by Laura Lam
Another guard guided them through the open space. People bustled to and fro, everyone on a clear mission. The countless footsteps echoed through the grand hall. Eris held her head high, shoulders back—the same careless grace that Zoe Eirene-X-2 gave to everything.
Training alone kept Eris’s hands from trembling, her face showing her true emotion: the desperate urge to run.
The doors to the ballroom opened, graceful violin music filtering out into the long, carpeted hallway, and Eris disappeared into her character. The way she walked held a hint of too much speed. And when she grasped the champagne flute off the plate in the steady hand of the wait staff, she drank without the same delicate sips Eris had been taught for years.
Eris spotted a familiar face from a past mission. Commander Ronan. Now, there was a man who would have access to the Oracle’s record room.
“Commander Ronan!” Eris-as-Zoe boomed, smoothly inserting herself in a circle of the highest-ranking politicians. “It’s so lovely to see you, and under such pleasant circumstances, too.”
The tall commander turned and grinned. He had a square block of a face, large hands nicked with scars from battle and missing the pinky on his left hand. Jet-black hair with a hint of gray. “Zoe.” He came forward and kissed each of her cheeks. Eris held back a cringe. “What the seven devils are you doing here, beautiful?”
The commander was someone she had known as Princess Discordia; she’d trained some of his soldiers herself. That familiarity with him had helped her gain his trust as Zoe, a somewhat gauche but invaluable friend and asset. Being a weapons dealer with a pretty face certainly helped.
Clo’s gaze flickered to Eris and narrowed. Eris knew she was surprised—no doubt rightfully wondering why Zoe and a commander of the Tholosian Empire were on such familiar terms. Their delicate truce was still spiderweb-thin—and trust could be just as tenuous.
Focus, Eris told herself. She couldn’t worry about Clo’s suspicions.
“Oh, you know me,” Eris said, playing up Zoe’s Solarian accent. A reminder that despite her surroundings, Zoe was not a politician or royalty. She was a merchant. A dealer. Any Oracle programming in her cohort would stick to business. “I’m always on the job. The God of Death doesn’t sleep in my line of work.” Eris grinned.
Commander Ronan laughed and looked at Clo, Nyx, and Ariadne. “You have an entourage today.”
Eris glanced over her shoulder at the other women. Clo was barely suppressing a scowl. “Oh, they’re not important.” Eris waved a dismissive hand. “Assistant, assistant, assistant.”
“Are they gerulae?” the commander asked with interest.
Eris scoffed. “No, no. They’d be even more useless. They’d walk into walls or some such.” Eris tilted her head at Clo. “Well? I believe my glass is empty.”
Clo stared in bemusement at the half-full glass. With relish, Eris downed the glass in a single gulp, handing Clo the flute. Clo’s lip twitched. “Right away, Negotiare,” she said, body language respectful but her eyes glared a flume you.
“And you,” Eris said to Nyx. “Cheese plate. Now.”
Nyx set her jaw and followed Clo. Eris sighed. “It’s so difficult to find useful servitor, you know. That’s why I have three. In case one or two of them are useless at any given time.”
Ariadne made a small noise of agreement next to Eris. Short and fine-boned as she was, some might think her too young to be an assistant. It was unusual, but not uncommon, to take those from servant cohorts in as soon as they left training. It was easier to shape their programming around specific owners’ needs at a young age. Most young servants were taken in by politicians and other high-ranking officials, a mark of their privilege. That Zoe had a servant so young was a wordless brag of accomplishment.
The commander smiled, with an attempt at charm. “Well, you’ve certainly convinced me to consider adding to my assistants.”
Eris kept her own fake, warm smile. “Just as long as you don’t poach mine, Commander.”
Those in the circle laughed.
Back on Zelus, Ariadne had sworn to Eris that her fingers were as light as feathers and she’d be able to lift the badge. Eris sure as flames hoped the girl could deliver. It was easier to work alone. Fewer variables.
“I’d love to know what my commander finds to be so amusing.” The voice came from behind Eris.
Her back stiffened. She reached and grasped Ariadne’s wrist so tightly that the girl let out a short gasp of pain.
She ignored Ariadne’s look of confusion. It took every ounce of her effort to paste on that false Zoe smile as she turned to face her brother.
Three years had changed Damocles. The Heir Apparent had a pure, chiseled, engineered beauty. Blond, glossy hair, perfectly styled. Strong brows like wings. Piercing dark eyes, strong features, an expressive mouth. A body molded to strength and agility, filled out with age into a mountain of a man. Perfect. Cruel. His black military uniform was immaculate and pressed, the golden buttons gleaming in the chandelier light. Each one marked his high rank and stature. No one in the galaxy could match the ones he wore—except for Eris. Once.
The rage simmering in her belly burned hot when his gaze touched hers. She thought about how easy it would be to take out a hairpin and, with one thrust into his throat, end his life. Skin was so delicate.
Stop it. Don’t compromise the mission. Do your godsdamn job.
Eris knew Damocles’s weaknesses—and one of them was a soft spot for beautiful women. Despising herself, she curled her lips into a charming smile. Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up.
Thankfully, the Commander dropped into a deep, stiff bow. Eris followed with a curtsy, holding out the glimmering fabric of her skirt. “The Negotiare here was just telling us about her assistants,” Commander Ronan said. “Have you met Zoe, General Damocles?”
Eris tried not to let her expression waver. Back when she had been chosen by their father to be general, her brother had been brigadier, one step below her. Now he had taken her place. Her title.
Damocles’s eyes shifted to hers. Cold, even when he smiled.
“I haven’t had the pleasure, no,” her brother said. His voice sounded deeper, rougher. “But I’ve heard enough about her to catch my attention.”
Maximus had come through.
She laughed Zoe’s sensual, throaty laugh, and reached out her hand, palm down. “Zoe Eirene-X-2,” she said. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you in person.”
Eris didn’t miss Damocles’s perusal of her clingy dress. She wished she were wearing something shapeless. Like a long coat. Or a sack of some kind. With a bag over her head.
“One of the Eirene cohort,” Damocles said, not yet moving to take her hand. “Not impressive genetic stock, that, even for a merchant aedifex class.”
No one seemed surprised by his blunt observation. After all, everyone there placed importance on the cohorts people were born into, and her class barely registered in their glittering world, except as a means to acquire goods.
Eris kept Zoe’s smile. “Yes, I’m afraid you’ll find the vast majority of the Eirenes to be quite useless, General. Good only for selling scrap and whatever slop the servants eat. I aspire to provide goods with actual use for the Empire’s expansion.”
“How intriguing,” Damocles said, gently taking her offered hand. “If you’ll excuse me, Commander, I’m going to steal her.” The commander bowed as Damocles led Eris away, with Ariadne trailing silently behind. Clo and Nyx p
aused halfway across the ballroom, one with the wine and one with the cheese plate.
Damocles led her to a quieter corner. “My weapons tester speaks very highly of you. He tells me, Negotiare, that you have a solution to a particular problem of mine.”
“Please,” Eris said with a laugh, “call me Zoe.” If she knew one thing about her brother, it was that while he obsessed over tradition, he preferred women who were more straightforward. The real Zoe had been exactly his type. “I’m so glad I finally have the opportunity to meet you in person. I’m often so deep into research, I can never seem to come to such glittering events like these.” She shrugged. “Nature of my business.”
Clo and Nyx showed up with her wine and cheese. Eris didn’t miss the way Clo edged away from Damocles and handed Eris the wine with her lips pursed. In contrast, Nyx remained rigid, her back straight. A soldier’s stance.
She wasn’t playing a soldier.
Eris couldn’t risk one of them blowing their cover. Eris had to distract him. Now.
She handed her plate to Ariadne and waved off the other women. “For gods’ sake,” she said, a touch too loudly, “don’t just stand there and gawk at me.” She glanced at the Prince. “Unless you’d like them to fetch you wine. That’s the only thing they’re good for.”
Eris had to hide her breath of relief when Damocles shook his head. “No need.”
“It’s better that way. They’d probably drop it on your feet,” she said, waving them off. “Leave me be.” Clo passed her an inscrutable look as she left with Nyx.
Damocles’s lip quirked up in amusement. “Actually,” the prince said slowly, “I’ve changed my mind. I believe I’ll have that wine after all.” Before Eris could signal the women to return, Damocles gestured with a nod. “Let’s have a bit more privacy.”
Eris tried to calm her breathing. It had been years since she’d been alone with her brother. Playing Zoe around other people was easy because none of them knew her well enough to see through the performance. Her brother did. Eris was going to have to be very, very careful.
She smiled, flashing her teeth. “Of course.” To Ariadne: “Find the others, and for god’s sake, try to look like you’re enjoying yourself.”
At that last statement, she sent through the Pathos:
Damocles led Eris to one of the refreshment tables in a sparsely populated section of the ballroom. What few people were there drifted off, sensing the general’s desire to converse uninterrupted.
“My weapons expert implied you were colleagues,” he said, all smoothness. “I’ve heard your name but not the specifics of your work.” Eris understood when she was being tested. Damocles would never admit to knowing what the real Zoe had done for the Battle of the Garnet. No, he wanted to get a sense of her first.
“We’re colleagues of a sort.” Eris sipped her wine as if she didn’t mind the severity of his stare. “Though I’m semi-retired these days, my role is less public. I am in the business of designing and manufacturing certain items for individuals with need and a great deal of funds.”
Nyx swore through the Pathos.
Eris replied.
The prince’s expression didn’t change; it remained as cold and impassive as ever. “And yet you knew the name of a project that Maximus most assuredly didn’t tell you about.” A step closer. “So, who did?”
Eris knew two things: Damocles often disagreed with their father, and he hated the Evoli. Rhea said he wasn’t pleased about the truce. If anyone knew how the rocks were intended to be used and where they came from, Damocles did. She’d bet her life on it. Right now, he was measuring her, noting her loyalties.
Eris kept her smile. “Looking to kill someone, General?”
“Yes.” His expression was cold. “I can’t abide disloyalty.”
“We’re in agreement.” Eris laughed low in her throat. “Fortunately for you, the person who told me is already dead. Felix Iasion-17.” One of the burned Novan spies. It was risky to give the name of a dead spy, considering how he met his end, but Eris couldn’t put anyone else at risk. Felix had been one of the lesser members of Maximus’s cohort. Someone who should have been forgettable. “He was hoping to prove himself. I found the project . . . fascinating. I only wish Maximus had trusted me with the problem himself. I could have solved it for you months ago. It was interesting enough to come out of my partial retirement.” She gave a dramatic sigh. “Turns out spending vast amounts of money becomes remarkably monotonous after a while. Who’d have thought?”
Damocles sipped his wine. “Maximus is loyal. The Oracle saw to it after that spy was found.”
Her brother sounded casual, but Eris noted how tense he was. Yes, Damocles was alarmed by the knowledge of spies in his midst; he would have the Oracle tighten One’s influence, run One’s programming more vigilantly. He might have already done that before Ariadne left, during those commands she’d forgotten under stress. Eris would have to be careful, because he would not trust her easily.
She saw one opening: greed gleamed in his eyes. She had promised Damocles an answer to a problem even the Oracle couldn’t solve.
“Maximus can vouch for me,” Eris said lightly. “Let me desist with the coyness: I specialize in the design and sale of advanced weaponry, which puts me in contact with your testing facility from time to time. Quietly.” Her lips curved into a smile. “Disloyalty to my clients, General, would be bad for business. I deal with it as efficiently as you.”
He leaned closer. “You’re one step away from a pirate.”
“A little step.” She tilted her head back to drink. Damocles’s eyes caught on the column of her throat.
Thank the gods. Clo had come close to slipping, and their squabbling was distracting. She couldn’t afford even the tiniest mistake.
“Hypothetically,” the prince said smoothly, “if your clients included the Evoli or the Novantae, that would be treason. The punishment is execution.”
“I believe what I just designed proves I want no affiliation with sorcerers or traitors. Alas, that means I’d lose such a charming descriptor just when I was considering an eye patch. But if I was a pirate”—she lowered her voice conspiratorially—“well, I should think it would be fitting I go out in a blaze of glory.”
Prince Damocles’s smile was small, and her hatred burned all the brighter. Eris wanted to rip off her Zoe disguise and smash her fist into his face. Wipe that smile off.
Breathe. Bury your feelings deep, just like Father taught you.
He shook his head. “I ought to be insulted at your informality.”
She half-lowered her eyelids. “Well, are you?”
“I’m not certain yet.”
With another rueful smile, he set his half-empty glass down on the table. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to greet my other guests. You understand.”
“Of course.”
Eris tried not to let her disappointment show. She had been hoping to get some answers out of him. Flames, anything, really. Without another chance for discussion, this would be the end of Zo
e’s part in this mission. Kyla wasn’t going to be happy.
The prince stepped back and said, “You will return tomorrow night. My guard will bring you through the east wing of the palace, away from the other guests. Bring along a prototype of the weapon you promised my engineer. Let’s see if you’ve solved Project Harpy as you claim.”
* * *
—
Back at the ship’s command center, Eris felt like running again. From the looks on the faces of her compatriots, she wasn’t alone.
“Honestly,” Nyx said, standing near Clo as she started dropping mechanical parts on the work table, “I’m surprised General Damocles didn’t decapitate you right there in the ballroom.”
“Zoe has a certain ribald charm.” Eris eyed the piles of metal and hoped Clo knew what the seven devils she was doing. If they didn’t produce an impressive-enough weapon to show Damocles, he definitely would decapitate her.
“Charm?” Clo snorted. “You were a complete silthole.” She sat back down at her work table, organizing the component pieces on the table that she’d taken from various Novan weaponry, plus the supplies Kyla’s unmanned craft had delivered. “You better hope we can build this in time. Ari and I are saving your hummocks.”
Ariadne sat next to her, wearing oversized goggles. “That bit should go there.” She pointed.
“Do you think you can do this?” Eris asked Clo and Ariadne, gesturing to that pile of parts she couldn’t identify. Her voice sounded even, calm—a far cry from how she felt.
“Build a never-before-seen weapon impressive enough that a warmongering prince will begin trusting you enough to confide the intel Kyla needs? In a day?” Clo examined a piece, set it down. “Doubtful. I say we all get drunk again and enjoy our last hours.”
Nyx made an impatient noise and gestured to the weapon in Clo’s hands. “Better get to work, then. I didn’t escape the Empire just to come back and die.”
Eris felt a pang of guilt. If she died on this planet, at least it was during a mission doing something she believed in. These three were refugees. And they were still risking their lives when they should have been given a chance at a normal life.