Destiny's Blood (The First Star Book 1)

by Marie Bilodeau

  “Layela Delamores,” Ardin said bluntly. Avienne wanted to hit him.

  “I guess that’s it,” Avienne said, hearing the strain in her own voice.

  The Berganda’s eyes lit up at the name.

  “She used to work here,” the Berganda said, her voice adopting the same sing-song quality as Avienne’s. “But she left to find rare Collarian flowers with her sisters Lale and Layla.”

  Avienne groaned. The little Berganda was having fun with them.

  “Excuse me,” the Berganda said, leaving them and turning her attention her customers. When the last three filed out with their colourful purchases, their glances sternly avoiding the siblings, the Berganda followed them, her gloved hands locking the door and lowering the blinds.

  “Now then,” the Berganda said, turning around, freeing her slender left hand from the worn leather glove. And then the right.

  The Berganda observed them closely, her calculating eyes taking in every detail, leaving nothing for granted. Avienne flipped out one of her knives and spun it in the air, catching it without breaking eye contact with the Berganda.

  “Who are you, and what do you want with Layela?” the Berganda said, no hint of fear in her voice. Not a good sign.

  Ardin shook his head and sighed, looking down at his comm link, where Avienne could see a silent text flashing. “We just want to get her to safety, that’s all.”

  The Berganda smirked. “I’m sure you do. You certainly look like the hero types.”

  Avienne gritted her teeth, knowing Ardin would not take kindly to that. She glanced towards her brother, who simply kept shaking his head. “Come on, Avienne. We’ve no business left here.”

  Without a second glance he unlocked the door and walked out, leaving Avienne and the Berganda to face each other. Avienne shrugged and flipped her knife once before making it vanish again within her clothing. The Berganda seemed to hesitate, but accepted Avienne’s show of peace and whipped her gloves back on.

  The Berganda seemed to relax a bit. “What do you really want with Layela?”

  Avienne shrugged. “Like my brother said, to protect her. But we don’t know anything else.” Then she added under her breath, “Except that if we don’t find her, we don’t get our profit.”

  The Berganda called out as Avienne pulled the door open, “Better give up on your pay, then.”

  Avienne paused and looked back. “Not the most positive thinker, are you?”

  The Berganda gave her a half smile. “For a Berganda, I’m actually quite positive.” She brought her hand up and left it lingering there, the implication of her gloved hand unmistakable.

  “Right. Time to go,” Avienne said. “Thanks. It’s a beautiful shop!”

  “I’ll let Layela know that when I see her next,” the Berganda called as the door closed behind Avienne, who grinned. Like the Berganda had any intention of leading them to her friend. A good bait, though.

  “I never knew Bergandas to be loyal to anyone but their own,” Avienne said as she joined her brother by the side of the building.

  “Speaking of being loyal to our own, Lang’s in jail.”

  Avienne groaned. “Again?” Lang was not one of their original crew, but he’d been working with them for a few years.

  Ardin’s jaw was set in a stubborn line. A look Avienne knew all too well.

  “Come on, Ardin,” Avienne pleaded. “He might get sent to a mining colony this time, and he’s too soft. He wouldn’t even last a day. We can’t let him rot there.”

  Ardin began walking, but Avienne refused to follow. “If you don’t get him out, I will, Ardin.”

  At those words, her brother did stop. “We’ll have to break him out, unless you intend on paying the fee on his head.”

  “Why? How big is it?” Avienne asked. Ardin merely shook his head.

  “So we break him out. How hard could that be, with the right distraction?” She smiled and winked as she walked passed him, back towards their shuttle.

  He groaned again, and she laughed.

  “Let’s get Lang, and then we’ll try getting this Layela one more time before we leave the planet. Maybe we can convince the Berganda to tell us her whereabouts.” She ran her finger along the smooth pommel of her gun. With just one bullet per gun allowed on this little planet, it could be a bit of a challenge.

  Her brother shook his head and didn’t answer, but he would go along with her. She was certain of it.

  Avienne looked back at the flower shop one last time and spied the Berganda in the window, watering some flowers. For someone whose friend was in apparent danger, she certainly didn’t seem very concerned.

  Layela leaned her head against the window, watching the dark landscape of Collar spread below, her heart thudding as she wondered what fate awaited her. It was not the first time she had been arrested because of Yoma, and it would not be the first time she would neither talk nor beg.

  Still, her skin tingled with fear at the thought of the pain that might soon follow. Her eyes and throat felt dry, and she wished that she could have some water. Her arms and wrists ached, firmly secured behind her, her hands numb from the tight cuffs. She closed her eyes, fighting back the memories. These were soldiers, men with laws they had to obey, she repeated in her mind. This was not some ill-fated capture by security guards who held no respect for law or life.

  She would be fine. She was no longer on Thalos IV.

  Her breathing calmed, her mind slowed and she reopened her eyes. The shuttle was approaching an ugly grey building, “Gullwing Detention Centre” marked above the shuttle port’s entry.

  “Time to go,” the guard said with a half-grin as the shuttle landed. The doors opened and Layela was shoved into the dimly lit metal bay.

  She gritted her teeth as fingers dug into her arms, the two guards well armed and well muscled. They followed the yellow-lit corridors, marking the path to the judgment rooms. Soon she would learn what she was accused of. But then, the guards veered off into another corridor lighted in unfamiliar green. Layela felt her gut turn. They were no longer heading for the judgment rooms, as by law they should be.

  “Where are you taking me?” she asked, her voice cracking.

  She bit back a cry of pain when they answered by digging their fingers so deep she thought her bones would break.

  “I have the right to fair judgment,” Layela said, her voice gaining strength.

  Her answer came swiftly as a blow to the back of her head that sent white spots rushing into her vision. She staggered and fought to regain her senses, or at least keep her footing as they pushed her forward.

  A guard grabbed her arm and wheeled her around, grinning wildly at his captive. His face loomed over hers. Layela quickly brought up her knee and made contact, and the guard was down and moaning.

  The quick movement made her dizzy and she took one step back to gain her bearing, but another guard kicked her down. She landed hard on her side and back, the cuffs biting deeper into her wrists. Warm blood pooled in her hand.

  She raised her legs and kicked, satisfied with a connecting crunch. Quickly, she pushed herself up, as much as she could with her hands still bound. Before she could get up and run, an arm locked around her neck and pulled her to her feet.

  She would have gasped if she could breathe, but no sound could escape her. The guard choked her a second longer and then threw her into a small metal room. The door shut behind her, the air suffocating, and memories assaulted her — memories of another small room, alone with her nightmares and her pain.

  She bit back a scream and pushed herself to a sitting position, her arms aching, her wrists bleeding, and fought the urge to cry.

  4

  She’s in there like you asked, Colonel,” the guard said, and failed to salute him properly. Dunkat felt some of his elation teeter at the guard’s carelessness, but chose to ignore him. Proper military training was not necessary for prison guards.

  Not that the military itself bred discipline.

  “Dismi
ssed,” Dunkat merely said, and the two guards left, a few crude comments spoken when they foolishly believed he was out of earshot. They could think whatever they wanted about what he would do with the girl, but to speak of it was suicide. He would make sure they learned some discipline before his departure.

  But for now, he had to keep his goal in mind. Too much lay at stake to be distracted by the stupidity of an insignificant few. Alone in the corridor, facing the door where his prize lay within, Dunkat allowed himself a rare moment of self-indulgence. He smiled, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. He felt the book of his life quiver at the thought of closing its darkest chapter, while opening its greatest one.

  Had he not chosen to believe long ago that the immortality of the soul was just a story to make bearable the injustices of this world, Dunkat might have felt his father’s presence near him. But he was gone, and nothing remained of him except Dunkat himself. That was enough.

  He opened his eyes, the muscles of his face regaining their familiar position as he dropped the smile. In one quick swoop, he crossed the threshold before any more thoughts assailed him.

  The room was well lit, like everything else in this metal prison, but even had it been dark, even if only shadows dwelt here, he would have known her as she stood defiantly before him. He knew her for who and what she was.

  Her eyes, dark, deep blue, captured the light and refused to release it. Her hair, spilling around her high cheekbones, was so dark a brown it would appear black. And even if none of those features leapt out, he firmly believed that her look and stance would have given her away. He was even pleased to see that whatever fear she might feel was kept locked away, not revealed in even the faintest movement.

  “How old are you, Layela?” He asked softly, like an old friend would. Maybe he could gain her trust, and discover what she knew.

  He held her eyes, and she refused to break contact with his. The only sign of intimidation came when she lowered her head slightly, and suddenly her cheekbones did not seem as high, nor her stance as straight. The light seemed to even reveal some of the fear in her eyes.

  In the silence that followed his question, Dunkat felt for one moment that he might have been mistaken. For one instant the doubt lingered, but then she moved again, slightly, and the light caught her eyes again and stayed there, held within, and he knew that she was the one.

  He smiled and took a deep breath. She mustn’t yet be twenty. The perfect age.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he repeated, his voice losing none of its thick softness. “I just need to know a few things about you and your family.” At the mention of family, her eyes slit just a bit and he knew he had hit a sore spot. He could feel victory within his grasp.

  “If you tell me what you know,” he said, taking an eager step forward. “I’ll let you go.” The lie came easily, unravelling like silk from his tongue. She stood her ground as he came nearer, and still refused to speak. But now he could feel it. He could sense the fear, the anxiety, the hatred. Her eyes gleamed with a mix of them, and he could feel them coat him like warm honey.

  He would break her.

  Layela stood her ground. Military training electrified every movement of the tall, imposing man before her. His eyes were cold, his deep voice low and sickening, and he kept moving closer.

  Her heart beat into her ears, and she fought the urge to breathe deeply through her mouth. He seemed fascinated with her eyes, and although their night blue colour often gained her unwanted attention, never before had anyone been fixated by them.

  “Tell me about your family, Layela.” His voice broke through the sound of her heart. “I know your last name isn’t Delamores.”

  She jerked a little, and his eyes flashed with victory. How did this man know so much? What else did he know? And how could have found out about…her heart skipped a beat, then two, and the rush in her ears was all she could hear.

  Only Yoma knew that was not her name. Even though it was the name that the two siblings shared, it had not been given to them at birth, but rather by an old woman who had died when they were very young. The name was all she had left them, and so had begun their journey on the streets. Memories of the old woman’s peculiar incense soothed her mind before the man’s voice slapped her back to the present.

  “Being forthcoming will save you,” the man said, the light of victory ever-present in his eyes. Never tell others anything, the sisters had once vowed, and since then only Josmere had ever won their trust.

  She could feel his breath on her face now, cold sweat trickling down her back.

  Did this man have Yoma? He was too close, and she bit her tongue, refusing to even ask the question for fear of revealing something he did not know. The cold metal wall was near her back but her feet stayed their ground, fighting the urge to lean against it, knowing it would do no good. Whoever this man was, she guessed from his bearing and uniform that he was important enough to do pretty much as he pleased with her.

  “Tell me who you were protecting, Layela.” She dug her nails into her palms. “Tell me who you were protecting years ago, at Thalos IV, that even a Kilita could not draw the information from you.”

  Her head came up and her eyes met his so closely their noses almost touched. She sealed her lips and slit her eyes, determined to bear what would come, recognizing the need for control in his features. How had he found out? Her mind raced frantically. Could the Kilita have reported her? He wouldn’t have, not with his illegal use of his powers, so even if he knew who she was...If he had used his powers, she would have been easy enough to find, having insisted on using her own name for Sunrise Flowers, regardless of Yoma’s objections.

  Yoma, why did you leave me?

  Her breath was coming faster, and she knew she was betraying her fear. Still, she met his eyes and said nothing. If she began talking now, she might not be able to stop herself.

  “I will show you no leniency,” the man said, his words not laced with madness or loss, but with the cold detachment of necessity. She could hear her sister joking about stiff military training.

  He punched her hard in the chin, snapping her neck back. The force was so strong it threw her off her feet, banging her into the wall and onto the floor, ripping away the memory of her sister’s laughter and leaving only a loud ringing in her ears.

  She tried to get up, but her arms were still bound behind her, her muscles screaming in protest. She bit down on her lip to stop a moan from escaping, and turned to her side to at least try to push herself back up. The door opened again, and she forced herself to rise faster, to face whatever was to come, but dizziness and nausea crashed into her in thick waves. Leaning her head down against the cold metal floor, she closed her eyes and fought to remain conscious. Her battered mind raced to find an idea, an escape, a moment of reprieve.

  “Is this her, Chief?” she heard the colonel ask, and forced her eyes to open. The new arrival was looking at her intently, his orange-rimmed pupils giving away his origin, his stocky build announcing his sheer strength. It took only a second for her tired mind to recognize him, to remember the days she had spent in his grasp before he had managed to break her. She had thought she would never recover. It had been days before her sister had found her again, killing those responsible — all of them, save for the man with the ether, who was already gone.

  It had been days of breaking, and months of healing before she could speak and move again. By then, Josmere and Yoma were used to sheltering her, to keeping secrets from her and leaving her in the dark. For her own protection.

  A moan did escape her lips then, and she found the strength in her weary muscles to at least push herself up to a seated position. The handcuffs bit deep into her wrists, and her fingers worked frantically at pulling a pin free from the cuff of her jacket. With numb fingers she worked on the lock as the two men looked down at her — one with victory, and the other with hunger akin to lust in his orange eyes.

  She felt the lock give way and her right hand was free.

&nbs
p; “I need to know about her past, her family, her allies,” the colonel said, and the Kilita nodded.

  “I can try,” he answered, his voice hoarse and thick. “But the last time, I couldn’t control it. I just unleashed her powers. And even then, the results were debatable.”

  Layela narrowed her eyes as hatred renewed her strength. She would not let this man in her mind again. He would not have access to her powers and impose them on her. A lump formed in her throat and she swallowed hard. Her pin, barely two inches in length, was in her right hand, and the cuff was in her left. She would only get one chance.

  “If you tell me willingly,” the colonel said gently, his voice still coated with honey. “I will spare you this.” The lie in his voice was all that she could hear, his curiosity about her powers so strong that it stoked every word. She was something different, and she knew that the Kilita had made that clear to him. A human with the power of ether.

  She refused to look at them. She focused forward, taking deep breaths, forcing her muscles to resist the urge to run.

  “I guess that’s a no,” the Kilita hissed, removing his regulation gloves — the same gloves Josmere was forced to wear. He took his time taking them off and securing them to his belt, and she was certain his orange eyes were glued to her. Adrenaline pulsed through her and her heart thundered in her chest.

  “Last chance,” the colonel said. Layela looked at him then without flinching, her eyes making it clear she had no intention of telling him anything. He seemed pleased with this and nodded to the Kilita, who took a step forward, quickly closing the gap between them.

  He was leaning down when Layela jumped up and brought her left hand with the cuffs to strike him against the side of the head, the impact resonating down her flaming muscles. She leaned against the wall and kicked him hard in the knees. He fell to the ground, clutching his bleeding temple.

  The colonel was moving already, but she brought up her right hand and slashed at him, the pin small but effective enough to gash his hand and then his face. His eyes burned with hatred as he struck out and hit her right arm. What she lacked in strength, she made up for in speed. She reeled back, turned and quickly brought the handcuffs up again and hit him hard in the scalp.