Dragon's Honor (The Dragon Corps Series Book 1)

by Michaela Kendrick

  “Thinking of Ellian?”

  There was hope in Samara’s voice, and the tone was like a knife between the ribs. Of course Samara hoped. Aryn had lived out the fairytale. She was the deserving maiden from every story, whose purity and honor and kindness won the heart of the prince. She must surely be in love. She must be happy. Why wouldn’t she be happy? She had everything anyone could want.

  “Ellian’s been very busy,” Aryn said. It was the sort of automatic evasion she’d begun to use in every conversation she had. If she looked sad and told people that Ellian was busy, they drew their own conclusions. No one thought to ask her if his absence was both a curse and a blessing. It sank her into silence as deep and dark as space, where there was nothing to distract her from her own thoughts—but at the same time it saved her from his scrutiny. Better, perhaps, that he was away so often now—she knew she could not hide her discontent from him for long.

  She looked back, peering closely as she saw Samara’s head tilt. The woman was looking up at the ceiling, and a moment later the faint wail of air raid sirens came down the line.

  “I have to go,” Samara said urgently.

  “Samara—”

  “It’s all right,” the woman assured her. “We’re all right. I just need to break satellite contact. I’ll be back in touch, Aryn. And—”

  The line cut and Aryn pushed herself back from the desk so fast the chair overturned, opening her mouth in a cry that never came. One mustn’t cry out, not in a penthouse. That was what brought servants to see what was wrong, and servants told Ellian, and Ellian asked questions. The train of thought was so automatic now that Aryn did not even need to follow it. She needed to be calm. The satellite connection had been cut. That was all. Someone in the bunker had turned on the signal blocker and…

  And the further she got from Ymir, the more horrifying it seemed. How had her life there ever seemed normal? Even a child could see that things were not right. Hired soldiers in the streets, people missing in the mornings.

  She should be there. The thought made her stop in a swirl of satin skirts, hand grasping around the diamond necklace. She had the funds. She could wait, leave when Ellian was away, be gone before anyone noticed—

  “Aryn?”

  “Ellian.” She whirled, her cheeks flamed. Could he see the plans in her head? Ellian had made his career by reading the subtle cues that let him bargain so effectively.

  But he couldn’t read minds, she told herself firmly.

  “What’s wrong?” He crossed the room, arms open, and she tried not to flinch away.

  My friends are dying.

  “It’s nothing,” she said reflexively, as she always did, letting her head rest on his shoulder, forcing herself to relax into his arms. As always, the touch was unexpectedly calming. All these days of marble and satin and no one to speak to and no one to see… Aryn felt herself lean into his arms at the touch of flesh on flesh, and squeezed her eyes shut. She could not stop herself from yearning for Ellian’s touch, even when she knew it wasn’t his touch she wanted. It was all she would ever have.

  “The servants tell me you’ve been troubled,” he said simply. It was a command—or rather, an expectation. Ellian’s voice was mild. He did not give orders; he simply expected the world to conform to his desires.

  Courage. For two months, she had been working up her courage to say this. She rehearsed every night in front of her mirror, and when she went downstairs to have dinner with Ellian, her nerve failed her.

  But people were dying. She could not stay silent any longer.

  “It’s Ymir,” Aryn said at last, biting her lip.

  “Darling, those calls only upset you.”

  “Samara is my friend.” Her voice came out stronger than she intended it, and when Ellian drew back, his eyebrows raised, she shook her head and smiled. “I’m sorry. You’re right. Of course. I feel…”

  Guilty.

  “My dearest, that life was never for you.” Ellian smiled and stepped back, taking her hands in his. “Look at you. You are perfection. You need not cling to that place out of guilt.”

  “What did you say?” Fear shot through her. He could see the guilt. He knew. Her breath caught in her chest.

  “Don’t try to hide it, Aryn.” He stepped forward, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear; if he noticed that she was shaking with the effort of staying still, he said nothing. “I, too, lived in poverty in my youth. You feel guilty that you have things others do not.”

  Relief hit her so quickly that her knees nearly buckled. She managed a smile and a nod.

  “Oh, yes.” That guilt. That guilt she could admit to.

  “Aryn, you need not feel guilty. I did, for many years.” He smiled, a confident flash of teeth. “But I learned it was their anger and nothing more. It is the way of the world that some rise and the reasonable people do not resent them for it. I made sure to reward those who understood.” His sister Mara, she knew, had been one of those. “And you, above all, deserved to rise.”

  “Of course. Thank you.” She smiled.

  He turned away, looking out into the glittering lights of the city, and she clenched her hands.

  Things are worse there than I knew. The Warlord is trying to kill them all.

  “There was…something I wanted to talk to you about.” She wrapped her fingers together. Her palms were sweaty.

  “Oh?” He turned back to look at her. “What is it?”

  “Things are…they’re very bad on Ymir.”

  “Ah, Aryn. That is how it has always been.” He smiled at her. “Do not trouble yourself with it.”

  “They’re worse than they were when I left,” she insisted. She tried not to waver at Ellian’s look of surprise. She never contradicted him. “The Warlord has started bombing the villages.”

  “You must be grateful that your parents are in the city now.”

  “I am,” Aryn hastened to assure him. “Always. Every day.” That had been one of his gifts to her: a new house for her parents, warm and dry, away from the noise of the mines. He’d offered the same to her sister, though Nura was too proud to take it; Aryn still pleaded with her, but Nura no longer returned her messages. “But all of the rest of them are still in danger.”

  “Aryn, I keep telling you that thinking of this will only cause you pain.” His voice held a note of warning now, and he had turned back to his collection of ties.

  “Couldn’t you talk to him?” The words came out too loud, too sudden, but she’d done it. Pride and fear twisted in her chest.

  Ellian turned slowly.

  “What?” He was too surprised to have an opinion yet, and Aryn, with courage she’d never known she had, pressed her advantage.

  “You could talk to him. You know him, don’t you? That’s how you got the house for my parents. And I’m so grateful, Ellian, I am, and I would never ask this if it weren’t important, but it is. He’s bombing the villages, and the people are in terrible danger—”

  “Aryn, you know as well as I do that he’s bombing the villages because that’s where the resistance is.”

  She tried to keep her face as expressionless as she could. He mustn’t suspect her past. He could never suspect it. Here on New Arizona, where traders flocked from all over human occupied space to buy anything and everything, a freedom fighter was not welcome. They caused trouble.

  The resistance is right, she wanted to cry. He doesn’t have any right to that planet. He seized it, and they’re all too afraid to try to stop him. You know it isn’t right, Ellian, you know that.

  “It’s cruel,” she said quietly, instead. “Children live there, Ellian. Children like Josef.” His nephew, his sister Mara’s child, held a special place in Ellian’s heart. Though they had settled into a comfortable life on the inner planets, Ellian often spoke of bringing them to New Arizona when Josef was old enough to start learning to run a business. One day, if he showed the talent for it, the child might be Ellian’s protégé. “There are criminals in this city, too, E
llian, and you’d never want him to suffer only because he was near them.” Her voice, to her shock, was steady.

  Ellian stared at her, and she stared back, heart pounding. Had she gone too far? She could never read him. The moment stretched so long that she began to wonder what to say, if there was anything she could say, if he was going to—

  And then he smiled, and her heart unclenched.

  “Aryn, you are the most honorable woman I have ever met.” He came to take her lightly by the shoulders, kiss her on each cheek. “It is what I have always loved about you. I will do what I can, of course. I simply…” he hesitated.

  “What?”

  “I know that you think highly of my abilities to persuade...” he began carefully.

  “I do,” Aryn said eagerly. “You could persuade anyone of anything.” How often had she wished for Ellian to speak to the men he dealt with, ask them to treat their workers more kindly? How often had she wished that Ellian had as much care for the powerless as he had intelligence and cunning?

  “Sweetheart.” He took her hands in his again. “I only want you to be realistic. You know how long the Warlord has been in power. I can speak to him, of course. I simply do not know how much I can do to change his mind.”

  “Anything,” Aryn whispered. “Anything you can do, Ellian, please.”

  “Of course, my love.” He kissed her on the lips. “And so now it is my turn to ask a favor of you.”

  “Oh?” Aryn blinked. When had he last asked something of her as if she might not grant it?

  “You know I worry about you, my love. You know that those who trade here are not always good men. We’ve spoken of this before, and you tell me that you don’t need a bodyguard, but it is time. For my own peace of mind, my love, if nothing else. Tell me you will allow it.”

  “Of course,” Aryn heard herself say. It was the correct response.

  Now it was Ellian’s turn to blink.

  “’Of course?’” he repeated, almost comically. This had been Aryn’s one defiance, for three years. Every time he spoke to her of it, she insisted that she did not need a bodyguard, that it was a frivolous expense. That she valued the time when no one was there to watch her, she did not say; she wondered if Ellian knew.

  Now, however, she was too giddy with relief over her victory to care.

  “Yes,” she said, nodded. Somewhere, in the part of her that had become a society wife, she found the correct words. The numbness that always cloaked her was returning now, the panic and relief both fading away. “It is important to you, my love. I don’t wish to scare you.”

  “Good,” he said, after a pause. He was smiling, albeit bemusedly. “That’s good. I’ll have someone for you to meet this evening, then. A contact—friend of a friend, someone in the military—says he’s found the perfect candidate. Professional, competent, very quiet. You’ll hardly notice him.”

  “Mm.” Aryn drew away to sit at her vanity, pretending to look over her jewelry for the night. In the wake of her adrenaline rush, she could feel her legs shaking. She found a smile for Ellian. “I’ll leave it all up to you. I’m sure you know best.”

  Whatever courage she had possessed, whatever fire had made her come alive, sank away again and all there was left was cold—and her own pale reflection in the mirror.

  Chapter 3

  “This is ridiculous.” Cade looked himself up and down in the mirror as a tailor fussed around him, pinning up the hems of his pants.

  “Relax, you look fine.” Talon leaned against the doorway. “You’ve kept yourself in shape. That’s good.”

  “Not that kind of ridiculous.” Cade gave him a look. “You’re spending how much on this suit?”

  Talon waved a hand negligently.

  “Well, I care,” Cade muttered. “I’m going to pay you back for this,”

  “Consider it back pay,” Talon said, wisely abandoning the plan to make it a gift. “You’re owed it as a veteran, you know.”

  “And you know why I haven’t taken it.” Cade tried to keep from studying himself in the mirror. He didn’t want to enjoy this suit.

  “Yes. Because you’re a stubborn bastard, displaying the calling card of all stubborn bastards: screwing yourself over in a way no one will notice. Do you think anyone’s pulling out your file in the Veterans’ Benefits office saying, ‘Hmmm, I wonder why Williams hasn’t submitted his paperwork’? No. They aren’t. Meanwhile, you were prepared to freeze on the streets. Face it, Williams, if you don’t want to be a Dragon, right now that means being a bodyguard, and that means presenting as if you can be part of polite society.” Talon’s snort said what he thought of that last bit.

  Cade gave him a quelling look and jabbed a finger at the tailor. Her spiky blonde hair was very much the fashion these days, but the vibrancy of her tattoos and hair seemed to be matched by calm professionalism; he caught himself forgetting she was here. Apparently, Talon had as well. One might be known to be in the Dragons—enough people knew to look for the obvious signs—but one never, ever admitted it.

  “What, Miranda? She works for Intelligence. How do you think I get half my intel on New Arizona?” Talon raised his eyebrows.

  Miranda looked up at Cade. She looked, for all her tattoos and piercings, like she couldn’t keep a secret or tell a lie if her life depended on it, and Cade was sure that those full, rose-colored lips and innocent eyes had spurred more than their fair share of illicit confidences. Now, as if sensing Cade’s thoughts, she smiled sheepishly.

  He tried to smile back, but could hardly summon a twitch of his lips. This was what he had hated most in Intelligence: the veiled smiles, the poisoned daggers, the lies that spiraled and layered without end.

  In his heart, Cade was a soldier, not an Intelligence operative. He wanted a target. He wanted to trust that the target was bad. He wanted to use his expertise to eliminate the target and protect his men. And that wasn’t a Dragon’s task. What Talon had excelled in was the use of secrets and lies—and the twists and turns of it had made Cade uncomfortable.

  You can’t charge in headfirst to take out a drug lord, Williams.

  Cade looked away.

  “This will be different,” Talon promised.

  Cade inwardly cursed the man’s ability to read anyone, anytime. He shot him a look.

  “It’ll be a nice, easy job.” Talon pushed himself up and began to pace in a slow circle around the podium, hands in his pockets. “The woman hardly leaves her penthouse.”

  “Tell me about her.” He might as well know what he was getting into.

  “Her name is Aryn Beranek. She’s originally from Ymir.” Talon paused significantly until Cade processed this. Their eyes met in the mirror.

  “How’d she get to New Arizona?” Idle curiosity, nothing more. In his brief time, he’d seen people smuggle themselves in a hundred inventive ways, and sell themselves in a hundred more.

  “Her husband brought her. Saw her on Ymir and fell madly in love, apparently. Quick courtship. Society found it…romantic.”

  Cade raised his eyebrow at the insinuation in Talon’s voice.

  “What?” Talon looked at him innocently. “Society finds fairytales romantic. And if there’s one thing they respect, the society here, it’s clawing your way up in the world. A miner from the Warlord’s pet planet stealing an arms trafficker’s heart? It has a certain…admirable quality to it.” Talon’s voice was more bitter than Cade expected.

  “Stealing, you say?”

  “Well, the man’s worth millions. Billions, probably, at this point.”

  “You know to the penny,” Cade said drily.

  “Only as of this morning.” Talon picked an imaginary speck of dust off his jacket. “Anything could have happened since then.”

  “And you really think this is romantic?”

  “I said admirable. Think about it—she could have settled for being someone’s mistress. One of the Warlord’s lackeys.”

  “How about the Warlord himself?”

  “She’
s not his type.” Talon’s tone was suddenly flat, the voice of a man who knows too much and wants to remember none of it.

  “Been doing research on the Warlord?”

  Talon hesitated.

  “Miranda, a moment.” When the woman was gone, Talon looked over at Cade, his face expressionless. “Help me take him down.”

  “The Warlord of Ymir?” Cade demanded incredulously. “Are you insane?” And then it dawned on him. “Good God, Rift—was that what you wanted me for?”

  Talon did not nod; he did not have to.

  “You’re insane.” Cade wanted to laugh a bit hysterically. “You’re actually insane.”

  “And you’re tempted.” Talon tried for his usual debonair humor, but his fingers were shaking as he went to button his coat. “I…know things, Williams.”

  “What, something worse than enslaving a whole goddamned planet?”

  “What about killing them all?” Talon’s spoke lightly, professional interest in his tone, but when Cade looked over, the man’s head was bent, his jaw set.

  “No.” Cade shook his head. “I don’t believe it. Christ, who are you getting your information from?”

  “You know as well as I do that once a rebellion takes root, it’s almost impossible to eradicate.” Talon did not look over at him. “The Warlord knows it, too.”

  “Who’s going to run his mines if he kills all of them?” Cade tried for a laugh, but he couldn’t manage to make one come out. He believed it, he realized in horror. Talon did not joke about things like this.

  But he wanted it to be a joke. His eyes fixed on Talon’s face, waiting for a flicker.

  “Slaves,” Talon said simply. He looked over. “Slaves who know what he did to the last set.”

  “He’d never get away with it.” Cade’s hands were clenched. “Every ship in the Alliance fleet would be there within a week.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Talon looked over at him.

  “Of course I’m sure! No one in hell is going to do that and go unpunished. He’ll be caught.”

  “No, he won’t.” There was absolute certainty there.

  The world shifted under Cade’s feet. He had seen Talon angry, seen him joking, seen him go into missions with feral anticipation. He had never seen the man as he was now, frozen by the same horror that gripped Cade.