked slightly unsteady.

While they watched, Coryphaeus touched her gently, fingertips brushing her lower back.

Jules’s face mostly wore an expression of tight control, and when it wavered, it looked faintly nauseated.

“I’m certain of it. That look on her face,” Gemma said, talking lowly so only Secta could hear her.

“She looked dizzy from standing quickly,” Secta dismissed. “Or possibly nauseated from the spectacle her life’s become.”

“No. No, I know it,” Gemma murmured. “I know it.”

Secta was quiet for a time, watching both Coryphaeus and Jules. “The Prince is half-pleased with Coryphaeus because the Legatus pointed out that the boy was a seer,” Secta said. “I never did figure out why he hadn’t conscripted you. You’ve been living in the palace for how long? He knows your gift.”

“Lucida forbade it quite some time ago,” Gemma said. “She told him if he used me in that way, if he profited from my pain, she would never forgive him. This was back before we knew how to use the aetheris to ease the pain of it,” she said, and her face grew grave, serious. “When I was younger, when the visions came, they were a terror. The pain and fear were…” She stopped talking, clearing her throat, and looked around, as though coming back to herself, realizing where she was. “Nevermind,” she said tightly. “Look at her face. Look at her eyes, Secta. Can’t you see it?”

Secta focused, watching the interaction between Coryphaeus and Jules; his expression grew shrewd, and he said, “What I’m seeing is the Legatus, and how he protects her. The Prince has instructed Coryphaeus to care for the gift as though she is a precious thing. Any other master might revere the servus as an object. Legatus Aecus is deliberately behaving as though the servus is not a precious thing, but a precious someone.”

“A scandal, certainly,” Gemma agreed. “But I’m speaking of proditio, Secta. Impietas.”

Secta’s eyes widened, and he glanced at Gemma sidelong. “You believe the brother of two of Ilona’s most celebrated generals, a ranking officer in his own right, who facilitated the wedding gift from the Guardian to the Prince of three hundred enemy soldiers… is plotting treason?”

“I heard there was doubt of his lineage; there are whispers Mirus never had a brother,” Gemma said, shrugging.

“But Summus Nixus claims him proudly,” Secta returned. “The missives from the battlefield proclaim him proudly, almost to the point of taking credit for the entirety of the victories.”

“So you think he’s merely guilty of thinking with his cock,” Gemma snorted. Her dark eyes moved over both Coryphaeus and Jules, and she frowned, pursing her lips. She did not watch them long; eventually, her gaze drifted to where Lucida leaned against Jet, talking boldly with the Captain and Quartermaster of a ship the Ilonans had named the Eburneis Dea, the Ivory Goddess.

“It’s what drives everything, from the politics of nations to the tiniest valued life,” Secta said simply, following her gaze, watching the way she looked upon Lucida, the way Gemma’s eyes softened, the way her lips parted, the way something about her shone, simply to gaze upon the woman she loved. “Desire. It’s what makes us get up, and it’s what makes us fall down,” he sighed, shrugging, and while he imagined she was no longer looking at him, he dared spare a glance toward Jet, and felt the strange pang of his own heart leap.

“Oh, sweet Secta,” Gemma whispered, putting an arm around him, leaning her cheek to his. “He was chosen even before you knew him.”

“And yet,” Secta said, smiling faintly, sadly. “And yet.”

“It is good that you love him well,” Gemma said. “It will make it easier for him.”

“Are you certain, Gemma, on what you’ve seen?” Secta wondered. “And if so… why do you not tell His Majesty?”

“Do you not remember the morning the Guardian threatened your life? Might’ve killed you, if Lucida hadn’t run for her brother?” Gemma said.

“I remember,” Secta said quietly, his cheeks darkening in shame. He knew he failed his master in those moments; he would have given anything to go back and make it right. “I would have let him,” he said miserably. “I would have let him.”

“Thank goodness you didn’t,” Gemma said. “He needs you. He’ll need you even moreso, when–”

Just then, Immanis’s lordly presence could be felt, right behind them. He stood tall and beautiful, dark eyes flashing; his bronze skin gleamed in the light of the palaces torches and chandeliers. His expression was somewhere between predatory and amused, like some great cat ready to toy with its prey. He looked at both Secta and Gemma, his full lips curving, hinting at a smile, somewhat conspiratorial. “And just what are you two gossiping about?”

* * *

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