by Natalie Grey
“Ariane, you are cleared to land in dock 74-a.”
“Roger that.” Jester guided the Ariane down, his eyes locked on the screen as the ship broke through the perpetual snowstorms of New Arizona. Snow and sleet beat against the glass, but Jester’s touch on the controls was steady.
Over his head, Talon met Nyx’s eyes. In the past week and a half, the two of them, and Tersi, had spent their time trying to determine which members of the crew were loyal … and which were agents bought by the head of Alliance Intelligence, Aleksander Soras. The information, which might have been only a fun game otherwise, had become absolutely vital since Talon had learned the truth about Soras.
He was the Warlord of Ymir, and he had used his position first in the Alliance Navy, and then in Intelligence, to tighten his hold on the planet he ruled. He had crashed Navy carriers, changed intel, had spies murdered, and had used the Dragon Corps to take out leaders of the resistance on Ymir. With spies even in most of the Dragon crews, Soras had an impressive amount of information about where his potential enemies were and what resources they had.
He had failed to appreciate one fact, however: Talon Rift was, to a fault, a stubborn and vengeful bastard who did not intend to rest until Soras was dead at his feet. He had killed two of Soras’s agents so far, and he intended to find each of the others.
It would be particularly convenient if Jester were loyal. They had no finer pilot on Team 9, and Talon had fought beside Jester since before he had taken command. Jester had followed him to Team 9, and if Talon were honest with himself, a betrayal from Jester would cut deep.
But taking shortcuts and making assumptions based on what he wanted was a surefire way to end up dead in a ditch. The Warlord had no compunctions about killing his enemies, and Talon had—before he knew the man’s identity—proclaimed to Soras that he would not rest until the Warlord was dead.
Talon, Nyx, and Tersi had planned to work with only those they could be sure were loyal, and cut out the rest of the team at the last minute. Killing any more of Soras’s agents would tip him off to the fact that they were onto him, which, right now, was their only element of surprise.
So it was a surprise when Jester got up and slid the door to the bridge closed.
“I got an offer the other day,” he said bluntly. His eyes flicked between Talon and Nyx. “From Intelligence, to pass information on your plans regarding the Warlord.” He went to sit down, his hands splayed out, away from any weapons. His brown eyes met Talon’s. “And it seemed to me that it was an interesting coincidence that we’d lost Mars and Camorra, who left the ship when you’d said expressly that you didn’t want to be followed … and now other members of the crew are getting offers to be informants. So, what I want to know is, why the hell do you care enough about Alliance Intelligence knowing what you’re up to, that you’re willing to kill your own crew mates?”
There was no warmth in his face, and Talon blew out a breath.
Jester looked at Nyx, and there was desperation there. “Tell me he has a good reason. Tell me the two of you aren’t doing something shady.”
It was his tell that gave away his sincerity: when Jester was worried, he tended to clench his toes and release them. To Talon’s knowledge, the Dragon wasn’t aware of his tic, and Talon had never told him about it. Suspicious by nature, he liked to know his crew’s tells.
“There’s a bomb in here, isn’t there?” He looked at Jester, who swallowed. “You were ready to take the two of us out if we’d been going bad.”
Jester hesitated, then nodded.
“And did anyone at Intelligence suggest that strategy to you?” Nyx’s voice was too soft. She was still wary.
Jester gave her a look. “I wasn’t going to let the two of you get strung up on trial or hunted down by the other teams. That would be the way they would do it, and it would mean a lot of Dragons would die.” His hands clenched, and he looked at Talon. “But we trained together. Tell me you’re not—”
“I’m not,” Talon said simply. “Which means….”
Jester frowned. “That there’s someone in Intelligence who shouldn’t be there.”
“That,” Talon said with feeling, “is an understatement.” He stared the man down. “Did you take the offer?”
“For fuck’s sake, first her, now you? No. I was going to take care of it myself if things were wrong.” Jester looked between the two of them. “I … didn’t think they were, or Tersi wouldn’t still be on the team. But I knew I didn’t want either of you to be traitors, and that would cloud my judgement.”
“Fair enough.” Talon looked at Nyx, who nodded. He knew her aural implants were tuned to catch the faint distortions in tone that occurred with lying. From everything he could see, Jester was telling the truth.
The fact that he’d been willing to sacrifice his own life to take Talon out was surprisingly touching.
…It was possible Dragons weren’t very good at creating touching moments. Talon gave a grimace and tried to figure out what to say.
“Soras is the Warlord,” Nyx said bluntly, while Talon was trying to marshall his thoughts.
“What?” Jester looked between the two of them.
“I was trying to come up with a good way to say that,” Talon muttered to Nyx.
“I think my way got the point across.” She frowned at him, then looked back to Jester. “So far, we know you, me, Tersi, and the new kid are loyal. We’re still trying to figure out the rest.”
“Can’t see Aegis taking a bribe,” Jester said contemplatively. He considered. “Look, why don’t you leave Nyx in charge. Tersi and I will run through communications and see who’s been contacted and what’s been sent. We’ll start with Mars and Camorra’s transmissions so we know what to look for.”
“Good call.” Talon nodded and stood.
“So, what are we here for, then?” Jester looked out at the too-clean landing bay. “You know most of the people here wouldn’t give a damn if they sided with the Warlord over the Alliance.”
“I know,” Talon said, unperturbed. “But there are resources here we can’t find anywhere else. Including Cade.”
“Cade.” Jester whistled. “Well, good luck getting him.”
“Why does everyone think I’m going to fail at this?” Talon shook his head. “I am your commander, you could have a little bit of respect. Hold down the fort and I’ll be back soon. I’m taking Loki and Sphinx.”
“Why them?” Nyx asked, with a frown.
“They’re the only two who don’t have dress clothes,” Talon explained. He left the other two frowning after him, and headed off, whistling.
Let them wonder. He had a plan.
On the screen, a small figure lounged in a pilot’s chair. Alina Kuznetsova was 4’10” in very thick-soled shoes, and still—to hear the Dragons tell it—one of the most intimidating people on the force.
Right now, she was also a thorn in Aleksander Soras’s side.
“We double-checked the intelligence before we passed it through.” He tried to keep his voice from rising with annoyance. Right now, he needed to pretend he was on her side, so he forced a regretful smile. “We would not have advocated such strong measures unless we were absolutely sure of what was going on.”
“I’m not sure.” Her tone was blunt. White-blonde hair glittered in the low light of the cockpit, and she raised her pale eyebrows at Soras. “And I’m not going to assassinate a Dragon commander until I’m sure. So, either you pass me your sources so I can figure out what’s going on, or you wait while I investigate it myself.” She considered. “Or, I suppose, you could give me different intelligence that’s verifiable.”
“Commander Kuznetsova—”
“I always double check my intel before an operation.” She was not in the least swayed by his attempt to pressure her. “I don’t object to killing. I think it’s often a good tactic. But I don’t do it unless I’m absolutely sure that the person I’m killing deserves it. And you haven’t proved to me that Talon Rift
is actually participating in the slave trade.”
Soras considered. There was no way to back out of this. If he withdrew his request for her to assassinate Rift, she would only get more curious. Which meant he either had to prevaricate and delay, or push through some intel that she could verify on her own.
Which was what he thought he had given her the first time. He’d made sure that sources were available to parrot the story he’d made up.
What the hell had he seen that spooked her?
“I will see what I can do,” he said, as pleasantly as he could, and he hung up.
The Dragons were going to be a problem. Three had already, apparently, decided not to take the requested job, and the fourth was being problematic. All four certainly couldn’t have accidents at once, and the orders might begin to circulate.
Soras rang the buzzer for his assistant and tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach.
“Yes?” Julian appeared in the doorway.
“More evidence for Kuznetsova.” He was in no mood for further questions, and so when Julian opened his mouth, Soras only snapped, “Just handle it.”
The man disappeared without another word, and Soras resisted the urge to sink his head into his hands. It was all coming apart. If he couldn’t arrange for Rift to be taken out, things were about to get very ugly.
3
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.” Ellian Pallas gestured to a hardwood-and-velvet chair. “Can I get you a drink?”
“No, but thank you.” Talon allowed a moment for regret. Ellian’s liquor cabinet was, doubtless, absolutely fantastic. He would love a drink.
But he was on duty, and he did not drink when he was on duty—especially around someone who was a big enough snake to be the Warlord’s armorer. Talon hadn’t gotten this far in life by underestimating his opponents.
He gave a bland smile. “So, I understand you’re looking for a bodyguard.”
“The best money can buy. Which is usually quite spectacular.” Ellian settled back behind his desk and narrowed his brown eyes speculatively. “I admit, however, even I did not expect I could get a Dragon.”
“Yes, well.” Talon smiled. “I would do anything for my crew, and one of them would like a civilian life. In a manner of speaking.”
“Old?” Ellian went right to the point. “Injured?”
“No. If I didn’t think he could still fight to my standards, I wouldn’t recommend him for this.”
“I don’t think a Dragon is strictly necessary.” Ellian gave a small smile. “Are you sure I can’t get you a drink?”
“I’m afraid so. And, well, you and I both know what you do for a living.” The fact that Ellian worked for the Warlord was not widely known, but his profession was. “Perhaps a Dragon isn’t necessary, but, then again, perhaps it is.”
“Ah. I should clarify.” Ellian leaned forward with a smile. “The bodyguard is not for me. They would be protecting my wife.”
“Your wife.” Talon felt the first flicker of unease. This might not be the best plan, after all. “Perhaps I should have inquired before I came here … do you care if the bodyguard is male or female?”
“Why would I care?” It was clearly a test. Ellian drummed his fingers on the desk and leveled his too-sharp gaze at Talon.
Most men wouldn’t want their wife in close proximity to a Dragon, Talon wanted to say. He was, by nature, blunt and to the point. However, it probably wasn’t politic to hint at the possibility for a wayward spouse. He lifted one shoulder.
“A good bodyguard will be there while your wife—what’s her name, by the way?”
“Aryn.” Ellian’s tone said how unwelcome any attempt at friendship would be.
“Aryn. A bodyguard would be there while she … changed, ate, right when she woke up. She, herself, might prefer a female bodyguard for that very reason. As might you.”
“She has left the choice of bodyguard up to me.” Ellian’s voice was pleasant, but cold as winter. “And I have no concerns. Aryn is mine. Body and soul.”
Mine. Body and soul. Talon had done his research, and so he knew the woman was a fugitive from Ymir, living with the Warlord’s armorer. While it was indubitably a better life than dying young in the mines, Ellian held her life in his hand. He could easily send her back if she did not meet his specifications. There could be no true give and take, no opportunity for her to have any life of her own. Ellian owned her.
Talon fought the urge to pick one of the brass ornaments up off the desk and use it to crush Ellian Pallas’s throat. He didn’t like slavers, and this man was getting perilously close.
But he needed this connection. Alienating—or, worse, killing—Soras’s armorer now would touch off a round of chaos that could take thousands of lives.
So Talon smiled. “Well, then, we have no problem. I can personally vouch that he’s one of the best fighters I’ve ever seen, and as honorable as they come. He will let nothing past him and allow no risks to your wife.”
“You know, with most people, I would assume they were over-selling the situation.” Ellian steepled his fingers and gave a smile that, while not unfriendly, was certainly not comforting. “With you, I will assume you are, in fact, under-selling. He has the job. Can he begin tonight?”
Talon tried to keep his face from flickering. “Surely you’ll want to interview him?”
“You’re a Dragon commander, and you do not appear to be lying when you tell me that this man is one of the most impressive fighters you’ve ever seen. Your word is good enough for me.”
“But, you know—whether or not people like one another, that sort of thing.” He was babbling. Shut up. “Also, I assumed you would want to interview him yourself, so I did not tell him to be available today. He has business to conclude.” One of the secrets of negotiation was to put personal pride away for the duration. “Entirely my fault for assuming. I hope you won’t hold it against him.”
“Of course not,” Ellian said smoothly. “I’ll interview him tomorrow, then.”
There was no point in arguing. Whatever Ellian wanted, Talon would find a way to give him. He pushed himself up, casually pressing a listening device into the bottom of the arm of the chair and allowing another to fall into the lush pile of the carpet, and reached out to shake Ellian’s hand. Unnoticed by Pallas—he hoped—a tiny, spider-like robot eased itself down from the inside of his pant hem and skittered under the desk.
The two men smiled at one another, Ellian’s a reminder of just who he was and how ruthlessly he conducted his business, Talon’s insincere and hopefully clear of his desire for Ellian’s painful death at some point in the not-too-distant future.
“Oh, and you never mentioned.” Ellian gave a little frown. “What’s the man’s name?”
Talon turned from the doorway and gave as bland a smile as he could. “Cade Williams.”
Ellian stared at the closed door and narrowed his eyes.
He did not, as a rule, like Dragons. No one who operated out of the confines of strictly legal business did like them. You could never tell when one of them would take offense to a perfectly logical, reasonable business decision and burn your entire business down—most likely, literally.
Which had been something Ellian meant to ask about, but he’d found, much to his shame, that as he stared Talon Rift down, he didn’t particularly want to run the risk of pissing the man off. It was one thing to know that in a long, drawn out conflict, he could most likely sabotage the man. It was quite another to stare across a desk at him and know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that if it came to a physical fight, he would die.
Ellian did not like being the less powerful man in the room. He gave a sigh and tapped his fingers on the desk. He had hired any number of bodyguards and servants over the years who were more capable than he was of winning fights. He did not believe in hiring incompetent people, after all. That was the mark of a weak leader.
So what was strange about Talon Rift?
He shook his head. It wa
sn’t important. The man he’d be working with was someone else, ‘Cade Williams.’ Ellian would never need to interact with Talon Rift again, which was probably better for everyone involved.
And the more he thought about it, the more he thought it was truly a good idea to interview this Williams man.
After all, he had very … unique … specifications for a bodyguard. Unconsciously, his head turned toward the part of the house where, even now, Aryn was getting ready for an event. Ellian could picture the curve of her cheek, hear the sound of her laugh in his head.
If he wanted to prevent everything he had from crashing down around him, he needed this Cade Williams to be perfect.
Lesedi looked at the incoming call and smiled. After a recent assassination attempt, she had spent most of the past two weeks moving from decoy apartment to decoy apartment. As far as she knew, her would-be assassin did not know she was still alive, and she didn’t want to screw it up.
Especially now that she knew the truth of Talon’s operation against the Warlord of Ymir.
She had made plans. She checked in with certain databases every day, entering a rotating series of codes. If she did not, a packet of information would be sent to every senator and then, if certain activity did not commence within a specified window of time, the information—including the fact that it had been sent to parliament, and they had not acted—would be sent to every major news outlet.
Talon had his methods of revenge. Lesedi had hers.
She picked up the call with a smile. “Talon. Hello.”
“Lesedi.” He sounded pleased with himself, though cautious.
“Talon, what did you do?”
“Oh, you’ll like it. I’m fairly sure.” He paused, and she waited as well. He sighed. “You never play along, do you?”
“On the contrary. You’ll recall I played along very well with the Talon-in-a-tutu plan.”
He ignored that. “All right, I’ll tell you. I bugged Ellian Pallas’s office, and I’m going to have an agent on the inside soon.”
