A CRYSTALLINE FREQUENCY chapter 2
a glimmer in the abyss of hate
He’ll see me in the pit. The death pit where Rakis fight and kill Lupherians for sport.
I’ve watched countless duels on holovision—at first through tears of sorrow, and then after years of carnage, through a numb haze of horror. I never thought I would be one of the fighters. I never thought the Rakis would be that ruthlessly stupid.
When I die in the pit, my father will lose all sense of pragmatism. The rules of war will become obsolete to him. He will slaughter the entire planet of Rakillon, and plenty of Lupherians will suffer in the process.
Perhaps that’s what the Rakis want—total bloodshed.
I hoped my capture and ransom would distract our planets enough for Azaria and Harvel to steathily conquer Ziphoter. My death will serve the same purpose, I suppose, but in a much more catastrophic way. Even if my friends succeed, it might not matter; there might be no one left to use the ziphium crystals.
Everything is utterly doomed, and it’s all my fault.
I don’t have time to suffer a mental breakdown before a few Raki guards deliver a fresh pair of strappy black clothes, which I hastily change into since I’m unsure when they’ll return. Part of me wants to refuse their hospitality, but my spacefaring attire is too stiff for fighting, and I need every advantage my enemy is willing to give.
I’ve seen him fight on the holos. I’ve religiously watched every one of his brutal brawls in the pit. I’m going to die at his merciless hands, and that certainty has every one of my cells quaking.
It’s pathetic, really, that my actions have condemned so many Lupherians to death, yet I have the gall to cry about my own. I deserve this fate—I only wish my death would rectify all the problems I’ve caused instead of spawning more.
Curled in the corner of my little prison, I rake my hands into my hair and tamp down the worst of my sobs, letting only a few tears loose. I didn’t say goodbye to my father before leaving our home on Lupheria. I didn’t want him to know my rash plans—didn’t want to believe I wouldn’t come back.
Part of me knew the Morbaks might capture me. Part of me craved it—wanted to spit in his face for how he betrayed me. Now I’m too drained, too weakened with grief to expel my rage. The boy I studied with, laughed with, frolicked through the flowery fields of Lupheria with—he’s dead and buried beneath the weight of his sins. Maybe my sins, too.
I press my hands together, fingertips to forehead in the way my grandmother taught me, and connect to Ether, the most elusive Element. Most Lupherians don’t even try, especially now that our culture has become so agnostic, so technologically tethered. This spiritual essence has guided me through so many tribulations, though, and I ignore it at my detriment.
Like when I didn’t consult it before enacting the assassination attempt. So galactically idiotic.
A sense of lightness overcomes me as I train my focus on Ether, like I’m floating through the void of space. In the blissful nothingness, the image of Ziphoter appears, and I physically recoil. The lush jewel of a planet has become a symbol for all the pain in my life—the loss of my mother, the loss of him.
It still entices me, though, still wraps me in its gravity and pulls me in. Perhaps because I should be on my way there now. Or perhaps because I still need to go there—I need to be the one to right my wrongs.
Realistically, it feels impossible, but what if I could escape? I know my way through the Morbaks’ fortress, through the capitol city of Hostea, to the spaceship docks. I just need the perfect opportunity.
Unfortunately, four Raki guards collect me from my cell, each two heads taller than me and twice as wide, wearing full armor and wielding plasma weapons.
I could take my chances…but they’ve surely been instructed not to kill me or even knock me out. If anything, they’ll cripple me and then still throw me in the pit.
I need all my limbs if I want to escape this planet—if last more than a minute in a fight with him.
As we pass through the dimly lit dungeon corridors, I check each cell for the pale purple glow of Mak’s skin—for any color or luminescence at all—but no Lupherians catch my eye. If my crew is here, they’re deeper in the hollows of this nightmare.
Or they’ve already fought and died in the pit.
Abrasive white light hits my eyes as soon as we reach the main passageways. I traversed these obsidian halls so many times as a child, sometimes racing him to the dining hall, sometimes sneaking around to prank his sister.
The cold didn’t nip at my skin then like it does now. The uneven floors didn’t cut open my bare feet. Passing guards didn’t spit at me. I didn’t feel like a bright pink alien in a dull monochrome world.
The contrast magnifies when we step into the pit, a cylindrical chamber carved into the highest point of the Hostean Mountains. Nothing brightens the endless rows of seats except the holographic spectators filling them—and my natural glow.
As a child, my family attended the fights here, cheering on whichever bloodthirsty Morbaks claimed the honor of killing criminals. Back then, the pit was well lit, but now all the sacrifices are my fellow Lupherians, and because our bodies are bioluminescent, the brawls are conducted in darkness, giving the Morbaks an advantage. Since the change, spectators stopped attending in physical form, preferring to watch via holovision, which enhances the visual exposure.
Also, no one wants to be in the stands when he’s in the pit. He doesn’t give one molecularly small damn about missing his target and impaling an onlooker instead.
As soon as the guards release my arms, I spin to flee past them into the halls, but they’re already slamming shut the door, blocking out all light, leaving me alone on the outskirts of the pit.
Frantically, I check for any buttons, any gaps in the door, but it’s impenetrable, probably only opened by the command of a holosleeve. And mine’s been completely disabled. I can’t even cast a beam of light onto my surroundings.
Still determined, I peer into the towering darkness rimmed with the faintest sketches of ghostly forms, searching for a physical person whose holosleeve I might hijack.
Of course, there are none. Cowards.
Not that I’m one to talk. For years, I was one of those holograms watching in anonymity, in silence. Call me a masochist, but I inhaled every single fight of his like an addict, drilling his techniques, his tells, his mannerisms into my brain.
Problem is, he’s less predictable than Hostea’s winds. He almost never does the same move twice. And he knows I’m a creature of habit, a studied fighter rather than a natural.
My heart pounds with the impending doom, in tandem with the rising chants of “MOR-BAK, MOR-BAK, MOR-BAK!”
Resisting the urge to cover my ears against the noise, I scan the floor for signs of him, but I can’t see anything past the pink phosphorescence of my skin. If anything, my natural glow blinds me even worse to my surroundings.
Screw the Rakis and their unfairness.
“Welcome, to this special spectacle,” rasps a familiar voice, disgustingly phlegmy, like he’s in dire need of a good cough. I can’t discern him, but he must be floating far above me on his throne, the only witness here in his corporeal form: Nahaurius Morbak, Grand Monarch of Rakillon.
His subjects cheer, so many voices I wonder if the entire planet’s tuning in to my execution. Any Lupherians in attendance keep their disapproval to themselves, lest the Rakis kick them off this channel.
Is my family watching? They must know I’ve been captured, and my heart aches with the feeling of their disappointment, their despair.
My father especially—this will be like a meteor impact to him. Since my mother died three years ago, I’m his only immediate kin, his only heir. I shouldn’t have gone behind his back, even with the intention to save the worlds.
Guilt weighs heavy on my limbs, makes it feel like my sensory inputs are wading through thick sludge. When Nahaurius speaks again, his voice almost doesn’t compute in my mind.
“Please receive into this pit, everyone’s favorite fighter, Vexuvium Morbak, Exarch of Rakillon!”
The roar of applause is deafening, as if millions of souls actually fill this mountain.
I feel him slink into the pit, his chaotic energy like lightning to my nervous system.
On holovision, he always raises his daggers, always screams along with the crowd, but he’s silent today, his lack of sound charging the space between us. This isn’t a show to him; it’s cold, calculating revenge.
“And his opponent,” Nahaurius continues, almost coughing out the words, “a Lupherian captured in her attempt to kill me with her bare hands.” I roll my eyes at his blatant lie, knowing he’ll see the gesture with my luminous turquoise irises. “Please swallow into this pit, Saskia Valah, heir to the rubble that will be our enemies!”
The crowd boos me, obviously, as I take one measly step into the pit. The ground shifts like sand beneath my bare feet, but it can’t possibly be hornblende dust. That substance is too powerful—and too depleted—for the Rakis to allow it in their enemy’s presence.
“Nahaurius Morbak,” a strong voice cuts through the racket, and my knees threaten to buckle with anguish. My father is holographically here. “You captured one of my family’s vessels before it reached your magnetosphere. You will return all persons and items to neutral space, or I will retaliate with full force.”
“Was your pathetic assassination attempt not full force?” Nahaurius asks with a hacking laugh. “I quake on my throne, Armanis.”
“He had nothing to do with it!” I shout into the endless dark.
“He created you, vermin; he had everything to do with it.”
The Grand Monarch’s dark presence lowers closer to me, but I don’t glimpse the outline of his throne before my father booms, “If you follow through with this—”
“Arvilla,” Nahaurius sighs to his stewardess, “I tire. Extinguish this yapper.”
“Nahaurius,” my father tries again, but his threats and pleas die off with the distant speck of his hologram, electronically banished.
Relief and sorrow mingle within me, setting my whole body on edge. I would have liked the supportive presence of my father, but he shouldn’t have to witness the inevitable outcome of this duel.
“Let the extermination begin!”
The Grand Monarch’s throne whooshes upward, far out of reach from any stray blades—or intentional ones, if they came from me.
The Rakis didn’t give me a weapon to fight with, though. I’m utterly defenseless.
Still, I shift into an engaged stance and strain my ears for any sign of my opponent, but my heart’s beating too loudly, he’s moving too quietly. When a dagger stakes into the sand between my feet, I jump as if it stabbed me.
Apprehensive, I inch toward the weapon, checking for a trap, assuming he’ll sever my spine if I bend to pick it up.
“An offering,” he croons from behind, raising every hair on my body. “Can’t have any doubt that I’m the superior fighter.”
As quick as my body will move, I snatch the dagger and spin in his direction—or, where he was. By now he’s probably on the other side of the pit, reveling in my blindness.
I struggle to keep my breathing consistent, to stave off the panic. Back home, in our sparring chamber, I’ve practiced blindfolded combat, but never with a partner as vicious as Vex.
Letting his name spark through my mind ignites the fiery determination to inflict some damage. With my senses on alert, I begin my own prowl around the pit.
His laugh rings from afar. “Have you been training, Valah? I can’t tell.”
Ignoring his jibe and his location, I pretend to have no clue where he is, purposely fumbling my steps. I track his approach through the magnetism we’ve cultivated in our years apart, like a sixth sense. The second he enters my electromagnetic sphere, I whirl, driving my dagger toward his heart.
He ducks and slices my calf, drawing blood but not debilitating me. The light graze seems intentional, like he plans to whittle me down one piece at a time.
I strike toward his gut next, trying to keep him within the range of my glow so he won’t sneak attack me. He dodges every one of my blows, though, his weapon-strapped body a blur coated in black powder to make him even less detectable. By the time our blades clash, mine struggling to impale his throat, his effortlessly deflecting, I’m pocked in tens of tiny scratches and he’s pristinely unharmed.
“What impressive reflexes you have,” he sarcastically commends. From the radiance of my skin, I can finally see his wicked grin aimed directly at me, even though his eyes are fully closed.
“You’re…playing fair,” I say, too astonished not to. He must know I can see now, but he doesn’t flash open his lids. He’s that cocky.
“Like I said, can’t have any—”
I don’t wait for him to finish, slamming my knee toward an exposed patch of his stomach. Laser-fast, his free hand snaps toward it, gripping my kneecap before twirling me aside with the ease one discards a dirty shirt.
My face smacks into the sand but doesn’t stay there for more than a second before he straddles me, yanking back my head by one of my braids.
“Close, close, close, but still too slow, too rigid. I can feel the tension, Valah. It gives away your every move.” He jabs his dagger-wielding fist against my arm before I can try stabbing him behind my back, and I grit my teeth against a cry of pain. “You’re more boring than I remem—”
I throw sand over my shoulder at his face with my free hand, successfully infiltrating his mouth, if his silence is any indicator. The pressure eases off my arm enough that I can spin onto my back, using the momentum to drive my dagger into his abdomen.
At the last second, he jerks sideways, and the blade only grazes his side, spurting black blood onto my chest.
His cackles spew charcoal gray sand from his mouth, and he effortlessly secures my wrist to prevent further stabbings, lowering until our chests are flush against each other. We haven’t been this close since we were grappling ten-year-olds, innocent and blissfully naive.
Every iota of my awareness is pinned to him—the softness of his powdery skin against mine, the inhumanly calm rhythm of his heart, his earthy, spicy scent infused with the vaguest hint of the Lupherian meadows he once loved. That assault of nostalgia flusters me more than anything else, and even though I have one free hand, I’m rendered paralyzed.
He flashes the darkest of smiles before running his sandy tongue up my cheek. “You taste like a reckoning,” he hisses against my temple, twisting my insides with revulsion and longing.
My survival instincts kick in, and I don’t think on it, I try not to even feel it, as I bite his cheek.
It’s not very fleshy, and my teeth easily sink through the skin, drawing pungent blood into my mouth. His grip tightens on my wrist, but he doesn’t pull away, like he’s waiting for me to take a whole chunk from his face—like he wants me to tear him apart.
I pray he’s thoroughly distracted as I blindly seize his hand and thrust his dagger toward his heart.
As soon as the tip touches skin, his arm becomes a solid, unmovable mass, like he’s turned to stone. His cheek moves beneath my teeth as he laughs, the sound reverberating through my whole skeleton.
“You wanna take it that far so soon?” he asks, shoving my wrist until my own dagger touches my throat.
I don’t possess nearly enough strength to fend him off. The metal kisses my tender skin, threatening to break through. My hold on his wrist goes slack, and I reluctantly rip my teeth from his cheek, funneling all my effort into keeping my throat intact.
He tsks in melodramatic disappointment, eyes still casually closed. “We haven’t put on a very entertaining show, I’m afraid. Such a sad way for a princess to go. We can spar more before I deal the killing blow, if you crave some extra humiliation.”
Though I’m tempted to spit in his face, I’d probably slit my throat in the process. Instead, I swallow the remnants of his blood and let my muscles relax, accepting there’s no way out of this, nowhere to run.
He killed half my heart seven years ago when he pledged his loyalty to his uncle instead of me, and now he’ll kill the rest. As unjust as always.
“I’m done fighting you here,” I say through panting breaths, “on your terms.”
His eyes finally squint open with a hint of annoyance. “Have I not played fair enough? Shall I cut off my limbs to truly stoop to your level of ineptitude?”
“There’s nothing fair about this. This is your game, not mine—all brawn, no brains; all vanity, no heart.”
His eyes flare open all the way now, crazed in outrage. “Your family has fatally poisoned you if you think so little of me. I could’ve given you a quick, clean death, but instead I’ve offered you the opportunity to have your own brief taste of revenge before you die. It’s not my fault you’re no match.”
I believe him, to some extent. I should be dead by now, but he’s stalling until I unleash my full fury, until he has no choice but to put me down.
“I’m done fighting you,” I repeat, trying to sound strong, trying to maintain my dignity, even as my voice quavers. “I never wanted to fight you.”
“No? Then why were you complicit in your father’s attempts to subjugate my planet?”
“He didn’t—”
“You know he would have.” Vex’s tone is light, but cold rage spills from his skin. “Why else wouldn’t he tell my uncle—his ally—about a discovery as important as Ziphoter?”
“Because your uncle would have started a war! Because he’s evil.”
“Oh yes, like all Rakis are evil,” he says through a chuckle. “We’re so heartless and immoral compared to you, aren’t we?”
They are, as evidenced by their ruthless tactics throughout this war, but… “I didn’t think you were.”
All the dark amusement drains from his face, and blood from his cheek drips onto mine. “Don’t lie to me. Not now. Not with your dying breaths.”
I swallow against the blade, knowing he’ll never see reason. Somehow he’s forgotten how much I once loved him—perhaps due to insanity, perhaps because his uncle thoroughly brainwashed him. Either way, I can’t convince him I’m not his enemy—that he should spare me.
The only thing he might want more than my death is my intel—the knowledge I have about Ziphoter.
I can’t give it to him, though. He’ll still kill me, and Lupheria’s last advantage will die, too.
My only option is to bargain with him. And then find a way to flee this planet before he demands my end of the deal.
“Fine, if you want the truth, then come closer, Morbak. I have a secret for you,” I whisper, and by the way his eyes glisten, I know he detects my playful mockery.
“Are those your dying words, then? Don’t you want to beg?”
I arch upward slightly, into the blade. “I know how to claim Ziphoter.”
Suspicious, he leans closer, as if inhaling my essence will verify my words. “And you would give me that information with your last breaths?”
“I’ll give you the information if you spare me. And if you don’t, my family already knows. They’ll take Ziphoter, and you won’t be able to stop them.”
His head cocks like a curious bird. “I’m listening.”
“Get off me,” I command, dipping my chin toward the dagger.
“Hm, no thanks.” With a crooked smirk, he slams my arm into the sand, throwing my dagger far out of reach. Then his own finds my neck, the much sharper blade digging into my epidermis.
“I have to know you won’t kill me in order to give you the information,” I insist, the frustration and fear leaking through. “I won’t tell you anything in this death pit.”
“Crafty little crystal,” he coos, twirling a finger through one of my braids. “You’ll find some way to slip out of our hold, won’t you?”
“I won’t—”
“I’m slitting your throat,” he declares, and before I can react, his dagger slices.
I stare in horror as his blade arcs high into the air, my luminous blood dripping down the matte black metal. It isn’t much blood, though, and the pain…it’s no worse than a stinging scratch.
The holograms howl as Vex licks my blood off his dagger, but I can’t let my confusion show—I can’t even blink, because all of Rakillon, maybe even all of Lupheria, now thinks I’m dead.
And if I want to live, I have to play along.