by Kit Rocha
Kora gripped her knife. “Did the generals disagree on principle or as a matter of practicality?”
“The generals keep their own counsel. I’m not aware of their long-term plans, only my current mission.”
Gideon tilted his head. “And that’s dealing with the deserters?”
“Yes. Preferably before they cause unnecessary friction between the Base, Eden, and the sectors.”
Maricela beamed at him. “Your mutual goals align quite nicely, then.”
He stared at her as if he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with a young woman beaming at him in happiness—which he probably wasn’t. “Our immediate goals, yes.”
She leaned toward him. “You knew Kora before the war. I can’t imagine her in Eden. What was she like?”
Kora’s cheeks heated. “Maricela.”
“She was…” Ashwin’s gaze was so intense it felt like he was looking into her. “Compassionate. Fierce, sometimes. She advocated for patients no one else cared about. She didn’t belong in Eden.”
Maricela made a soft noise and sat back in her chair, satisfied, as if he’d answered another question entirely. “She belongs here. Right, Gideon?”
“Of course she does.” Gideon drained his cup before setting it down. “It was my pleasure to bring Kora into the family. Having a third sister is even more delightful and exasperating than having just two.”
Ashwin’s expression didn’t change, but he seemed almost taken aback by the proclamation, and Kora could sympathize. When Gideon had first referred to her as his sister, Kora had been certain that he meant it in honorary fashion, simply as a way to show his respect for her. It hadn’t taken her long to realize he meant it literally, that he now considered her as much a part of his family as Maricela or his other sister, Isabela.
In Eden, love had barely existed. Here, it was stronger than blood.
Ashwin spoke, and his words jolted through Kora. “I’m glad she found family.”
Startled, she met his eyes. She was sure—absolutely certain—she’d covered her tracks when she’d pored through the Base files, looking for information on her parents. But Ashwin sounded as if he knew about her desperate search.
And if he knew, did that mean his superiors—her former bosses—did, too?
As if realizing he’d revealed too much, Ashwin reached for his wine. “Your sister is correct. Our immediate goals may be compatible. I have access to resources and tech, but I don’t know the area around One as well as your men do.”
“I agree. There’s definitely opportunity here.” Gideon lifted his refilled glass to Kora. “A chance for you two to catch up. And a chance for me to deal with a potential problem before it becomes a serious one.”
“I’m not sure how much catching up there is to do.” Kora meant for the words to be bland, a casual observation, but they came out with an edge she couldn’t suppress.
Six months. She had let herself care about Ashwin, yes, but worse, she’d let herself somehow believe that he cared about her, too. And now, the worst part was not knowing why she’d done it. Had she really been so arrogant as to think she could inspire warmth in a Makhai soldier?
Or had she just been that lonely?
Whatever had pushed her over the line, it had led her to make her assumptions. To believe that she mattered to him enough that his continued absence—and his lack of contact—meant something dire. But here he was, absolutely fine, looking at her with no more interest than he showed Gideon or Maricela or even the damn table settings.
She was worse than arrogant. She was a fool.
Gideon covered the awkward silence by clearing his throat. “After dessert, I’ll take you over to the barracks, Ashwin. We’ll give you a place to stay, and you can talk to Deacon. He’ll be the one in charge of drawing up any initial plans of attack.”
Ashwin nodded, the gesture as stiff and calculated as everything else about him, but then his gaze drifted back to Kora, inscrutable and—
And what? She focused on her plate and reminded herself that it didn’t matter. She’d gotten over the shock of seeing him after all these months. He was alive, and that was enough. It had to be, because expecting anything more than vaguely courteous concern from the best soldier the Makhai Project had ever turned out was worse than silly, or foolish, or even arrogant.
It was an exercise in futility.
»»» § «««
Ashwin knew the basic layout of Gideon’s estate. The Base’s drone surveillance had yielded high-resolution images, and he’d committed them to memory before embarking on his mission. He couldn’t see much in the dark, but he still made note of familiar landmarks on the walk to the barracks.
Gideon’s house dominated the front of the property—a palatial building with multiple wings and a massive enclosed courtyard that contained gardens and a pool. The breeze stirred the leaves on the orchards planted on both sides of the house. The Rios orchards produced apples, pears, plums, and cherries, and that bounty alone might have made Gideon a rich man.
But the orchards weren’t his only source of income.
The path branched as it reached a clearing filled with a circle of stone benches, wooden tables, and a massive fire pit. Gideon gestured to the path on the left, and Ashwin followed silently. The path to the right, he knew, led to the Prophet’s Temple. The building itself was modest compared to the Rios home, but the priestesses who lived there accepted acolytes who showed skill in a trade. The embroidery, pottery, and leatherwork they produced sold for exorbitant prices that further lined Gideon’s coffers, while the girls tended to go on to marry into families excited to make use of their skills—and their association with Sector One’s royal family.
As far as Ashwin could tell, everything in Sector One lined Gideon’s pockets, one way or another.
Ashwin cast a furtive look at the man, but he wore the same easy, relaxed expression he’d maintained during dinner. Objective observation of Gideon Rios revealed little Ashwin didn’t already know. The man was nearing forty. He had light brown skin, dark hair with a hint of curl, and brown eyes under severe brows. The lines around his eyes were the ones people called smile lines, unsurprising when his lips curved into a half-smile even now.
He wasn’t dressed like a leader, but the clothing was a blatant lie. His humble white T-shirt hadn’t been mass-manufactured in a factory in Sector Eight but hand-sewn, probably by one of the acolytes in the temple. His leather pants fit too well to be anything but the same. A carefully crafted, tremendously expensive message of humility.
In the sectors, survival generally depended on shows of strength. Only a lethally dangerous man went out of his way to appear harmless.
“Kora seemed unsettled at dinner.” The words came out of nowhere, and Gideon’s smile didn’t falter. But the back of Ashwin’s neck prickled, like a sniper had a lock on him.
He debated fabricating a response. Most people were so unnerved by his lack of apparent affect that they couldn’t tell when he was lying. But in this instance, the truth might curry sympathy. “I regret any discomfort I caused her. I’m not accustomed to people feeling concern for me, but that was a miscalculation on my part. Kora feels concern for everyone.”
“She does,” Gideon agreed, still easy and friendly, but Ashwin could sense the trap closing around him. “The way I hear it, that concern went both ways during the war.”
The prickle at the back of his neck turned to a warning shock. Heat crawled over his nerves—not quite pain, but certainly not pleasure. A warning not to let the image form in his mind.
Kora, in the middle of a battlefield. Her skin coated with blood, her cheeks smudged with it. Her eyes wide as he dragged his hands over her body, searching for a wound, frantic until he realized the blood wasn’t hers—
Light throbbed behind his eyes, and he shut the memory down. Focused on the crunch of gravel beneath his boots. The wind in the trees. The distant sound of a bird singing—most likely a northern mockingbird. If he focused on the volume, he co
uld estimate the distance—
“Ashwin?”
“A stable Makhai soldier isn’t capable of concern,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “The war was a destabilizing influence on me, but the Base has adjusted my regimen. Kora Bellamy is a good doctor who has always advocated for Makhai soldiers, and many of us feel loyalty to her. I won’t betray her location to my superiors, if that’s your concern.” It was the truth. The Base could ask him for anything they wanted.
Anything but Kora.
“It’s not my concern, actually.” They reached the barracks, and Gideon turned to face him, his suddenly serious expression barely visible in the scant moonlight. “If I thought you were a danger to any of my sisters, you wouldn’t be on my property. You wouldn’t be in my sector. But I am very concerned that you’ll hurt her feelings, and that’s something I don’t want to see.”
The thought of Kora in pain was...unpleasant. He disliked it the same way he disliked making physical contact with strangers. It upset the comfortable ordering of his world. “I don’t want to see it, either.”
“Good.” Gideon spun back toward the building and pounded on the door. “Deacon, get your ass out here!”
The door swung open beneath his fist. “Sir.”
Gideon’s second-in-command had clearly been standing just inside, listening to the conversation. He seemed as unashamed as Gideon seemed unbothered. “Deacon, Ashwin has agreed to stay with us for a few days. I want the two of you to go over everything he knows about this group of deserters. Find out if any of the raids we’ve had over the last month can be traced back to them.”
Deacon stretched his arm across the open doorway, drawing Ashwin’s gaze to the tattoo that dominated his shoulder—a tree growing out of a skull with ravens flying from the branches and spiraling down his arm. The symbol of the Riders. “Sure.”
“Good.” Gideon nodded to Ashwin. “I’ll leave you in his very capable hands. If you need anything, let Deacon know. He’ll take care of it.”
He didn’t wait for a reply. Ashwin supposed kings and cult leaders rarely did. He turned and vanished back into the darkness, leaving Ashwin facing the second-in-command.
Deacon had a file at the Base, too—a brief one. No details about family or friends or associates. No relationships that could be exploited, just the observation that he was well-trained and dangerous, and that his loyalty to Gideon Rios was absolute.
Ashwin didn’t need a file to understand Deacon. He wore his resume on his arm. All Riders got the skull and tree tattoo, but the ravens were personal. Each time a Rider took a life in the course of his job, he etched a reminder onto his skin, and Deacon’s arm was covered with them. They wound down toward his wrist and inside his elbow, crowding each other out in a litany of blood spilled.
He wouldn’t be surprised if Deacon’s death toll rivaled his own.
Deacon stepped back. “Come inside. We’ll get you set up.”
The first thing Ashwin noticed when he stepped inside was the electricity. Unlike Gideon’s home, which seemed to run mostly on candlelight and rare, strategically placed applications of solar power, the Riders’ barracks was brightly illuminated.
In fact, it wasn’t so different from a barracks common area on the Base. The main room they stepped into was bigger, perhaps. Less stark. The walls were smooth adobe, patterned in cheerful golds and bronzes. A mural of saints dominated the back wall, painted in vivid, bright colors.
But it felt the same. Maybe it was the clatter from the corner where Hunter bench-pressed an impressive amount of weight, or the scent of oil and the whisper of steel over whetstone from the wide table on the opposite side. Maybe it was simply the way everything in the room shifted as he walked in—the subtle readiness of trained soldiers who could pivot from relaxation to violence at a moment’s notice.
As the Riders turned to stare at him, Ashwin matched faces with names. Gabe was seated at the table, sharpening a sword. Tape across his broken nose was the only sign of the evening’s fight. He inclined his head in greeting.
So did the woman next to him, and that wasn’t like the Base at all. Her leather halter top revealed brown skin over well-formed muscles, and the wary challenge in her eyes told Ashwin she knew exactly how much use the Base had for female warriors.
The tattoo on her shoulder was vivid black. Fresh. No ravens dotted her arm, which explained why she hadn’t been part of his research for the mission. She must be new—Gideon’s experiment in shattering traditional gender roles. Ashwin imagined she’d earned that wariness a hundred times over.
“Hey, the man of the hour.” Hunter racked his weight bar and sat up. He lifted a white towel and dragged it over his face before speaking again. “Thought we’d see you at dinner.”
“He had a special invite.” Reyes grinned from his perch on the sofa. His expression was friendly on the surface, but with an edge that hinted at imminent bloodshed. “From the royal family.”
“Ooooh, fancy.” The words came from the blond seated next to Reyes, who had a tablet in one hand, a plate of donuts balanced on his knee, and an eager-puppy grin on his face. Ezekiel James, known as Zeke in Sector One, and for a brief time within Eden as Robin Hood—a nickname he’d earned by hacking into the accounts of rich councilmen and redistributing their money to the poor.
His dossier painted him as a ruthless criminal. The reality was somewhat jarring.
“Don’t mind him,” Gabe said from the table, where he’d resumed sharpening his blade. “He has a habitually sarcastic mouth. It’s why everyone keeps punching him in it.”
“Or because you’re all jealous of how pretty it is.” Zeke waggled his eyebrows at Gabe before turning his attention to Ashwin. “So. A Makhai soldier. Can you tell what number I’m thinking of?”
Ashwin didn’t know where the rumor had started, but it seemed most of the people he’d met had heard it. Some Makhai soldiers encouraged the belief. The one he’d been closest to growing up would have analyzed everything he knew about Zeke to provide a guess close enough to unsettle and amaze.
Predicting human thoughts based on their emotional cues wasn’t a skill at which Ashwin had ever excelled. “No.”
“All right,” Deacon rumbled. “Knock it the fuck off. Jaden?”
A man with dark red hair popped up from the floor behind the sofa. “Boss?”
“Malhotra’s bunking with you. Show him around.”
“Got it.” He rose, and Ashwin got his first good look at him—he was huge, with a broad chest, wide shoulders, and massive arms, no doubt thanks to his childhood spent working on his family’s farm. He jerked his head toward a door at the back of the room, and Ashwin followed him into a narrow hallway.
“Heard you kicked some ass today, soldier.”
“I was able to help your friends, yes.”
Jaden half-turned, looking back over his shoulder. “Whatever you want to call it, Gideon must have been impressed.”
“I think he recognizes the potential in a temporary alliance.” And Ashwin had no doubt that once Gideon saw the full extent of his capabilities, he’d be willing to extend the alliance.
Jaden grunted. “Two bathrooms, one at this side of the hall and one at the far end. We share. Kitchen’s down there, too, but no one bothers because the cook at the palace temple keeps us fed. You been to the temple yet?” Ashwin shook his head, and Jaden kept talking as he opened the door to his quarters. “You will. Anyway, here we are. Extra bed’s over there.”
The beds were solidly constructed, wide enough for two or three people to sleep comfortably, with thick mattresses and colorful quilts. Jaden’s side of the room was decorated sparsely—a painting of one of the many Rios saints hung on one wall, and he had a shelf full of books and a desk covered with weapons.
The other desk was empty except for the equipment bag Ashwin had brought with him. Gideon had handed it off to a servant when they sat down for dinner, so Ashwin was glad he’d placed nothing incriminating inside. Not that it looked li
ke the zipper had been tampered with, but he’d been watching the sectors for too long to underestimate Gideon Rios.
Ashwin unstrapped the sheath from his thigh and dropped the knife on the desk. “I have some clothes and supplies at a safe house a few miles east of Two. I should probably pick them up tomorrow.”
Jaden nodded. “If you need anything else, we can take you around to the market, introduce you to all the vendors. They’ll set you up.”
“Set me up?”
“Yeah, clothes, personal items. The usual stuff.” Jaden dropped to his bunk and stifled a yawn. “Gideon takes care of it.”
Ashwin pulled out the chair and sat to unlace his boots. “So Gideon provides everything? Food and clothes?”
“For the Riders.” Jaden propped his arm behind his head and grinned. “And our honored guests.”
And for Kora?
The question wasn’t Ashwin’s to ask. She clearly had a place here in Sector One. She was as safe as anyone could be in a world crawling back from war. Besides, the men had talked as if his invitation to dine at Gideon’s table was a rarity that wouldn’t be repeated.
That was optimal. He’d focus on wiping out the deserters and securing his place. And hopefully both would keep him too busy to cross paths with Kora Bellamy.
Chapter Four
Kora loved art. It was one of the things that initially made her feel at home in Sector One, the way they splashed life and color in the most conspicuous and unconventional of places. Sculptures, murals, the tattoos that graced their skin.
Even their religious rituals were a thing of beauty. She sat, swathed in diaphanous white robes, as one of the senior priestesses circled her slowly. Delfina was tall and willowy, with a lean, muscled frame that spoke of strength. So did her manner—quiet, not quite stern, but with a seriousness that hinted at near-absolute authority.
Kora focused on the plumes of fragrant smoke that rose from the jeweled censer dangling from Del’s hand. “Any ideas?”
“That depends. Maricela?”
Maricela climbed to her feet, took the censer, and continued circling the two of them. Del knelt, so close that her knees brushed Kora’s, and clasped her hands. She turned them over and rubbed her thumbs over Kora’s palms.