by E. A. James
“One down, one to go,” she mumbled, turning her ship around to set her sights on the other.
To her surprise, the second ship wasn’t where she expected it to be. She tightened her grip on the controls, watching the monitors carefully. The sensors were chirping loudly, letting her know that the enemy was somewhere nearby, and was locked in on her location.
“Where is he, Captain?” the voice came over the intercom. “You have to find him.”
“You don’t think I know that?!” Kira snapped.
The front, rear, starboard, and port cameras were showing no signs of the ship that was causing her sensors to go crazy. That only left one option.
"I’ve got you," Kira said under her breath, pulling her ship up suddenly and repositioning it quickly to the side. Just as she did, the ship came into view. The vessel had taken evasive action of its own, diving down quickly, positioning itself below her, out of view of her cameras. It had then locked on her position and began to climb, its guns pointed at her ship's underbelly.
She steered the ship out of the line of fire just as a projectile went hurtling past her. The ship, now clearly in the line of sight of her port camera, was spinning around to square off with her.
“I don’t think so,” Kira said, quickly finding the ship in her crosshairs.
Before the enemy vessel had the chance to lock its guns in on her position again, she slammed her hand down on the launch button, sending a missile flying directly into the front of the ship. Just as the air filled with the orange glow of the explosion, her monitors switched off and the viewscreen went blank, encasing her in darkness.
As the ship shuddered to a halt and the lights came on around her, Kira let out a sigh of relief. Her hands still gripping the controls, she leaned her head back against the headrest as the ceiling of the makeshift cockpit popped open.
“I don’t usually give out perfect scores,” her Field Training Officer’s voice rang out over the intercom, “but I would be hard-pressed to find something to criticize about that performance, Cadet. Although, I could have done without the snappy tone.”
Pushing herself up out of the seat, she shot a confident smile in his direction. “You taught me to be a strong, confident leader, sir. I was just showing that I could do that,” she replied. Although she couldn’t see him, she knew where he was—seated in his usual spot just behind the one-way mirrors lining the far wall of the simulation room.
“I don’t think anyone had to teach you how to be strong or confident,” he replied.
“So,” she said, not ready to begin celebrating just yet. “Does that mean…?”
“It means you’ve officially passed your last test, Cadet—or should I say—Captain Winter,” he said, his voice booming with pride.
“Hell yes!” she exclaimed as she jumped down from the large, white, boxy flight simulator.
Just as her feet hit the floor, the heavy metal door in the corner of the room went flying open, slamming back against the wall forcefully. In the blink of an eye, the room filled with the bustle of excited bodies, all crowding in towards her. They had been watching her last simulated flight on the monitors hanging just outside the simulation room. It was common practice that a public audience was allowed to attend a cadet's final test. That way, the celebration could start immediately upon receiving her final mark.
She scanned the faces, recognizing most of them as her fellow Academy cadets. Her parents were there, mixed in with the crowd, trying to push their way towards her, with her sister close on their heels.
“If I can have your attention,” her Field Training Officer’s voice rang out, causing an anxious calm to fall over the crowd.
He was no longer behind the glass. Now, he stood in the doorway, his tall frame easily hovering over the mass of people. Everyone turned to look at him as he walked into the room. The crowd parted as he made his way towards Kira, a satisfied grin spread across his face.
“Kira Winter,” he said when he reached her. “It has been my honor to train you these last four years. You have always been an exemplary student, going above and beyond what was asked of you. You are a quick learner and a great pilot. I have no doubt that you will make the Terran Alliance Forces proud with your service.”
Reaching into his pocket, he revealed a small, golden pin. Although it wasn’t large in size, it was immense in meaning, especially for her. It was her badge, her title, the symbol of her first official ranking in the T.A.F.—it was everything she had ever wanted and everything she had worked so hard for.
She beamed with pride as he fastened the golden wings to the collar of her uniform. Her eyes once again flitted around the room, scanning the faces in the crowd. They were the faces of people who had supported her through the grueling training process, the faces of all the people who had stood by her from start to finish.
As her Field Training Officer pulled back, patting her firmly on her shoulder, her eyes landed on one specific face in the crowd—Ryker Dune’s. Lieutenant Dune was her Combat Training Officer, specializing in hand-to-hand combat. He had previously served as a member of the Terran Alliance Special Forces, the most prestigious of all the T.A.F. units. He began working at the Academy during her second year in training when an injury he sustained while out on a mission left him "temporarily unfit for battle."
There had always been a sort of unspoken tension between them. Kira felt it from the beginning and she knew that he did, too. But, the fact that he was her superior had always overshadowed them. Now, though, as she watched him walk confidently in her direction, she had a feeling that that divide was growing smaller as the distance between them lessened.
“Captain,” Ryker said, pushing his way through the crowd and extending his hand to her.
“Lieutenant Dune,” she replied, slipping her hand into his.
Although he was 28-years old, six years older than her, he had a boyish look about him. If it weren’t for the faint ripple of scars etched his right temple and cheek from the accident that had taken him temporarily out of the Special Forces, there would be no trace of age or experience on his face. Even his large frame and muscular build didn’t make-up for his childlike features. His thick, dark black hair was always messy, and there was a hint of mischief buried beneath his stern, serious countenance.
“You did it,” he said with a crooked smile. “You trained, worked your ass off, and rose to the top of your class. And, I’m proud to say that I got to be a part of what I know will be an amazing success story for the Terran Alliance Forces.”
“Someone is full of compliments today,” she replied quickly. “That’s a nice change.”
Although there had been some level of attraction passed between them during her training, Ryker had always been exceptionally hard on her. She didn’t mind, though. She took it as a challenge; it drove her and pushed her to work and train harder.
“That’s not the only thing that’s changed,” he said. “Your status has changed as well. You’re no longer a cadet in the Academy.”
“Oh,” she said, with a sarcastic gasp, “is that why all these people are here staring at me?”
Ryker smiled and ran his fingers through his hair. He kept his eyes focused on hers as he continued, “I mean, you’re no longer my student. And, that means, that there’s nothing standing in the way of my asking you out.”
“Except maybe this extremely awkward situation,” she said, looking over his shoulder at the mass of faces lining up to congratulate her. “Everyone is looking at us.”
His gaze didn’t follow hers; it remained glued to her face. “Are they? I hadn’t noticed.”
“Well, they are.”
“Then why don’t we continue this conversation later tonight, in a more private setting—I’ll prepare dinner for us in my quarters.”
The thought of being in a Training Officer’s private quarters made Kira’s pulse quicken. Just five minutes before, it would have been breaking the first cardinal rule of the Academy—no relationships between off
icers and cadets.
But, she wasn’t a cadet anymore. She was a captain in the Terran Alliance Forces. The realization quickly pushed all doubt and insecurity from her mind, replacing those feelings with pride and confidence.
“If that will keep you from holding up the line, I guess I’ll accept,” she said playfully, not letting the rush of excitement she was feeling come through in her voice.
Ryker cocked his head to the side, smiled, and nodded. “I’ll see you at 1800 hours then, Captain Winter.”
She nodded quickly as he turned to walk away. Watching him go, she couldn’t keep the smile from her lips. Everything seemed to be coming together. Her career was on track and clearly, she was crossing the chasm between cadet and captain seamlessly.
Her gaze followed him as he turned the corner, leaving the room. Just as she was about to turn to search for her family in the crowd and continue letting the moment of celebration wash over her, something caught her eye. Something that made the smile quickly fall from her lips.
She didn’t need to see the ranks sewn into his uniform to know who he was. What he was doing at her pinning ceremony, though, was what confused her. Colonel Baron Grimm was the Special Forces’ most well-known commander. She had seen his face on broadcasts, his icy stare piercing through the holographic images with an intensity that demanded instant respect. And now, those glassy eyes were fixed on her.
A chill ran up her spine as he pushed through the crowd, making a beeline in her direction.
FATE SWORN
CHAPTER ONE
Light swooped through her eyelids and kissed the forefront of her mind.
Leonie jolted in bed, her eyes snapping open.
A star—its fire a soft blue and its center a pure white—languidly spun in the center of her massive bedroom. Its glow brushed over all the furniture, gleaming against such a magical force.
Leonie’s heart leaped to her throat and twisted. Arms trembling, she scooted back and then sat up. She stared—stared—at this small star as her mind raced with frantic questions. The star wasn’t warm, wasn’t blinding—it just…
It twisted and stretched vertically. The blue burst out of existence and the white withered into a dark gray.
Leonie jumped back, arms raised in a feeble defensive position.
You know better, she thought to herself. She tensed her arms and clenched her hands into steady fists. Then she took a deep breath in preparation to scream for the guards outside her door.
The gray blob shuddered, curled, brightened—and then it formed into a shape of a giant man with a broad chest and hairless flesh. The man’s eyes, taller than they were wide, sparkled despite the dullness within the pupils.
Leonie choked on her scream, her insides freezing over.
“Mathsus?!” she thought as a silver light wrapped itself around the giant man—acting as a robe.
The giant man—no, the god floated some centimeters off the floor and blinked. “Young Duchess of Asawiss, I call upon you.”
Leonie threw herself to the floor and bowed. “Mighty god of fate, I bask in your glorious presence.” She blinked owlishly at the floor, her knuckles pushing against it as she struggled to remain motionless—to not tremble. “I—I’m humbled, so humbled. I do not know why you have come to me, but I’m honored by your presence.”
Mathsus said nothing for a moment.
Sweat seeped out of the back of her neck.
“Rise, child,” Mathsus said.
She shot up to her feet, crossing her arms over her breasts and hoping beyond hope that her hair wasn’t as frizzy as it usually got at night.
Mathsus’s face was like a stone mask, unmoving and indifferent. “A war approaches the kingdom of Sallimor and the kingdom of Maylorn. I invoke you to prevent it from becoming so.”
Her stomach dropped. “Sallimor? I…but what of Corsonall? They’ve threatened to overtake Maylorn before, but…?” A wisp of a breath shuddered from her mouth.
“Forgive me, I don’t understand. If this is what will happen, then why not stop it yourself? Or call upon someone in Sallimor or Maylorn?” She blanched the moment the words left her lips and stumbled back.
“Not that I—I meant no offense! I’m a mere mortal, and I’m ignorant of such things. That is the only reason I ask questions, so I am no longer ignorant—so I can best understand your wishes.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I invoke you because there is no other, and my will needs no explanation.”
“Of course,” she said quickly. “Apologies. My sincerest apologies.”
Wind shoved her back against the wall, fiery light exploding in front of her. She choked on her breath as her chest went aflame with panic, eyes watering and stinging. And then everything went dark and quiet.
Mathsus was gone.
She blinked hard a few times, a tear crawling down her left cheek as her vision cleared. She couldn’t move—couldn’t think—could barely inhale and exhale over and over again.
A god…the god of fate…her? Why her? What made her worthy for such an important task?
Her stunned state vanished instantly, and she jumped before dashing out of her bedroom.
The guards outside her door jolted. “Young Duchess,” one of them gasped. “What—?”
“Mathsus,” she said, grabbing the man’s plated shoulder and shaking. “Mathsus. Mathsus—” She shook her head and ran down the hallway, toward her parents’ bedroom. “Mama! Papa! Mathsus!”
The guards hurried after her, their armor clanking with each step.
The guards who stood outside her parents’ bedroom doors frowned at Leonie—manic as she must’ve looked—but they didn’t stop her as she burst into the room far bigger than her own. Guided by memories more than sight, she ran through the darkness until her shins bumped into the large bed. “Mama! Mama!” She grabbed her mother’s forearm.
Her mother jolted and gasped, her hand snapping to Leonie’s fingers. “Wha?”
Her father jolted next.
“Leonie?” her mother croaked, her grip on Leonie loosening. “Leonie, what’s wrong?”
Leonie spluttered out what had just occurred, though she still wasn’t completely sure what had just occurred. A vision? A physical visiting from the god?
By the time she was finished, both of her parents had sat up in their bed and her six siblings had gathered by the bedroom doors. The guards stood stock still in their positions, though their pinched expressions betrayed their obvious discomfort.
“That was quite a dream,” her father said, yawning. He rubbed his eyes and cracked his bearded jaw. “I’m glad that even as an adult now, you still dream so fantastically.”
Her face fell. “It wasn’t a dream!”
Her mother patted Leonie’s shoulder. “My dear, I’ve had lucid dreams before—some involving the god fate, others involving the goddess of love—and I understand how cathartic the experience can be. I’m afraid you get your vivid perception from me. A blessing and a curse, truly.”
Leonie’s shoulders sagged, heart sinking.
Her little sisters giggled and whispered to one another, one of her brothers loudly saying “madness” before laughing.
Leonie clenched her teeth and spun toward them. “It’s not madness! I know what I saw and heard, and it’s important!”
Her mother sighed. “Janette,” she said, waving at one of the nannies, who lingered in the hallway, “please take the children back to their rooms. The excitement has come and past.”
Janette curtsied in her nightgown like it was a lavish dress. “Yes, Duchess.” Then, whispering her commands, she motioned for the other children to move down the hallway.
Leonie tensed when she heard her siblings laughing harder, the brats.
“Go back to sleep,” her mother said, squeezing Leonie’s shoulder. “Everything will be clearer when you’re well rested.”
Her father stretched, yawned again, and then sank beneath the covers. “We’ll all have a good laugh in the morning,” he mu
rmured.
Leonie’s eyes darted between both parents. “You…you really don’t believe me.” She pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling.
Her mother raised her hand from Leonie’s shoulder and placed it against her cheek. “We’ll discuss this more in the morning, dear. Everything’s alright, I assure you.”
Leonie pulled away, her gaze lowering.
Her mother called over another nanny—Leliana, an elderly woman who remained with them in their gorgeous pine mansion even after retirement. The old woman, who had also been lingering in the hallway, walked past the guards and approached Leonie.
