Exile's Throne E-Book

Rhonda Mason

• Herausgeber: Titan Books
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

The long-awaited third book in the Empress Game space opera trilogy from Rhonda Mason. One seat on the intergalactic Sakien Empire's supreme ruling body, the Council of Seven, remains unfilled, that of the Empress Apparent. The seat isn't won by votes or marriage. It's won in a tournament of ritualized combat in the ancient tradition. Now that tournament, the Empress Game, has been called and the women of the empire will stop at nothing to secure political domination for their homeworlds. Kayla Reunimon, a supreme fighter, is called to battle it out in the arena. The battle for political power isn't contained by the tournament's ring, however. The empire's elite gather to forge, strengthen or betray alliances in a dance that will determine the fate of the empire for a generation. With the empire wracked by a rising nanovirus plague and stretched thin by an ill-advised planet-wide occupation of Ordoch in enemy territory, everything rests on the woman who rises to the top.

Leseprobe

Contents

Cover

Also Available from Rhonda Mason and Titan Books

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Author’s Note

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Also Available from Titan Books

Also available from Rhonda Mason and Titan Books

THE EMPRESS GAMECLOAK OF WAR

RHONDA MASON

TITAN BOOKS

The Empress Game: Exile’s ThronePrint edition ISBN: 9781783299454Electronic edition ISBN: 9781783299461

Published by Titan BooksA division of Titan Publishing Group Ltd144 Southwark Street, London SE1 0UP

First edition: August 201810 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Names, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead (except for satirical purposes), is entirely coincidental.

© 2018 by Rhonda Mason

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

What did you think of this book? We love to hear from our readers. Please email us at: [email protected], or write to us at the above address.

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To the three most wonderful women in the world—my mother Beverly and my sisters Rosemary and Andrea.

Thank you for your unconditional love, I would be lost without you.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

The character Wetham, who debuts in this novel, is named in honor of a special friend of mine—Matthew Thomas.

I only write about heroes. Matthew is a hero, facing a great many struggles in his daily life. “Meeting” Matthew through letters has enriched my life, and I wanted to show my appreciation in a way near and dear to my heart— character naming.

1

THE YARI, CENTER OF THE MINE FIELD, IMPERIAL SPACE

Vayne Reinumon finished his final push-up with a groan of agony. Shoulders burning, core quivering, he collapsed on the deck of his cabin on board the Yari—Ordoch’s ancient warship. Exertion had opened his Eustachian tubes and the roaring white noise of the room’s mild air currents wrapped him in isolation; no one asking how he was, no one burdening him with their concern, no one waiting for him to self-destruct.

You don’t look well, my dear Vayne.

No one but his ghosts.

The voice alone stoked his simmering rage. It was the voice of the kin’shaa Dolan—the Wyrd Worlds’ most prolific intellectual sadist.

Dolan, who had murdered Vayne’s family and abducted him from his homeworld of Ordoch. Dolan, who had torn his soul and his sanity apart through five years of torturous mind-control experiments.

Dolan, who should be dead.

He is dead.

“Perhaps,” Dolan said, appearing in the center of Vayne’s cabin. “Then again, perhaps not.” The apparition took a seat at the cabin’s lone desk and then smoothed his lilac robes around his diminutive frame.

Holy—

Vayne shut his eyes. Wasn’t it enough that a demented part of him had imagined Dolan whispering in his mind for months? Now he’d graduated to full-blown visual hallucinations? Saliva flooded his mouth as nausea struck.

For five years Vayne had known that every time Dolan visited his cell or called him to the “playroom,” he would be warped further, another piece of himself torn away. Mere months of freedom couldn’t undo the unconscious conditioning, nor erase the sick, despairing fear that Dolan’s presence inspired.

This isn’t real!

He focused on his body, on what he could feel with his other four senses. He stank of sweat. His limbs trembled with exhaustion from a long workout. He was thirsty. Those sensations were real, not this hallucination.

Satisfied that he’d talked himself down from the edge of madness—again—Vayne opened his eyes.

Dolan remained.

Would he never outrun this demon?

Dolan smirked. “Not today.”

Vayne pushed himself to his feet. The hallucination was so convincing that for a split second he was back in his cell, powerless.

And that really pissed him off.

“You’re dead,” he snapped. “I killed you.”

“Technically your ro’haar, Kayla, killed me.” Dolan’s smirk stretched into a smile, eyes twinkling. “And wasn’t she glorious while doing it? You merely pulverized my corpse afterward.”

Vayne’s fingers curled into fists at the way Dolan purred Kayla’s name.

“Touchy today, aren’t we?” Dolan sounded so pleased that Vayne took a step in the figment’s direction, fists curling tighter.

And now what? Was he going to strangle a specter?

Dolan laughed, a deep, intensely satisfied sound. A sound that brought with it so many mortifying memories.

“I love that you’re trying to reason this out,” Dolan said. “I’m dead, I’m a specter, I’m your psyche torturing you…”

All of the above.

Time to put an end to this nonsense. Vayne focused all of his awareness on Dolan’s image, willing it away. The kin’shaa merely sat there, one eyebrow slightly raised, waiting.

Bastard.

Vayne tried again, straining with the effort. He was one of the strongest psionics alive. He could defeat any telepathic attack, could bend lesser minds to his will if he chose. It was inconceivable that he couldn’t order a figment of his own imagination away.

“Am I just a figment, though?”

And there it was—the crack. The breach in the hull of his surety. Had Dolan done something to him, somehow embedded a form of his consciousness into Vayne’s brain?

Scans done on all of the Ordochian POWs back on Falanar said no.

Dolan chuckled. “You’re going to rely on primitive imperial tech for an answer?” He chuckled again. “How quaint.”

He could check again, use the Yari’s equipment… which was just as primitive, being five hundred years out of date. Damnit.

“The equipment in my laboratory could have confirmed your fears. A pity you destroyed it.”

Not possible. Vayne had won. Tia’tan and her people had traveled all the way to the Sakien Empire from the Wyrd World Ilmena on the rumor that Dolan might be holding Ordochian POWs. Tia’tan had joined forces with his ro’haar Kayla—his twin sister, bodyguard, and closest friend in the universe—and Kayla’s friends in the Imperial Diplomatic Corps to rescue Vayne, his older sister Natali, and their uncle Ghirhad. Kayla had stabbed Dolan in the throat with the kin’shaa’s own torture implement in the process, giving Dolan a violent death that was the bare minimum of what he deserved.

Death would never be enough to counter the wounds Dolan had inflicted on Vayne and his family, but it should have at least ensured an end to the mental torture.

“And yet,” Dolan said, “here I am.”

Vayne squared to face Dolan straight on. At this point, what did it matter? Talking to a hallucination or ignoring it, he was still messed up enough to be seeing a dead man in his cabin, so he might as well get it over with. “What do you want?”

Dolan leaned back in his chair and rested an elbow on the molychromium surface of the desk. The shimmering pink-gold metal, so precious to Ordoch in current times, made up the bulk of the Yari. He toyed with a figurine of the Monmoth Tower that rested there, a keepsake of a long-dead crew member, relic from a life that ended over five hundred years ago.

“I want what I’ve always wanted: to see how deep you’ll go, to see how far I can push you. You have depths in that heart of yours that even I haven’t plumbed—yet.” Dolan rose, set the figurine down, and crossed to stand by the door.

A faint whoosh, then a click sounded, but Vayne ignored it.

“You’ve so much untapped potential for darkness that even in five years I couldn’t access it all.”

The words, so close to his own fears, turned his sweat to frost. Vayne tightened his fists.

“Vayne?” Dolan took a step toward him. Another. His arm reached out.

Vayne backed up until his calves hit his bunk.

“You are mine, Vayne,” the voice whispered in his head. “You always will be.” Dolan’s slim hand reached for him and there was nowhere to go.

“Natali’s been summoning you.” Dolan’s lips moved as he spoke, but the voice was odd, higher than the kin’shaa’s. Then it slipped lower. “You remember Natali,” Dolan’s voice purred in his mind. “What fun we had with your sister…”

Vayne’s answering growl of rage shook the room. A hand closed on his upper arm and he lashed out, flinging Dolan against the door with telekinetic force. Dolan impacted with a satisfying grunt as the wind rushed from his lungs. Lavender eyes blinked wide. The fact that their color was all wrong didn’t penetrate Vayne’s fury. The hurt was still too fresh. The humiliation. The disgust.

He launched himself at Dolan, leading with his left forearm, planning to pin the man to the door by his throat.

The strike never landed.

Instead, Vayne felt his arm caught at the wrist and twisted. Dolan spun him around with amazing quickness. The momentum carried him face first into the door and stars exploded in one eye when his cheek struck the molychromium. Behind him, Dolan wrenched his left arm into his back, sending pain screaming through his shoulder and pinning him in place. He struck with his free elbow but Dolan blocked, then trapped that arm to the door, his fingers around Vayne’s wrist like a manacle.

What the frutt? Dolan never fought. Actually, Dolan never came to them without his psionic shield active, now that he thought about it…

Harsh breaths sounded in his ear, and Dolan’s body pressed against his with each hard-fought lungful of air.

Only it wasn’t Dolan. It couldn’t be. Not unless he had grown by a dozen centimeters as a ghost.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Tia’tan’s voice. Her grip on his wrists cut off circulation to his hands and her feet were planted inside of his, making it impossible for him to move.

Reality slammed into him, along with a bone-deep shame. Why couldn’t it have been Uncle Ghirhad who found him, or even his older sister Natali? They’d been tortured alongside him, had their own nightmares of Dolan, their own secrets to keep. They would both pretend they hadn’t found him talking to a dead man.

But no, it had to be Tia’tan, his… well, not quite friend—he wasn’t really capable of that. She was, though, the one ally whose opinion had begun to matter to him, so naturally she’d be the one he would attack in a hallucination-fueled rage.

Vayne closed his eyes, resting his throbbing cheek against the metal door, trying to erase the last few minutes of time.

“You okay?” she asked quietly. When he gave her a stiff nod she released him and stepped back.

“I’m not crazy,” he said without turning around. He couldn’t bear to see her thoughts written on her face.

She didn’t respond. And really, what could she even say to that?

He forced himself to turn around. Dolan was gone. Tia’tan stood tall in the center of the room, her vibrant energy filling the space. Judging by the salt at her brow, the sweat stains on her tank top and the mid-thigh bruise revealed by her shorts, Tia’tan had spent her afternoon sparring. But while she looked like the glowing picture of health, strong inside and out, he felt like he was breaking down.

I’m not crazy, he wanted to say again, but that would only cement it.

Tia’tan swept her long lavender bangs to one side and tucked them behind her ear, politely looking away, giving him a moment to get his shit together.

An echo of Dolan’s laughter floated through his head and Vayne shoved it down deep inside.

“What was that all about?” she finally asked.

How long had she been in his cabin; what had she actually seen? “You surprised me, that’s all.”

Despite her calm demeanor, Tia’tan’s lavender eyes were full of concern—concern and something else he couldn’t name. Caution? Distaste? Dolan’s mind games had destroyed his ability to identify and trust emotions in others.

She studied him for another moment. Was she worried he might snap, or certain that he already had?

“Natali’s been comming you. I buzzed your door several times before entering.”

“My mind was elsewhere.” For frutt’s sake, say what youcame to and leave me alone.

“When I walked in… it wasn’t me you saw, was it?”

All he wanted was quiet, peace. Solitude to go insane with no one watching.

“If you want to talk…”

Vayne shook his head. “I’m fine. Why are you here?”

Tia’tan pursed her lips, clearly debating pushing the issue further, but the moment passed. She rubbed the back of her head, fluffing her short bob haircut. “Kayla and the imperials have arrived and are holding position outside of the Mine Field. Your sisters want to have a conference before Kayla attempts Corinth’s plan of taking a hyperstream straight into the heart of the field. I knew you wouldn’t want to miss it.”

His tension ebbed. Finally. Kayla was almost here. Everything would be better once he had his ro’haar back and they could combine their strengths. She might even be able to talk sense into Natali.

That is, if she and her imperial friends survived the journey to the Middle of Nowhere. The Mine Field was filled with the wreckage of a war long lost by both sides. It stretched in a void between the farthest Sovereign Planet and the closest Protectorate Planet. A freak exception to kinetic laws drew all of the hyperspace streams in the area through the point, and the same energy anomaly caused disruptions in hyperspace such that fifty percent of ships dropped stream there. Popping out of stream midfield was usually a death sentence. If you didn’t wreck your ship on all the debris, the rooks got you. Vayne had seen them himself and he still couldn’t say what a rook actually was. An ancient mechanical sentry? A ship flown by pirates? An alien species from another dimension? All he knew for certain was that they were gigantic and could tear a ship apart in minutes.

“Come on,” Tia’tan said. “Natali’s setting the conference up now.” She gestured toward the door but didn’t touch him, careful to give him space.

She cared enough to come looking for him, knowing he would want to speak with Kayla before the last leg of her journey. Not only that, Tia’tan took his insane behavior in her stride, making allowances for what he’d been through. What about him warranted such kindness?

“Women are such suckers for wounded animals, aren’tthey?” Dolan whispered in his mind.

Vayne fled his cabin.

* * *

THE LORIUS, IMPERIAL SPACE

The Lorius slumbered like a space-born glacier on the outer reaches of the Mine Field. The custom-built luxury starcruiser opalesced white-blue-purple as fuon fibers within the hull’s thermal protection system caught the starlight. The Vrise-class hyperstream drive was cold, the ship peaceful. Who would guess that such a rare beauty hosted the Sakien Empire’s most wanted fugitives?

Anyone watching the news vids, Kayla thought sourly. They incessantly aired the manufactured story of her “stealing” the ship with the help of Malkor Rua and his octet. Thankfully, the octet knew how to disguise the ship, as well as change out its supposedly tamper-proof transponder for a dummy version. They’d made the journey without incident, the changes making them indistinguishable from any of a number of rich imperials with the credit capital to buy a luxury starcruiser of this size.

Kayla Reinumon, exiled Wyrd Princess, Empress Game winner and ro’haar to Vayne and Corinth, shifted her position in her allegedly stolen bed. In truth, the emperor-apparent, Prince Ardin, had willingly given his one-of-a-kind starcruiser to Kayla, Malkor, and the remnants of Malkor’s octet to aid their getaway. And perhaps to apologize for his wife Isonde’s perfidy.

Kayla refused to think back on Isonde. There was enough to worry about looking forward. Soon she would be reunited with her family, with Vayne, especially with Vayne. Il’haar and ro’haar had yet to determine how one’s five years in captivity and the other’s in hiding had affected their bond. More than that, Kayla couldn’t deny her sense of dread at discovering just how much the loss of her psi powers would hurt their bond.

She pulled the silken covers higher, careful not to tweak her damaged arm, and then curled toward the naked man asleep beside her.

Malkor Rua.

Her Malkor.

She hooked her leg over his hip to pull herself even closer. She felt his skin, his heartbeat, his breath. Smelled the scent of his hair, his body, and the aftermath of their lovemaking. Malkor cradled her in his sleep, and it was the most natural thing in the universe.

She loved him. If she could fuse their souls together, she would.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Her soul was essentially fused to Vayne’s. That bond, twin to twin, ro’haar to il’haar, was supposed to fulfill her, complete her. And she had a second, less intense though no less important, bond with her younger brother Corinth, to whom she’d been acting ro’haar for the past five years. As a ro’haar, she shouldn’t want any more than that.

Il’haars and ro’haars never married. Each twin took lovers to satisfy their physical needs, but they never bonded with anyone romantically. A strong romantic attachment of that kind on either side would draw their focus away from the twin bond. It just wasn’t done. Even when it came to having heirs, the il’haar chose a partner based on their superior genetics and psionic ability to have a child with. That woman might be the heirs’ mother, but she did not rule.

Yet here she was with Malkor. She had found romance, had found love, which, now tasted, she did not want to give up.

The two weeks since their escape from the imperial homeworld had been the best two weeks of her life. She hadn’t known happiness like this existed. Contentment, surely; satisfaction with her skills as a bodyguard and the ease of knowing her il’haars were safe, absolutely. But happiness? Now that they were together, truly together, she finally understood.

While the rest of the octet—which now consisted of five members—took turns flying the ship, Kayla and Malkor took turns exploring each other. Her life had been a nightmare since the empire captured her homeworld, what with living in hiding, protecting her younger brother, fighting in the Blood Pit on the slum side of Altair Tri… not to mention being pulled into Isonde’s schemes. And it was no secret that once they reached their destination, the center of the Mine Field, chaos would claim her life again.

But here, for two weeks, she didn’t have to hide. She didn’t have to fight, didn’t have to plot or scheme or run. The only thing she wanted to do, the only thing she did, was spend time with her love. These were two weeks out of time, and they meant everything to her.

Considering she was joining the war to retake her homeworld of Ordoch from the Sakien Empire, they were probably her last two happy weeks, as well.

Malkor’s lashes lifted. He peered at her with sleepy green eyes whose corners crinkled at the first glimpse of her face.

“Hi,” he said, his arms tightening around her, bringing their bodies flush.

“Hi, yourself.”

“Have you been watching me sleep again?”

She kissed him in answer, and that kiss led to another, and another. Kayla forced him to his back and stretched her length out atop him, longing to get closer, to feel every centimeter of skin against skin. Malkor wrapped one arm around her waist and threaded his other hand into her long blue hair, cupping the back of her head and holding her there so she couldn’t pull back from their kiss.

As if she would.

Kayla moved against him with an almost fatalistic need. She hadn’t known herself to be capable of such hunger, such desire, until Malkor. Malkor responded with a low growl and shifted his grip to her hips, fingertips digging into her flesh.

Did he taste the desperation in her kiss? The fear of losing him? Did she taste just a hint of desperation in return? Malkor was no fool. Although he had secured a place in her heart despite her protection of Corinth, he must have given some thought to what it would mean to Kayla to have Vayne truly back in her life.

They had arrived at the edge of the Mine Field the night before. And as soon as Natali contacted them, the cocoon they had wrapped themselves in would be sundered. They would belong to their destinies from then on.

There might never be another moment like this one.

Kayla braced herself on Malkor’s shoulders and rose above him, ignoring the complaint in her healing arm. His hands gripped her tighter, urged her faster, and she knew he felt it too, these last precious moments slipping away.

* * *

Less than an hour later, while they lay replete in a sweaty tangle of limbs, their holiday ended, Rigger, Malkor’s tech specialist, broke in with a comm:

“Natali’s called in—it’s time to talk plans.”

Kayla could practically hear the sigh they both refused to make. Malkor rolled over to touch the comm. “On our way.”

They scrubbed down quickly, donned fresh clothes, and entered the bridge of the Lorius to be greeted by game faces all around.

Rigger was at comms and Hekkar, Malkor’s second in command and close friend, sat at the weapon controls—which didn’t surprise Kayla in the least. Of the octet members, he was always the most serious, the most prepared for a negative outcome. He was also the member of the octet who had disapproved of her relationship with Malkor from the start. She’d won him over with her dedication and fervor to free Malkor when he’d been taken prisoner. Now she and Hekkar had a special bond as the two people who cared the most for Malkor’s welfare.

Beside Hekkar stood Trinan and Vid, the main muscle of the octet and holders of a special place in Kayla’s heart. They had taken her younger brother Corinth under their wing as if he were their own son, while Kayla had been busy with the many intrigues of the Empress Game. Indeed, Vid had almost given his life to save Corinth. Kayla wouldn’t hesitate to do the same for either of them.

The last person in the room was the medic Toble, not actually a member of the octet. Toble was a long-standing friend of theirs, probably to his regret. He had been dragged into every clandestine mission the octet ran, whenever they needed unreported medical attention. That included treating Kayla when she’d taken Isonde’s identity during the Empress Game, saving Isonde from her deathly coma (with Prince Ardin’s help), and operating on Kayla’s right arm when Siño had nearly destroyed it. The wound was still tender, but thanks to Toble’s expertise Kayla had had a chance to recover full use of the limb. Without that she might as well be dead, for all the good she’d be as a ro’haar to her brothers.

Missing from the octet were Janeen, who had betrayed them, Aronse, who couldn’t afford to run rogue because she had an extended family to support, and Gio, whose gambling addiction had forced him to become a puppet to the octet’s enemies. Janeen had been killed, and Gio and Aronse had stayed on Falanar and denounced Malkor to save themselves.

Malkor reached to take her hand, but Kayla sidled away, pretending not to notice his gesture as she stepped toward the massive vidscreen the bridge boasted. Their blissful time as a couple—and her reprieve from her many duties—had ended. She felt a heavy weight as the mantle of ro’haar, Wyrd rebel, and Ordochian princess settled on her once more.

If Malkor was surprised by her sudden distance, she had no idea, for she didn’t look back to acknowledge it.

The communications console beeped and Rigger checked the input. “Natali and the others are waiting to speak to us.”

Malkor nodded, and everyone on the bridge activated their aural translator implants and turned to face the vidscreen as it lit up. Though she’d seen it a few times before, Kayla still couldn’t believe she was looking at the actual control room from the actual Yari.

Instead, she focused on what she could believe: the people in the room. Her older sister Natali—who had been ro’haar to her own twin Erebus before he died under Dolan’s years of torture—stood front and center. Everyone aboard the Yari looked to Natali, and seemed to be waiting for her to speak.

Kayla and Natali had trained together growing up, but they’d never been close. Natali and Erebus were Ordoch’s heirs, destined to rule, and that had set them apart from their siblings. Beyond that, Natali had a natural coldness and superiority about her. She never asked for help, she never asked for quarter, and she never asked for comfort. All the Ordochian ro’haars, twinned and untwinned alike, knew that Natali was the best. Kayla had lived with a mix of awe and fear of her older sister as a child.

There was something immovable in Natali’s gaze now, as she stood in command of the ancient battleship, that put Kayla on alert.

“Sister. You look well,” Natali said crisply in Ordochian.

Kayla stood just a little taller. It took an effort not to drop her gaze under Natali’s intense aquamarine stare. “You seem improved,” Kayla said. But not by much. The last time Kayla had seen her sister, Natali had been free from Dolan’s prison for mere hours. Now she had more meat on her and a less vacant stare, but her pale blue ponytail looked tight enough to rip hair out at the roots and her features were practically immobile. She seemed more… herself. More solid, more fierce. But also more brittle, like a breath of solar wind might crumble all that ferocity in pieces.

Kayla had never seen her sister’s strength so mixed with vulnerability, though she doubted anyone else in the room noticed anything other than the perfect confidence she projected. Only Kayla, who had known Natali before the Dolan years, recognized what was underneath, and somehow, that made her sister seem all the stronger, because for Natali to command them as she did now spoke to her steadfastness to do what must be done.

“No time to waste recouping.” She glanced at Kayla’s damaged arm. Kayla unconsciously shifted her stance to hide the weakness from sight.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Good. The Reinumons can show no weakness. You’ve always been exceptionally strong, we’ll need your strength in the months ahead.”

Kayla nodded, unwilling to let her sister see how greatly the compliment affected her. Natali’s expression was unreadable as she took a step backward. “Our brother is eager to see you.” Kayla’s pulse quickened. She looked beyond her sister and saw the Yari’s master, Captain Janus, who now went by her informal first name, Ida. Beside her were Abenifluis Strokar— Benny—the Yari’s main gunner and now Ida’s second in command, Navigations First Officer Navriel Entar—Ariel— and the ship’s physicist, Tanet. The collection of greenish-blue hair proclaimed their age. Over generations, the natural hair color of modern Ordochians had shifted from the ancient green-blue to the fully blue spectrum.

Noar stood on the other side of the room. His lilac hair color proclaimed him a citizen of the Wyrd World Ilmena. He had come with Tia’tan and a group of Ilmenans to free Kayla’s family from Dolan’s clutches, and she would be forever grateful. Then the doors on screen opened, and everyone turned to look.

Tia’tan entered first and took up position beside Noar, apparently unfazed by the attention, and then, finally, behind Tia’tan came Vayne, who hesitated in the doorway when he saw everyone staring at him. He had a hunted look, and Kayla’s heart went out to him. As much as she was thrilled to see him alive and safe, it hurt to see him in any distress.

“Vayne,” Kayla called out. “I’m here.”

Vayne met her gaze through the vidscreen and seemed to draw strength from their connection. His shoulders relaxed the tiniest bit. “Good to see you,” he said, giving her a ghost of a smile.

Vayne stepped forward and positioned himself halfway between Tia’tan and Natali as if trying to keep equal distance from both.

Odd. Kayla knew he and Natali disagreed on using the Yari’s massive weapons systems in the Ordochian War, but surely he felt more comfortable with their sister than an Ilmenan. She wanted to ask. She wanted to speak, but they stood on opposite bridges surrounded by too many people who weren’t each other. Twin conversation would have to wait.

“Where’s Corinth?” she asked.

“Same place he’s been since we arrived—the engine room, working on the hyperstream drive. He’d sleep there if I let him,” Vayne said with humor.

“Are you making sure he’s getting enough to eat?” Vid asked.

Noar nodded. “I’m keeping an eye on him.”

The Ilmenan was? Not Vayne? Kayla looked a question at her brother but he broke eye contact.

“Greetings to the agents as well,” Natali said, glancing at the members of the octet for the first time. “Senior Agent Rua, you have my thanks and the thanks of my family for the part your octet played in our rescue from captivity.” She inclined her head to Malkor.

“It is our honor,” he replied.

“Thank you also for aiding Kayla in her journey to this point. We will always be grateful.”

Most people might say they were in Malkor’s debt, but for Natali, who knew the role IDC had played in the Ordochian coup, the scales would never tip in that direction.

“Good luck in your travels back to the empire.”

“Back?” Malkor asked. The one-word question seemed to increase the tension on both ships.

Natali paused before answering. “I assume you have a rendezvous with a ship to take you and your octet back to your homeworld. Kayla is more than capable of flying an imperial ship alone.” She made the Lorius sound as complex as a bathtub toy.

“There is no way—” Malkor started, but Kayla cut him off with a hand on his arm.

She widened her stance, squaring off against Natali. “The octet is coming with me.” Their blue gazes locked. On the periphery, Vayne frowned at her words.

“I appreciate what’ve they done, but imperials have no place on this ship.”

“We’re here to help,” Rigger said. The look Natali shot her prevented Rigger from elaborating. Trinan and Vid straightened and Kayla recognized the prelude to their battle stances.

Over on the Yari, Captain Janus looked like she might say something, but Natali didn’t give her a chance. Her eyes narrowed. “Your place is with your family and your people now, sister. There is no room in your future for distractions.”

Kayla didn’t even have to think about her response, though she was loath to oppose her sister. “You’re wrong.”

Natali’s chin lowered a fraction. A defensive move, one declaring she was ready to fight. “As heir to the Ordoch throne, I order—”

“I said no. The octet stays with me.”

The moment dragged on as Natali, backed into a corner she hadn’t seen coming, debated her response. Her final verdict was harsh. “Imperials are not welcome on this ship, and if you will not part with them, it follows that you cannot board either.”

Captain Janus definitely looked disturbed now, but she held her peace.

Kayla took a step closer to the vidscreen, ignoring the flash of guilt at her betrayal. “I recognize that you are Ordoch’s sovereign now, but your title can’t stop me from seeing my il’haars.” Kayla looked to Vayne, letting him know that she meant the words. She would not abandon him again. “My whole purpose is to free the people of Ordoch, and everyone on this ship shares that goal. The octet and I will execute Noar and Corinth’s crazy plan of flying straight into the Mine Field, and if we survive, we will all be joining you.”

She switched her attention to the captain. “Captain Janus, the docking mechanisms on the Lorius are significantly different than Ordochian design. I doubt we’ll be able to form a seal.”

“Is no problem! Dockings have umbilical, many many, will shunt you through the space.” She smiled. “Eager we have been for arrival of yours.”

Natali remained silent and everyone held their breath. If glacial ice could smolder, her gaze would burn, despite the control she had over her expression. “We’ll speak soon, sister.” She left the room without another word, taking the tension with her.

It seemed as if everyone on both sides of the vidscreen relaxed once she had gone.

“Okay, Noar, Tanet. Let’s talk about this hyperstream vector you propose.” Kayla forced a smile. “Promise it won’t land us in the middle of the field and kill us all?”

Noar returned the smile and made a wobbly motion with his hand.

Vid chuckled. “That’s about how our luck runs, huh, boss?”

“Sure seems that way these days,” Malkor answered.

2

FALANAR CITY, FALANAR, IMPERIAL SPACE

After a decade of intricate political schemes and maneuvers, Isonde Veriley—princess of the Sovereign Planet Piran, empress-apparent of the Sakien Empire—had earned her seat on the Council of Seven. And they’ll have to pry my dead body out of it if they want it back. The prestigious chambers of the Council of Seven claimed a place of pride within Falanar’s imperial palace. Few had ever entered, despite the centuries passing. Fewer still had sat at the great oblong table in the center, claiming one of the precious seven votes that decided the ultimate fate of the Sakien Empire.

Seated at the table now, Isonde glanced at the chronometer embedded in the wall. How could it be late afternoon already? There was so much more to do. Always more. Already today, she’d held meetings with two members of the Sovereign Council and several members of the Protectorate Council, trying to further her agenda of helping all planets in the empire infected with the Tetratock nanovirus.

Precious moments passed as Sovereign Council member Elivar Bellst argued—again—in favor of a plan to pull humanitarian support from some of the Protectorate Planets—where it was needed most—to focus on Sovereign Planet Wei-lu-Wei. The first outbreak of the Tetratock nanovirus on a Sovereign Planet had rocked the empire, and priorities were shifting once again. Apparently, the Sovereign Council was ready to let the Protectorate Planets be eaten alive in order to save one of their own. Knowing Bellst would formally make this proposal today, Isonde had come with arguments prepared against him, but with the chronometer counting down, it seemed she’d be forced to wait until tomorrow’s session. The last thing she wanted was for the other council members to have a night to ponder the merits of a plan that would let thousands, if not millions, of people die.

Another few minutes of this and I’m going to cut him off, etiquette rules or not. If the Protectorate Council member, who looked to be at a fine boil, didn’t beat her to it.

In truth, Isonde was well aware that delaying an abandonment of the Protectorate Planets to focus resources on Sovereign Planets would make no difference. The TNV was spreading exponentially now. The nanotech had been designed as a weapon, supposedly one with containment protocols, but once unleashed the TNV quickly mutated, evolving past those protocols and learning to replicate itself biologically. The virus ate a person from the inside out, consuming the body to make more of itself.

Once it had devoured Velezed—the Protectorate Planet on which it originated—and escaped to space inside unwitting travelers, there was no hope of containing it. The only thing that could save the empire now was a cure.

Something her people seemed incapable of discovering.

The Council of Seven’s recent decision to double-down on their military occupation of the Wyrd World Ordoch was completely asinine. If they didn’t reverse that vote and start negotiating with the Ordochians—who had the advanced knowledge needed to create a cure—there would be nothing left of the empire to save.

Suddenly, in the middle of one of Bellst’s long-winded sentences, the emperor himself interrupted with a bang of his gavel. As adjudicator of the Council of Seven, he had that right, but all heads at the table jerked up in surprise. “As it is time to close today’s session, this item will have to be tabled until tomorrow.”

“Request for tomorrow’s opening proposal,” Isonde said immediately. All eyes now turned her way. Perhaps, as newest member of the Council of Seven, she was supposed to be deferential. Never in my life. And she wouldn’t start now. She’d worked too hard, sacrificed too much, to waste a single second.

Emperor-Apparent Prince Ardin offered her a tiny nod of approval. She might have ruined forever her chance at marital bliss, but at least they were united in their determination to do what was best for the people of the empire—all of the people, not just the privileged ones.

“Granted,” the emperor said. “Now, one last bit of administrative business before we close. In light of this council’s decision to increase our military presence on Ordoch”—a decision that still horrified Isonde—“I’ve decided that we’ll benefit from the biweekly presence of an advisor from the Imperial Army.

Outsiders having access to the deliberations of the highest authority in the empire? Especially the Imperial Army, whose leaders seemed diametrically opposed to everything she was trying to accomplish? “Absolutely not,” Isonde said, five angry responses echoing hers. Only the empress seemed unsurprised—likely complicit.

The emperor held up a hand. “It’s already been decided.”

“Without a vote?” the Protectorate member asked in a choked voice. “Outrageous!”

“It is well within my right as adjudicator, I assure you.”

We’ll see about that. Isonde made a mental note to get her aides scouring the council’s articles of incorporation this evening.

The emperor commed the secretary in the outer council chambers with a request before turning his attention back to them. “The representative has already been agreed upon.”

“That should have been the right of the council,” Ardin said, his voice stiff with the same anger she felt.

The doors opened, cutting off debate, and General Elmain Wickham entered. Not surprising. He’d been a main author of Operation Redouble, which the Council of Seven had approved on that fateful day two weeks ago. He moved out of the way and a second figure entered.

Foreboding settled in Isonde’s stomach with the density of a neutron star. In the doorway stood Senior Commander Jersain Vega of the Imperial Diplomatic Corps.

What the—?

Wickham made the appropriate formal greeting to the emperor and the council, as Jersain, expression neutral, edged slightly in front of him. Wickham spoke, seemingly unaware of Jersain’s subtle move: “In light of our changing needs vis-à-vis the empire’s plans for Ordoch, I have decided that a new head of the Ordoch occupation is needed. The army has appointed Senior Commander Vega.”

Only years of diplomatic training kept Isonde from falling out of her chair. The army granting the IDC authority over them? Since their inceptions, the two organizations had never done anything besides butt heads over jurisdiction. What was going on here?

Vega in charge of the occupation meant any negotiation with Ordoch would have to be done through her, and there was no chance her terms would align with the ones Isonde had in mind.

Looks like my plate just got a lot fuller.

And time was still counting down against her.

* * *

Even with a headache brewing, Jersain Vega had a spring in her step as she left the council chamber in search of Agira. The consternation on Princess Isonde’s face after the emperor’s announcement was too delightful. Uppity bitch. Isonde had been climbing her way up the empire’s political ladder since birth, so sure of her ultimate triumph. No doubt she had wet dreams about unofficially ruling the Council of Seven. Sorry,Isonde, there’s only room for one woman at the top.

Jersain intended to be that one. Let the others claim their council seats. She had something better than all of their exalted positions combined: the Influencer. Jersain allowed herself a smile as she strode down the ornate corridors of the imperial palace. With Dolan’s mind control device in her possession, nothing was out of reach.

Now she just had to master her stolen psi powers and learn to operate it herself.

Jersain pushed that concern off for another day and entered the lounge where Agira waited. Agira had been allowed into the palace as Jersain’s assistant, but of course she wasn’t admitted to the council chamber. The Wyrd stood as Jersain arrived, a tentative smile on her face, clearly hoping for approval. An unexpected feeling bloomed in Jersain’s chest: the need to reassure. Looking upon Agira, she realized that even if things had not gone to plan, she would have moderated her disappointment to avoid crushing the thrall.

“Excellent work, Agira. I never would have gotten that appointment to the Council of Seven without you.”

Agira beamed. “The first of many great things to come for you.” There was no pride in her voice, only happiness. She looked eager to cross the room and embrace Jersain in congratulation, but she was too well trained to do that in any public space.

Such a good thrall.

Even riding high on triumph and the momentary defeat of her enemies, Jersain felt the pounding in her head. The headache promised to be brutal, and she’d only used her psi powers to follow Agira’s work with the Influencer. Agira, on the other hand, had had to interface with the incredibly complex machine for hours, constantly adjusting her delicate control over the emperor so that he wouldn’t second-guess his decision to appoint Wickham, and by extension Jersain, to positions of power.

“You must be exhausted,” Jersain said, wending past two gaudily brocaded chairs and a luxeglass table to reach Agira. “Rest a moment before we leave.” She took her arm and led her to a more comfortable moleskin sofa.

“Only a moment or two; I won’t keep us long.” Agira sank down into the sofa, slumping against the back without her usual grace. Jersain had felt her struggle with the Influencer, sensed the strain building in her mind while she worked on the emperor. Agira would need a quiet night of rest at home, which Jersain, sitting here listening to Agira’s breathing and feeling her unwind as they sat close, suddenly desired as well.

Agira possessed only moderate psionic abilities. With the powers that Dolan had ripped from Vayne to grant to Jersain, she was actually the stronger psionic. She still needed to master complete control of her power, but she’d advanced by leaps and bounds in the last few weeks, surpassing Agira in brute strength, if not finesse.

She let her gaze drift over her slave. Dolan had brought her with him when he fled the Wyrd World Ilmena all those years ago. He’d already broken her will during his experiments on his own people, and instilled in her the permanent mind-control order of living to please Dolan. Dolan had transferred Agira’s loyalty from himself to Jersain at her demand. Since he’d arrived on Falanar, Jersain had been his ally, a necessary evil—the Wyrd was a sociopath. She had personally overseen the capture of Wyrds in the Ordochian coup, providing a way for him to regain his psionic abilities.

It was the very least of what he owed her. And Agira isbetter off with me.

Agira’s eyes fluttered closed, exhaustion written in every line of her face. Dolan had commented once, “I’d call her plain; then again, I’m the diplomatic type.” More like the asshole type. His cosmetic changes to her hair and eye color didn’t help. A synth color appliqué faded Agira’s hair to ash blonde and her irises had been darkened to blue-gray. Jersain much preferred their natural color, a matching shade of heather. A pity her identity as a Wyrd must be kept secret.

She was something of a wren—small in stature, drab, with an impressively beakish nose—and Jersain would have ruled her out as a lover if not for what she offered beyond looks. Initially, Agira had been no more than a servant, invaluable for reading the thoughts and intentions of others and passing that info on to Jersain in real time. In addition she was Jersain’s full-time tutor in the psionic arts. Thanks to the mind control, Jersain’s goals were her goals, Jersain’s successes her successes. They shared the same frustrations, disappointments, schemes and risks. It was only natural that they’d grown close.

It was time they left the palace, but Jersain hesitated to disturb her. Agira had a generous heart, she had discovered. A strong sense of empathy, a quiet way of understanding others perfectly. She also lacked ambition for herself: she was more interested in the needs of those around her. To Dolan, those qualities made her the perfect thrall. It had been all too easy for him to bend her natural tendencies into a permanent demand focused on one person.

For Jersain, those qualities made Agira the perfect confidante. Somehow they had shifted from a master–servant dynamic into something more like partners without Jersain realizing it. The connection almost felt genuine.

Was it weakness to care? It was certainly unnecessary, yet there it was.

No soft feelings for a thrall would get in the way of the ruthlessness she’d need to accomplish her goals. As much as she enjoyed Agira, they could never be equals, because Jersain’s goal was to have no equal. She closed her eyes and summoned the psi powers Agira was helping her master. Slowly, carefully, she reached out, touched the part of her thrall’s mind that Dolan had taught her to, twisted it as Agira herself had been teaching her. She felt the dim resistance that all minds, even the most pliant, reflexively raised against control by another, and easily clamped it down.

::Agira, kneel before me.::

Agira’s lids rose slowly, and it took her a moment to focus.

Jersain kept the clamp tight in her mind, making resistance impossible. Her thrall blinked as her exhausted thoughts registered the command, and when understanding hit, she shifted off of the sofa and fell to her knees on the floor.

Jersain held her there, supplicant, inferior, head bowed and hands cupped before her in a bowl, symbolically offering herself, and through the psi link Jersain felt the strength of the thrall bond, how willing—no—eager Agira was to please her master, and after today’s meeting of the council, Jersain’s imagination filled with images of that blissful day when she would be able to command any person at all to fall at her feet.

And it made a corner of Jersain’s mouth rise to think of that person being Princess Isonde Veriley.

* * *

THE YARI, MINE FIELD

The hyperspace jump went as planned—miraculously, in Kayla’s opinion—and the Lorius arrived without incident in the center of the Mine Field. There were a few oaths uttered when the hyperstream deposited them dangerously close to the Yari and set every proximity warning klaxon to life at full volume, but still, they were alive.

The ancient battleship filled the entire vidscreen, edge to edge, so massive in scale that they couldn’t see it all. Kayla released the crash harness of the seat she’d been strapped into for the short jump. “I feel like an ant looking up at a skyscraper.” The octet remained speechless. Even their largest deep-space vessels were toys compared to the Yari.

A loud “Whoop!” came from the comms, breaking the silence. “It worked!” Captain Janus called from the other ship. “You gain permission mine to come aboard. Yari out.”

Everyone disentangled themselves from their seats. Kayla looked at Malkor, then at the others. “Are you ready for this?”

“Ready?” Vid asked. “We’re imperial IDC agents about to board a Wyrd battleship crewed by people lost in time for five hundred years.”

“Not to mention the empire and the Wyrds are about to be at war,” Trinan chimed in.

“Don’t remind me,” Malkor said.

Vid shook his head. “How could we possibly be ready?”

Seated at the nav console, Rigger said, “Kayla, you don’t even look ready for this.”

True. She knew the physical measurements of the Yari, remembered that it was built on an unprecedented scale, but to see it live, to float next to it while it loomed…

Captain Janus hailed them again. “Shuttle launching now is Ariel, you to receive. Also, young Corinth says you to be hurrying.” The words pushed all thoughts of historic ships out of Kayla’s head. Her il’haars were close, finally. She’d physically ached to be away from Corinth. And Vayne? She’d had precious few days to spend with him after his rescue, before he and the Ilmenans had fled Falanar. At this point she’d do an untethered spacewalk if that was what it took to get to them.

Everyone gathered their gear, and Trinan powered the ship’s systems down to dormant. Kayla was already waiting impatiently outside the shuttle bay by the time the octet members arrived.

Toble asked, “Who is this ‘Ariel’ again? I am trying to keep all the names and nationalities of those on board straight.”

“Navigations First Officer Navriel Entar,” Trinan and Vid answered simultaneously.

“Unofficially third in charge, after Captain Janus and First Weapons Officer Abenifluis Strokar, according to Vayne’s report on the situation,” Rigger added from where she stood near the bay doors, monitoring Ariel’s arrival.

Toble raised both brows, earning a laugh from Malkor. “Facilitating meetings between multinationals with different agendas, sometimes in hostile territories, who may or may not be at war, is pretty much the IDC’s mission.”

“Don’t worry, doc,” Vid said, “we do this sort of thing all the time.”

Kayla hadn’t needed the reminder, but she welcomed it. “I apologize for the less-than-friendly welcome you’re about to receive.”

“That’s nothing new, either,” Hekkar said, shifting the weight of his pack on his back. “But hey, we won you over, didn’t we?”

“After we kidnapped her,” Vid reminded him.

“And my il’haar,” she said.

“See? We’ll have them eating out of our hands by morning.” Kayla couldn’t help but smile. The unlikeliest of allies, now her closest friends. “Thank you all. I couldn’t—” She cut

herself off before her voice could tremble.

Malkor clapped her on the shoulder. “Don’t go getting emotional on us. We’ll start thinking you’ve been replaced by a doppelgänger.”

“Who says she hasn’t?” Hekkar quipped.

“One that fights that well?” Vid shook his head. “Not likely.”

The team filed into the shuttle bay to greet her. Ariel gave Kayla a socially correct bow and a polite, if tepid, smile. “Ida to be eager to see you, Princess Kayla.” The others she acknowledged with a single nod before turning and walking back into her shuttle.

Beside Kayla, Vid leaned close. “Friendly, eh?”

She didn’t have the heart to tell him their reception was about to get worse.

* * *