Author's Note
This book begins immediately after Only the Open (Princes’ Game Book 4) and does not conclude the series. Readers may wish to begin with Book 1 (Even the Wingless) for context, and should be advised of significant adult content throughout the series. Please consult the author’s website for tags and ratings.
To live with fear and not be afraid is the final test of maturity.
–Edward Weeks
In war, there are no unwounded soldiers.
– José Narosky
CHAPTER ONE
There was safety... and then there was safety.
This was the epiphany Sediryl picked at like an oyster clamped around a pearl as the days stretched into one week, then another, examining her naiveté and finding it painful and revelatory. She had lived a life of cloistered privilege for decades on the Eldritch homeworld, and thought it a risk of breathtaking audacity to flee it for the Alliance. The love affairs she’d had there had seemed daring and transgressive. When they’d seen her disinherited, those fears had felt validated.
She had lived on the edge and bled there, and thought her courage tested.
Sitting on the bridge of the Visionary, Sediryl petted the rainbow fur of her dog’s head as she stared out the windows at the sinister darkness, where hundreds of pirates and slavers had made their lair. To coast, silent and Dusted, through this abyss, easing her way ever closer to its center, knowing that detection would bring death only if she was lucky, because the alternative was life as someone’s slave...
She neither believed that she could live with so many days of tension, nor could she fathom how it had become normal. The computer reported that her resting heart rate was now fifteen to twenty beats faster, but she felt absurdly calm.
If this was courage, it felt like numbness.
This was the world the military lived in, one where the stakes really were as high as her emotions had insisted every crisis was. She could understand that now. Barely. What she was grappling with was the realization that this had always been the world Liolesa lived in. All the petty bickering and self-involved—and self-manufactured—drama in which the Eldritch indulged was possible because Liolesa was the one living here, where failure meant slavery and war and loss. And this was the world Sediryl would have to live in too, if she wanted the power Liolesa was offering.
That she was existing in it now without crumbling didn’t feel like proof she could handle it, even though her hand on Bells’s fur was steady. Because it wasn’t enough to survive here. She had to win. And she wanted to. Wanted to prove that she could. And that made her uncomfortable. That she could be so afraid, and yet be nurturing this... this competitive streak that trivialized the situation. She knew what they were doing wasn’t a game, but the urge to beat everyone else at it remained, lurking beneath the terror and the sobriety. Was that something Liolesa was also hiding? Or had the centuries shown her enough unspeakable things to destroy that urge?
Sediryl thought cousin Lisinthir might be sympathetic. He lived in this world too. She remembered the way he moved, how he evaluated everything with that hardened gaze, the hand that too casually orbited his sword, as if feeling the gravitational pull of inevitable violence. He would have made a good confidant.
He would have understood. That didn’t surprise her at all.
What did was the sense that maybe Jahir would have understood too. That the youth she’d grown up with, when she’d been gawky and brash and full of untarnished dreams and plans... that gentle and quiet youth might have grown up into someone who could go to war and die to win it.
Jahir would have understood her fears, and how completely lost she felt going from the sheltered childhood she’d thought so intense to... this. Lisinthir, her unwanted aggression, and her desire to be triumphant over the broken bodies of their enemies. Both of them would have been willing auditors to the hardships of being an Eldritch and yet living in a future both more expansive and less safe than the one their people imagined for themselves.
And neither of them was here.
Sediryl buried her face in Bells’s fur, scattering the dog’s virtual fish halo.
The smell of hot chocolate roused her. Confused, Sediryl looked up and found Maia sitting across from her, holding out the cup. It was an absurd cup, decorative porcelain complete with saucer painted with yellow roses and gilt thorns. Her hands accepted it, following long-embedded rules of courtesy, and she tasted it. The second sip she took because the first was surprising. Chocolate was supposed to be rich enough to stand a spoon in. This was almost as thin as tea, and yet smelled strongly of cocoa.
“What… what is this?”
“It’s cocoa, but I stripped most of the fat out,” her D-per said. For once she looked the Seersa her designers had coded rather than the solidigraphic projection of a virtual person who could have appeared to be anything she chose. A domino could have added the lavender tipping and little flickers of lightning in her fur on a real person. “I thought you might appreciate the taste without the weight in your stomach.”
“Thank you.” Sediryl sipped again. “I didn’t mean to distract you.”
Maia smiled. “I can split off a lot of threads, arii. If this was costing me anything, I wouldn’t do it.”
“Priorities,” Sediryl murmured.
“Yes. And it might surprise you to hear it, but you’re one of them. How are you holding up?”
Sediryl waved a hand in the vague direction of the wall. “Surely you’re monitoring my health….”
“That only tells me how your body is doing,” Maia said. “It doesn’t tell me what’s in your head.”
Useless to deny that she needed to talk. So she didn’t. “How did you decide?” Sediryl asked. “To join Fleet. Did they require it in your code somehow?”
Maia leaned back and crossed her legs, a considering look in her purple eyes. “Not in the way you’re suggesting. Yes, they built my personality, and my personality has certain priorities and urges. No, they didn’t force me to choose how I acted on those things.”
“So they made you want to protect the Alliance,” Sediryl said.
“They made me feel competent to protect anything,” Maia answered, ears flicking outward. “They made me strong. They let me choose what to do with that strength, and I made that choice after examining the history of the civilizations that brought us to where we are. There were lots of jobs I could have taken, arii, and maybe the incentives for Fleet were particularly appealing. But ten years less in indenture is meaningless when you’re effectively immortal.”
Sediryl looked up at that, abruptly.
“I chose Fleet because I wanted to put my talents to use in the protection of the vulnerable,” Maia finished. She grinned, showing iridescent teeth. “And because there’s a lot of sexy hardware involved.”
“So it’s okay to like the sexy hardware,” Sediryl muttered.
“Is that what this is about?” Maia tilted her head. “The fact that your feelings are more complicated than ‘I want to do the right thing’?”
“I don’t even know what the right thing is anymore.” Sediryl set the saucer on the console and pulled one of Bells’s ears, feeling the silky fur. “Is being here the right thing instead of running away and warning someone? Am I putting the safety of one of my friends above my responsibility to the rest of the Alliance? Is any of this in conflict to my actual allegiance to a completely separate government? Why am I scared? Why am I aggressive? Why anything, Maia? Why me?”
“Because you’re the one who’s here.” At Sediryl’s glare, Maia smiled crookedly. “Sometimes, that’s all it comes down to.” She reached over and set a glittery hand on Sediryl’s knee. “Arii. Second-guessing is for armchair strategists. You and I can only do the best with what
we have right now. And what we have is this ship, the information we’ve got, and our gut instincts.”
“Do you have a gut instinct?” Sediryl asked.
“Yes,” Maia said. “My gut instinct is that we’re near Hell and we’re in a handbasket. So we might as well strap in and prepare for the ride.”
The laugh that escaped Sediryl shocked her with its precipitousness. She pressed a hand to her mouth and drew in a shaky breath. “I am scared,” she admitted. “But I feel that’s a reasonable thing. It’s all the rest of it that I’m not so sure of.”
“That being…”
“That I want to singlehandedly put paid to this threat,” Sediryl said. “That I want to handle it. That I… that I am looking forward to having handled it and being satisfied at how poorly my enemies fared.” She looked up at Maia. “I’m afraid I’m not right in the head.”
Maia snorted. “And the alternative is to want to lose?”
“No, but—”
Maia held up a hand. “Stop there. That’s it. That’s all we have. We either go into this and come out on top… or we don’t. And frankly, I’d prefer we go in wanting the other side to lose. Anything that’s going to help us win, we need. Because if you decide it’s hopeless, you’re a fair way to guaranteeing it will be.” She shook her head. “You think you’re special for having thoughts like this. I hate to tell you, arii… people like you are how we win wars. And unfortunately for all of us, wars happen, and they happen to people who don’t want them and wish they didn’t have to fight them. You want to know why I joined Fleet… there it is.”
“I don’t want to join Fleet,” Sediryl murmured.
Maia chuckled. “I know. You want to direct Fleet. That’s why your Queen picked you out of the pack.” At Sediryl’s horrified look, the D-per laughed. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be in charge! Someone has to be.”
“But I don’t have the first qualification!”
“No,” Maia agreed. “You’re even wetter behind the ears than the newest lieutenant. But that’s why we surround new officers with experienced people. In your case, your Queen picked me.”
Sediryl smiled at the D-per ruefully. “And you would advise me to do... what?”
“Eat, sleep, and keep hydrated,” Maia replied, rescuing the cocoa from the console and handing it back to Sediryl.
Sediryl eyed the cup skeptically and looked at her D-per. “I was hoping for something a little more globally applicable.”
“Then, read,” Maia said firmly. “Read politics. Read history. A lot of history. Not just the Alliance history, or whatever you have of your own history. Read Earth’s history, because that’s where it all starts. You need to learn about human nature, and human reaction to scarce resources, to fear, to new ideas. Read about economics, because that drives a lot of interaction between people and nations. Read about psychology. Everything that scares you, or bewilders you, you have to learn. It’s not enough to fly a ship, arii. You have to know how such ships could have come about, and why we needed them.”
“That’s... a lot,” Sediryl murmured.
“That’s everything,” Maia said. “Fortunately, you’ll be around long enough to get a better grip on it than a lot of people.”
“Still.” Sediryl managed a lopsided smile. “Is delegation acceptable? Can I just marry someone who knows psychology and pawn off that work on him?”
“Is that your suave cousin with the sword?” Maia tilted her head, brows lifting. “That could be handy.”
“A different cousin. The one we were supposed to rescue.”
Maia’s ears twitched. Maybe she was hiding a smile. “I thought we liked the one with the sword.”
“I like them both,” Sediryl muttered.
“Oh! Well, I didn’t know you swung that way, but I’m sure the Harat-Shar will marry you all together if necessary—”
“Maia!”
Sediryl had the uncomfortable notion that Maia saw through her blush and straight into her prurient thoughts. “No? Well, you have time to decide. But I encourage you to consider the power of ‘and’, which is often a lot more interesting than ‘or’....”
Covering her face with a hand would be too revealing. “You are not supposed to be encouraging me to consider infractions against your own societal norms.”
“I only look like a Seersa,” Maia said, amused. “What I actually am is a terrifying number of lines of code spread all over a galactic network. Don’t forget that.”
“Sparkle more, and I might remember.” Sediryl sipped the cocoa and sighed. “And recommend me something to start reading, as long as I’m here.”
“I’ll send something to your—” Maia stopped abruptly, her edges losing cohesion. Sediryl set her cup aside, alarmed, about to ask, when the D-per bared her teeth. “Rhack! Someone’s seen us!” And vanished.
“Maia?” Sediryl asked. “Maia, what’s going on...”
At her feet, Bells whimpered.
“Can we lose them?”
“Too late,” Maia’s voice hissed from above her. “They’re heading straight for us.”
Slowly, Sediryl stood, resting her hands flat on the console. “Show me.”
The ship that blinked into view in the forward window, magnified many times... Sediryl wouldn’t have been able to identify it even if she’d known anything about ship types. But she felt better, being able to see it coming. Exhaling, she said, “How bad is it?”
And oddly, Maia did not immediately reply. Glancing toward the ceiling, Sediryl said, “Maia?”
“I don’t recognize it.”
“Is that... good?”
The D-per re-materialized alongside her, all her silver-lavender fur coruscating with lightnings. Her ears were flattened against a mane that trailed into the air in a sweep of glitter. “No. Yes. It doesn’t matter. They might have new ship types here, they’re pirates. Presumably they’re scavenging from everywhere. None of their vessels will be theirs. So...”
The console near Sediryl’s left hand chimed, and they both stared at it. When it chimed a second time, Sediryl said, hesitant, “Isn’t that... the signal that they are attempting to communicate with us?”
The console chimed again.
“They probably want to gloat.” But Maia sounded perplexed.
“We should open the channel.”
The D-per sighed, but the console sang an arpeggio as it responded to the contact.
“Stealthed vessel,” an accented voice whispered, as if fearing they’d be overheard. “Are you also attempting to draw closer to the nucleus of violent activity?”
“What in the worlds?” Sediryl said, hushed, to Maia, who held up a hand to prevent their voices from transmitting.
“That accent,” said the D-per, astonished. “It’s Faulfenzair.”
Sediryl knew almost nothing about the Faulfenza, one of the few true alien races known to the Alliance. They were technically an allied power, like the Eldritch, and while they were not the recluses Sediryl’s people were, they remained rare, particularly in the Neighborhood, the center of the Alliance where she’d resided. Since the Faulfenza’s homeworlds were coreward of Earth, they tended to stay in the unclaimed parts of space between the human system and the Alliance border.
But everything Sediryl had heard of them made her think it unlikely they’d involve themselves in a piratical lifestyle. “Let her hear me again.” After the wave: “Faulfenzair vessel. This is Sediryl Nuera Galare of the Eldritch, ambassador ad’Alliance from the Eldritch Empire.” Insane to be using the term, but it was the one that fit now. Empire! But if Liolesa could do that, surely she could do this... whatever this ended up being. “We’ve lost some people to these pirates. I’m here to get them back while learning enough about them to allow the Alliance Fleet to destroy them.”
“Faulza will it so. I too have lost people... my entire crew. I alone escaped. Do you bring a navy with you, then?”
“It’s a complicated situation,” Sediryl said. “I think we s
hould discuss it in person.” She smiled a little at Maia. “I have a cup of cocoa I need to finish anyway.”
CHAPTER TWO
Even having lived in the Alliance all his life, Vasiht’h had no clear conception of interstellar distances. He knew, vaguely, that the Alliance was large. But ships so rarely traveled the same speeds (or the same routes). How could he possibly have a sense for how far something was based on how long it took to get there, when the same company could run two shuttle services to the same world and have one get there in three hours, and the other in two days?
He would have thought this lack of understanding would comfort him. After all, if there were more variables involved in gauging the distance between points than the physical space, then he might be only a day away from the people who might rescue them. But instead, it made him more anxious. If he couldn’t tell, how could he communicate where they were? Assuming he found some way to communicate at all?
“You worry, and the worry is senseless,” the Slave Queen told him. “We must wait, that is all.”
“That’s not enough,” Vasiht’h said, but she would not be moved.
How he envied her that serenity! For she was serene. The way she fell out of motion… it was as if every limb was accustomed to stillness, and gravitated toward it as the norm. How many years had she remained a prisoner in the imperial harem to have learned that habit? He couldn’t learn it from her in days. His mind kept twitching back to Jahir, to the absence in his mind that felt like a vacuum. So many images Jahir had shared with him through the mindline over the years: the trickle of streams, the sun on his shoulders, the breeze it had taken Vasiht’h over a decade to experience for himself when he’d finally visited his friend’s homeworld. All those alien impressions, layer after layer of them, like stacks of scarves. Surely he should be able to clutch them to himself now, but they had evanesced.
‘Your worry is senseless,’ she said, and she was right. But that didn’t stop him from fretting, until he’d chafed the fur off the inside of his right foreleg, near the paw.
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