by Ben Hale
“My ship,” Ero said.
Ero withdrew his own coding crystal and touched the panel, activating the Gate. The silver light flowed beneath the arch and then shimmered, indicating a solid connection.
“I hope you enjoyed your visit,” the krey said.
“I certainly did,” Ero said.
Siena glanced back, hardly believing as they passed through the Gate, and entered Nova. It wasn’t until the Gate extinguished behind her that she began to believe they were actually free of Olana.
“I can’t believe she let us go,” Siena said.
Ero powered down the Gate. “Olana and I have always had a tumultuous relationship. Sometimes she is the victor, and sometimes it’s me. I must say, this was one of our better entanglements, and I have you to thank.”
“I didn’t mean to kill two dakorians,” she said.
He turned, a wry smile on his face. “I wouldn’t recommend it. But you have nothing to fear from Olana. She won’t report you or me.”
“Why?” Kensen asked.
“Because she just lost,” Ero said. “And reporting the incident would just initiate an official Reckoning. She doesn’t want me punished. She wants to win.”
Ero began to whistle as he exited the Gate chamber and headed for the bridge. Siena stayed until he was gone, and after a very long pause, Kensen turned to her.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” he said.
She smiled at his bewilderment but then swayed, a sudden wave of fatigue washing over her. He reached out to steady her, but she caught the curved bulkhead, and the feeling passed.
“It’s going to be hard to explain,” she told him.
“Try.”
She chuckled and guided him along the corridor to the riser. From there, she led him to the lower deck and to the cargo bay. The panic and fear had relinquished its grip on her body, leaving her weary. She popped open a crate and opened a sealed container of Dorthon grapes. She popped one in her mouth and sank onto her bed. Kensen just stared.
“In the last hour, I’ve seen you kill two dakorians, talk to krey like you’re the best of friends, and now you steal expensive food without regard for consequence. And I swear I saw your face heal on its own.” He sank on another bed as if just saying it had left him too confused to stand. “What happened to you?”
Siena heard the awe in his voice and took another bite of a grape. “What? Do I not look the same?”
“Come on, Siena,” he said. “The last time I saw you, we were on Verdigris. I almost kissed you, and you walked away. What changed? How did you find me? And when did you get branded a ferox?”
She grimaced. “I actually got the brand from Laurik.”
“When?”
“The day after she sold you. I dumped a bag of roak guts on her head.”
He stared and then burst into a laugh. “You didn’t.”
“I did,” she said. “And you should have seen her face.”
“Why?”
“Because she sold you,” Siena said. “And I guess I just snapped.”
“I’m surprised she didn’t kill you.”
“She wanted me to suffer,” Siena said. “Her son sold me at the Cages of Thendigor to Ero. Turns out it was the best thing to ever happen to me.”
“Him?” He pointed upward, incredulous.
Beginning when she’d been purchased at the Slaves of Thendigor, she detailed her time as a member of House Bright’Lor. She spoke of Ero and Skorn, their plan, and their purpose, and Ero allowing her to train with an energy blade. When she got to the part of the experiment, Kensen came to his feet in a rush.
“They attempted to augment you?” His voice had gone up an octave.
She shrugged and took another bite. “Didn’t work. I’m not stronger or faster.”
She recalled the feeling of her bones breaking and reforming, of her face healing from a brutal dakorian blow. She tilted her head when Kensen wasn’t looking and touched her face, but it was just sore. No broken bones, no split flesh. She suddenly realized she still had blood on her face. She stood and trudged to a crate. She dug inside until she found a cleaning cloth and set to scrubbing.
“How many slaves were in the experiment?” Kensen was pacing, apparently not noticing her at all.
“Eleven.” Then she recalled the one Telik had called a failure. “Probably less now. But like I said, it didn’t work.”
“Doesn’t matter. Just a few would be enough—if we have proof. It just might get us out of this.”
“Out of what?”
He crossed the space in a rush. “Don’t you see? This is exactly what we need.”
“You’re sounding less and less like the Kensen I know.”
He didn’t seem to hear her. “Once we get proof, we can report the experiment to the Empire. Attempts to augment slaves are high treason, and if we report it, they should overlook what you did in Olana’s office.”
“But Ero would be executed.”
He waved a hand in dismissal. “You and I would probably have our pick of Houses, and the Empire would be grateful we spoke up.”
“No.”
Her voice was so hard that Kensen stopped, clearly surprised. “What do you mean? This is our best chance to get out of this mess.”
She straightened and tossed the bloodied rag aside. “No.”
He stared at her in confusion. “I don’t understand. Why would you not do this?”
“Because for the first time in my life, I feel strong.”
“So the experiment did make you—”
“Don’t be absurd.” She advanced toward him and raised a hand to point at the ceiling, toward the bridge. “Since I got here, Ero has treated me with respect. He’s taught me how to use an energy blade, how to pilot a ship, how to not be afraid. I’m not going to toss him to the Empire.”
“You’re still his slave.”
The word sounded harsh coming from him and brought a surge of anger. “Ero is the one that found you, and without him, you would still be on Ironden.”
“I would have been safer on Ironden,” he retorted.
Her anger mounted. “I thought you’d be happy. I told Ero that you were my friend, and I asked him to find you, to buy you. Now you’re here with me, and you’d rather be there?”
Her words ended in a shout, but he did not retreat. “At least on Ironden I would not have to worry about a Bloodblade coming after me in my sleep.”
“Then go back!” Her words reverberated in the cargo bay. “Go back and be a slave! But I’m never going back to what I was before.” Her shout hardened into a cold steel. “Never.”
“They’re going to kill you.” Kensen’s voice was pleading. “They’re going to kill you and Ero. They’re going to kill us all. The moment the Empire learns what Ero and Skorn did, our lives are over.”
“My life was over the moment I was born.” She hurled the words at him. “And this is the first time I’ve had the chance to live.”
He shook his head, finally at a loss for words. Siena trembled in place, wishing she could reach out and throttle him. Then Kensen seemed to wilt, all the anger and fear draining from his face.
“You should never have come to Ironden.”
He turned and walked away, the door opening and closing. Siena remained in place, fuming at what she had sacrificed. She did not care if he took the Gate and left, or jumped in an airlock and fell into space. She’d thought Kensen was her friend. She’d been wrong.
She clenched her fists and screamed, the anger bursting out of her in a tidal wave of energy. The primal sound seemed to come from her very skin, throbbing and vengeful. It struck the nearby beds and crates, sending them toppling to the floor. Crates tumbled all the way to the wall, and pillows and blankets fluttered flew. A bed teetered and fell to the floor with a clang. The sounds ended in a hush, and Siena stared at the devastated room.
In a panic, she rushed to the nearest bed and heaved it back to its former position, casting a terrified look
to the door. After throwing the blankets and pillows back on that bed, she rushed to the next, righting it before sprinting to another. From bed to bed and crate to crate, she raced to return the room to order before Kensen or Ero walked in and saw the destruction.
Several of the bed frames were bent, but she hastily covered the twisted metal with sheets. Crates clattered against each other as she heaved them into their previous stacks, her panic rising, all the while fighting the questions that screamed from within her skull.
What was happening to her?
Had she really healed her own body?
How was this possible?
When the last bed had finally been straightened, she came to a halt, sweat pouring down her neck to darken her shirt. Her ragged breathing seemed to echo in the cargo bay bulkheads, reverberating as if in condemnation. She rushed to her bed and climbed under the covers, shivering in confusion and fear. Hiding from the room, she grappled with what she’d done, unable to refute the energy now churning in her belly.
Terrifying and powerful, it seeped into every fiber of her body, every thread of muscle and nerve, to the very core of her brain. She could feel its might simmering just beneath the surface and feared a fall to madness.
But as the seconds dragged into minutes and hours, she realized the power did not change. It merely lurked inside, an extension of her will, ready to be summoned. Her fear gradually ebbed, and she mustered the courage to lift her hand to her face. The power came to her fingertips, and she snapped her fingers. Against all understanding, a touch of flame burst into life, curling around her finger in a warm caress.
She winced, expecting it to burn, but the fire did not hurt. It came from inside her, because she was the source. Huddling under her covers, the light seemed bright enough to blind, and suddenly her fear returned in full. She clenched a fist, extinguishing the fire. Trembling, she closed her eyes and wished it was all a dream, that she was back on Verdigris asleep in her bed.
Exhaustion eventually claimed her, bringing sweet relief from the piercing terror, but even in her dreams, she fled from a gigantic beast. Racing over hills, through trees, and into the depths of a fetid and dark mine, it finally cornered her in a mine shaft. As she screamed against the wall, it opened its jaws, but instead of swallowing her whole, it sank into her body like a great rush of wind. Siena screamed in terror and fear and lurched awake.
She was sitting up, the blankets tangled and damp with sweat. Kensen was softly snoring in a nearby bed. The room was dark, probably several hours since she and Kensen had spoken.
In a cold sweat, she reclined on the bed and stared at the bottom of the bunk above. Whatever happened in the coming days, she could no longer refute the evidence. The experiment had worked.
And she was an augment.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Reklin limped through the combat ready room. Blood seeped from the wound on his leg, where a thorfang had broken a tooth in his bone. The other dakorians gave him a wide birth, but he ignored them as he exited the room and advanced up the sloped tunnel to the dakorian quarters.
Passing dozens of cell-like rooms, he reached his own quarters. It was empty. Alina and Teridon had been entered into another paired duel, while Worg was currently being hunted by two Houseless krey on Blinkers. With a sigh, Reklin sank onto a bench at the back of the room, grateful for a moment of peace.
In the days since the War Hunt, he and his soldiers had faced dangerous threats, each contest more serious than the last. It seemed evident that the oddsmakers wanted them dead and sought every opportunity to eliminate them from the Crucible. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep their value low and still survive.
Reklin grasped the tusklike tooth and braced for the pain. With a savage yank, he tried to remove the tooth from his body—his leg twitched, but the tooth failed to come free. Thorfangs were notorious for their barbed teeth, designed to sink into their prey and never come out. Reklin had killed the beast with his blade, and then broken the tooth so he didn’t have to drag the beast back through the Gate. A few finger widths higher, and the tooth would have pierced his artery. A fortunate miss.
“Those do not come out easily.”
Reklin looked to the door and found a krey in a black cloak standing in the opening. His bright-blue eyes, intelligent and tactical, marked him as a member of House Bright’Lor. Reklin had studied all three members of the House and knew him by sight.
Skorn.
Reklin contained his surge of excitement and relief. After weeks of trying to catch House Bright’Lor attention, Skorn had come to him. But his mission would fail if Skorn realized he was the target. Reklin returned his attention to the tooth and again sought to twist it free.
“Who are you?”
“Skorn Bright’Lor.”
“I’ve heard of you,” Reklin said. “You’re from the fallen House.”
“The curse of infamy.”
Reklin glanced his way again and then shifted to a position that granted more leverage. Gripping the broken tooth, he strained to pull it free, hissing as the pain cascaded through his nerve endings.
“What do you want?” Reklin asked.
“I need a few dakorians.”
“Can you afford it?”
Skorn chuckled without humor. “A fair question, given the status of my House.”
“Our contracts are cheap, but not cheap enough for the likes of you.”
Skorn regarded him without rancor or amusement, just cold, unfeeling calculation. Reklin kept his attention on the tooth, not wanting Skorn to see through his bluster. If Reklin did not maintain his persona, Skorn would undoubtedly be suspect, and he would look elsewhere.
“The oddsmakers think you’re a glintmonger,” Skorn said.
“So?”
Reklin turned and gingerly put his leg on the floor. Temporarily ignoring the sting, he finally met the krey’s gaze. Skorn continued to watch him, a steady evaluation of his character and identity. Reklin kept his features sullen and irritated, as if he didn’t care for the intrusion.
“Does anyone else know what you are?”
“What do you mean?”
“A Shard captain.”
Reklin suddenly felt cold. “Why would you think that?”
“Because it’s true.”
Skorn was even more intelligent than Reklin had assumed. But had he figured it out on his own? Or been told of Reklin’s mission? Abruptly, Reklin decided to shift tactics. He picked up a cleaning cloth and wiped the blood from his knee.
“What do you want, Skorn?”
“Why would an elite soldier pretend to lose?” Skorn asked.
Reklin allowed a touch of amusement to slip into his voice, all but confirming Skorn’s suspicions. The target was obviously smart enough to recognize a lie, so Reklin needed enough truth to make his identity believable.
“Glint is easy to acquire if one knows the result of a match.”
“You might be a glintmonger.” Skorn reached into his cloak and removed a small vial containing an orange liquid. “Or you might still be an employed by the Empire, on an undercover mission for the Bone Council.”
The chill grew, and Reklin forced a laugh at the suggestion. “You think the Bone Council would send a highly trained and expensive unit into the Bone Crucible . . . to lose?” The derision in his voice elicited a faint smile from Skorn’s lips.
“We both know it’s true.”
“Even if it was, why would I admit it to you?”
“Because if you don’t, I’ll tell the oddsmakers, and they will kill you here, in your cell.”
Realizing he needed to inject more truth into his words, Reklin regarded Skorn with a frown. “We were supposed to determine the corruption within the Crucible, to see if the oddsmakers were rigging contests to their benefit.”
“Everyone knows they do.”
“True,” Reklin said. “But it’s possible the Emperor wants to use their corruption to seize control of the Crucible.”
&nb
sp; It was a lie, but one based on a common rumor. Many thought the Empire wanted to own the Crucible and the sizable profits. Few knew that the House that owned Dedliss paid a substantial amount to retain their sovereignty.
Skorn did not move, but he seemed amused. “A decent lie, but that is not the mission of your unit.”
Reklin cocked his head to the side. “I’m beginning to suspect you already know why I’m here.”
Skorn tossed him the vial, and Reklin caught it before it broke on the bench. Holding it aloft, he recognized the label as thorfang venom. He opened the vial and sniffed; the liquid carried the distinctly rancid scent of the venom. Confused, Reklin looked to Skorn, who motioned to Reklin’s wound.
“You won’t remove the tooth without that venom,” Skorn said.
“I know what it is,” Reklin said. “I don’t understand why you’d give it to me—or where you got it. It’s too expensive for a House of your standing to acquire.”
Skorn merely smiled. Reklin couldn’t fathom his motive, but he poured the vial on the tooth, the liquid causing the barbs to retract. The tooth finally came free, and he used it to point at Skorn.
“I don’t like being manipulated,” Reklin said. “Why are you here?”
“I spoke the truth. I need a few dakorians, inexpensive, but talented enough to handle a few thousand slaves.”
“And you come to me?”
“You are in a unique position that I believe will prove useful.”
“Wounded?” He swept his hand to the hole in his leg.
“Deceived.”
Reklin frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You have been lied to, Captain.”
“By whom?”
“Voice Malikin.”
A new wave of cold swept through Reklin that had nothing to do with blood loss. How did Skorn know all this? The truth of their assignment was kept only by a handful on the Bone Council, Voice Malikin, and Quel. How had Skorn learned so much?
Throwing caution aside, Reklin regarded Skorn with new eyes. “If you know all this, you know I was assigned to bring House Bright’Lor to utter destruction. If I fail, they will just send another, one you might not see coming.”
