Seven Devils

by Laura Lam

  “If you still want to be loyal to the Empire after Ariadne’s procedure,” Eris was saying, “that will be on you. But at least it’ll be your choice.”

  Cato gazed at them all, helplessly. “Even if I wanted to, it’s not possible.”

  Ariadne smiled. “Our escape on Zelus was impossible. We’re all well acquainted with impossible by now.”

  A misstep. Anger flashed over Cato’s face. “Yeah. You escaped by killing my crew. I remember.”

  Ariadne’s smile faded. “We didn’t want to.”

  Nyx’s mouth twisted, as if to say, Speak for yourself. Mercifully, Cato didn’t see.

  “Regret doesn’t bring them back.” His hands bunched to fists. Nyx’s hand moved back to her Mors.

  Ariadne had cried for the crew every day since it happened. The soldier with red hair and a constellation of freckles who guarded their door. The soldier in charge of the storage hull, his sandy hair always sticking up at the back. The Legate hadn’t been cruel, just uptight. Everyone on Zelus had been distant and cold, but who could those soldiers have been without the Oracle’s programming? Perhaps they would have chosen not to be soldiers at all.

  Now they’d never know.

  “We would have avoided it if we could have. Gathered them in a pod and sent them out into the stars,” Ariadne insisted. “But we couldn’t. The Oracle’s programming wouldn’t let them surrender. If we wanted to escape, we couldn’t leave a trail.” She took a hitching breath. “There is no excuse. Murder is inexcusable. But desperate people will do anything for freedom.”

  “I’m not desperate,” Cato snapped.

  “You sure about that? You’re still tempted,” Rhea said. “Aren’t you?”

  Cato was quiet. He stared down at his bound hands with some inscrutable expression. Hands that, just hours ago, had nearly ended Ariadne’s life without his awareness or choice. Ariadne wondered at his thoughts. Maybe he was trying to remember the moment those fingers had closed around her throat, when his actions had been decided not by his own judgment, but by those of a program coded into his brain since before infancy. Or maybe he was wondering what else had that program decided without his knowledge. What other memories were hidden from him.

  Many, Ariadne wanted to tell him. She’d helped the Oracle program soldiers, after all. One suppressed inconvenient memories all the time.

  Whatever path his thoughts had taken must have made up his mind. Cato nodded, once. “Yes. I’m tempted. Gods help me, but yes.” He leaned back and closed his eyes.

  He didn’t move as Ariadne gave him another injection of sedative, and Rhea also gave him one last touch. His eyes fluttered shut.

  Ariadne met Rhea’s eyes again: Later.

  “You go,” Ariadne said to the others. “Let me do my work.”

  Rhea nodded. She was the first to leave, then Eris.

  Nyx made no move. “I’m staying. I want to see what it’s like.”

  “It won’t be pretty,” Ariadne warned. She stroked Cato’s cheek. “Poor guy is about to go through that same nightmare you did.”

  “I know. That’s why I want to stay.” Nyx got comfortable in her chair, her hard grip on the armrest betraying her unease. Ariadne wished she was brave enough to give Nyx a hug.

  Ariadne started running the code.

  36.

  CLO

  Present day

  Clo commanded the ship to jump again.

  She’d let Zelus rest after the grueling pace she used to exit the Three Sisters quadrant, but anxiety still burned within her. It didn’t matter how much distance she put between Zelus and the heart of the Empire, nowhere in the Iona Galaxy seemed far enough. Every time she considered pausing, she thought about that Evoli man back on Macella. She thought about Briggs. She thought about the weapon they’d given to Damocles and all the damage he could do if Ariadne’s failsafe didn’t work.

  The stars had always felt safe to her. Space was vast; there were so many places Clo could hide.

  Right then, the expanse of the galaxy felt like the sticky web of the Empire — and she was caught inside it.

  The door opened behind Clo. “Go away,” she called, focusing on plotting routes to Ismara. She turned with a scowl that disappeared when she saw who it was.

  “All right,” Rhea said, retreating a step. “I just wanted to ask how much longer we’d be jumping. Ariadne threw up a few times and I’m starting to get nauseated too.”

  Clo took her fingers from the controls. She’d forgotten that Ariadne and Rhea still weren’t used to the hyperjumps of space travel. Clo was fine as long as they were in the abyss. It was only as she careened toward a surface, the hull of the bullet craft lighting up like a shooting star, that her stomach betrayed her. “That was the last one. Sorry.”

  Rhea paused, illuminated by the light streaming through the hallway. Her hair was braided around her head like a crown. She’d taken to swapping her dresses for flowing blouses, spare military trousers, and boots stolen from the dead of Asteria.

  “I can leave you alone if you want,” Rhea said, still hesitating at the door.

  “No,” Clo said. “Please stay.”

  They hadn’t had time to speak alone since the night before they went to the Three Sisters. Clo had been too much of a dipwell to even say goodbye to Rhea before she crawled through the depths of the palace.

  Their eyes met. Clo flushed and looked away.

  “What’s the pilot’s prognosis?” Clo asked, clearing her throat and staring back out at the stars.

  Rhea approached the command chair and leaned against the edge of the console. “Too early to say, but it looks like his programming goes deep. The Oracle’s been upgrading.”

  “Always bound to be high on One’s to-do list, right?” Clo asked, fiddling with the controls. “You need your soldiers loyal, especially for all those war crimes.”

  Rhea smelled like something floral and spiced, too exotic for Clo to recognize. In contrast, Clo was sure she smelled like engine grease, as usual. Awkwardness bloomed within her, pink as a blush.

  Clo stretched back out along the pilot’s chair, and this time, Rhea was the one who looked away shyly. Clo almost smiled.

  Rhea cleared her throat. “You should eat something. You’ve been up here for hours.”

  “I can’t stand the thought of more sawdust food.”

  Rhea sighed. “Me neither. So much red cheese flatbread that tastes nothing like cheese. All I want is a fresh piece of fruit. Especially a sweet, juicy papaya.”

  Clo’s eyes lit up. “Ohh, yes. I ate a papaya for breakfast every time I could pinch one from the stalls.”

  Rhea’s tilted her head. “I didn’t think they had papayas in Kersh.”

  “Not in the Snarl,” Clo said, clearing her throat. “The stalls were near the high-rises. Every morning, the servants would take the elevator down and gather meals for their masters. Sometimes, I was able to get past the guards.” She shrugged. “Sometimes not.”

  Clo thought she heard Rhea suck in a breath. “Was it worth it? Just for fruit?”

  “It was more to pretend, just for a moment, that I lived in those high-rises above the clouds. That was worth the beatings.”

  “I never thought about where those papayas came from. Who grew them, how they moved from tree to the breakfast table,” Rhea said. She shifted to the copilot’s seat, leaving a trail of sweet perfume. She was close enough to touch. “I rarely went hungry. I never had to steal. I was pampered.”

  “You were trapped too,” Clo said gently. “We just had different cages, that’s all.” At least Clo had been able to leave her building, to see the sky. She’d found some fractured pieces of freedom down in the depths of the Snarl.

  “I’m sorry, anyway.”

  “Sorry’s such a bullshit word, isn’t it?” Clo adjusted the controls. “Says so much and bog-a
ll at the same time. But aye, I’m sorry too.” She looked over at Rhea. “Is there anything good you miss?”

  Rhea considered that for a moment, a fingertip tracing her collarbone. “It’s silly, but I miss lilies the most.”

  “Lilies?”

  “Yes. I’d have fresh ones from the greenhouse delivered to my room every morning. The old ones gone before they even had a chance to wilt. A different color every day, but that same, sweet scent. No man ever sent me those. I asked the servants and they brought them. They weren’t really mine, though—they belonged to Tholos. To Damocles. But I pretended they were.” She stopped, as if embarrassed.

  “Is that your perfume?” Clo asked. “Lilies?”

  Rhea smiled. “Yes, but it’s a pale, pale echo of the scent of fresh ones. What do you miss?”

  Clo clicked her tongue against the back of her teeth. “There was this one machinery stall in the market closest to my mam’s in the Snarl. It was different from the others. Woman who ran it kept everything so clean, the metal gleamed. Never stole from that stall. Saved my shale and bought what I needed, taking my time, picking up the little pieces, setting them down in their right place, just so. But it’s not the owner I miss. It’s those neat, perfect rows of clean metal, just begging to be picked up and made useful.” Clo gave a laugh, a little forced. “Guess that’s some obvious symbolism right there. That’s what I do. Fix broken shit, ignore all the broken bits of my own life I left behind.”

  “Why did you leave Myndalia?” Rhea asked.

  Clo shrugged. “Nae by choice, really. My mam—” Her throat closed. Clo had always thought the Snarled lung would get her mam in the end, but it was—

  —soldiers. Mam shoving her in the closet, ignoring Clo’s whispered protests. Harsh questions from soldiers, nasal accents so clipped compared to the rolling vowels of the Snarl. Her mother: placating. Friendly. Clo hunkered down in the dark. She wasn’t a child, she wasnae going to hide—

  The sizzle of Mors blasts. Soldiers rooting through their things, rummaging, grunting like animals. Mam down, chest heaving. Clo bursting from the closet. Holding hands over the wound in Mam’s stomach. Useless. Useless hiding—

  Open eyes. Glassy. Gone.

  A night of vigil, the unmoving hand in Clo’s growing colder.

  —Clo closed her eyes, not wanting to remember, to feel.

  Rhea reached out to touch her, but Clo inched back, arms wrapped tight around herself.

  The next morning. Her mother wrapped up in an old blanket. Clo cradling mam like she was the child. Later, she’d woven through the slum on unsteady feet and tripped through the damp soil. Left the towering, cramped labyrinth behind for the open expanse of swamp. She’d found a twisted Nyssa tree, its long branches trailing in the water.

  Deep enough.

  Quiet enough.

  She’d tied stones to the ropes around the body. Kissed the top of mam’s head and let her sink, sink, down into the bog, to rest with the bones of others buried the same way.

  Clo had said no words. There were none left.

  A shaking breath brought her back. Rhea’s hand lay on the cloth of Clo’s sleeve.

  “I’m sorry,” Rhea whispered.

  “Me too. After—after what happened—” Clo sniffed, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “We’d helped Sher out of a tough spot a few months before. When he heard, he came back with a man named Briggs. They swore up and down they’d take care of me, that the resistance could use a mechanic like me.” Clo gave a laugh. “I thought they were bogging mad. First, that they thought a scrap like me could be useful, but I told them the Novantae would no’ barrage the Empire. Like trying tae move a boulder with a few drops of rain.”

  “Feels that way. What’d he say?”

  “Some poetic shite about how drops of water could move mountains. Or it only takes one spark to catch a flame. Nonsense. Just giving a kid some comfort.”

  Rhea gave a half-smile. “He gave you wise words. It takes ages for water to move mountains, or for fire to catch on damp wood. It takes just as long to grieve someone we love.” She rested her head in her hands. “What was it like?” Rhea asked. “Having a mother?”

  Clo stiffened.

  “You don’t have to answer—” Rhea started.

  “It’s okay.” She tried to think of an answer, letting the Snarl keep coloring her voice. “Ye took care of yer own, because no one else was gonnae. My mam held me at night. She sang me tae sleep. If scran grew too scarce, she gave me her own and told me she wasnae hungry, even though I knew she was. It’s been years, but sometimes I’m so . . .” She tightened her jaw, stared at the controls.

  “Angry?”

  “Yes.”

  Their conversation lapsed into silence. Clo snuck a covert glance at Rhea.

  Rhea met her eyes, as if she knew exactly what she was thinking. Clo coughed, put the ship on autopilot, and moved over to those wide, beautiful windows. She’d never been able to fly a ship big enough she could walk around the bridge with ease.

  “You haven’t forgotten what you told me before the mission on Macella, have you?” Rhea asked.

  “If I didn’t die, I’d show you the galaxy.” Clo’s grin was slow. “Yeah, I remember.”

  “Lo and behold, you made it.”

  “I did almost get hit by an elevator and I jumped off a damned building, but aye, still in one piece. More or less.” She stood and beckoned with her fingers. “Come with me.”

  “Where?”

  “Back to the observation deck. I want to keep my promise.”

  With a smile, Rhea followed Clo down the bridge and through the halls to the observation deck. Telling Rhea to wait, Clo shoved the chairs to the back and gestured for the other woman to stand in the middle of the room. At the control panel, she turned off the lights, flipped one last switch, and joined Rhea.

  Rhea opened her mouth to speak. “Wh—”

  “Shh.” Clo tapped a finger to her lips. “Just watch.”

  A soft whirring echoed through the quiet room as the floor beneath them slowly, slowly faded away to become translucent glass. Clo had discovered many people didn’t enjoy this feature to the spherical observation deck; another mechanic at Nova had said it gave him vertigo.

  But Clo loved it. Above and below them, Clo and Rhea were surrounded by millions of bright stars and their solar systems as if they were dashed out in space, walking through the galaxy.

  “My gods,” Rhea breathed, taking a few steps forward. “I feel like I’m—like I’m—”

  “Out among the stars,” Clo finished.

  Rhea craned her head back, twirling. “I used to look up at the sky behind the walls of the Pleasure Garden, and wish for this. I wanted it so much. More than anything.” She laughed, and Clo warmed. She loved Rhea’s laugh. “You’ve been to some of these planets, right? Which was your favorite?”

  Clo approached Rhea, pointing to a light in the distance. “Do you see that light there, the one that looks bluer than the others? It’s not a star, but a planet called Aegir. It’s covered in oceans and sandy beaches, with the clearest water I’ve ever seen, that glitters like cut gemstones. My friend Briggs”—she pressed her lips together for a moment—“it was his favorite place in the galaxy, too. He always said he’d take me there one day. That never happened, so I asked Kyla to send me on assignment, and she did.”

  “It sounds wonderful,” Rhea said with a sigh.

  “Have you ever seen an ocean?” Clo asked. Rhea shook her head. “No? Well, then I’ll show you that, too.”

  “Show me everything.” Rhea pressed closer, her fingertips brushing against Clo’s. “I want to see it all.”

  Clo bit her lip to keep from grinning like a fool. “I already promised you the whole Iona Galaxy, so I may have to upgrade that to universe. All the galaxies we know—maybe even those we don’t.” />
  Rhea’s gaze dropped to Clo’s mouth. They were so quiet, standing there surrounded by stars. Clo felt the brush of Rhea’s fingertips against her palm again and drew in a breath. She wanted . . . she wanted Rhea.

  Slow, Clo chastised herself. She deserves slow.

  “Clo?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you . . . do you want to kiss me?” Rhea whispered.

  Clo swallowed hard and let out a short laugh. “Am I that obvious?”

  Rhea’s smile was a sunrise. “I can guess.”

  “Can you? What am I feeling right now?”

  “Good question.” Rhea’s fingertips skimmed the edges of her sleeves, and she shifted closer, her lips almost touching Clo’s, but not quite. “Desire,” she said. “Longing. Temptation. But you want to be careful. Because of what I went through. Who I was. Before.”

  “Yes.” No expectations.

  “Oh, Clo.” Rhea pressed her hand to Clo’s. “This is me giving you permission.”

  Clo’s hands cupped Rhea’s face. Her skin was even smoother than she’d imagined, or remembered. Clo brushed her lips against Rhea’s cheek, so softly it barely touched. “Okay?” she breathed.

  “Yes.” That word seemed to catch in Rhea’s throat.

  Another soft kiss at the soft point where her throat met the square of her jaw, lingering slightly longer. “Okay?” This time Clo’s voice trembled. Gods, she wanted. She wanted. More than anything.

  “Clo, I swear to the gods, if you don’t just kiss me already—”

  Then Clo was kissing Rhea hard, and Rhea was kissing back. Her lips were petal-soft and parted so easily. Clo’s tongue slipped into her mouth—hesitant, then confident. They touched, their hands exploring each other. A soft gasp lodged in Rhea’s throat, then a sound of assent, a murmured yes, yes, yes that made Clo kiss her harder. She pressed Rhea’s body against the clear window, and it felt as if they were alone on that spaceship. Alone in the whole universe.