“General quarters. General quarters. All hands to battle stations,” the 1MC blares.
The call galvanizes me; my pulse races, and my cheeks flush. Solomon nudges me, his expression caught between a grin and a grimace. We’ve only heard this announcement in simulations. If it weren’t for the bruises and scrapes I sustained in our assault on the lab, I’d almost believe we were in a simulation now. It seems so unreal.
“I hate sitting here,” he mutters again, shifting restlessly.
I show him how to unscrew and rescrew the tonfa to become a stinger. Then I lean toward Tiana. “You okay?”
Her eyes have gone glassy, and her complexion a little ashy, but she nods.
“Phene don’t generally kill civilians,” I whisper. “Rumor has it civilian prisoners are often resettled on isolated planetary systems where they need more population—”
“Perse, we’re on the queen-marshal’s ship. Isn’t it more likely they’ll blow us up?”
“It’s more common to disable and refit hulls given the high allotment of resources and labor to build from … oh.”
“Do you overexplain everything?”
“Yes,” says Solomon just as I say, “No, I only explain necessary information such as—”
A chief shoots a look in our direction that shuts me up. There is nothing to do but wait as the Shadowfax thrusts. No ship in the fleet can match her speed. Doing a few calculations of my own I find that the second planet, Yǎnshī, where we’re headed, is currently orbitally close to the fourth planet, Xièchí, better known as Molossia Prime, where we dropped into the system.
I doze, then wake when a new flood of information bursts onto the screens. We are approaching a running battle. The Phene fleet is racing toward the Troia beacon while a ragged group of Chaonian cruisers and frigates pulls back in an apparently undisciplined retreat in front of it. Meanwhile a persistent Chaonian pursuit made up of frigates and gunships under command of a battle cruiser targets the enemy ships at the periphery of their ellipsoid formation.
“Eirene, that’s the Boukephalas,” says Marduk.
The queen-marshal grunts. “Of course it is,” she says with an irony that might signify anger or resignation. She doesn’t seem pleased.
Newer information feeds in; lifeboats are getting picked up, some by the enemy and some by us. Damaged Phene ships peel off in small groups, engaging their knnu drives to leave the system by this slow but sure path rather than be picked apart by the deadly skirmishers. They’ve taken a lot of damage. But I guess they can afford to. The empire is so wealthy and populous that they never seem to run out of ships or crew.
The silence in the command center shatters as officers and crew exclaim in excitement and surprise. The Boukephalas has rushed forward ahead of the line and like an overeager raptor stabs at the Phene behemoth that is clearly the flagship.
The queen-marshal stiffens, looking a few minutes into a future the rest of us can’t yet see. Her obsidian eye gleams, tracking information no one else can perceive. She says, clearly and yet speaking to herself, “Reckless, unrestrained, disobedient…”
Then she laughs, and a proud smile creases her usually grim expression.
“Bring us in, Captain,” she says to the Shadowfax’s commanding officer.
The visual feed blurs before popping back into focus with updated information. The battle resolves into new lines. Whatever numerical superiority the Phene fleet may have had at the beginning has dissolved into a mad race for the Troia beacon. Meanwhile they are being hammered from multiple sectors. A few Phene ships are managing to slip through the Troia beacon while others transition to knnu drives.
“What are your orders, Your Highness?” the captain asks.
“We’re too late to make a decisive difference in this battle. Open a channel to the Boukephalas.”
The Phene flagship shudders. Couriers and lifeboats spray from it. Soon after, the huge ship disintegrates into a rapidly expanding and colossal debris field right in the path of the pursuing Chaonians. A patch is scrolling up along the side of the viewing sphere listing estimated ship, habitat, and personnel casualties in constant updates. Chaonia has taken heavy losses. Yet in the death of the behemoth and the desperate retreat of so many of the enemy fleet I smell a Chaonian victory.
“This is Captain Tan of the Boukephalas. Grey, you missed the fun.”
“Don’t get cocky,” says the queen-marshal before the Shadowfax’s captain can respond. “Is Princess Sun on board?”
“Your Highness!” says the startled Senior Captain Tan.
A fresh silence, leavened by a background noise of fire-control alarms and the wheezing of emergency respirators, lasts just a touch longer than it needs to.
“Put Sun on visual,” Eirene adds in a voice no one would dare disobey.
After the distance delay, a hologram shimmers into view. Sun stands at attention, hands at her side. A virtual representation can clean off all blemishes and stains, but Sun eschews such flourishes. Her left shoulder is bandaged, and a smear of blood leaks from a gash on her chin. The alarm heard in the background cuts out, but a wheezy emergency respirator keeps up its frantic whoosh, whoosh. Images of the Boukephalas’s command center ghost in and out of view. Several bodies are lying on the floor where a medic kneels. Consoles are spewing flame retardant; James is waving his cap to clear the air in front of his face where he’s patched into a battered console. Alika is playing a rhythmic accompaniment on his ukulele like this is some kind of Channel Idol op, and maybe it is. Because it’s a dramatic setting.
Sun says, “Your Highness. We have driven off the Phene and prevented the bulk of their fleet from dropping into Troia System.”
“Very good,” says Eirene in a tone that could mean she is pleased or enraged; studying her expression from across the room I can’t tell. She has her battle face on. If Sun is the arrow in flight, all motion and will, then Eirene is the bow, strung and weighted, because however sharp the arrow is, it needs a bow to loose it. “What is the status of the Boukephalas?”
“Temporarily disabled.”
“Very well. I am taking the fight to Troia. Your Companion will be sent over to you in a shuttle. Return to Chaonia.”
Eirene gestures to her nearest adjutant. The ensign who was assigned to us hurries over to collect us. As we leave the command center I hear the queen-marshal broadcasting on a wide net calling to all operable Chaonian ships to form up on the Shadowfax.
We board a personnel shuttle, a twenty-seater meant for cross-fleet hops and quick jaunts between orbital habitats. It doesn’t have wings for atmosphere, but its windows offer an incredible view as we approach the Boukephalas and the Rakhsh. The two battle cruisers are drifting side by side. The Boukephalas has taken damage. Impact scars and a breach in the hull being patched over by mechanicals extruding sealant mar the predatory lines of its exterior. In constrast, the Rakhsh is a hulking brute of a ship pitted with impact scores from its many battles. According to fleet scuttlebutt, it’s a point of pride for the Rakhsh’s crew that any damage that doesn’t compromise the integrity of the hull has been let be, like a veteran choosing not to have battle scars removed. One of her drive compartments is absolutely gutted with a venting wound. The Rakhsh won’t be going anywhere except to a repair yard.
To my surprise Sun is at the hangar. Then I realize she’s not here to greet me. She’s saying goodbye to a large, imposing, and very loud captain who I instantly recognize as the famous Angharad Black.
“That’s one kick on the head that won’t knock any sense in you,” Angharad Black is saying to Sun as she slaps her heartily on the shoulder.
Sun laughs. It’s odd to see Sun grin in such a carefree, lighthearted manner, unintimidated by a person a full head taller and many kilos heavier. “It worked, didn’t it? But you saved my life and that of the ship. I won’t forget it.”
“I’d better get the fuck out of here since Eirene is calling.” Angharad Black catches sight of me and does a double take. �
��Holy fuck, you are the spitting image of Ereshkigal Lee. You must be her sister.”
“Persephone Lee,” I say politely, taken aback.
“My newest Companion.” Sun tilts her head to the left to give me a considering once-over. Then, with a purse of her lips I can’t possibly interpret, she draws the big captain aside for a few words and afterward waits respectfully until the woman embarks on her shuttle. Only then does she turn to me.
“Walk with me.”
She’s limping, although the hitch in her stride doesn’t slow her down as we head toward the command center. Ti and Solomon follow in our wake with the duffels.
“You really got hit,” I say.
She shrugs. “That’s not important.”
“Wait until you hear what I learned!”
“Not in the passageway.”
She guides us to a suite of rooms whose entry doors are marked with cranes, which means these staterooms are meant for flagship command and staff if the Boukephalas is ever deployed as flagship in a fleet. Crew are working so furiously in the galley that I wonder how long it’s been since anyone on board has had a regular meal. Sun collects a tray from Isis, who is evidently as at home in the galley as on the battlefield. She leaves Ti and Solomon in the wardroom with full plates and leads me into an adjoining cabin. The spacious compartment is split into two spaces, a small bedroom with a perfectly made bed and an untouched desk and a messy lounge with sofas placed for conversation beside a strategos tabletop with eight chairs. She clips a privacy seal into place, sets down the tray, and pours for us both.
I sniff suspiciously at the brown liquid. “Is this … coffee? It smells of aniseed. Is that normal?”
“It’s a variety called barako. It seems to be popular among Phene officers. I got a taste for it during the Na Iri campaign and brought some back from supplies confiscated on captured ships.”
I sip. Sun chuckles when I wince. “They got tea in that galley?” I ask.
“You need to buckle up and take what life throws at you, Perse. Here’s fresh paciencia. That should help.” She slides over a platter of pale drop cookies. “Now. What did you learn at Lee House?”
I dip a cookie and pop it in my mouth to help me think about how I want to say what I need to say. The meringue both crunches and melts, and it cuts the bitterness of the coffee.
“My father has gone missing in a suspicious way. I think the anti-Chaonian faction of the Yele League wants to disrupt Chaonia.”
“Anyone could tell me that.”
“What I mean is, this anti-Chaonian Yele faction decided killing you would be a means of disruption, while sowing distrust between you and the queen-marshal would be another option.”
Her eyes flare. “Are you saying Lee House is in league with Yele?”
“No, just my mother and father.”
“Hmm.” She drinks thoughtfully, savoring the strong taste. “Aisa has reason to be angry at the throne because it refused to affirm her appointment as governor of Lee House after Nona Lee.”
“The throne refused? I thought it was the Lee House council.”
“After Lee House refused to consider her for the position, Aisa appealed to the throne, and was rejected. I’d guess Moira and Eirene were working in concert.”
“That’s the kind of thing my mother would never forget or forgive.”
“It could be. But are you certain your father is involved? From what I’ve heard, and what James can dig up, everyone thought it was a prudent match. The seers of Iros are meant to be apolitical.”
“Sure, that’s what the seers say. Maybe most are mediators, or head-in-the-clouds scholars like the Honorable Hestia’s father. By the way, I will give an oath on my eight-times-worthy sister’s memory that Aunt Moira knew nothing about this particular plot. Although Moira certainly would be happy to see you discredited in favor of Manea’s child. Did you know she has another child, older than Resh, who is being held in secrecy in the underwater confinement wing in Lee House? Because she has an incapacitating disorder?”
Sun stares at me for an uncomfortably long stretch, then blinks several times not as if she’s checking something in her imbed but as if she’s flummoxed. Never in our brief acquaintance have I imagined I could take her off guard.
She leans toward me. Her gaze heats up in intensity until I think I’m going to get burned. “Moira said it was her own child?”
“She did.”
“Did she say who the other parent was?”
“She did not.” I tilt a fraction toward her. “What does it matter to you? I guarantee the individual is not a clone, in case that’s what you’re thinking.”
She sits back, takes a sip of coffee, and sets down the cup. “I’m not thinking that at all. I’m thinking the person is my cousin, an unacknowledged, unclaimed, and unidentified child of Queen-Marshal Nézhā.”
“But that would mean…” I set down my cup.
“You didn’t know?” She whistles softly. “No wonder you don’t trust your family. They never tell you anything. Yes, my uncle Nézhā and Moira Lee had a thing when they were young.”
I slap a hand to my head. “Oh my hells. No wonder Moira was required to resign her Companion status. Sexual relations between rulers and Companions are illegal.”
“There’s no law that makes them illegal,” Sun says in a sharp tone. Her gaze flicks toward the sofas. Blankets have been left in an untidy heap where, no doubt, her Companions have been sleeping when they’ve had a chance to rest. “Such intimacy is deeply frowned on because it could create favoritism, which can be damaging, but it isn’t illegal. It makes much more sense if Moira was required to resign not because of the sex but because she got pregnant by Nézhā. Such a pregnancy would have angered and even threatened his legal consort.”
“But Nézhā already had a child by the consort.”
“Yes, my cousin Jiàn. The consort might have feared her boy would be endangered by the existence of a fully Chaonian child, even an illegitimate one. So she might have been the one who demanded Moira be stripped of her Companion status.”
“And it was afterward that she betrayed Nézhā and got him killed in battle.”
“Maybe it was her revenge. I don’t know. Jiàn was barely five when his father died, so obviously he couldn’t become queen-marshal.”
“The topic seems volatile. Your father mentioned it to her, on the CeDCA airstrip, but she shut him down.”
Sun shakes her head. “My mother genuinely loved her brothers. She didn’t see her nephew as a threat.”
“So she exiled him to grow up on an isolated outpost on a terminus system, maybe sweetened with a friendly collection of guards loyal to her?”
“He’s alive,” said Sun. “Anyway, I had no idea about this other child. None. I wonder if Moira kept it a secret even from my mother.”
“Wow. Wow.” I clutch both hands to my head. “I can’t get over how wild this is. A doomed, twisted, clandestine Lee House romance at its best.”
“What kind of disorder?”
“Beacon sickness,” I say, lowering my hands.
“I thought beacon sickness was a myth.”
I’m so delighted to discover a fact I know that she doesn’t that I take a big swallow of coffee and don’t gag this time. “I’d call it a myth in public if I didn’t want people to be afraid of beacon travel. It’s rare, but even so, it’s pretty horrifying, isn’t it?”
Yet the image that flashes to my mind isn’t of my toy-pushing cousin but of the prisoner who was eating his own feces. What forms of brutalization has a mind endured to drive it to such an extreme?
Sun dips a paciencia but doesn’t bite. Instead she contemplates the cookie as if wondering if it’s tainted with poison. “That adds a wrinkle to the tally of claimants, does it not? A half Hesjan traitor’s son who lives in internal exile. My half-Argosy brother who no one expects to see ever again since his mother took him away when she left Chaonia. And now this mysterious extralegal cousin.”
�
�Until Manea gives birth,” I point out.
Sun’s eyes flicker. “Moira Lee is sure intent on grabbing for a royal blessing, one way or another. But let’s get back to this plot to kill me. Why do you think your mother is involved together with your father in the anti-Chaonia Yele business? Aisa’s not gone missing. Isn’t she more likely to be an innocent dupe cleverly manipulated to be used as cover?”
I hesitate. In stories, angry princes kill messengers who bring bad news.
She gives me a sharp look and sets down the disintegrating cookie. “Say it.”
Now or never. “He fired the late bloomer that killed Octavian.”
A tremor passes through Sun’s frame like a spasm of fury.
I say nothing, just wait it out.
She clenches a fist, exhales, and opens the hand. “That’s a serious charge.”
“I know.”
“And it doesn’t necessarily make her complicit.”
“She gave him the alibi that allowed him to do it without anyone suspecting. And now he is missing, along with Baron Voy.”
“Aloysius has gone missing?” The information startles her.
“A ship with a Yele merchant registry departed Chaonia through the Molossia beacon before the battle would have started. I’m sure my father is on it. As for Baron Voy, he never checked in with the queen-marshal. This is what I can’t figure out, though.”
“What’s that?” Her gaze doesn’t leave my face. She’s a missile, tuned to strike.
“I understand how and why Prince João could have convinced Queen-Marshal Eirene to give him the security and the resources for the lab. He’s no ally of the Phene, and he wants to liberate his people from Phene control. Very noble.”
“Go on.”
“So sure, the queen-marshal trusts your father enough to give him the means to disrupt Phene control of Gatoi mercenaries and maybe enlist them to her own cause. But the Gatoi are almost impossible to capture. Where and how were these soldiers captured? Did Prince João have a procurement arrangement with some mysterious supplier? Chaonian agents under cover? A Hesjan cartel that doesn’t scruple to trade in bodies?”
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