“Excuse me, but what are sonic sayzers?”
“It’s a weapon strapped to the arm.” He moves his liver-spotted wrist between me and the tank and makes gestures indicating the weapon is affixed somehow on one’s wrist and aimed Spider-Man style. “It projects sound in bursts at frequencies that can shatter bones and rupture cells.” He drops his wrist to his side, drawing another puff from his cig-a-like.
“Where does the sound come from?”
“Preprogrammed frequencies. Some are milder than others. Injuries can be superficial or substantial, based upon the calibration. The Regent suffered injuries that are consistent with a lethal frequency.” He doesn’t sound unhappy about the unfortunate injuries suffered by his sovereign.
“So they’re killer noisemakers.” I interpret. “Where did this happen?”
“The Alameeda caught him in the floral gardens of the palace. The sonic sayzers ruptured cells in his upper right torso, right shoulder, neck, and cranial areas. He had to have regenerative skin grafts and cell modifications.” He touches the tank and a log of the procedure lights up, projecting images of Manus and his injuries onto the glass so that I can view it. I wince. It’s gruesome.
“But he’ll live, right?” I ask, irritated that I’m worried about Manus after all he did to me. He’s a complication I don’t need, but I don’t hope for his death.
“Your fiancé will survive,” he assures me.
“I’m no longer the Regent’s fiancée. That ended last night.”
“Oh, I know. You were never going to commit to him. You haven’t asked me who I am yet,” the man adds in a sinister tone. This is a game to him and he’s enjoying it.
“I know who you are. You’re Head Defense Minister Telek.”
“You surprise me,” he says disdainfully, with a cold glare. He must not like surprises. “Is that one of your priestess gifts?”
“Hardly. Your soldiers read your order to us when we were arrested. You ordered me into your custody for interrogation. So . . . here I am.”
“Yes, here you are,” he agrees. “It has been reported that you had some prior knowledge that there would be an Alameeda attack last night.”
“I knew they were coming, if that’s what you mean.”
“That is what I mean. How did you know?”
“I witnessed the attack before it happened,” I answer, meeting his unwavering stare. His violet eyes make me want to shiver from the hatred I see in them.
“You . . . witnessed it?” comes his skeptical reply. “In a crystal ball perhaps? Isn’t that what human witches use?”
“I’m neither human nor a witch,” I reply, trying not to let him rile me. It’s what he wants and I won’t do what he wants, not for anything.
“No, you’re an Alameeda priestess,” he agrees.
“I’m a coriness of Rafe,” I counter.
He doesn’t miss a step. “You didn’t answer my question. Do you use a crystal ball?”
“Not quite. It’s more of an out-of-body experience.” I blush because saying the words out loud makes me sound crazy.
“That must be a departure for you, not using your body to get what you want.”
I know what he’s implying, but I ignore the innuendo. “I rarely get what I want, Minister Telek,” I reply honestly, “within my body or outside of it.”
“Speaking of bodies,” Minister Telek segues, “do you know what the surgeons plan to do to Haut Manus’s?” he asks me.
I stare for a moment at Manus. His eyes are closed. There are several swimmi-bots tending to him. One looks to be a flesh-layering bot, patching skinlike material over a segment of his calf where the burns are not as severe. Another is like a suckerfish-bot, extracting dead, floating, barely attached skin from his shoulder.
“No,” I admit warily.
He gestures to one of the two thronelike chairs behind us that face the tank and orders, “Have a seat and I’ll show you what a regeneration looks like.”
I slip into the soft chair; it makes me feel tiny by comparison, and my toes have to point to touch the floor.
Minister Telek takes the other. We’re angled toward each other but still face the tank. A side table separates me from him, yet I feel as if we’re still too close.
“On screen,” Minister Telek says, “Trey Allairis—cue to Regeneration file.”