up a tolerance to it, but look there.” She indicates the group of priestesses in a different cluster away from the game table. One of the priestesses is ill. Hunched over, she holds her middle as if she may be sick. Her companions are speaking to her in low, concerned tones. I can’t hear what they’re saying. A very tall priestess adorned with a diamond-studded headpiece signals to the Virulences playing behind me with wave of her hand. They play a different song. The sick priestess blinks a few times. Straightening, she drops her hands from her stomach before speaking as if nothing out of the ordinary has occurred.
“The Virulences may need to concentrate on a different frequency of sound in order to hurt you.”
“Who ordered them to hurt me?”
With a fearful glance, she searches the room to ensure we’re not being overheard. “Not here,” she mutters.
“Okay.”
“Do you think you’ll try to escape from here?” she whispers. I don’t reply. “When you do, will you take me with you?”
A small, heavy stone game piece hits the chair between us. Turning, I look in the direction of the priestesses at the game table. A blue, gemstone bird catapults from the center of the game board on its own and strikes Phlix in the shoulder. She winces at the impact, but otherwise doesn’t acknowledge it. The priestess with black lace on her eyebrows giggles with delight over the prank. The lace adornment gives her catlike eyes that she uses to glare at me. I glare back.
“Who’s that?” I ask.
Phlix glances quickly over her shoulder at the priestesses before turning away, saying, “Don’t look at them!” She gives me a timid look. When I continue to glare unabashedly at them, she whispers quickly, “The one with the black lace cutouts is Brighton. She’s telekinetic.”
“How good is she at it?”
Phlix shrugs. “I think what you just saw is the best she can do. It still hurts though.” She looks down at her hands that she had clutched in her lap. I size up Brighton. She’s annoyed that I haven’t been cowed by her death-gaze. She says something with a derogatory twist of her lips and her friends beside her both snicker. It’s plain that she believes herself to be very powerful. She has no idea that she’s dining at the kid’s table. Giffen could eat her for breakfast with his gift.
“And the other two with Brighton?” I wonder.
“Ryker is the one with the thin dark lines on her brow.”
“What can she do?”
“She can speak telepathically to animals that are of higher intelligence, such as canines, spixes, and primates. And before you ask, the last one is Ashland.”
“What’s Ashland’s gift?” I study her. The gold chains she wears over her nose make her look regal.
“They call her a lotus. Her kiss is intoxicating. It makes the recipient forget all of his ambitions so that he worships only her.”
“How long does her kiss last?” I ask out of curiosity.
“I’m told it can last a quarter of a part.” Fifteen or twenty minutes, I assess.
Brighton glares at me again. I yawn loudly. She breaks eye contact and stares at an onyx dragon-shaped game piece. The carved beast trembles against the marble of the game board before it is flung into the air straight at me. Lifting my hand, I catch the black dragon in my palm without flinching. The sting from the impact resonates through my arm, but I never let my bored expression change. Ryker and Ashland stop smirking and glance at Brighton, who gives them a sullen look.
I hand the scaly dragon replica to Phlix. “You shouldn’t let them push you around like that. You should stand up to them.”
She grips the onyx figure in anger. “That’s very easy for you to say when you never had to grow up with them—never had to endure their cruelty! You were lucky—raised on Earth—free of all of this.” She raises her other hand to indicate the opulence of her surroundings.
“Yeah.” I frown and make a whatever-you-say face. “I had it easy.”
“So you will take me with you when you leave?”
“What makes you think I’m leaving?”
“I was there—I saw you fight us on the Ship of Skye. You were not about to be taken alive. You must really want to go home. I really want to go with you when you do.”
“Why? It can’t be just them.” I gesture toward the pretty idiots over my shoulder.
“No. It’s them too.” She bumps her chin in the direction of the