Seven Devils

by Laura Lam

  Discordia didn’t dare look at Xander. If she did, she’d falter. Then her chance to save Xander would be gone.

  “I won’t kill him while he’s bound,” she said, as if disappointed in him. “Don’t deny me a challenge, Damocles. Especially as a first offering.”

  “Of course.” He waved a hand in Xander’s direction. “You’re free to untie him.”

  Thank the gods. Discordia kept her steps measured so he wouldn’t see her eagerness.

  The flicker of gratitude in Xander’s gaze almost undid her. It’s all right, frater, she wanted to say. I’ve got you.

  “Tell me one thing first.” Damocles’s voice cut across the dark room, quick as a whip. Jarring enough that she paused. “Did you really choose this coward over me, Discordia?”

  Betray nothing.

  Discordia straightened, the way any general might when faced with insubordination. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “No?” His laugh was brittle. “So, he wasn’t seen speaking to you on Macella? He didn’t send you word to meet him here?”

  She raised her eyebrows, ignoring the tremor that went through her. Had someone caught them on the cameras in the cloak room she was sure she’d disabled? He sounded mildly interested, but she could hear the edge to his words. Damocles was not capable of keeping his anger reined in for long. He had never been taught to make peace, and her attempts at teaching him strategy had been a source of frustration for years.

  But as a priest to the God of Death? He played that role to perfection.

  “Weighing my options is practical, Damocles,” she said, cool and composed. “That doesn’t mean I chose him as my second.”

  The lie came so easily that Xander went still.

  Damocles’s laugh was low, like when he managed to make her bleed in the middle of sparring. “Weighing your options,” he repeated. His blade shook. “Weighing your options.”

  Discordia grasped her knife. “Damocles—”

  She flung the blade, but he dodged it. The clang of metal echoed in the old factory. Damocles’s snarl sent a chill through her: “I’m your only fucking option. I always have been.”

  He shoved his blade into Xander’s side.

  Discordia lunged, her Mors raised, but Damocles smacked it out of her hand. It skittered across the concrete and disappeared into the shadows. She grappled with him. The bloody blade in his hand came down hard, but she knocked it away. Her fist slammed into his face. Again. She heard the satisfying crack of cartilage breaking under her fist. Good. Again. Aga—

  “Soror.”

  The strangled whisper made her stop. With a rough noise, Discordia shoved herself off Damocles and knelt beside Xander. His blood was everywhere, pooling around his body. She didn’t know where to put her hands. She didn’t know—

  “Soror,” he whispered. “It’s all right.”

  “Shut up,” she choked out. “Don’t move, frater. Just don’t—”

  His breath grew shallower. “I wish I could have seen you.”

  “When?” Her voice shook.

  “Wearing that cloak as you took your crown.” He gasped again. “You’ll make the Empire better. I know you will.”

  “Not without you.” She pressed her hands to his wound, and he flinched. Where Damocles stabbed him . . . oh gods, he was going to die slowly. She looked up as her other brother rose to his feet, recovering from her beating. If she’d hurt him any less, would he have stabbed her in the back? “Damn you, Damocles. Damn you. Finish him.”

  Damocles wiped the blood from his face, swaying on his feet. “You stole my first. I’ll give you my last. General.”

  She might have lunged for him again if not for Xander’s soft voice. “Soror,” he whispered, taking her hand. “You promised. Take me to the Avern, Discordia.”

  She shook her head wildly. “No. I could still save you, I—”

  “You already did,” he told her, sliding her blade from its wrist sheath and pressing it into her palm. “You gave me years. Time to cross out my name, Discordia.”

  The hilt of the blade seemed to burn, but she closed her fingers around it. “I love you, frater,” she said.

  He tried to say the words back. It would have been the first time anyone had.

  She sank her blade into his throat.

  And then he was gone.

  Discordia pressed a palm to her mouth as the first sob tore through her throat, rough, unintended. Her vision wavered. This ache in her chest, this awful feeling of incompleteness and desolation was grief and oh gods, it hurt. It hurt so much.

  “Discordia.” Her brother’s harsh voice echoed. Damocles stared at her in astonishment and, then, disgust. “Get up. Wipe your face.”

  Discordia stood, but she didn’t wipe away her tears. They were marks of her humanity. Reminders of Xander. Of what she’d lost.

  “Get out,” she said through her teeth. “You don’t get to be here while I say last rites.”

  “You’re not suited to rule—”

  “I don’t want it!” The words burst from her throat in a roar that broke at the last word. When Damocles only stared at her in shock, she repeated them, lower: “I don’t want it. I don’t want to be this. Not without . . . not . . .”

  Not without Xander.

  “Feelings,” he spat in disgust. “You would have killed our other brothers for this. You told me that it was a weakness. And then you did this.”

  “Then kill me.” Her hands fisted at her sides. “Do it, you fucking coward.”

  Damocles’s expression went as unemotional as her own when she tried her best. “No,” he decided. “Take your crown. You don’t have what it takes to rule. Father will see it. I’ll prove what’s mine.” He gave a soft sound of disgust as he looked down at Xander. No. That’s not him anymore. “Say your last rites, Discordia. When you go to father’s palace on Tholos for the coronation, I expect you to be in control of yourself.”

  He left her there alone.

  Discordia knelt beside Xander and did as she promised: she said the last rites that guided him into the Avern. When she was finished, and her voice was hoarse from prayer, Discordia began plotting her escape.

  Her revenge.

  She was going to make the Empire burn.

  48.

  RHEA

  Present day

  Rhea watched Clo angle Zelus out into open space, preparing for another jump. They’d come up with a plan to land on Laguna.

  Rhea hated it. It wasn’t as elegant as they’d hoped, nor was it easy, but after two solid days of Ariadne trawling through the guest list for the ceremony and plotting likely security scenarios, this was the best chance they had.

  Unlawful docking on a Tholosian craft.

  Kidnapping.

  Identity theft.

  And that was just to start.

  Rhea figured they had already committed at least fifty crimes that were punishable by execution, so what were a few more to add to the list?

  She distracted herself by flipping through the Tholosian-approved channels on the vid-screen, searching for any news of their escape on Macella. Nothing. It was as if it hadn’t occurred at all. “There’s no mention of what happened to the palace on any of these stations,” she told Clo. “They’re only covering the Archon’s speeches about the truce.”

  “I’m telling you,” Clo said, easing the thrusters down to recover from the jump, “Damocles is keeping it quiet. The Archon would drop that fancy parade tour and delay the truce ceremony in a heartbeat if he found out his palace was destroyed by a Tholosian ship stolen by the resistance.”

  Rhea and Clo were the only two on the bridge. Ariadne was running updates on the ship’s computer, making sure all was running smoothly after their mad dash through the labyrinthine streets on Macella. Nyx was with Cato, continuing the last rounds of h
is deprogramming regime.

  Sher and Kyla had called them earlier to help cement the bones of their paltry plan on the most encrypted channel Ariadne could muster. The commanders had agreed to come, leaving a few of their subordinates in charge to oversee operations. With the truce ceremony so close, no one questioned why two Novan leaders would need to go dark for a few days. The rest of the Nova crew were distracted by dust storms, gritty and thick on the surface of their hidden planet. It was all hands on deck to keep the resistance colony powered.

  “Then it confirms Damocles is plotting a coup against the Archon,” Rhea murmured, shutting off the vid-screens. “And that he controls the Oracle. One would have alerted his father otherwise.”

  The light from the command buttons played across Clo’s face and the buzz of her hair, the tiny scars on the backs of her fingers from countless hours taking apart engines and putting them back together again. Those hands had stolen to be able to eat, held weapons, caressed Rhea’s face. Rhea found herself wanting to trace every scar with her own soft fingertips, bring them to her lips, and kiss away the remembered ghosts of pain.

  “Do you think this is going to work?” Clo asked, her voice tight as her fingers danced along the controls.

  “I don’t know,” Rhea said. “If Ariadne can block off the comms like she says, then there’s a chance. I just don’t like that I’m going to have to feel it all.”

  Clo’s hand came off the control, hesitantly reaching for Rhea. Rhea closed the distance and laced her fingers through Clo’s. She felt the warmth flow from the other woman and her cheeks warmed in response; Clo felt so . . . alive. Unfettered.

  “They’ll nae like it, but we have to do this for Eris and all those people on Laguna. It’s only temporary.”

  Rhea nodded.

  A message from Sher came through the comms. He’d be in their quadrant in an hour and Kyla in three. Clo sent a message back to him, telling him they were an hour and a half away from their target.

  he sent back.

  “Wish I had the same faith,” Clo muttered. “Without Eris here, I’m so ’fraid of sluicing this up.” She let out a dry laugh. “Can’t believe I’m saying that, after all the shite I gave her.”

  Rhea squeezed her hand.

  Zelus picked up speed, weaving through the sky. Clo looked most at home there in the pilot’s seat, eyes on the darkness of space, hands moving in that perfect dance. Rhea watched her and knew fighting was not Clo’s true calling. Not war. She liked things to work, to fit. To come alive.

  Clo’s true calling was to fix what was broken.

  Rhea rested her hands on Clo’s shoulders. The other woman’s muscles tensed, then relaxed. Rhea leaned forward and pressed her lips lightly to the back of the other woman’s neck. She shivered.

  In Clo’s ear, Rhea whispered, “Place your faith in me, Clo.”

  Just before they entered the dark expanse of space, to break apart and come back together again, Clo turned her head and placed a soft kiss on Rhea’s lips.

  * * *

  —

  Clo hid Zelus behind the asteroids as the others joined her and Rhea on the bridge.

  Their target was on the way. Lysicrates, an embassy ship from Philana, a war-proud planet that raised millions of soldiers for the Tholosian Empire. The ten delegates would be welcomed with open arms to the ball. Arriving with four fewer people than expected would raise questions, but they had their story ready. Ariadne had collected a dossier of information on each diplomat. Kyla and Sher would decide everyone’s roles, and which four would be the missing delegates.

  “Seven devils, I hope this works,” Clo said.

  “It will.” Nyx’s eyes were bright as she gazed out of the window, a hunter about to pounce. “We can’t think in terms of failure. We can only hope for victory.”

  How Tholosian, Rhea wanted to say, but wisely remained silent.

  “I’ll go, if you need me,” Cato said from his perch at the back of the bridge. All heads turned toward him. He no longer wore his uniform, but he stood as stiff and straight as any soldier.

  “I’m not convinced you’re ready,” Nyx said. “Not that we don’t appreciate the offer.”

  With Eris gone and this a military mission, Nyx had taken over command. Rhea had expected Clo to bristle at this, but she hadn’t. Clo was more worried about Eris than she let on.

  “What’s a little identity kidnapping between friends?” He gave Rhea a grin, as if he didn’t care, but Rhea felt his nervousness. “You need all of us for this. There are ten delegates and at least ten soldiers guarding them. So, unless you want to put yourself at more risk, take my help.”

  Rhea had seen so much change in him. Though Cato was working on building himself back up, he no longer recited Tholosian propaganda in his sleep. His military haircut was growing out, shaggy around the ears. He’d been regaining the muscle sapped by his wounds and fever. Rhea had seen this man sob and cry out for death as the Oracle programming dug its tendrils in deeper before the hold finally broke. She didn’t know what sort of man he’d be now. Rhea doubted he did either.

  “All right,” Nyx said. “But stay close. I’ll find you a weapon.”

  Rhea felt a bit of Nyx’s pride beneath those words, a warm blue glow. Cato had risen to the challenge. Rhea realized that Nyx saw him as an ally—someone else who had been a soldier and gone through the agony of deprogramming. A kindred spirit.

  “Remember,” Rhea told the two soldiers. “No deaths.”

  “What about maiming?” Nyx asked. “Because maiming seems highly likely.”

  “No maiming unless you really can’t help it. And even then, only a little maiming,” Ariadne admonished, firm despite their fourteen inch height difference.

  Rhea almost laughed, until she remembered that Ariadne had seen so much violence in recent days.

  Nyx checked the various weapons, then passed Cato a gun and a belt knife. He took them solemnly.

  “Five minutes,” Clo warned them.

  Rhea was nervous; Clo and Ariadne were remaining behind on Zelus, which meant she’d be left alone with two people familiar with military missions. Rhea felt like the odd person out, even if she trusted Nyx to lead.

  “Right,” Nyx said. “Ari, start blocking Lysicrates’s comms—they’re in range if needed?”

  “Just barely.” Ariadne’s brow furrowed as she concentrated. The rest of the group stayed silent as Ariadne worked her magic. When she finished, she sat back with a small nod.

  “Nyx,” Clo called. “Let’s do this.”

  Nyx took up station next to Clo, ready to fire Zelus’s weapons. The unsuspecting Lysicrates came into view. A sleek ship, weaving through the debris of the asteroid belt with ease. The computers ran a scan and returned with a detailed blueprint of the Tholosian craft overlaid with the heat signatures of the crew.

  “Twenty souls on board,” Clo said.

  Rhea held her breath. There was no turning back.

  Nyx tapped the options on the screen. “Shuttles are good to go. Kid, will you be able to open the doors to their loading docks if they don’t comply?”

  “Not even a challenge,” Ariadne replied, rolling her shoulders. Sometimes, the girl amazed Rhea. Few others in the galaxy would be able to do what she just did, and she treated it like it was no more difficult than making a cup of coffee in the canteen. “Nyx, I’m about to put you on over their comm system. You remember the codes, right?”

  Nyx nodded once, and Ariadne gave her an encouraging wave when she made the connection.

  “Attention, Lysicrates,” Nyx sent to their ship. “This is Commander Hypathia Arktos-2. I’m going to need you to stand down for an emergency. Who am I speaking to?”

  “Legate Cognos Philan-49.” A deep voice. Firm, authoritative. Ready to fight or die for his honor if
need be. “What’s the problem, Commander?”

  “Emergency code 06933. We’ve got a busted jump, little food, a glitching navigation system, and we’re running out of fuel. Just a bit of a fucked-up situation here, sir.”

  The legate let out a laugh, and Rhea figured some form of emergency like this must have been common enough. After a short delay came the “Affirmative, Commander. But we have had nothing through our ship’s Oracle to verify.”

  “Less chance of interception by Novan rebels. We had a run-in three jumps back that I’ve got to report to the general. If you prepare for us on the bridge, we’ll brief you.”

  A long pause. “I don’t have any record of Novan run-ins. Did you not report to the Oracle?”

  “Our comms are busted for long-range transmissions. We were hoping to use yours.”

  Rhea hissed in a breath.

  “Of course, Commander. In Tholos’s name.”

  “He knows, or suspects,” Rhea said. The ship was too far away for her abilities to work, but she was well-trained in spotting lies on the faces of men.

  “Oh, we’re so burned,” Ariadne said as soon as the call dropped. “They’re trying to send a distress signal. I can block it for now—”

  “Fire,” Nyx said, not wasting time.

  Clo and Nyx hit Lysicrates with electromagnetic pulses at the same time. The other ship shuddered. The crew tried to return fire, but Ariadne had locked onto their system remotely. She was already opening their outer hatches to the loading docks.

  “They’re trying to get around the comms block,” Ariadne warned.

  “On it,” Clo said, and she and Nyx fired again.

  The Lysicrates shuddered again, drifting in open space. Clo maneuvered Zelus closer, trapping Lysicrates with a tractor beam. It was over so fast, Rhea’s mind was still catching up. They’d all moved together so seamlessly. Ariadne on comms and systems, Nyx and Clo firing in tandem like two hemispheres of the same mind.

  “And that’s how you do it,” Nyx said, satisfied.

  The crew of Zelus strapped on their weapons and armor and made their way to the shuttle. Rhea’s nerves fluttered. Ariadne would stay on Zelus, but she had given them sleep canisters—a gentler form of what the Oracle had used on Macella—and their group were all fitted with filters. Even if the soldiers were knocked out, there’d be remnants of their emotions floating through the ship like dust motes—the moment their pride turned to fear and shame.