“We’ll also be sure to let you know if we find anything more on our end,” Queen Osmada said. She had remained mostly silent during the meeting, only offering a gentle word here or there, but her calming presence had still been very much appreciated by Alex.
“I’d be grateful for that, Your Majesty,” Alex said.
“I’ll show you back to the receiving room,” Jeera offered, standing.
Alex paused halfway out of her own chair when General Drock spoke up.
“Actually, Jeera, I’d like to have a word with the kid, so I’ll take her. She still has some grovelling to do.”
Alex turned to Jeera, eyes wide, but the Warden just flashed her a smile and shook her head slightly, denying Alex’s unspoken plea for help.
“No problem, General,” Jeera said. “She’s all yours.”
“Traitor,” Alex mumbled, causing Jeera’s smile to widen.
“I’ll speak with you soon, Alex,” William said, embracing her again. Before he let her go, he whispered in her ear, “Try not to worry. Aven is just one man—immortal or not. We’ll find a way to stop him.”
Alex swallowed the lump in her throat, pushing away the image of William and the rest of the Ronnigan family being strung up in Myrox cages outside of the Meyarin palace and left to die long, slow deaths.
“I’m sure you’re right,” she lied. “Good luck assembling your team—I hope you discover something useful.” And in time to save us all, she thought.
After bidding farewell to the king and queen, as well as Nisha and Tyson, Alex attempted to offer a gracious goodbye to the advisor. But Jaxon simply snubbed his nose up at her, so she rolled her eyes, waved to Jeera and William, and followed General Drock out of the room.
Her steps were reluctant as she kept half a pace behind him, waiting for the moment when he would say his piece. But he didn’t speak at all until they arrived in the abandoned receiving room, where he leaned in close and kept his voice hushed.
“You might have fooled them, but I’ve seen you in action, kid.”
Alex feigned offence. “I—”
“Don’t give me any of that,” he interrupted. “We both know you only came here as a courtesy. You’ve got your own plans and you’re going to see them through, no matter what.”
Wincing at his astuteness, Alex wasn’t quick enough to school her features.
Reading her guilt, Drock cursed—quietly but colourfully. “You’re a pain in my ass, kid.”
Alex crossed her arms. “What are you going to do, General? Lock me up as you’ve already threatened? Because that’s the only way you’ll keep me from doing what needs to be done.”
“You think I don’t know that?” he bit out.
Alex didn’t say anything, she just waited to see what would happen next.
With another quiet curse, and then a creative stream in quick succession, Drock reached into his black uniform and pulled out a pen-like stylus. He then latched his sword-calloused fingers around Alex’s hand, yanking her arm towards him with the underside facing up.
“What—”
“Quiet,” he ordered as he placed the nub of the stylus against the soft flesh of her wrist.
Alex hissed in pain when he started moving the tool along her skin and she tried to tug her hand back, but his grip was unyielding.
“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded in a shrill voice, tugging more forcibly but still unable to detach from his hold.
Drock’s piercing gaze flicked up to glare at her. “Shut it, kid. It’ll only hurt for a second.”
True enough, the pain started to abate until she only felt a faint throb. Looking down at her wrist, Alex noted with disbelieving eyes that the stylus was some kind of tattooing device and Drock was carving a sideways figure-of-eight into her skin—the eternity symbol.
“It might have been nice if you’d asked permission before permanently inking me,” Alex said through gritted teeth.
Drock didn’t respond. He just went back and forth over the symbol with the nub of the stylus, deepening the design with each pass. Unlike most tattoos, the ink was a white colour, barely noticeable even against her golden skin. She actually liked it enough that she might have chosen it for herself—if given the choice, which she was not.
“I presume there’s a reason you’ve suddenly decided to share your artistic side?” Alex asked when Drock finally released her hand.
“That,” the general said, pointing to her wrist, “is what’s called a Beacon. It’s next-gen experimental tech.”
“Experimental tech?” Alex looked from her barely-there tattoo back up to his face. “Why do I not like the sound of that?”
“If you were going to have a reaction, you would have already keeled over by now,” Drock grunted, returning the stylus to his pocket. “You survived the imprinting, so you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
Survived? Alex wondered exactly what kind of tech Drock had just ‘imprinted’ her with.
“Care to explain what it is?”
“I told you,” Drock said. “It’s a Beacon.”
Alex tapped her foot impatiently, her expression demanding more.
“You and I both know you’ll be going off on some half-assed attempt to commit treason by warning the other races,” Drock said. He didn’t wait for her confirmation—or denial—before he continued, “If you get in trouble, trace the symbol three times with your finger and it’ll send out an invisible signal flare, like a homing beacon, with coordinates that can be used to program Bubbledoors to your location. It’ll only work once without being reactivated, so use it only if you absolutely have to.” He glared at her as if to add weight to his words. “After you’ve traced it three times, follow that with one more trace if you need an extraction, or two more traces if you need an army of reinforcements. There’s no middle option—we either retrieve you quietly or we deploy for a battle. Understood?”
Alex looked at the general with suspicion. “Why are you giving me this? If you know what I’m going to do, why aren’t you throwing me in a dungeon?”
“Because you’re right,” Drock said without hesitation. “The other races need to be warned. Everyone in that room knows it.” He paused. “Well, everyone but that scurvy asswipe, Jaxon. But to be fair, he’s been the royal advisor for a long time, and while he’s set in his ways, he usually does offer sound advice.”
Drock shook his head and continued, “Never mind all that. The point is, you need to do what we can’t. I know that—and they know it, too. But our hands are tied, at least politically. And neither the king nor the commander is in a position to offer you the support you might need. So this is me doing what I can in the hope that you’ll never have to use it—for both our sakes, since I’ll likely be court-martialled if they find out what I’ve done. But I’d rather you have it and never use it than don’t have it and need it, consequences be damned.”
Feeling warmth bubble within her, Alex reached out a hand and wrapped her fingers around his muscled arm, giving a gentle squeeze. “Thank you, General,” she said, her voice slightly hoarse.