He climbed out of the pool, dripping on the grainy floor. The dunking had washed away most of the dried remnants of the metal-mud. He moved cautiously forward, his skin prickling uneasily, trying to see further into the shadows. He knew he wasn’t alone in here.
He went to the shaft first, craning his neck to peer down. It plunged straight through the hive. Dim daylight was visible down at the bottom. That would have been a help, if he had claws to climb or wings to fly.
He looked around again. By this time his eyes had adjusted and he realized the shadow in the inner wall was a large, Dwei-sized opening into another chamber or passage.
He started toward it, noticing that Dwei shells hung on the walls, polished to gleaming green-blue iridescence and etched with markings in a strange language. They appeared to commemorate something, ancestor worship or funerary tributes. Some had been knocked to the floor and broken, the pieces scattered. Other things were strewn around, things that looked like they had been looted from a groundling city. Moon picked his away around torn and stained fragments of rich cloth and fur, a broken ivory cup, all of it dropped like trash. These Fell lived like the others Moon had seen, making nothing of their own, stealing even their clothes from groundlings.
Moon reached the opening and pushed aside the drifting fragments of a torn membrane curtain.
Beyond it was another chamber. In the shadows against the far wall, something large and alive lay in a nest of torn cloth, fragments of Dwei shell scattered around it. He could see a sloping, scaled flank, the folded edge of a leathery wing, a gleam of fangs. It was breathing, but so slowly it was nearly silent. Moon’s throat was already too dry to swallow, his body already cold from fear, and he had been half-expecting this. It was a Fell progenitor, the only female Fell, the ones who mated with the rulers to produce all the rest. He had never seen one before, only heard of their existence, but this had to be one.
He stepped back, away from the curtain, feeling the cold settle into his bones. Jade is not going to be here in time. If she was even on her way, if the court hadn’t just cut its losses and given up on him and the stolen Arbora. He couldn’t let the Fell have what they wanted.
Moon backed away another few steps, trying to think. Find a weapon and kill the progenitor. Or make the progenitor kill you. He had to admit the second option was more likely.
He looked around at the debris on the floor, hoping for something with a sharp edge. He saw a tumbled pile of dark cloth behind the nearest platform. A few steps took him close enough to see clearly. He stopped, startled.
It was a dead ruler. He was in his groundling form, pale hair fanned out behind his head, open eyes staring sightlessly up. A trail of blood leaked from his mouth, staining the waxy white skin of his cheek. His dark clothes were disarrayed, pulled open across his chest, a chain of rubies broken and scattered near his hand, but there was no visible wound. Moon took a wary step forward, taking in a breath to taste the air again. It wasn’t a trick. The ruler was really dead, and had been here long enough for his blood to cool.
Behind him, a voice said, “I killed him when he arrived with the kethel.”
Moon twitched around, his breath caught in his throat.
She was standing in front of the shaft, as if she had just climbed up out of it. She could have passed for a groundling, or the groundling form of an Aeriat. She was tall and slim, with gold-tinted skin and blue eyes, her hair straight and dark, falling past her waist. She was dressed like a Raksura too, in a watered gold silk wrap, leaving her arms bare. Then a dakti crept around her, peering up at Moon with wide-eyed curiosity. A dakti without wings, with the heavy build of an Arbora. A mentor-dakti, Moon thought. He had known there had to be at least one more here. And there were no female rulers. She’s another crossbreed, a warrior-ruler.
Her gaze on the dead ruler, she said, “He failed me, and I was angry. To bring me only six Arbora, no queen, no consort. By the time I discovered that you had followed him, it was too late.” Her voice sounded like a groundling woman’s, light and warm.
She took a step toward Moon, and that was when he caught her scent. He flinched backward, nearly overpowered by the flight-urge to turn and throw himself out the window into the hive well. He conquered it with a shiver, still feeling it trickle through his veins like icy water. Her scent was foul, strange, wrong. Even the mentor-dakti just smelled like a Fell.
She said, “I won’t hurt you.” She tilted her head, her lips forming a smile. There was something disjointed about her face, something awry about how she wore the expression. “You saw the Arbora are well.”
The Arbora. It was a reminder that Moon didn’t just have himself to worry about. He felt certain he already knew, but he made himself say, “You’ve still got plenty of Dwei to eat. What do you want with us?”
“We need company. There’s nothing like us anywhere in the Three Worlds.” She touched the mentor-dakti’s head. It leaned against her leg, nuzzling her. “Especially since you killed Erasus, back at your colony. But perhaps it was appropriate that he died there, after he spent so many turns watching it for us. I wanted him to stay here in safety, but he was desperate to see it with his own eyes, instead of only in his scrying. Demus here is not so accomplished, yet.” She gently pushed the mentor-dakti away. Demus hissed in mild rebuke, then turned and crept away. It was smaller than the other one, and its right leg was twisted at an odd angle. She watched it retreat, then looked back at Moon. “You didn’t ask my name. It’s Ranea. I know yours.” She lifted her hand, and her nails were almost as long as claws. “Come here, Moon.”
He fell back another step. “Let the Arbora go, and I’ll do what you want.” He didn’t think she would go for it, but it was worth a try.
“Why should I? I need them.” The smile was still on her face, but it was almost as if she had forgotten it was there. He realized then what was wrong with her expression: it was like an imitation of things she had seen others do, without any real understanding of what it meant. In the same warm tone, Ranea said, “And you don’t have anything I want that I can’t just take.”
Moon backed away from her. He told himself it didn’t matter what she did to him. If she was part Raksuran warrior, then she was infertile; it was the progenitor in the other room he had to worry about. “Your ruler told the court you wanted to join with us.”
“That’s true.” She paced forward. There was something predatory in the ease and focus of her movement, making her look even less like a groundling. “Our flight once ruled the east, all of the great peninsula. So the rulers said.”
Moon backed into the platform and flinched when its brittle edge bumped him in the lower back. She stopped a few paces away, watching him, and her foul scent made the back of his throat itch.
“They told me how the groundling empires died on our whim, and prey was plentiful. But they say we fought among ourselves, broke into smaller flights, became too isolated, too inbred. Progenitors died too soon. Fewer rulers were born, but more sterile dakti and kethel. So my progenitor and her rulers made an experiment, capturing a Raksuran consort and forcibly mating with him.”