by Laura Lam
It might not work in time. And if any were still awake, she’d have to influence them into surrendering. Tholosians didn’t give up easily. Death before dishonor was a refrain programmed by the Oracle, words etched into the core of their beings.
The thought of influencing them still made her recoil. She’d tried to do it on Zelus, the night of the mutiny. But at the first Morsfire, the first bloodshed, she’d lost it. The sight of Nyx taking the soldiers out one by one—no pause, no hesitation—had frozen her thoughts. The pain and death had driven her to her knees. By the time she’d recovered, they were all dead, their blank faces burned into her memory. Nyx’s face had been nearly as still, locking away her guilt.
Rhea drew a shaking breath. This time, she’d be stronger. This time, she’d save them.
The ship was close, caught in Zelus’s beam but not fully docked. They slipped through the space, and Ariadne opened Lysicrates’ bay remotely. Their shuttle slunk in and landed. A parasite. An invader.
Rhea pulled her coat around her, cold despite the climate-controlled bay. Lysicrates was much smaller than Zelus, and she felt closed in, claustrophobic.
Nyx leaned toward Rhea. “Breathe. You can do this.”
“Right,” she said. It was not her first battle, and it would not be their last. But she couldn’t stop the dread that coiled in her stomach.
Breathe. Just breathe.
Cato and Nyx tossed the canisters into the air ducts. It would only take a few minutes for the sleeping solution to worm its way through the ship.
Nyx gestured for them to move forward.
They made their way through the corridors. Everything was stark. Too clean, too perfect. The hallways were metal, polished, the dim light from above making the chrome almost glow.
The Philanians lived far enough from the Three Sisters that their culture had shifted, but their loyalty remained unshakable, thanks to the Oracle. They prided themselves on two principles: take only what they need; use only what they must. They lived in small, spare quarters, trained long hours, and ate simple food.
Rhea sometimes wondered what they truly thought of the Empire’s ostentatious displays of wealth and excess. The delegates were on their way to a lavish feast, with more food than the hundreds of guests could hope to eat. Dresses, robes, and suits that cost eye-watering amounts of money, woven and sewn by people who ate as simply as the Philanians but only because they could not afford anything richer. An evening of shining lights, beautiful courtesans, the full display of the Empire.
They were loyal, but their beliefs were at odds with the Empire’s principles. In the past, that would have been enough to plant the seeds of doubt that grew and flourished into a rebellion. Now, even if they harbored hints of resentment, their emotions would inevitably be tamped down by the Oracle.
Rhea followed behind the others. Nyx and Cato strode ahead with their Mors at the ready. Rhea felt defenseless in comparison. She drew her abilities around her like a cloak, knowing that the fractals would be shimmering at her skin. She fought the instinct to hide them—the effort wasn’t worth it.
Nyx was calm, focused, her fear so dampened she likely didn’t realize it was still there, hiding beneath the surface. Cato’s fear was acute, no longer massaged away by the Oracle. The closer they came to the bridge, the more agitated Rhea felt. Metal sometimes weakened her abilities, if the walls were thick enough.
The doors slid open, and Rhea prepared herself for twenty Mors trained on their heads. For gunfire and screaming and blood. For a repeat of Zelus.
Silence.
Twenty soldiers and delegates, sprawled on the ground. Sleeping like the dead. Rhea knelt down, pressed her fingers to the closest man’s neck. This would be the legate. He’d receive a gentler fate than the legate of Zelus. That death she hadn’t mourned.
The man’s heart beat slow and steady. He dreamed of someone he loved. Murky, strange, drugged, but the strength of emotion still shone through, clear as a clarion call.
Cato stared down at them, his face rippling with the emotions that washed over Rhea’s skin. He’d have known Philanians in the forces. In the features of those sleeping were the echoes of his friends. Soldiers who might have saved his life in battle. They wore their Tholosian uniforms. Cato had so recently worn his own with pride. He’d moved against his own in a way he couldn’t explain away. He had already chosen his side on Ismara, but this cemented it.
Nyx made her way around the bridge. “All out like newgrowns still wet from the vat,” she confirmed.
Rhea let out a breath, expanded her abilities. The gas wasn’t meant to work for long. As Nyx, Cato, and Rhea gathered up the handful of delegates and twenty soldiers, snapping their wrists together with cuffs and loading them into the shuttle, Rhea kept them calm. Kept their dreams sweet.
They programmed the shuttle to jump them far from their location, far from their home planet, even farther from Laguna. Ariadne scrambled their comms but left them more than enough food to last them for a few days. She put the cuff keys in one of the women’s hands. They’d wake up groggy, and it’d take them some time to debug the comms.
Enough time, she hoped.
“Thank you,” Rhea said as she gathered the DNA samples for their shifters. “We’ll use your faces well.”
With luck, they’d save a galaxy.
* * *
—
Rhea wandered through the corridors of Zelus. It was their last night on this stolen ship that now felt like home. Their last night before Laguna. She didn’t know what would happen tomorrow, and this uncertainty had plagued her dreams when she had tried to sleep earlier. When she shut her eyes, she saw the face of that Evoli man back on Macella who had been killed by Damocles, the faces of all the dead back on Ismara, the dead men on this very ship.
It all felt like a preview of what was to come if her team failed.
Rhea sought out Clo, not wanting to be alone. Wanting one night of quiet before they risked everything again. Clo was in the observation deck, just as Rhea suspected, suspended against glass in a sphere of stars. Rhea would remember this place when they left Zelus. She’d miss it most.
“Can’t sleep?” Clo asked as Rhea settled into the soft chair beside her.
The dim lights of the stars caressed Clo’s face, softening the harsh lines. Rhea wordlessly reached up and traced the three moles at the corner of Clo’s left eye. A small constellation. Clo shivered beneath her touch.
“Nothing like almost-certain death to ruin a night’s sleep,” Rhea said. She smiled and leaned forward, as if to tell a secret. “It makes a woman think about her place in the universe.”
Clo sighed, wrapping an arm around her. “Don’t joke about that.”
“About what?”
“Dying. You haven’t even seen an ocean up close yet. We’ve still got a universe to explore.”
Rhea smiled and rested her head on Clo’s shoulder, wanting to burrow herself in the other woman’s warmth. She smelled of ardmint gum. After a few moments, Rhea tilted her head up, and Clo bent to meet her.
Their kiss was gentle, barely a brush of lips. Rhea’s tongue flicked along Clo’s lower lip, until Clo opened her mouth. Their kiss deepened. Thoughts fled, and Rhea focused on the taste, the smell, the feel of Clo.
Everything.
She wanted to memorize this moment. She wanted to forget about tomorrow. She wanted to stop time.
Here, now, this was what mattered: Rhea’s fingertips moving along the strong muscles of Clo’s back, exploring the coiled lines of her body; her hands moving down, down, down to the dip of Clo’s waist; the other woman’s movements echoing her in a mirror image.
Tonight. Tonight matter
ed.
Rhea dipped her head and ran her tongue along the line of Clo’s jaw, flickering at the soft flesh where her neck met the bottom of her ear, feeling the pulse point there quickening. Clo groaned low in her throat. Her fingertips left burning trails along Rhea’s jawline, down the column of her neck, along her collarbone.
More. More, more, more.
Rhea drew back. With a conscious decision, she dropped her illusion. Clo watched as the markings appeared on Rhea’s skin, unfurling like moonlight across the slopes of a landscape. The pale cream almost glowed against Clo’s golden bronze.
“You are so beautiful,” Clo whispered, and then there were no more words as she traced the marks upon Rhea’s neck with her lips.
Rhea’s skin grew brighter, a torch lit from within. Clo’s arousal fed Rhea’s own, and this dual desire was almost too much to bear. Rhea pressed Clo against the unbreakable glass that separated them from the vast abyss of space. The other woman’s legs fell open, and Rhea settled between them. Their torsos pressed together, their hip bones fitting against each other.
Rhea kissed Clo again, taking her time, unrushed. Her hands traced Clo’s sternum, the underside of one breast, lower, lower.
Clo’s hand caught hers. “Are you sure?”
Rhea pulled back at the unexpected question. But Clo’s expression was somber, her eyes seeking. Rhea wasn’t certain. A part of her wanted to wait, wanted that patience she had never been given before Clo. And the other part reminded her that she might die tomorrow in Laguna. And they’d never have this chance again.
Rhea let out a breath and settled her cheek against Clo’s chest. “I said . . . that eventually I could tell you what it was like for me. In the Pleasure Garden.”
Clo’s heart thudded beneath Rhea’s cheek. “Yes.”
“Ask me,” Rhea whispered.
Clo caressed Rhea’s shoulder, the calluses on the tips of her fingers rough against Rhea’s skin. A reassuring touch. “I’m asking.”
“It was a nightmare that pretended to be a dream,” she said, gazing out at the firmament of stars as she listened to the steady thump of Clo’s heart. “It was cruelty always wrapped in courtesy and kindness. Yet there was connection there. My fellow flowers in the Pleasure Garden and I took bits of freedom for ourselves. Sometimes, it was with clients who were looking for their own escape. But it never lasted. Honey always turned bitter. And we endured, and we hated, and we didn’t let ourselves hope. Because hope would crush us even more. So, we gave our pretty smiles. We danced for them. We did everything they wanted, and asked for nothing in return. We let ourselves disappear.”
Clo’s fingertips traced small circles along the small of her back. Rhea closed her eyes, letting herself revel in the feeling.
“We don’t have to go any further than this,” Clo said. “What do you want, Rhea? Tell me, and I’ll give you as much or as little as you need.”
“I don’t want to disappear,” Rhea whispered. She sat up again, shifted from Clo’s lap. “Undress me. I want you to see me.”
After only the barest hesitation, the mechanic’s clever hands removed Rhea’s clothes with utter care until they were piled on the glass at their feet. Then Clo returned her hands to her lap and simply looked. She drank Rhea in like nectar. Rhea felt her desire, but it was softened now. Tinged with wonder and awe.
No one had seen Rhea like this—not even when she’d been put on display. Their eyes had slid over her. In the Garden, she’d often felt like a means to an end. And they had never seen her as she truly was. Not like this. Every marking was truth written on her skin.
And she no longer had to hide.
“Let me see you,” Rhea whispered.
Clo undid her shirt, button by button. Rhea took in every inch of skin as it was unveiled. Her vest fluttered to the floor, and she wore nothing to support her breasts. More scars spidered from her right shoulder, down her bicep and forearm.
“I fell in the Snarl,” Clo said, as Rhea traced the marks.
She twisted, the muscles moving beneath the wings of her scapula, showing her ribs and the lines and dents of newer scars, only just fading to white. “Shrapnel, from the mission on Sennett. With Eris.”
Clo shed the rest of her clothes, revealing a smattering of small scars that turned deeper and led to where puckered skin met the hard metal of her prosthetic. Gods, she was beautiful. Strong. She had endured so much before she met Rhea; the geography of her scars was proof of that.
Clo returned Rhea’s appraisal with one of her own. They stayed like that in silence. Not touching. Only looking, memorizing every detail. Taking each other in.
Clo asked her for nothing. Expected nothing.
After a while, they donned their clothes once more. Clo grabbed bedding from one of the rooms and arranged them on the floor, a soft nest of blankets and pillows under the stars. Clo fit herself against Rhea’s back, slid an arm around her waist, and pressed a gentle kiss to Rhea’s neck. Surrounded by the warmth and comfort of Clo’s body, Rhea’s eyelids grew heavy.
As she fell asleep, she prayed to all the gods that this would not be her last night with Clo under these stars.
49.
NYX
Present
The two co-commanders of the Novantae had arrived.
Nyx stood at attention when they entered the bridge, her instinct to give a Tholosian salute to her superiors. When she realized where she was, she froze, hand in the air.
Kyla offered a small smile, as if to say, I know the feeling. “At ease,” she said, grasping Nyx’s hand. “It’s nice to see you alive. Good work on Macella.”
“Bit of a shitty exit in the end, but I always did hate that palace.”
Kyla looked confused. “Wait, what?”
Behind Kyla, Clo shook her head rapidly and cut her fingers against her throat. Oh, right. Rhea had mentioned that the Tholosians were keeping news about the destroyed palace a secret. If the Evoli caught word about an attack, it might potentially undermine their peace ceremony. “Uh, nothing. Never mind.” She turned to Sher and grasped his hand. “Sir. Pleasure to meet you off screen.”
“Likewise.” Sher glanced at Clo, who smiled back sheepishly. “Don’t give me that look, Alesca. You failed to report you had a Tholosian pilot aboard, and Kyla had to talk me down from handing you your ass. Take me to him.”
The co-commanders of the resistance interrogated Cato for a couple of hours. Nyx didn’t envy him that; answering questions after a round of deprogramming was like having metal nailed into your skull. And they couldn’t leave him on the ship on Laguna, not when they needed all the help they could get.
After, they clustered in the command center, where Ariadne was hard at work readying the shifters for their new faces. She had already spent hours putting together a plan based on the layout of the palace on Laguna. Nyx had to hand it to her: that kid knew how to multitask like nobody else. At sixteen, Nyx had barely been able to plan which trousers to wear in the morning—and they’d all been the same damn trousers.
Ariadne pulled up the blueprints for the Laguna palace and projected the three-dimensional image in front of them. The palace was so vast that it took up most of the space in the center of the room.
“How did you get these?” Sher asked, visibly impressed.
Ariadne gave a dry laugh. “That was the easy part,” she said. “The Evoli sent them to Tholosian officials so they could coordinate security. Both empires will work together to scan and search any ship that comes into port, and they’ll flag anything that looks suspicious. So, if Damocles has the ichor and the weapon prototype with his entourage, they’ll be hidden somewhere the scans won’t pick up.”
“I don’t know about the blaster, but the ichor will be in a sealed container,” Cato said, his focus on the ship manifests Ariadne had up on the computer screens. “Probably disguised as something every ship wou
ld need but in a quantity that’s not suspicious.”
“Food tins?” Nyx suggested. “They’re sealed.”
Cato shook his head. “Maybe, or fuel tanks. I’d put my scratch down on that, myself. But there would be thousands to look through. It’d be impossible to pin it down.”
Everyone deflated a bit at that.
Rhea came forward, her hands clasped in front of her. “I can’t help with the ships or security, but I’m an expert on Damocles. He loves being the center of attention.” She nodded at the projection. “His plan will be very public, likely during the truce signing. If I know him as well as I think I do, he’ll have an ichor antidote for his team—and Eris, too. He’ll want her to be alive for the fallout after he leaves Laguna. It’ll be easy for him to frame her for the slaughter.”
“Then we can’t let him leave,” Nyx protested. “He’ll take Eris with him.”
Rhea nodded. “Yes, probably. Keeping her as a prisoner would give him better control over the political narrative later. He can paint himself the grand victor.”
Nyx studied the digital image of the palace. The compound was massive, practically its own little village. There were over fifteen hundred rooms, according to the blueprints. Nyx felt a moment of doubt. There were only seven of them—and one of their own had already been captured. They’d failed once.
“Then we need a distraction,” Nyx murmured.
“Exactly,” Kyla said. “Something to throw off his plan, smuggle out Eris, and take attention away from all the pomp. Cloelia, that’ll be our job.”
“I ken that look.” Clo gave a knowing grin. “What are you thinking?”
Kyla casually opened the pocket of her utility belt and pulled out a small metal orb. “I’m thinking we give them a show.”