Page 14 of Splintered Shadow
His mouth fell open.
It was cute, in a grouchy way.
Vekele
The room was confining. Vekele paced from the bedroom, down the corridor, past his office, to the unused receiving room, and back again. He needed to move. He needed to stretch his wings. He had never been one to stand in place. Baris pointed him to a target, and Vekele did as his king commanded.
True, he had hidden away in these rooms in the last year. The attack had damaged more than his sight. An intangible spark had been doused.
Now… the female intrigued him. More than he cared to admit.
Returning to the country house undetected had been easy enough. The ship passed through the planetary security grid with ease, crossing zones with no questions asked. Traveling in the royal vessel had its privileges.
Once landed, there was a short but exposed distance to cross from the flyer to the house. The likelihood of being observed was small—Vekele was uninteresting and out of the political loop—but he chose to be cautious. He drew the shadows to him and wore the darkness like a cloak.
If anyone watched through a satellite feed, no one would question that the half-blind prince preferred to be unobserved. On most days, Vekele kept the shadows about him as a barrier. He did not enjoy being seen. Not like this. Not for some time.
Keeping out of the medic’s way while he attended the female’s injuries proved harder. Vekele brimmed with excess energy and curiosity. He wanted answers. Now. Perhaps he was as spoiled as Baris claimed but waiting tested his patience.
Princes should not have to wait, not even half-blind ones.
“The dramatics will not speed this along,” Harol said, his eyes fixed on the female’s torn flesh. The trousers had been removed and the flesh washed clean of debris.
Vekele’s eyes slid past the exposed skin. Not that the curve of her calf was particularly attractive as Harol used a tool to knit the flesh together. Nor was it particularly gruesome. He had seen worse on the battlefield, but it felt wrong to watch; the female deserved a small amount of privacy.
After what felt like an eternity but was only minutes, Harol finished mending the leg and tended to the smaller injuries.
“The female spoke, but the ship’s scanner could not locate the translator implant,” Vekele said. The chip’s manufacturer would give him a clue as to the female’s origins.
Harol scanned the female, frowned at the results, and ran the scanner again. “No sign of an implanted translator chip.”
“It is there.”
“Are you certain you did not find a translator? Perhaps something decorative in her ear?”
“Nothing. The female wears no ornaments.” Other than the design inked into her skin.
“Are you certain that she has a translator?”
“She spoke,” Vekele repeated, tired of this conversation. No matter how the medic phrased the question, the female did not have a translator, yet she spoke flawless Arcosian.
“Perhaps it was only a string of chatter that sounded like Arcosian words,” Harold suggested.
“No, she…” Vekele hesitated to finish the thought. “She said that she liked my face.”
“Ah,” the medic said, snapping shut the med kit. “It is not a bad-looking face. I daresay some find it handsome.”
Vekele flushed, unsure why the medic’s sarcastic flattery bothered him. The female had looked at him, considered his appearance, and seemed pleased. “She examined my features and spoke. It was not nonsense.”
Harol’s gaze settled on the female. After a moment, he nodded. “Perhaps Reilen or Nakkon have made advances in translator tech and my scanner is unable to detect it.”
“I have considered that.”
“I do not have the equipment here. Perhaps in the capital, but—”
“Her presence here must remain confidential,” Vekele said, speaking over the medic. He trusted Harol. They served together on many campaigns. When the medic left the military, he returned to his home village, a small settlement nearby.
“Then I can think of one other possibility. She was infected by the void beast,” Harol said.
