The Imaginators (Of Stardust and Aether Book 1)

by M. K. Valley

  “We’re in range.”

  “Hail them. Audio only.”

  They accept it in a heartbeat, and my mind trips.

  “This is Raz del Valdrum, Marshal of Scorpio. You’re denied entry into orbit. Power your weapons down and prepare to be boarded.”

  I stifle a laugh bubbling because of the distorted stern voice. The name is part of my memory, but I can’t place it. This isn’t the Marshal who saw me leave Scorpio all those years ago. It doesn’t matter. He can’t deny my request either. I lick my parched lips and fill my lungs with air, the last of the bile sliding down my throat as I prepare to utter words that lost their meaning a long time ago but somehow still have weight.

  “This is Andria del Scorpio, a licensed Assassin of Ares, daughter of Ander del Scorpio, and first princess of the Scorpian Empire. And I demand a parley, Marshal. So, no, we won’t be waiting to be boarded. You can track our landing and come pick us up. But do be warned. If Scorpio takes us down at the backdrop of an official parley request, the Infinite Universe will hear of that.”

  Silence meets my demand. Twig is tense next to me, ready to veer off and maintain a safe distance from the planet, but I start preparing the cutter to enter the atmosphere. In the end, there’s no response from the Marshal, and the link just clicks off. Air shudders in my partner’s lungs.

  “I hope that’s not a case of misplaced confidence,” he says, running a hand over his features.

  “Imperial subjects are all the same across the Infinite Universe. They’ll uphold traditions older than their world.”

  “Just like your brother did?”

  My eyes snap so fast to him, I lose focus for a brief second. “My brother is a lowlife. There’s nothing imperial about him, and I’ll make sure he knows that when he dies.”

  Twig’s eyebrows shoot up, but he doesn’t comment, and I return my attention to the planet below. I’m not as confident as I try to sound, though he probably thinks me rather arrogant. What awaits on the surface is beyond my imagination, and it’s a wild one. How will all this play out is a nightmare which I don’t have any control over. But I have to pretend. Otherwise, the fear of ever coming back, of ever being close to my brother again, or even breathing the same air as him will choke me. I’ve conquered many of my demons over the years, but I never conquered him. I can’t kill him under the formal rules of parley. But I will if that means the Infinite Universe will be free of him forever, and I can guarantee Twig’s safety.

  As we speed down toward the surface, fury grips my chest tight. The unmatched magnificence of Scorpio unfurls all around us. From the red sands of the Crimson Desert to the west to the opalescent glimmer of the Diamond Forest to the east, all of this was once mine. It still could be, if not for my brother. He forced me to choose my life over my kin and crown. Not that I would’ve ever been allowed to become the Empress of Scorpio. But I could’ve become its shield and sword. Instead, Andrus wanted me to be his dog. He made one mistake. My brother taught me I need teeth if I want to survive. And now I come to bite like the dog he wanted to have.

  By the time we land in the thick shade of the ravine, my heart’s hammering with anticipation. All of Scorpio lies outside the thin shell of our cutter. Tentative elation makes my throat bob. Try as I might, all the anger in the Universe can’t smother the frail heartache stabbing my chest.

  “Are you ready?” Twig asks solemnly and rests a gentle hand on my shoulder as we unbuckle.

  I stop fumbling with the straps to look at my partner and take a deep breath. Knowing that he’s by my side even now, when a small army’s probably aiming at us, helps me gather myself. I clasp his warm hand, the rough bark-like skin solid and reassuring under my cold palm, and nod.

  PHASE TWELVE

  THE PLACE CALLED

  HOME

  The air is crisp and clean, and I drag in a lungful when we step out of the cutter. Twig gasps in awe, and I allow a smile to tug on my lips.

  “I know.” My eyes flutter closed, and I take a moment to inhale Scorpio.

  When all you have is the oxygen from filtration systems on ships and under a dome every day of your life, it’s easy to forget how the breathable atmosphere on an actual planet, that’s more than stone and steel, feels like. The breath of dust and ancient rocks entwines with the brisk humidity of rapids and the gentle sighs of natural greenery. The ravine’s depths and cliff faces are alive with scents. But so is all of Scorpio. I still remember the heady sweet smell of the Crimson Desert’s rough sands and the pungent breath of the Diamond Forest that always reminded me of fresh laundry and dressing a wound.

  Hundreds of miles away from us, there’s a field of flowers that blooms only during the night. It captures starlight and reflects it in a perfect mirror image of the Universe. To me, it used to smell like clean, unmarred skin. The first and last time I basked in its marvelous beauty, I saw a soldier on my escort weep with the memory of a lover.

  I trace my fingers over the cliff face before us. I wonder what scent that field of midnight stars would have today.

  My eyes roam over the rock until I spot the game trail up the ravine.

  “Let’s go.”

  A gust of wind sweeps my face with dust and grime when we get topside. I sense the ship before I see it, a low thrum under my fingers when I pull myself over the edge. In the glorious shine of the artificial sun, there’s a small military craft, among the reeds and bushes of a clearing, engines whining. A man in military uniform, flanked by masked, armed and armored Scorpians, awaits in the shade of the ship, hands clasped behind his back. Twig hesitates and follows a step behind me.

  My spine stands a little taller, my step is a little heavier. You could say I strut toward the man, whose military insignia marks him as the faceless voice of the Marshal. A bearcat, resting in the nearby trees, chuckles.

  As I get closer, the memories of a terrified little girl slam upon each other, upon the lines of a soldier who once stood guard before my chambers. Who never backed my claim when I tried to tell on my brother. Who listened to my wails day and night and couldn’t bring himself to look me in the eye when I was leaving.

  I tilt my head when I stop a few paces away from him and his squad, thinking I remember you. Raz del Valdrum is a man plucked out of time. The streaks of gray in the pitch waves of his hair are the only trace of its irreversible course. His sage-like eyes are dark and bottomless, a trace of something desperate crinkling their corners when he gives a frugal salute.

  “Your Highness, welcome back to Scorpio.” His voice is as deep and powerful as the oceans. “May I ask you and your companion to disarm yourselves?”

  I glance at the armed squad. Not a single barrel points in our direction, but I’m not so quick to trust. “I can summon weapons out of thin air. Lugging them around isn’t efficient,” I say and spread my arms, and the Marshal licks his lips at my obvious warning.

  “Very well. If you’d join us, we’re ready to take you to Regia.”

  I board the aircraft with Illiran’s reports in my ear. There’s a temporary cease-fire, what with the ring targeting one of the planets. I stifle a relieved sigh and give Twig an encouraging nod. We might still leave the Corona system with our heads intact.

  The flight to Regia is quick and tense. Suspicious soldiers watch our every breath and twitch, but we do our best to ignore them.

  My thoughts are on the lush valley we’re headed to. The throne city of Regia snuggles in the impenetrable embrace of a vicious mountain range, with the royal palace looming over the marble buildings and wide roads. The palace is built into the mountain, its massive frame spilling its skirts far and wide, a shameless lover in the thralls of passion, all red glass and diamond pillars. Generations ago, proud emperors carved one of the most spectacular jewels of the Infinite Universe. They’re dust today, but their seat of power stands. The beauty of Regia’s palace rivals even that of the imag
iSun. And not a speck of it has been imagined.

  The aircraft lands on a narrow pad on the eastern slopes of the palace. Marshal del Valdrum dismisses his squad and is brave enough to flash me his shoulder blades when he leads us inside the belly of the beast. I try to summon all the disdain I’ve nurtured through the years to stop myself from feeling like the child who cried until she drowned. Though I made a life and a name for myself, the life I could have, that I could picture in my mind’s eye if I imagined hard enough, was taken away from me. Not just by my brother but all those who turned a blind eye.

  “It seems servitude does pay off in the end,” I hiss behind the Marshal’s back, and his head snaps to the side, surprised that I addressed him.

  “We all serve, Your Highness, whether a crown or ourselves,” he says in a composed, measured voice that used to tell me stories through the gilded doors of my room in the darkest of nights. “Service always bears fruit.”

  “Some would eat them even if they’re rotten.”

  “Well, if you starve today, you can’t reap tomorrow’s harvest.” He stops before a yawning arch leading to what seems to be an open terrace and turns to us, an earnest look I know very well casting his ancient eyes down. “And you can at least hope it will be a better one.” Twig rests a warning hand on my shoulder when I take a jerky step toward the Marshal, but he gives a sad smile and invites us with a gesture. “His Majesty awaits.”

  My jaw’s working as I walk out onto the near-empty terrace. The first thing I notice is my father standing beside the diamond railing. His back is stiff, shoulders rounded from an unseen burden. A simple, heavy black cloak lined with a golden thread has replaced the imperial regalia I remember from my childhood. When he turns to the sound of our footsteps, I notice with a pang of fear how old he is. Time has left an unkind mark on his exhausted face. His eyes are hollowed-out pits rimmed in dark purple shadows. Once shimmering like blades, now I lock my gaze onto two piles of wet ash. Vindictive glee slashes through the memory of how much I loved my father, but the thought that a vile man such as my brother will take his place rather sooner than later reminds me why I’m here.

  With no greetings or ceremony, Ander del Scorpio gestures to a light canopy to the side. Three ornate chairs and a man await in its shade. My heart stills, and my step loses its rhythm. Wound tight and with a proud sneer on his face, Andrus stands tall, waiting. He’s grown to be beautiful, as I expected, his features carved from marble. High cheekbones, full and mirthless lips, eyes like daggers. I remember the stark contrast of his bone-pale skin and the raven locks inherited from our parents, but the bastard’s dyed his hair white.

  Despite the pit in my stomach, I force a smile on my lips and get close. I refuse to enter the shade of the canopy, let alone take the seat facing the makeshift thrones of my parents. Our father takes one of them, Andrus towering behind his shoulder, and regards me with sadness in his pinched eyes.

  “Andria,” the emperor turns my name in his mouth, trying to remember how it tastes to address his daughter. There’s softness, a sigh in his voice, and I suppress a flinch. “I used to dream about you returning home. I never imagined it’d be like this.”

  I grit my teeth. “Home? This place was a home to me as much as a shed is for a tool,” I spit out, despite the treacherous longing choking me. “Because that’s all I was to you. A tool to wield. Am I wrong, father?”

  Andrus barks a laugh and bares his teeth at me. “Ungrateful as I remember. You should’ve been chained with a ring the moment you landed.”

  My eyes snap to him, blood ringing in my ears. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you, you hapless muck. Look at you, what a sad, little copy…”

  “Andria!” There they are, the twin blades in our father’s eyes glint in the shade. “I thought you’re here to parley. Go ahead, tell me what will make those grunts of yours stand down?”

  I let out a cackle that sounds deranged even in my ears, but I can’t believe his nerve. “My grunts? Is old age confusing, father?”

  “Watch your tongue, aberrant!”

  “Shove it, Andrus, or I’ll sew your mouth shut!” I clasp my hands behind my back and swing forward when my brother falls silent again. “Tell me, old man, did I come guns blazing? Did I try to hide my entry into Corona? No. I was more than ready to go through the proper channels, and you tried to fucking blow me out of the Vacuum.” Twig inhales sharply, and I realize I’m shouting, lips taut over my teeth. “A magnificent contraption, to be honest. Why do you even need an interstellar defense ring?” Ander works his jaw, and my brother clenches his fists, and I know they built it because of me, but I don’t know why, and a sliver of open hurt slithers into my voice. “Is one of the most powerful emperors in the Infinite Universe truly scared of his little daughter, or is my scum of a brother simply paranoid?”

  Father looks at me, really looks at me this time, and takes me in. A dark feeling curls around my guts because his eyes tell me what’s standing before him is right what he was expecting to see.

  A deranged and vengeful spirit.

  “We understand you’re angry…”

  “Angry? Father, save some face and don’t add insult to injury. I’m livid! For years, I thought about coming here and burning this place to the ground, but I’m better than that!”

  My brother cackles. “You’re a fucking murderer, Andria!”

  “And you’re a pathetic degenerate, Andrus del Scorpio, and now everyone will know!” The whip of my voice cracks over the echoing terrace, and I speak over my brother’s quip, charged anger brought to a boiling point, but it’s cut short.

  “Andria…”

  My brother’s pale as a ghost, and I know I can break him and end this before he baits me further, but my name, spoken soft like the flutter of a butterfly, derails my thoughts. I ball my fists to stop them from shaking and turn to see my mother drifting closer. She’s a dove, all grace and soft curves. I inherited all my sharp angles from my father. If I’m shattered glass, she’s the silk they’ll throw over the damage to hide it. Time has only kissed her face, leaving laugh lines in its wake. She stands tall and proud, the ivory tower that was always out of my reach, windows shuttered, gates closed.

  But I guess you must carve your daughter out of your heart if you’re to live with yourself for allowing her to be chained like an animal.

  I watch her with such open resentment that Marshal del Valdrum steps out onto the terrace fingering his gun. There’s a silent plea in her eyes, but she doesn’t hold my gaze for too long and sits next to my father, long-lashed eyes downcast. I’m so overwhelmed I notice the bundle pressed to her chest only when it cries out.

  “Andria, please…” She whispers again, squeezing it tight. “For the sake of your sister…”

  PHASE THIRTEEN

  THE INTRICACIES OF

  IMAGINING A CRUISER

  Fire starts at the back of my throat and sucks the air out of my lungs when my mother gently reveals the chubby face ringed in snow. I fear I might breathe out flames if I open my mouth. The world blurs around the edges, the scrunched-up whining face of the baby the only crisp image. She’s no more than a couple of months old, soft and fragile, like early-winter rime at the mercy of a mild morning. Something inside my tight chest snaps with a crack.

  I was born that exact shade of colorless.

  “Is she…” The question withers and dies on my lips, but my mother shakes her head and tucks the baby close to her chest again.

  “We don’t know yet. But Andrus warned us, and we swore things would be different with Andromeda.”

  The name barely registers when my mind spins around, scrambling to figure out what my brother has done this time. “Warned you? About what?”

  “How you opposed the ring. So viciously, you’d hurt yourself to rebel,” my mother says, not daring to look at me. I notice father’s focused on his clenched fist. A cocoon of sh
ame finally rips open. Shame not of what their monarchy does, but that someone called them out on it. “It made sense why you’d blame us…”

  The world tilts, and I almost lean against Twig, solid and silent behind my back. Could it be that a thwarted mind just gave my nightmares a face because I couldn’t accept the truth of it? But I still wear the scars like a second skin, made to remind me I just gave his actions results. My nails burn against skin that’s about to break.

  “I blamed Andrus,” I say, my voice a boot against the gravel.

  Mother dismisses me with another shake of her head, and this time the look she gives me is filled with electrifying pity. “Please, know that we stopped chaining Scorpian Imaginators with psychic rings. Marshal del Valdrum has been an outspoken advocate of ceasing the tradition. We haven’t chained a single one since you left. And if Andromeda grows to be an Imaginator, we’ll let her flourish. We won’t make the same mistakes we did with you. So, please…”

  Twig’s steady hand at the small of my back is the only thing keeping me from slipping toward the pit of despair yawning beneath my feet. No one here but him seems to realize what my mother’s words are doing to me, the way they twist a blade between broken ribs to wedge into the cracks of a heart long shattered. But my mother doesn’t shut up. She sits there, eyelids heavy, gaze trained on the tiny creature in her hands, the perfect picture of remorse and regret.

  “When she was born, we were afraid you might come and snatch her away, thinking she’d have the same life as you. Andrus said he’ll make sure that would never happen, he’ll take care of it. But then you appeared in Corona, and I… The ring… It was just there.”

  I knew that my parents’ love for me had been clinically separated from the fact I was an Imaginator born into their rule. I knew their affection and sentiment ended where my powers began. But to hear my mother admitting to giving the order to shoot us out of the Vacuum wipes away the last shred of love I might’ve had for them.