So you want to change yourself, scabber. Heh heh heh... You have a few options — a few ways you might swap out those pitiful limbs for another. Or perhaps it’s a new skin that entices you?
If you were a hound, you could devour those who have what you seek. Consume their organs, eat up their augs, and find their geneseeds. Your body might know what to do, might know where to grow a new arm, or what to do with an eye when it gets it.
There is a better way, however. You could throw yourself down before the Grafters. Let them change you, take what they like, and then add something to you in return. Perhaps they’ll feel especially beneficent and let you leave when they’re done. Unlikely.
Or perhaps you’ve heard the legends. The Immortal and her daughters, that they can shape flesh and blood with but a thought. That their blessings can change the world as you know it forever. Oh, imagine it, scabber. Imagine their beautiful, terrible power. Able to kill with a thought... or give quick to the still... Oh, how I dream of such supremacy...
But would you dare? Would you dare to stand before them? They are the worst of us. Ink me well on that.
<hr>
CHAPTER 10: THE TASTE OF RED
Bee’s eyes fluttered open, her vision adjusting to the dim light that filtered through the heavy curtains. The air was stale, laden with the weight of her time in confinement. She stretched her arms, then her wings, feeling the faint hum of their biomechanical engines as they responded to her command, and she pushed herself up into a sitting position on the luxurious but now somewhat soiled bed. She had been trapped within these four walls for days, left alone with her thoughts and regrets.
“Jhedothar,” she muttered, her voice hoarse from disuse. Her fingers clenched around the edge of the blanket, knuckles whitening. He had been arrogant and dismissive, treating her at first like a mere curiosity and then a thing to be claimed. The memory of his condescending smirk fuelled her anger, and she couldn’t help but feel a pang of satisfaction at the thought of having tried to attack him during the feast. But she couldn’t ignore the regret gnawing at her heart. It was a reckless decision that could have cost her dearly.
With a sigh, Bee swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up, the plates of her feet padding their way over the floor as she moved. The room felt smaller than ever, and she longed to run through the locked door. She reached for the fleshy pad that controlled it, desperately hoping it would yield this time. Yet it remained stubborn, and the door still.
“Open up,” she said, slamming her fist against the unyielding filigreed bone of the door. As if moved by her outburst, the door groaned and began to roll open to reveal three Flowerbedside Companions. Their delicate faces were framed by petals and worry.
“You’re back,” Bee said, her voice wavering between relief and trepidation as she stepped aside to let them in. As much as their presence comforted her, they also reminded Bee of her captivity.
The maidens entered the room and began to clean up the mess that had accumulated over the days — remnants of meals, clothes that Bee refused to wear, and broken objects hurled in frustration. They moved with a quiet efficiency, their eyes downcast and avoiding Bee’s gaze.
“Look, I’m sorry,” Bee said, her voice softening. “I didn’t mean to really hurt anyone. I knew he was too big for me to injure. I just wanted to teach him a lesson.”
However, the maidens did not respond. Instead, they remained fixed on their tasks. Bee sensed that their fear of Jhedothar — and now perhaps her — weighed heavily upon them, leaving them as trapped as she was.
Bee watched as the Flowerbedside Companions brought her a tray of strange food, their slender hands plucking items from it with practised ease to set out plates and bowls on a small table in the middle of the room. The sight of the food was at once captivating and unnerving. Her mouth salivated at the smell, but she was caught staring at fruits with iridescent skins, twisted fungal caps charred from cooking, and curled tubes of what might have been meat.
“Thank you,” Bee said softly as the maidens stepped back from the meal, leaving it for Bee without so much as a word.
“Please,” Bee whispered, desperation creeping into her voice. “Just talk to me.”
One of the companions hesitated momentarily, their eyes flicking between Bee and the door. She finally spoke up, her voice barely a whisper. “... We wish you weren’t a hound, Your Ladyship...”
“But I’m not a hound. Is that what people think of me?” Bee asked, her heart sinking.
“Many... Had hope for you, but your behaviour...” Her voice trailed off as she turned to leave. “Please try to wear your clothes, Your Ladyship...”
Bee looked down at her bare body, the hard glistening plates of her torso and legs, the skin of her shoulders, then frowned. Had she missed something expected of her?
Alone again. Bee took the food from the table and crouched on the floor to eat, sitting in a corner of the room. As she dug in with her fingers, she felt the worm in her skull sluggishly move. It flexed slowly, enough to make her ears pop, before settling down again. It had become more active again over these long days. Apparently, it was hurt really badly when her head was stamped on.
“Sweetheart,” the familiar voice said within Bee’s mind, its dazed tone tinged with affection. “Eat, please. We will need our strength to escape this place.”
“I don’t know how we’re going to escape,” Bee murmured under her breath, her fingers trembling as she picked up a piece of the iridescent fruit. As Bee bit into it, an explosion of sweet flavours filled her mouth, and she felt warmth spread throughout her body, soothing her frayed nerves. Part of her knew it was the worm rewarding her for doing what she was told. It felt nice, though.
“Trust me, my sweet,” the worm whispered. “Together we’ll find a way to get back to her.”
“Do I want to go back to her?” Bee said before shivering. It felt good again, thinking about her. The Eidolon.
“Of course we do. She’s so strong. She’s so perfect.”
Hunger gnawed at Bee even as she ate. The worm had been releasing hormones that increased her appetite to an almost desperate level as if urging her to prepare for something. Before she knew it, it was all gone. Then, as the hours passed alone, her hunger and desperation grew.
Bee had searched every corner of the room for anything edible. Her fingertips brushed against glass ornaments and inedible, tasteless fabrics. She’d been tempted to try all the same, just to stop her stomach from aching. At one point, she had started licking the bony arms of a chair, tasting the bitter varnish upon it. A touch of her teeth found she couldn’t bite into it, and she actually whined with frustration.
In her seclusion, Bee found herself peeking behind the thick, old curtains. However, the window — if it could truly be called that, a hollow recess sunken high into the wall — narrowed to the width of a fist high above her. It seemed directed to a distant City light, high above, spilling gentle bioluminescence into the chamber. Bee breathed deeply. She could smell freedom, such as it was. There was also something else. Smoke? Carbon? Fire? There was no sign of what it might have issued from.
The worm had fallen silent, its presence retreating to the edges of her mind to recover. It was still weak after what happened. Bee didn’t know how long she had curled up in the bed when the door groaned open, revealing the hunched figure of Yonmar Free. He stepped inside, his eyes filled with concern as he surveyed the room.
“Bee,” he said in a measured way. “I’m here to examine your injuries. We must ensure you’re recovering well and there haven’t been any further developments.”
There was a gentleness in his tone, and Bee found herself thankful that someone wasn’t addressing her as a Lady, at least.
“Alright,” Bee said, her voice listless and subdued as she sat up in bed. She allowed Yonmar to approach, her body tense but unresisting. She even lifted her wings to make it easier for him.
“Remarkable,” Yonmar murmured, his aged voice tinged with relief as he palpated the skin of her lower back. The sensation of Yonmar’s gentle touch on her back sent a shiver down her spine. She’d almost forgotten what contact felt like, when it wasn’t violent or demeaning. “Your regenerative augmentations have worked flawlessly. Not a single scar. No signs of tumours. You’ve healed completely.”
Bee nodded meekly, vaguely recognising at how much her attitude towards Yonmar had changed in such a short time. He should have agitated her. She should have been resentful of his role in her capture. Yet he was, she suspected, a rare freak of genuine kindness. Loneliness was eating away at her, and she ached for connection. A small part of her, quieter than it usually was, reminded her not to trust anyone. It wore her mother’s voice. It reminded her that no one else would ever love her — that she could not let them close. Bee’s lip trembled, and she pushed that feeling down.
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“Thank you,” she whispered, her wings fluttering softly.
As if summoned by her words, the door rolled open again. Standing the opening was Toshtta the Blade, clad in her golden armour and draped in her cloak of living flowers. Her visor scanned the state of the room before settling on Bee, all expression hidden beneath her shining armour.
“Forgive the intrusion, Your Ladyship,” Toshtta said, a careful measure to her tone. “But Jhedothar has summoned you to his court. A visitor has arrived from the highest reaches, and they wish to speak with you.”
Bee’s heart clenched with a potent mix of curiosity and apprehension. Who could possibly want to see her? Where were the highest reaches?
“Alright,” Bee said, her voice barely audible. She glanced at Yonmar, seeking reassurance. But the bone monk’s expression was similarly unreadable, his eyes cloudy beneath his ancient mask.
Yet Yonmar seemed to sense Bee’s trepidation, and after a moment of deliberation, he put a hand on her shoulder. She smiled.
“First, you may wish to dress yourself, Your Ladyship,” Toshtta said in a softer tone, seeming to realise Bee’s obliviousness to her naked state. “And we should hurry. We must not keep our guest waiting.”
“If you would allow me,” Yonmar said, standing with a huff, his old bones creaking. He stepped over the various articles Bee had thrown around the room and opened one of the gilded and mirrored armoires that stood vigil at the side of the room. “Perhaps you would be comfortable in lighter clothes, just to cover your inhumanity.”
Bee reluctantly stood and walked over. Yonmar plucked out two dressing gowns, which Bee looked at, seeing they were much lighter and more free-fitting than the dresses that needed a group of maidens to fasten her into. He sensitively offered a black one first, remembering Bee’s preference. Yet she put her hand on the other. It was golden and silken. The so-called royal colours that Jhedothar sought to claim for his standard.
“I’ll wear this for him,” Bee said, remembering her regret for her impulsive actions when they last met. She suspected it would please him.
Yonmar nodded. “That is most wise.”
And Bee let him step around her. He draped the soft robe over her shoulders, concealing her bioengines and wings beneath them. She tucked her arms into the sleeves and, with patient assistance from Yonmar, let him tie the clothes shut to conceal the plates of her legs and torso.
When she was done, Bee looked at herself in the mirror. Frowning, she pushed her dark, greasy hair back over her shoulders. It had lost all of the prettiness the maidens had somehow put into it, kinked and knotted as it was from her days in bed. Having seen what it could look like, this bothered her now for some reason. She turned to Toshtta.
“Lead the way,” Bee whispered, glancing at the Blade’s sword and lance, always at hand.
And so, Toshtta the Blade led Bee through the oppressive darkness of Ymmngorad, her golden armour glinting like the last traces of the day star on the desert horizon as she moved through the scarce light. Yonmar Free walked at their side, his bony fingers wringing together as if trying to squeeze out his own sense of unease. The tightness in Bee’s chest grew with each step, her wings instinctively twitching against their confinement under the clothes. The tension grew until Bee just had to speak.
“I’m sorry for what I did.”
Toshtta stopped mid step. Her helmet turned, surveying the passage, perhaps ensuring that they were not overheard.
“I didn’t mean to scare anyone,” Bee quickly added. “I just hated the way he was speaking to me.”
“It was my folly, Your Ladyship.” Toshtta’s tone was again slow and measured, taking deliberation that she did not misspeak. “We should have kept our peace. I had not realised you were so... young. I should have known you did not know proper conduct or the old oaths and in doing so, put you in danger.”
Bee put her hand on Toshtta’s mailed forearm, but she pulled away and adopted a more disciplined posture. Surprised by that, Bee searched for what to say next. “I’ll try to do better.”
Toshtta nodded once before turning and resuming her march. As she followed once again, Bee shared a look with Yonmar. He nodded as well, and she sensed his approval.
At last, they arrived at the great doors to Jhedothar’s court. The immense slabs of metal groaning open as if protesting their intrusion. Bee hesitated at the threshold, her heart pounding against her ribcage, trying to think of what she would say to him.
“Enter, Your Ladyship,” Toshtta prompted, and Bee realised she had completely stalled.
With a deep breath, Bee stepped into the grand chamber and was immediately struck with the oppressive presence of Jhedothar’s throne. The Lord of Cruiros sat atop his grotesque seat, his carapace-clad form both monstrous and regal in equal measure. With a turn of his antler-crowned skull, his eyes locked onto Bee, gaze as sharp as the ruby spear that stood within his reach.
“Behave,” he growled, the single word echoing through the vast space as Bee approached. She glanced at the countless tree-like columns that filled the space, eyes lingering on the shapes of warriors and war engines facing each other upon their surfaces.
Bee’s throat tightened, and she struggled to swallow down a bitter sensation as she stood beside Jhedothar’s throne. She tried to appear unfazed but noticed his gaze lingering upon her.
“You’re wearing the gold,” he said, voice lowering so that no one else in the court might overhear.
“I prefer black,” she murmured, adopting his tone, before locking eyes with him.
That made Jhedothar snort a brief laugh. Bee’s scowl broke. Some of the tension eased in that moment. “I’m sure you do,” he said.
“I’m sorry for what I did,” Bee said.
“Just be sure you have it out of your system,” Jhedothar said, leaning upon the arm of his seat with his elbow. He curled a fist over his mouth as he spoke low. Bee realised he was ensuring that the dozens of figures moving around the vast court didn’t gaze upon their conversation. “A true adversary would see it as weakness — an invitation to devour you, and take everything that’s yours.”
Bee’s eyes narrowed at the advice. She couldn’t help but suspect he had learned that lesson the hard way. The exact events that transpired when the Wire-Witch cursed Jhedothar eluded her, but she felt that there was a shared experience there.
“Bring in our guest,” Jhedothar commanded his court. A flurry of activity followed. A mass of guardians formed, and armed warriors crowded the perimeter of the hall. Bee recognised Toshtta besides two other similarly armoured Blades, and she duly noted that there seemed to be a total of three armed women in the service of the Rose of Thorns as the Flowerbedside Companions crowded around them. Other servants and menial freaks gathered, too, and all seemed eager to gaze upon the new arrival.
Bee heard him long before he entered. A mechanical wheeze. The rattling of steely limbs. The gossip of the crush filling the court quickly hushed.
Escorted in by Sar-ek, an eight-limbed vat-born crawled in through the wide doorway. He was shrouded in a pale cloak, but its deep hood and long fabric only concealed so much. Bee frowned as she regarded his many pumping, pneumatic legs. They were constructed of an amalgamation of star metal, old steely bone, and salvaged electronics from the wasteland beyond.
The guest approached the throne, stopping a respectful distance before Jhedothar and Bee. The wheeze from his mechanical lungs was louder now, and, with cold metal hands, he reached up to lower his hood. He revealed a gaunt head with a weighty metal plate stapled over the eyes. Pipes and wires wove through the meat of his shoulders and neck.
“Thank you for receiving me, Sir Jhedothar, the Lance...” The figure paused to take a breath. “I am Slashex, and I have journeyed far to meet the Vat-Mother of Sestchek’s daughter and confirm her presence here.” He inclined his head towards Bee, even as he continued to speak to Jhedothar. “It seems you’ve acquired quite a valuable prize.”
Bee frowned at that but bit her tongue.
“Slashex,” Jhedothar growled, his voice dripping with disdain. “You and your Witch-Queen would not be welcomed here, but I am bound by the old oaths of hospitality. You shall have safe stay in my demesne and speak with the Lady.”
“Most gracious of you, Sir Jhedothar,” Slashex replied, his tone betraying no offence. Yet, Bee noticed he continued to address Jhedothar by the title of Sir. No one else did. Was he trying to demean the Lord? Her thoughts raced. The Wire-Witch must then know she was here.
“But, before we proceed,” Slashex interrupted her thoughts. “Are you aware of the contingent led by the Eidolon, the former Dame Vashante Tens? They have taken up residence in the defiled remains of the old temples.”
Defiled? Bee looked to Jhedothar in askance, but his posture had stiffened, his exoskeletal form betraying a hint of alarm.
“I was... unaware of the Eidolon’s presence here,” Jhedothar admitted.
“Unfortunate,” Slashex hissed, “For it seems they may be closer to seizing your domain than you realise.”
Bee felt her heart thrumming in her chest, blood pounding in her ears. The worm coiled in her brain hard enough to make her take a sudden breath, sensing the Eidolon’s mention. Although the parasite still seemed weakened and quiet, a sudden rush of emotions poured into Bee’s belly. She tried to focus on the conversation.
“Nevertheless,” Jhedothar snapped, regaining his composure. “We shall discuss this matter later. For now, we shall allow you the opportunity to address the Lady of Sestchek.”
“Of course,” Slashex agreed, turning his plated head towards Bee. “I’ve been most eager to see you, young Bee.”
The words made Bee falter. There was something eerily familiar about Slashex’s countenance at that moment. And he knew her name. But her thoughts drew back to the Eidolon, her heart racing.
“I was waiting for the Eidolon when you found me,” she said softly to Jhedothar, though she saw Slashex lean in as he heard those words. “She’s probably looking for me.”
“I said we shall discuss this matter later,” Jhedothar lowered his tone in return. Bee noticed his hand had reached to rest on the shaft of his ruby spear. Was Jhedothar afraid of the Eidolon?
Bee glanced into the crowd, finding Yonmar Free. He met her gaze and nodded, encouraging her to listen.
“Forgive the interruption,” Slashex said with a wheeze, his blind gaze still fixed on Bee. “Allow me to properly introduce myself. I am Slashex, a disciple of the Wire-Witch who shares your illustrious bloodline.”
He paused, allowing the weight of his words to sink in. “I have come to offer my services as a mentor, to teach you the arts of witchcraft that you are fit to inherit. After all, you hold the potential of the Immortal’s lineage within you.”
His lips shifted, becoming sly and cunning. “In doing so, I would not only empower you, but also offer it to strengthen Jhedothar’s position as claimant to Ymmngorad. Surely you agree. One as gifted as yourself surely must support him.”
Bee’s mind raced, processing what she was told. She had heard it mentioned before, but Bee didn’t precisely know what witchcraft entailed. Was that what she glimpsed of in the Wire-Witch’s bunker — that terrible den of electronic arts — so long ago?
Bee’s wings twitched involuntarily as she weighed the offer, starting to sense the undercurrents of power at play in a treacherous game.
“Fine,” Bee muttered, her voice barely a whisper. “I’ll learn from you, Slashex. But only if Jhedothar permits it.”
Their eyes met. Jhedothar frowned, signalling a level of displeasure before speaking, “For our burgeoning alliance and partnership then, Lady of Sestchek.”
Burgeoning alliance, Bee repeated to herself and bit back the words she first wanted to say. That was the way things would have to be. She had to learn this game and learn it well. It was more than just her own life at stake, she had come to realise. And despite everything her mother had told her, there was no justice in death.
“Alright,” she finally said, steeling herself and looking back to the acolyte of the witch. “I’ll learn. Teach me everything you can, Slashex. And we’ll see just how far this potential goes.”