Page 49 of Scorching the Alien Empire
“Um...” I study the runes, their fiery stylization and jagged purple lightning making them hard to decipher—not helped by my complete lack of understanding. “That one means strength.I think.” I tap the top rune, a slanted T shape with extra lines. “And the other...” My brow furrows as I struggle with the spirals—they all look bloody identical. “Gas... maybe?” I shrug.
“Gas?” Sandra echoes, frowning. “I don’t know, Lexie. I don’t see any strength gas floating around.” She squints at the banner as if she’s somehow cracked the untold mysteries of the squiggly spirals.
“So...” I begin quickly, eager to steer the conversation away. “How are you settling into your new place?” I move toward the enormous wooden bed at the other end of the room, shaped like a hollowed-out tree trunk.
“It’s brilliant,” Sandra says, her eyes lighting up. “So much bigger than my old room. And there are so many interesting things on the walls.” Her genuine joy makes me smile, glad to see her happy. “Honestly, though, I’m afraid to touch anything—it’s like living in a museum.”
“Not to mention half of it’s weapons,” I remind her, glancing at a sleek black, long-barreled object mounted on the wall. It looks suspiciously like some sort of gun. “Might as well duct-tape nukes to the bed while they’re at it.”
Groaning with relief, I collapse onto the bed, sinking into the layers of plush furs.
“Idefinitelywon’t be touching anything now,” Sandra laughs nervously, twiddling her thumbs as she inches toward the bed. Then her eyes widen. “Wow! Your bed is bloody gigantic! It’s way bigger than mine.”
“Oh, this?” I reply, feeling a surge of pride at her reaction. “It’s Dracoth-sized,” I chuckle, running my hand over the fur. The softness conforms perfectly to my touch. “His big Bobo-the-clown feet kept sticking out of the old one,” I add with a dramatic roll of my eyes, recalling the-less-than-appealing image. “He looked like red lipstick shoved into a matchbox.”
Sandra bursts into laughter, shaking her head and tousling her ginger hair. “Crazy to think his dad used to sleep here. In this very room,” she muses, lifting her arms as if to encompass the expanse of the chamber. “And he built this whole ship. Now his son’s here—with you...” Her gaze drops to her enmeshed fingers, her tone quieting. “You don’t think what Drexios said is true? About Dracoth being a clone?”
I don’t care. Dracoth is my Dracoth. Nothing can change that.
“I’ve no idea,” I answer with a casual shrug, careful not to disturb Todd, who’s still preoccupied with digesting his snack.
“What a head-melter!” Sandra presses, undeterred by my disinterest. “Like, how hard must that be for him? Not knowing who he really is, where he comes from, or why?” Her sapphire eyes dart to mine, bright with expectation. “Do you ever talk to him about it? What does he make of it all?”
My gaze drops to my hands. Her earnest concern for him stirs an unwelcome pang of jealousy and guilt.
Why haven’t I asked him? Why don’t I know?
No, I care more than Sandra. IknowDracoth wants to be strong—needsto be strong. Dredging up the past, talking about hisfeelings... that will only weaken him. And we can’t afford that—not when there’s still so much to fight for.
I could lie, invent some warm, fuzzy response. But I won’t lie to Sandra. Not over something so important. Not now. The sacred words call for strength.
“I don’t care about his past,” I mutter, my voice sounding strangely distant, even to my own ears. “He needs to be strong, for our future.”
Sandra inhales sharply. “Lexie...” She frowns down at me, and my cheeks burn under the spotlight of her scrutiny. “What about his feelings?” she presses, her voice softer but no less piercing. “Don’t you think talking about this might ease his doubts? It could make him stronger.”
She has a point. But the idea still feels wrong—like putting ketchup on venison.
“I know Dracoth better than anyone,” I counter, deflecting with humor. “If I asked, he’d just say—” I clear my throat before continuing. “’Princesa, while stunningly graceful and beautiful, you talk too much!’” I grunt, mimicking Dracoth’s deep, wind-tunnel rumbling.
Sandra snorts, her frown melting into laughter. “Yeah, not sure about the first part!” she teases, turning her attention to the oversized wardrobe in the corner.
I laugh with her. “Though, honestly, I don’t think he’d use so many words—”
“What’sthisdoing here?” Sandra cuts me off with an ominous jingle.
Oh no.
“I thought this was destroyed back in Scarn?” She turns, holding up my metal chain and collar. The glinting silver catches the dim purple light as she dangles it between her thumb and index finger, like it’s some venomous snake.
“Give me that!” I leap off the bed, heat rushing to my face. “It’s private,” I protest, flapping my arms at her like a panicked ostrich.
“Oh. My. God!” Sandra gasps, squirming and squiggling to keep the humiliating chain and collar out of reach. “You naughty pervs had another one made, didn’t you?”
I did.
“It’s for Todd!” I blurt, my voice and face already breaking under the absurdity of the blatant lie.
Sandra freezes, her face a mix of shock and disbelief. “Todd?” she repeats with a scoff. “He’s notthatplump!” Then her nose wrinkles, and her grip slackens. “Eww, wait.” She recoils, dropping the chain onto the fur-lined floor with a sharp clink. “Youusedthis. It’s about your size!”
