by Ben Hale
“I call it—”
Skorn cut Ero off with a warning look. “Has a date been scheduled for the tribunal?”
A trace of disappointment appeared in Malikin’s features. “Your father has managed to delay his judgment.”
Ero’s broad smile would not be restrained. To the public, tribunals were about justice. To the condemned, it was clear they were about acquiring power.
Voices of the Emperor were frequently bribed by the accused, the glint used for personal gain or to further their respective House interests. Accused krey commonly sold everything they possessed to retain their freedom, and judges rose in power during their tenure.
“If you’ve been appointed to the circle,” Skorn said, “that means the size of the circle has been decided.”
Malikin’s smile returned. “Three for small crimes, five for moderate, seven for greater, nine for—”
“I don’t need a lesson in Imperial law,” Ero retorted.
“My apologies.” Malikin’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “I assumed that one who had destroyed so much when serving as Primus might not understand the consequence.”
“How many seats on the tribunal?” Skorn asked.
“Nine Voices.” Malikin’s green eyes were triumphant. “A capital crime.”
Ero managed to keep the groan from his lips. All judges were open to bribery, but a larger tribunal meant more to bribe. To win five would require more wealth than House Bright’Lor had possessed even before their fall.
“Be grateful it wasn’t eleven Voices,” Malikin said, his clawed hand again closing into a fist. “It appears your mother has not entirely abandoned your family.”
Malikin turned and strode away, and Ero cursed, drawing the gaze of a white-robed condemned nearby. The krey woman scowled at Ero before returning to her conversation with a pair of judges and a Reckoning officer.
Skorn muttered under his breath, “He’s going to be trouble.”
“We already knew Malikin hated our House,” Ero said, turning and threading his way toward the back of the chamber. “But the size of the circle is going to be a problem.”
“You think Hellina stepped in to keep it to nine?”
Ero’s laugh was bitter. “Mother cut ties when Dragorn when a Reckoning was launched. More likely, Father made a deal with a Pure Voice to keep himself out of the highest of courts.”
Pure Voices were the highest judges in the Empire. They controlled the halls of tribunal and were immune to a Reckoning or Condemnation, except by the Emperor himself. It was likely their father had deliberately befriended the Pure Voices that governed their region back when House Bright’Lor had been a rising power.
They passed through the back of the hall and entered the White Prison, which filled the bulk of the mountain and contained all those awaiting tribunal. Lavish and rich, the upper series of chambers were occupied by those who had purchased space in the hall itself. The Tribunal Tower extended deep below the surface, and the deeper the room, the more modest the chambers. A mile below the streets of Mylttium, the free rooms were just a square chamber and a door. Ero had spent the night in one due to a misunderstanding, and his father had refused to pay for a better level.
“Have you ever thought that glint shouldn’t be power?” Skorn asked.
Ero raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“Glint buys easier tribunals and escape from Condemnation. But the poor Houses cannot afford such trappings.”
“We are a poor House.”
“We are, because of the Reckoning.”
“You think our government is unfair?” Ero chuckled at his brother’s words. “Glint has always been power.”
“Corruption in public or in private is still broken,” Skorn said.
“Who cares?” Ero said. “It’s not like we can change anything. We’ll be lucky to get enough glint to keep Dragorn from being launched into a star.”
Skorn shrugged but did not press the issue. Ero frowned, wondering why Skorn had mentioned such a treasonous thought. Skorn had always been tactical, but never one for defying the Empire.
Passing several gilded doors, they reached the one emblazoned with a blue symbol of an eye inside a star, a symbol for House Bright’Lor. Ero allowed Skorn to enter first.
The room beyond was large and open. A vid dominated one wall, and their father had tuned it to beamcast the events on Mylttium. With the Tribunal Tower in the background, an attractive krey woman spoke of upcoming tribunals and the Voices selected for various seats, the holo making it seem like she was in the room.
The Lorenwhite walls lacked decorations except for a single shelf across from the door, set so it commanded attention. A cortex crystal projected a holo of a small ship soaring toward a star, a reminder of the highest punishment a krey could receive.
“My sons return.”
Ero turned to find their father sitting on a couch, a bottle in one hand. The amber liquid sloshed as he placed it on the nearby table and stood. His blue eyes hardened like sapphires, and Ero resisted the urge to shudder.
Dragorn was even taller than Ero or Skorn, his frame muscular, powerful, imposing. Ero had seen him spark fear with his very presence, an ability he’d used in negotiations with other Houses. Ero had only ever seen him dressed in black or blue, his clothes enhanced with phosphorescent threads to give the look of opulence. But here he was required to wear white, and it made him look vulnerable. Dragorn had gray skin marked with high, prominent cheekbones, pointed ears, and black hair falling down his back.
“Tell me you have good news,” Dragorn said.
“We retrieved a map of the outer systems,” Ero said, withdrawing the crystal and passing it to him.
Dragorn snatched the crystal from Ero’s hands and shoved it into the slot against the wall. The beamcast vid faded, and in its place, a hologram of star systems appeared. Expanding outward from the wall, it showed thousands of systems, an entire rim of the Krey Empire.
Dragorn’s blue eyes glowed with triumph. “We have the first of what we need for our return to power, but time is against us.”
“We know,” Ero said. “We spoke to Malikin.”
Dragorn growled and stabbed a finger toward the hall. “Malikin is as worthless as a human. He had the gall to tell me there was no price for justice, and he would see my House destroyed for what happened on Kelindor.”
“But a circle of nine?” Skorn asked. “Surely what happened on Kelindor does not require so many.”
Dragorn’s lips tightened with seething anger, an expression that had grown common over the last decade. The indomitable krey now reminded Ero of a caged predator, one more dangerous because it was cornered.
“Malikin argued that we were attempting to create a weapon against the Empire,” Dragorn said. “He showed a vid of Empire ships attempting to destroy the Dark, and the cloud pulling them from the skies. Thousands of Empire officers were killed.”
“Some of those ships were from House Eter’Quen,” Ero said. “The loss of those vessels cost Malikin’s House a lot of glint.”
Dragorn released an explosive breath and began to pace. “The only reason Eter’Quen came to our aid was to steal our resources. Now they are blaming us for their losses.”
“Are you going to tell us why you wanted a star map of the outer systems?” Ero asked, hoping to stop the conversation before it turned back to blaming him.
“Our resources are almost spent,” Dragorn said, his eyes sliding off Ero as if he were slime under his boot. Ero flushed, but Dragorn looked to Skorn. “I’ve reached out to every friend and ally I have left, and collected enough to delay the tribunal for four decades.”
“You didn’t use it to buy five Voices?” Ero asked.
Dragorn sneered at him, his features hardening, his blue eyes flashing. “I didn’t have enough to buy two, let alone five.”
“What about Selina or Grenedal?” Skorn asked.
“Sold to Kel’Ray—for a loss,” Dragorn said.
“That was the last of what we had.” Skorn’s voice was angry.
Ero was stunned. In their prime, Bright’Lor had owned eleven worlds. After Kelindor’s destruction, they had been forced to sell six in an attempt to recover. Dragorn had sold two more to pay the cost required by the Reckoning. Selina and Grenedal, while not high-value planets, had been the last thing keeping Bright’Lor from being destitute.
“You sold the last of our planets to Olana’s House?”
Ero regretted speaking when Dragorn rounded on him, his finger rising to poke Ero in the chest. His blue eyes flashed dangerously, his breathing coming like air from a broken airlock.
“Of course it was her. She gutted our House because she knew everything about our assets—because of you. I placed you as Primus over our greatest asset, and you left us in ruins, first by your leadership, and then by your allies.” He stepped in and lowered his tone so only Ero would hear. “It should be you in these whites.”
Ero looked away, unable to withstand the heat in his father’s gaze. Ero was to blame, but nothing about the mysterious source of the Dark had been confirmed, aside from Ero’s brother being the creator. The ten-year Reckoning had confirmed that the head of Bright’Lor was culpable, and Ero and Skorn had walked free.
Dragorn turned away, and his voice became mild, a sharp contrast, but Ero knew Dragorn’s anger still simmered. “We have forty years before my tribunal. For now, the two of you are still under the protection of a House, but without our former assets, you’re one step from becoming mercenaries.”
Ero exchanged a look with his brother. They’d counted on the sale of their two remaining worlds to cover most of the cost of bribing half the tribunal. How could they possibly gain so much glint?
“You sold everything our House owns,” Skorn said slowly, as if he were trying to understand. “What’s left?”
“We have a couple of million glint, a handful of slaves here with me, and your ship.”
“You sold everything?” Anger crept into Skorn’s voice, obscuring his shock. “You’ve stripped our House to the bones.”
“You think I did this?”
Dragorn’s voice was soft, and his eyes settled on Ero, his fists clenching. Ero thought Dragorn would strike him, and he braced for the blow. But Dragorn stood apart, his chest heaving, his features as hard as seracrete.
Then his voice turned mild again. “We would never have possessed enough glint for five Voices, so I gave us time to gather the required wealth. It was the only way to rebuild.”
“What does four decades give us?” Ero dared to ask.
“You can create a harvest world,” Dragorn said.
Ero stared at his father in surprise. It was a bold plan. Human slaves were always in high demand, and the most popular method of breeding them was to leave a few thousand on an empty world and return a thousand years later to collect them for sale. A couple million slaves would be enough to buy five judges.
“We can’t build a harvest world in forty years,” Skorn said.
“Of course we can’t,” Dragorn said acidly. “But a fully stocked harvest world is worth investment.”
It was bold and risky to borrow against a future harvest of slaves, but Ero expected nothing less from Dragorn, who’d built Bright’Lor from nothing to a high-ranked House. He was also right. Many Houses were willing to invest into harvest worlds and didn’t want to monitor the population for war and disease that might kill off the profit. It was as sound a plan as any.
“You’re going to spend forty years as a condemned,” Ero said.
“I didn’t have a choice,” Dragorn snapped. “It’s either this or get dropped into a star when the tribunal rules against me. And don’t forget, if I’m found guilty, our House status is revoked, and you lose the protection you currently enjoy.”
“We’ll need a few things to make this work.” Skorn had gained the calculating voice he used when he was devising a master plan, a trait he’d acquired from Dragorn. “We’ll need a few dakorians to control the slaves, a slave population, and the world itself.” He swept a hand toward the floating holo of the galaxy. “I’m assuming that’s why we stole this map, so we can find one.”
“We can’t afford to buy a harvest world,” Ero protested.
“I know,” Dragorn said. “Which is why we’re going to steal one.”
“And how do you suggest we steal a world?” Ero asked.
Dragorn pointed to the star map. “We take one of those worlds off the map.”
“You want to erase a world from the Empire’s archives.” Skorn’s chuckle was devious, and Ero decided he didn’t like it when his brother laughed. “We’ll be able to grow a stock of slaves undisturbed and sell the investments for a premium.”
“At least I have one son smart enough to keep our House alive.”
Blood crept up Ero’s neck, showing red on his throat. A slave entered and quietly placed another bottle on the table. He disappeared without a word, his entrance hardly noticed by the three krey, who turned to the map.
“Dakorians, slaves, and a world,” Ero said. “A difficult order.”
“You can locate a suitable world to steal from here,” Skorn said with a nod to his father. Then he glanced to Ero. “We’ll find the slaves and the dakorians.”
“Agreed,” Ero said.
“Try to destroy us a second time,” Dragorn said.
Despite his father’s wrath and the lingering guilt, Ero liked the plan. They didn’t have the funds for anything, so all three elements would have to be stolen. Failure would probably send them to Exile, the lawless planet reserved for violent offenders, or put into an escape pod and ejected into a burning star. Ero didn’t know which was worse. But if they succeeded, they would have a world as a foundation of their new House, and without any of his brothers or sisters, he and Skorn stood to be wealthier than they had ever been. If they managed to survive.
Chapter Six
Siena scrubbed the blood on the wall, hoping to finish before any of the krey returned to the room. Beside her, Kensen wrapped the bandage tighter around his arm. He grimaced.
“Did you have to cut your arm when you fell?” Siena asked.
“They burned me until I passed out,” he said.
She stopped scrubbing and leaned over to check his ear, where the slave crystal was embedded. Black scorch marks extended from the earring, where its power had coursed directly into his nerve endings. She knew from experience it felt like being burned alive.
“Secondous Laurik loves to watch us fall,” Siena said. “You have to stand so you have a softer landing.”
“You plan where you’re going to fall?”
“You don’t?”
He shook his head. “You’re pretty smart for an animal.”
She thrust the scrubbing tool in his face, flicking him with his blood. “They call us that. Don’t ever do it for them.”
“Okay,” he said, raising his uninjured arm to forestall more bloodletting from the tool.
She returned her attention to the blood on the floor, scrubbing harder. The white seracrete was not Lorenwhite, so it had to be cleaned properly, especially when it came to blood.
In a sea of other slaves owned by House Zeltil’Dor, Siena’s blond hair, slim figure, and height were considered average. But her blue eyes seemed to convey a fire that belied her age. Although it was meant as an insult, Siena recalled with fondness when another slave had scornfully called her the “defiant one.”
Kensen checked the cut on his arm, and she glanced his way. Kensen was only a year older than her, but at seventeen he had the height and stature of an adult. His broad shoulders and muscular frame drew attention from the other girls, attention Siena was privately grateful Kensen ignored. His black hair and brown eyes complemented his naturally tanned skin.
“Why don’t you just use a mech to clean that?” Kensen asked, using a bloody rag to point to the floor.
“Because while you were unconscious, she told me to clean it up with
this. I’m going to drop some of the blood on Laurik’s favorite cloak.”
His eyes widened. “You wouldn’t.”
“I already did,” she said smugly.
“You’re going to get us killed,” he said, but amusement washed across his features. “They can burn you till you die, you know.”
“I know.”
She wanted to hurl the words at him, but they just came out bitter. Siena had seen Secondous Laurik kill other slaves for no other reason than being too old. The woman preferred younger slaves and kept a minimum of adults to supervise the teens. Siena was already sixteen and doubted she had much time. Even with her broken genome—something Laurik frequently reminded her of—she would probably be sold within a year.
“Other Houses are not always this cruel, you know,” Kensen said as he leaned against the wall, unknowingly getting a line of blood on the back of his gray shirt. When she didn’t respond, he pointed to the sky, visible through the glass dome above their heads. “They say the krey of Thorn’Vall are kind, and House Ger’Vent supposedly keeps mothers with children, even if Brimbor is filled with huge beasts and volcanoes.”
“Rumors,” Siena said. “All krey are cruel.”
“Or we could be sold to the Imperial line and live on Mylttium. Maybe we could work in the Tribunal Tower. I had a friend that swore the slaves there got to eat what the condemned didn’t finish.”
“Scraps from a table are not kindness.” Siena scrubbed the blood harder, imagining it was Laurik’s face.
Kensen grinned. “You know, you have the heart of a dakorian. I’m just hoping it doesn’t get us both killed.”
“Us?”
“Of course.” He pushed a thumb into his chest. “What are friends for?”
She allowed a smile. Kensen was the first slave with whom she’d formed an attachment. He’d been born on another world than Verdigris. He’d also spent a year on one of the capital ships owned by House Eter’Quen. He was funny and clever, and didn’t avoid her because of her tendency to get into trouble. The other slaves her age were terrified that her subtle belligerence would cause them to be punished by association, and no one wanted to be burned.
