by Natalie Grey
She couldn’t tell if the rush she felt was relief or terror. Samara sank down onto one of the benches, her legs shaking. She was going to start laughing in a moment, or possibly she was going to start crying. She wasn’t sure.
“Come on.” Nyx’s voice was uncompromising.
Samara felt herself respond to the order before she knew why. She was following Nyx into the tunnels before she thought to ask, “Where are we going?”
“We’re making a drop,” Nyx said, all business. She stopped in the hallway to pull a set of mining coveralls on over her all-black gear, and picked up some dirt to rub on her face. A few gestures mussed her hair and pulled strands free. “How do I look?”
“Gorg—fine.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” Samara gave a smile. “Like a miner. Only, you know, not totally broken. Try to look less like you have the ability to kill everyone you see.”
“I … don’t know how to do that.” Nyx fell behind, considering, as Samara checked the map and chose a smaller branch of the tunnels. “This is the one that lets out on Goryo Street, right?”
“Basically, yeah.” Samara tossed a look over her shoulder. “You memorized the tunnel system?”
“Yes,” Nyx said, in a tone that implied, of course.
They walked in silence after that, with only the sound of their breathing for company. They paused by the ladder up into the equipment shed, listening for movement, and Nyx moved Samara aside to climb up first. She pushed on the trapdoor, gave a muttered curse, and then braced herself and pushed. Samara heard a grinding sound, and Nyx hung on the ladder for a moment, taking a deep breath before pulling herself up into the darkness and holding a hand down to help Samara up.
“What was that?” Samara asked quietly.
“They stacked some stone on top of it.” Nyx brought her hand over to brush over a pile of rocks.
“And you moved it?”
“Keep your voice down. Yes.” There was a pause before she added, “I suppose you don’t know about upgrades.”
“What sort of upgrades?”
“Sec.” Nyx pushed her aside again and hauled the stone back into place. “We’ll need to go back another way. Don’t want them knowing we were able to get up this way, and I can’t get the flooring back in place from down there.”
“I can get us back.”
“Good. Anyway, upgrades are—well, they’re things like enhanced vision or hearing. Some of my bones are stronger than they might be otherwise. I heal faster than most people. That sort of thing.”
“And that’s allowed?” Samara asked dubiously.
“It’s … a whole debate. What makes a human, human.”
“What do you think about it?” She was curious.
“I think it’s ridiculous,” Nyx said, with a snort. “‘Whether or not we’re still human,’ what a stupid question. Of course we are.” She peered out into the street and gave a disgusted noise. “They’re doing a traffic stop right outside the alleyway.”
“So….”
“So we’re stuck here for a while. If worst comes to worst, we’ll go back down—but I’d rather not take the chance of them knowing we were here, or even worse, finding out about the tunnels if they didn’t know.” There was the sound of someone sitting down. “Over this way. It’s all equipment behind you.”
“How do you—” Samara broke off. “More implants?”
“Night vision,” Nyx said, and Samara was too embarrassed to ask if that meant they were upgrades, or they weren’t.
They sat in silence, Samara’s heart racing. She could feel the heat of the other woman next to her. For the first time since Aryn had left years ago, she wanted….
Something. What did she want?
“Nyx?” Her voice was uncertain.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.” The Dragon was so businesslike that Samara felt ashamed. “It’s nothing.”
There was a silence.
“Do you think you’ll stay at all after everything’s….” Samara cleared her throat. “You know.”
“Probably not?” Nyx sounded uncertain. “Why would we?”
“I mean, just if you wanted to, you know….”
There was a pause. “I don’t,” Nyx said, honestly. “I have no idea what you mean.”
It was just as well, really. Samara curled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. This was just a crush. Maybe it wasn’t even that, but some misguided last-day-on-earth feeling.
If she still felt this way when everything was over, she’d say something then. Yes. That sounded like a better plan. She laid her chin on one knee.
“Nothing,” she said. “Never mind.”
It was probably just as well.
15
The Warlord’s palace was a maze with no equal, each broad corridor and vaulted ceiling much like the next. Fortunately, James’s instructions were to meet nearby.
Cade smiled wryly to himself. They would hack into the audio system and James would give him a speech about Aryn. Cade would bluster, James would make threats. And then, while the bodyguard went back to tell Ellian that everything was taken care of, Cade would get Aryn to the spaceport.
He rounded the corner to his destination and paused when he saw the empty corridor. There was an electronics box cunningly hidden behind some ornamental metalwork, and he knew at a glance how to set the original blockers and open the metal cage to begin the hack. It was trivial work, with the right tools—which Ellian, in a show of generosity—made sure all of the bodyguards had.
But James should be here. Something prickled on the back of Cade’s neck and he slipped into the shadows. It would be just like Ellian to set him up, arrange for him to be caught by the Warlord. Tortured and dead, Ellian not to blame, Aryn heartbroken…and without allies once more.
He needed to get out of here, and quickly. Cade let his eyes drift closed, listening for the tramp of feet, and then slipped back the way he had come, hugging the shadows as casually as he could, one of the hundreds of suit-clad servants. With any luck…
Two pairs of footsteps approached and Cade sank into the shadows, listening. A man and a woman. From the alcove in which he’d wedged himself, he could not see them, but he noted their silence. There was a slight hitch in the woman’s step.
“Keep moving,” the man’s voice said, low and ugly.
James.
It came together in a flash and Cade was out of the alcove, slamming James sideways against the wall. The gun went sliding away across the floor and there was the click of Aryn’s shoes as she ran for it, the dainty noise out of place with the violence taking place just feet away. James had recovered quickly, a knife sliding from a forearm sheath.
The world went quiet and still, the way it always did when Cade fought. James, he thought dispassionately, was not quick enough. He should have trained harder. He shouldn’t rely on hidden knives and weak enemies.
As if in slow motion, Cade watched the man fumble for the grip of his knife. His eyes were focused on his hand—sloppy—and his head was not yet coming up to watch the Dragon before him. James never saw the strikes coming: not the first, that snapped his head sideways; not the second, that slammed his skull back against the marble wall; not the third, that crushed his sternum. He slid sideways and fell, fingers loosening as the light in his eyes faded.
The world snapped back into motion.
“We have to get out before Ellian knows he’s dead.” Cade grabbed for Aryn’s hand.
“You killed…” Her hands were clasped around the pistol in a proper grip, but she was shaking. “You killed…”
“Aryn, we have to go.” He took her by the arm and yanked her sideways, pulling her along the hallway as she looked back at James’s body. “Don’t look, it will only upset you.”
“You killed him,” she said again. The look in her eyes said she wanted to say something else, but shock was taking her words.
There was too much anger pound
ing in his blood for him to care, and some long-unused sense told him that there were people nearby, their footsteps trained to softness. More danger? Possibly.
He had wondered what it would be like to kill again, sometimes, in the endless dark of space when he looked forward in time and saw this moment coming. He had a disjointed memory of a night three weeks past, Talon saying he was impressed that Cade had never gotten back in the game. Had Talon seen this coming, too? And had he known that right now there would only be a savage joy? Horror was creeping up, cold, like water filtering into his shoes, and Cade could not even bring himself to care. This man had been a threat, been a killer.
A Dragon always protected their own.
“Cade.” Aryn was shivering now, the aftereffects of adrenaline hitting her hard. “Cade, wait.”
“What?” He did not stop; the unseen people were closer, and he had no data to know if it was coincidence or not. He wondered if he could leave Aryn outside in the hall while he went and killed Ellian. One less bad man in the world.
“He wasn’t—it wasn’t Ellian.”
That stopped him. Cade looked over at her.
“It was the Warlord. He bribed James.”
Which meant all his calculations were wrong. He was bringing her far too close to the Warlord’s main sanctum this way. But even as Cade reversed direction sharply, a panel of the wall came free and their attackers stepped out into the hallway. There were seven of them, dressed in the shimmery ShadowBlack uniforms of mercenaries. Any mercenaries who could afford it, used it. The colors that played with your eyes, flickering and blurring until you couldn’t see where your attacker was coming from.
Cade did not hesitate. He shoved Aryn behind him, for once not taking any time to be gentle. She sprawled onto the ground and pushing herself up as Cade launched himself at the woman on the far left. He pivoted on one foot, spinning her, planting his foot in her sternum to use her as a projectile against a man who had decided to chase Aryn. They went down together, the woman twitching and gasping with pain, and Cade threw himself after them to slam his fists first into her head, and then the man’s. Two of seven down.
Rules of an unfair fight: focus the damage and take them out one by one.
“Run, Aryn!”
These were not good odds, but he could not think about it.
A gunshot echoed in the hallway and a figure to one side of him was blown backward with the force of the round. A second shot elicited a scream, and Cade’s quick glance caught sight of Aryn with the gun out, her face screwed up with determination, tears in her eyes.
“Aryn! Run!” Don’t fight. Oh, God, she couldn’t win this.
You don’t choose your side based on who you think will win. He heard the words echo in his head as he slammed his knee into one of the attackers, and a second glance caught Aryn’s lips moving, repeating something to herself.
Keep moving. Keep moving.
She would make a terrible soldier, but the woman was brave as hell.
He was dumping the fourth body unceremoniously on the ground when he heard the attack coming. His focus shifted, a woman’s hand driving into his sternum and a fist across his face as he turned. Another section of the wall was opening behind Aryn as she stumbled backward, eyes still focused on one of the original attackers.
“Aryn!”
But it was too late. She wasn’t even turning her head by the time they reached her. An electrical buzz sounded as a tool connected with her body and she slumped.
There was no hope, none at all, but Cade found that he did not care in the slightest. A primal roar burst out of his chest as he leaped for her, hands curling into fists. He would kill them if they hurt her. He would kill them all and damn the consequences. He could not feel his body any longer—he was instinct and fury. He caught the man who was reaching down for her, Cade’s momentum carrying them back and over onto the ground.
Hands were on him, these new guards better trained than the first set. They were not simply waiting to be picked off one by one. They were going to work together, hold him down for a killing blow. A fair fight with a Dragon was a good way to die. Even as a knife pierced his side and he heard his own yell of pain, Cade felt a certain professional appreciation that the Warlord’s soldiers knew better than to let pride get in their way.
He needed to move fast now. He was bleeding, and he didn’t have much time before that slowed his reflexes. His training was carrying him now, the absolute logic that guided a Dragon into battle. Defeat was not an option. There was only the best move, and the best move after that, and the best move after that…
He reached for Aryn’s unconscious form, to pick her up off the ground and drive his way through the ranks of soldiers. If he could just withstand the blows, signal for Ellian….
Caught up in his own agony and the panic of seeing Aryn defenseless, he barely heard the footsteps behind him. A mercenary stooped to haul Aryn up by her hair and another, apparently having judged that Cade was still too mobile, brought something hard down on the back of Cade’s head.
The world went black.
16
She came to in a blur of black and shadows that didn’t quite seem to make sense, shouts and the sickening thud of bone and flesh. Hands were at her arms, her head lolling on her chest as someone pulled her up, and her stomach heaved. When someone pulled her head up by her hair, she gave a cry of pain.
“Shut up,” a voice hissed in her ear.
“What’s—where’s—” She broke off as she saw what was happening before her.
She would not have recognized Cade if she hadn’t seen the distinctive pattern of his cuffs, the Pallas crest embroidered in grey thread. The seal was half-covered in blood now, the white of his shirt soaked, red at once dark and too bright on the marble floor. His face was covered in bruises. As she watched, another of the soldiers directed a kick at his ribs and he flinched in pain. They’d bound his wrists to keep his hands away from them and there was no way for him to protect himself now.
Her eyes filling with tears, Aryn looked around at the prone shapes on the floor. This was revenge, payback for the men and women they’d taken out, and they would hurt Ellian for what she’d done, too.
“It was me,” she whispered. She shook her head against their hands. “It was me. I shot them.”
“We’ll make sure to tell the Warlord that,” a woman’s voice said cruelly. “And we’ll just see what he thinks of it.”
“Please.” Aryn was sobbing now. She heard a bone crack and Cade gave a cry of pain. His eyes were half-closed, blood seeping from a split lip. “Don’t hurt him, please don’t hurt him anymore. He was only trying to protect me.”
“Don’t worry, we won’t kill him.” One last, vicious kick to his side. “After all, someone has to tell that husband of yours where you’ve gone.”
She had to act fast. Before they could stop her, Aryn drew in as much breath as she could and screamed at the top of her lungs. A kick caught one of them as they tried to get a hand over her mouth and she ducked her head away from their blows, her voice at the highest pitch she could manage, screaming Ellian’s name over and over. James was dead, but there was still Colin, and Ellian was a fair shot—
There were too many of them. They picked her up, still screaming, and she was dragged into the passageway, screams echoing wildly in the tiny space, her hand reaching out for Cade where he still lay on the floor, bleeding out.
“Cade! Ellian!”
“Someone shut her up,” one of the soldiers said, annoyed, and a fist drove into Aryn’s stomach, knocking the wind from her lungs. She struggled to draw breath as they hauled her along, feet scrabbling on the floor. She would not let them use her as a hostage. She had to get away, get away and get help for Cade. She would not go with them. She planted her feet and pulled, but it was useless. They hauled her along like a sack of potatoes, swearing each time she managed to hit one of them.
They emerged into soft golden light, and she was half-thrown onto a carpeted
floor, getting an impression of dark bookshelves and a glass ceiling on her way down. When she looked up, the breath went out of her in a half-sob as the Warlord’s mask peered down. He examined her for a moment before looking up.
“There was no need to hit her,” he said, in that falsely mild tone that made Aryn’s teeth ache. “I specifically said she was not to be damaged.”
“She shot Evans and Ling,” one of them muttered.
“I don’t care about that.” The Warlord’s voice was a snarl. “I said she was not to be damaged.”
“She—”
A bullet took the man in the head, and he went down as Aryn screamed, scrabbling backward. She looked up into the Warlord’s mask and had the eerie feeling that he was smiling at her. He waited a moment, and then, apparently satisfied that she was not going to try to run, looked over the assembled soldiers.
”And where is the bodyguard who was to bring her?”
“Dead.” The woman who spoke was clearly trying not to look at the body on the carpet. “The other one caught them in the hallway.”
“I see.” The Warlord’s tone indicated that he was not overly concerned to lose a man who could not win a one-on-one fight. “And that one?”
“We left him for Pallas.”
“Reasonable.” The Warlord swept his gaze around the group. “You may go.”
“We shouldn’t leave you alone with her, sir,” one of them protested. “She might be armed.”
“A good point, Pike. Are you armed, Ms. Beranek?”
The question was so sharp and so sudden that Aryn felt her head shake before she had a chance to consider her answer.
“There. You see, Pike? She’s not armed. You may go.”
This time, no one protested, though a few of them threw glances over their shoulder at Aryn as they went. She shivered. She would have to be very careful not to run into any of them in a dark hallway; she could see revenge in their eyes.
There was a long silence while the Warlord went to one side of the room and Aryn looked around herself warily. Everything about this room spoke of luxury. The carpet under her hands was softer than anything she had touched before, the golden light came from within hollowed-out crystals carved into the shapes of flowers and birds, and the books on the shelves were old, very old. A painting on the wall had captured the Warlord’s palace as it was when Aryn was very small, an airy confection of spires and glass. She felt her eyes fix on it, swallowing. On clear days, they could see it from Io District.