Warlord and the Waif by Chloe Parker

CHAPTER SEVEN

ELLA

HE WASN’T LYING when he said he would let me rot.

No one returns to get me for the rest of the night, leaving me in this empty room. There’s no bed; not even a blanket to keep me warm, and cool air seeps in through the single glass window. All I can see through it is the vast clouds of fog that surround the city, stretching endlessly to the horizon as the white sun sinks below. There are no lights in the room, and my eyes have to adjust to the darkness.

I huddle into myself, shaking in the cold, wishing that I at least had a good book to keep me company. I try to imagine I’m sitting amongst the shelves of my father’s bookstore back on Earth, warm in the dying light of day, surrounded by old books, the smell of paper, and the comforts of home.

That’s how I eventually drift off, dreaming of the people I loved who are now long dead.

I wake stiff and uncomfortable in the dim glow of morning, the sound of rain tapping on the window. It comes down in sheets of fluorescent lilac, casting the fog in an ethereal glow with flashes of lightning within.

Wait.

It’s raining up.

I can’t make sense of it, since I know that I’ve felt the downward pull of gravity the whole time I’ve been here. But the trickles of water on the window pane are definitely moving upwards, into the atmosphere. I’m distracted by the heavy rain when the door slides open behind me, and hope flares at the thought of being let out.

It’s Portia, the kind purple alien and the only source of comfort I’ve had in this place. She holds a blanket in one hand and a steaming bowl of stew in the other. My stomach rumbles at the smell of the stuff, which looks like the same dish she fed me yesterday.

She closes the door behind her and my heart sinks.

“I can’t stay long,” she says, “Calder doesn’t even know I’m here.”

“So I’m guessing you haven’t come to let me out,” I say despondently.

Portia shakes her head, but extends the blanket and the bowl. I take them gratefully, even if she isn’t here to rescue me.

I’m getting the feeling I’ll have to rescue myself. No one is coming to save me.

“Sorry, but no,” she says, “Calder has deemed it appropriate that you stay here another night.”

“Not ‘m’lord’?” I scoff, “I thought that’s what he liked to be called.”

Portia gives me a wry smile, leaning against the wall of the cell as I sit down and dig into the soup.

“He never demanded a title when we first met,” she says.

“You mentioned that yesterday,” I recall, “What did you mean?”

“I was once Calder’s first mate,” she says matter-of-factly.

I gape at her, blinking rapidly.

“Wait,” I say, “You and Calder are…”

Her eyes widen.

“No!” She laughs, shaking her head. She puts an emphasis on the words that wasn’t there before when she says it again. “I was his First Mate. On Freyr’s Fury—a great Skoll warship.”

I smile. “So you were a pirate?”

“What?” she says, “Did you think I was always a cook?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend.”

“You haven’t,” she says with a sigh. “Living this life for so long, sometimes I forget that I was ever anything else.”

I shake my head.

“I don’t understand,” I say. “How did you go from first mate on a warship to this?”

“As you heard yesterday, Calder is the victim of a terrible curse,” she says, “On our last raid, we attacked the home of the Witches of Myste, on the surface of this very planet, seeking their fabled Elixir as an advantage against the Hyperboreans. The Witches fought back, and Calder slew all five sisters but one: the Witch Enchanter Sylv. As punishment for his crimes, she cursed him to remain on this planet in the throes of terrible, burning pain for eternity.”

I shake my head, confused.

“And what does that have to do with the Hyperboreans?”

Portia sighs.

“The Witches were gone, but we were trapped here,” she explains, “And the Hyperboreans took advantage of it, making Calder the warden of this prison.”

“Is there any way to escape?” I ask.

“Sylv claimed that Calder could leave the planet only under certain…conditions,” Portia says, hedging around the issue. I wonder what’s stopping her, but she shakes her head. “But the Hyperboreans have offered him an alternative in exchange for his service as Warden of this city.”

I have so many questions, and I know Portia can’t stay long. But I’m dying to know.

“Who are the Hyperboreans?”

Portia’s expression hardens.

“They’re the overlords of this galaxy, the ones who control space travel and the levers of power. Their science is unmatched by any other civilization, and they exchange their technology for our service. Most of our species would never have achieved space travel without them.”

“So we’re all their prisoners?”

“Yes,” Portia nods, then she pauses. “Ella — Calder is not a cruel man, he’s just broken. And I promise you, there are far worse places you could have found yourself had someone else bought your contract.”

“For some reason, that doesn’t make me feel any better,” I scowl.

Portia nods.

“I know what it’s like to be a creature of freedom bound to service,” she says, “I can see the same look in your eyes that I see in Calder’s.”

“Don’t compare me to him.”

“You’re more alike than you realize,” she says. Then she stands upright, rubbing her hands together. “I have to go, but I’ll be back soon.”

She turns to leave, but I stop her.

“Portia, wait.”

She turns.

“Could you bring me something to read? I want to know more about this galaxy.”

Portia smiles. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Then she’s gone.

At least I know who the real enemy is now. These Hyperboreans; they’re the ones that took me from my home, my family, and my life. They robbed me of all the years I was supposed to spend with the people I loved, and sold me into servitude. And apparently they’ve done this to millions — probably billions — of people, maintaining a stranglehold on this galaxy.

I spent the few years I had on Earth fighting against injustice. I worked with the pacifist movement after my brother died in a senseless war. I went to marches and was shot at with rubber bullets. I’ve never been anything but a normal person, but I’ve always been willing to go to battle for what I believe in.

I think I’ve just found my next fight.

I sleep in my cell for two nights total, my day in isolation spent reading. The translator they implanted in my brain while I was in stasis works just fine for text as well as speech, and I devour the two histories of the Hyperborean Empire that Portia sneaks to me that morning.

She gave me a good primer, but there’s so much more to learn. Magic exists alongside spaceships here, and there are over a thousand known sentient species the Hyperboreans have kidnapped over the years. What surprises me is that the Skoll — Calder’s people — are warriors that have fought the Hyperboreans for years.

He really is a prisoner. So I have a little more sympathy when Lucien finally releases me for dinner service, and we head back to the servants’ quarters.

That sense of sympathy doesn’t last.