by Jess Granger
As soon as they were inside the hull, Cyn went to work on the shocked children.
“Here,” he said as he offered them a small round ball. “Lick it. It’s sweet. And drink this.” He gave them vessels of water. “What are your names?”
“Essa,” the pregnant one responded in a small lost voice. “She is Calya, and the little one is Sene.”
“Nice to meet you,” he said. “Soren, take the baby into the cleanser. I have clothes and a diaper for him here on the bed.”
A pirate with diapers. Cyn was nothing if not prepared.
Soren stepped into the cleanser. He had to fight back his own fear as he held the baby in the cramped silver tube. Reluctantly he shut the door, and pressed his hand to the activator. The walls glowed with pearl-like waves of light. The baby stirred in his arms as warm air swirled around them. The terrible smell of the ground cities dissipated as Soren watched the grime melt away from the baby’s skin. His curly hair fluffed up, revealing iridescent flashes in the dark locks, like the wing of a blackbird.
As soon as they were clean, Soren gratefully stepped back out of the cleanser. For claustrophobic technology, it wasn’t that bad. Cyn crouched in front of the girls, keeping his posture low and unthreatening.
“But that was the only way the monkey could escape,” he said, caught in the middle of a story. Bug flew around them doing loops and shining with different colors.
Cyn stood. He handed the girls neatly folded dresses. “Time to clean you up. Don’t worry. It’s magic. It won’t hurt. The baby didn’t even wake up.”
He shuffled them both into the cleanser as Soren tried to figure out which way the diaper fit on the baby. He brushed his fingertips over the scars on the child’s chest. He was too young to know such pain.
“I’m sorry, little one,” he whispered as he glanced at the scars around his wrists. “I’m sorry for both of us. It’ll be better. I promise.”
The girls came out of the cleanser wearing the clean white dresses. Calya giggled, smiling for the very first time. “You really are magic,” she laughed.
Essa smiled, too, as if she couldn’t quite believe the ship was real. She kept running a hand through her clean hair.
“I need you to hide in here,” Cyn explained to Essa. He opened a hatch in the hull, and inside was a small chamber with pillows, blankets, and a couple of toys. “Keep them quiet. We will leave soon for your new home.”
“Thank you, Cobra,” she whispered. “I’ll protect them.”
In that moment, Soren saw Cyani as a child. Now he knew the extent of the darkness that had haunted her childhood and the depravity that honed her into a determined warrior. He had witnessed firsthand one of her nightmares. He couldn’t shake the sick feeling in his heart as he thought about the children. He and Cyn had ripped them from everything they had known, including the toddler’s mother. Yet they faced the challenge with guts he couldn’t help but admire, just as Cyani had done.
Cyn closed the safe cocoon around the children and jumped into the cleanser. He came out as if he’d never been touched by the shadows of the ground cities. He was dressed in his shadowsuit.
He transformed from ground city outlaw and smuggler to a respectable Union officer right before Soren’s eyes. He punched more codes into the control panel. Suddenly, the antigravity cases and parts of the hold pushed back into the walls of the ship as if they never existed.
Bug flew up and buzzed with irritation as his pillow disappeared into the wall.
“You’re coming with me, Bug,” Cyn said in a commanding voice. Bug sank down a few feet in the air and then reluctantly landed on Cyn’s hand. He promptly tucked him into his belt.
“Where are you going?” Soren asked.
“I’m going to get my sister back,” he answered. “I’m not through with her yet.”
17
TOWERING STATUES OF THE GREAT MATRIARCHS LEERED DOWN ON CYANI AS she passed through the Halls of Honor. They loomed at least ten meters tall, carved out of the pure white branches of the canopy. Leaves rustled, casting a dappled soft green light through the open archways onto the polished alabaster floor.
Through her training, she had remained in the lower levels of the Elite complex. She had not walked beneath the eyes of the Matriarchs since the first day they dragged her beaten and broken into the high cities.
Execute her.
The memory echoed through the archways as if the Matriarchs whispered it themselves.
Cyani felt the weight of her necklace press against the center of her chest, the dark beads a stark contrast to the austere white canvas of her training robes.
Cyani peered up at the last Matriarch standing guard over the traditions of Azra. Cyrila the Rebel seemed to smile at her.
She passed through the cavernous throne room. The empty seat of authority floated above the floor, suspended by a spiraling branch carved with ornate steps. The first time she had seen the Grand Sister, her holiness sat upon that throne, untouched by the chaos and rage seething in the crowd below.
A whip snapped, echoing through the empty chamber.
Cyani steeled herself and entered the Grand Sister’s personal quarters.
Purified rainwater trickled through intricate channels in the walls and fell over tiny bells that lit as they chimed. Leaves rustled, crowded under the bleached awnings stretching overhead.
The whip cracked again. Cyani stiffened, unable to control the reflex that had been beaten into her.
“Cyani, my dear child, come in.” The Grand Sister had removed her embroidered mantle, exposing bony shoulders as they flexed beneath pale skin. The Grand Sister’s short hair had faded to nearly white as if her whole body had been leeched of color. She let the braided whip slither over the floor as she ended one of the Ahora routines. Her bony hands slid suggestively over the thick shaft of the whip.
“I’ve read the reports from your service in the Union. You performed admirably. I’m surprisingly pleased with your ingenuity. I didn’t expect that from you.” She turned. Her eyes shone vibrant blue. They were the only thing keeping her from looking like one of the statues of the matriarchs come to life.
Cyani knew to remain silent. The Grand Sister had a way of twisting words. The less she said the better.
“I am disappointed in the performance of the scout V- 166A, though. Refusal to obey simple commands, independent behavior. Clearly poorly bred, it has far too much white in its coat for a respectable scout. I’m surprised the breeder didn’t crack its neck when it was a pup. It will be sold to a trade transport as a ratter. It was never fit for more than that. My scout recently had a litter of kittens. I’ll have the one with the most potential reserved for you.”
Cyani blinked repeatedly, the only outward sign of her inner shock and fury. How many times had Vicca’s independent spirit saved her life? And if she ever disobeyed, it was for good reason. She couldn’t lose her scout.
The Grand Sister slowly coiled the whip, keeping hold of the handle, then lifted a clear goblet with an opalescent liquid to her lips.
Cyani couldn’t protest. If she showed undue affection for Vicca, the Grand Sister would kill her scout to make a point about remaining unattached to anything.
After her shock began to wane, she realized the second part of what the Grand Sister had said. She wanted to give Cyani one of the offspring of her scout? Why?
“That would be an honor.” She managed to force the lie out of her constricting throat. “But why would I need such a well-bred scout? Won’t I be assigned to the temple?”
As soon as she took her vows, she assumed she would be one of the low-level orderlies of the religious rites. Even though Cyani was clearly the most talented warrior, not a single member of the Elite placed her dagger with Cyani’s during religious ceremonies. The placement of daggers signified support and loyalty. No one stood with her. The sisters with several daggers behind them could initiate changes to law or policy. The ones with no backing faded into the temple and remained silent.
>
The Grand Sister chuckled as she swirled the contents of the goblet, her laugh hard and dry, like the sound of a cracking limb. “I have much grander plans for you, my niece.”
Niece?
Cyani struggled to contain her shock.
What? How could that be?
Her father. He had been a highborn man. He couldn’t possibly be the brother of the Grand Sister. Could he? Cyani locked her gaze to the Grand Sister’s identical blue one.
By the mercy of the Matriarchs.
“I see by the look on your face, your father never told you about your heritage, my child,” she slurred, her eyes looking glassy. A wild desperation hid deep within them. If Cyani hadn’t grown accustomed to watching Soren’s eyes so closely, she never would have seen it.
“How unfortunate. I thought perhaps your drive to excel in the trials was due to your desire to make me proud, but I see now perhaps it was only the lingering death sentence. What a pity.” The Grand Sister circled, looking her up and down with an appraising nod as if she were inspecting the stature of a well-bred scout.
She was the Grand Sister’s niece.
Merciful Creator, she was the living blood of the Grand Sister.
A new dawning shock rushed through her. If she was the niece of the Grand Sister, then she was a descendent of Fima the Merciless. The living blood of the greatest warrior Azra had ever known ran in her veins. She held the living blood of not one but two of the Matriarchs. It was unheard of. The thought fogged her mind, crowded out any others, until she felt numb and slack. She couldn’t focus on anything. She had to concentrate. She needed her wits. She reached up and touched her necklace without thinking.
The Grand Sister’s cold gaze locked on her fingertips. She drew her hand back down to her side, but there was no covering her blunder.
“Unfortunately your mother gave you a name from her own line. But make no mistake, Cyani, you and your brother are the last of the line of Fima, and you will be the next Grand Sister.”
Cyani felt like she was falling. The Grand Sister was going to name her heir? Everyone assumed Yara would be heir to the throne. By all that is right and holy, this is insane. She thought she knew the course of her life, and now this? It wasn’t her. This wasn’t her life. She scraped, and fought, and struggled. She did not sit on high thrones, honored by throngs of people fearful of her power. And what would she have to do to protect it from Yara and those that supported her?
“I will see my legacy continued,” the Grand Sister interjected into her thoughts. “And our great bloodline grow in power.”
The Grand Sister slid the whip down Cyani’s back, then, as she turned, brought the whip under her chin. “There is only one thing that concerns me.”
With a flick of her hand, she brought up a holo-screen out of midair. “Ah, here it is. Remaining in the presence of an aroused Byralen of the opposite sex can cause altered states of consciousness. How very fascinating.” She touched the butt of the whip to Cyani’s necklace. “Has your conscience been altered, I wonder?”
Cyani’s heart pounded as she forced herself to find the strength to remain standing. With every microgram of her will, she kept her body still and her face impassive. She had to regain control.
The Grand Sister lifted the goblet once again to her lips, and a nearly imperceptible shudder trembled in the old woman’s shoulders.
“That is a lovely necklace,” the Grand Sister commented. Her voice sounded slow and complimentary, but there was no hiding the steely rage burning in her aging eyes, eyes that should have reflected nothing at all. “Was it a gift? Or have you simply forgotten you should not be adorned?”
The Grand Sister tangled the necklace in her bony fingers, and with a quick jerk, she snapped it off Cyani’s neck.
Cyani couldn’t breathe. She forced air through her nostrils as she stared the Grand Sister down. The Grand Sister uncoiled the whip and calmly walked to the edge of an archway. With casual disregard, she tossed the necklace into the canopy.
Cyani’s heart fell as she watched it disappear into a cluster of ciera blossoms.
The Grand Sister swung the whip, slicing one of the blossoms off the vine and sending it plummeting into the shadows.
“I have single-handedly ruled this planet for nearly thirty years,” she said as she sent the whip blazing into the flowers once more. Her shoulders moved with a fluidity that shouldn’t have been possible with her arthritis. None of the Elite were supposed to know about her suffering, but her knobby joints betrayed her. She wouldn’t remain in power much longer. Whatever was in the goblet was killing her pain and dropping the hard wall of control she used to protect herself.
“Thirty years of my life I have guided our people, maintained our traditions in the face of growing diplomatic pressure to change from the people who call themselves our allies. They know nothing of Azra.” The whip sliced through the vines once more with a hissing snap, the sound it made when kissing skin. The Grand Sister’s jaw set with the unforgiving look she used to wear as she beat Cyani for any sign of weakness.
“I am all that stands between order and chaos. Without my guidance, our traditions, our culture, our very covenant with the Creator, it would all be destroyed and we would be no different from the rest of those uncultured heathens that claim to be civilized members of the Union.”
She swung around on her heel, letting the whip slide over the smooth floor. Her eyes darted back and forth. She took another draw from the goblet then sent it crashing to the floor.
“I will not let that happen, Cyani.” Her voice hissed and snapped with the same cutting bite of the whip. “You understand. You grew up on the ground. You know how depraved those ill-bred animals are. You know that filth can never be allowed to touch our pure world. Treaty for the common rights of all humanoids. Bah, some are no better than apes.
“And men, if they ever had a voice in our government, they’d only try to dominate the women the way they do on countless other planets. It’s hypocrisy at its most disgusting. Men cannot be trusted—just look at your father. The pitiful fool followed your mother into banishment, for what? Love? I commanded my brother. I commanded him to raise you and your twin here, under my supervision. He betrayed me, betrayed our bloodline, and nearly ruined you,” she shouted, lifting the whip and sending it flying toward Cyani.
Cyani leapt in a flash of pure reflex and brought her bare fist around to connect with the Grand Sister’s swinging arm. The old woman blocked the strike with her forearm. “I have to admit,” the Grand Sister cackled, “being raised with the beasts has given you a bold ruthlessness I rather admire.”
Even if Cyani could find words, she would never have been able to string them together. She pushed away from the Grand Sister. Cyani had never seen her like this. She seemed frantic and desperate, grasping for something that was sliding through her stiffening grip. Was it the influence of the drug in the goblet, or the slow, dawning realization that Cyani was far more than the unquestioning, unfeeling drone she’d been trained to be?
“The first time I saw you, you had already shown the power of your blood.” The Grand Sister smiled. It was little more than a stiff grimace as she rolled the whip shaft in her palm. “I recognized you immediately, Fima reborn, a tested and accomplished warrior and still only a child. You may have your mother’s skill, but not her weak will.” The Grand Sister coiled the whip again. “She wanted to turn the Elite into figureheads and have a representative government. She was willing to cower to pressure from the Union. You understand I couldn’t allow it.”
Cyani always suspected the Grand Sister had something to do with her mother’s banishment. The confirmation of it just churned in her gut like burning acid.
“You manipulated her,” Cyani stated, baiting her. The Grand Sister shook her head with a low chuckle.
“I only trifled in the obvious. Her attraction to my brother was blatant. It didn’t take much to put them over the edge and make her break her vow of chastity.” The Grand Sister
widened her stance and placed her hands behind her back in a sparring posture. It was an invitation, one Cyani couldn’t pass up.
“What did it take, drugs?”
The old woman struck, and it was Cyani’s turn to block. The sharp jolt of cleansing pain to her forearm helped focus her rage.
The Grand Sister huffed. “Your mother may have given birth to you, but I was the one who conceived you. I couldn’t allow my brother to sire my only heirs, the last of the line of Fima, with some ill-bred bitch who had failed the trials. He deserved better. You would have been tainted with weakness.
“No.” The old woman stepped back, her weight balanced over her haunches as she remained on her toes. Cyani watched her gathering her center for the next strike. “Only the most talented warrior was fitting for our bloodline, and your mother had true talent. Talent you possess, which is why of all the Elite, you are the only one fit to rule, Cyani. You are perfect.” She struck again. Cyani blocked and seamlessly threw a counterstrike. In the time of her training, she had spent countless hours sparring under the Grand Sister’s scornful eye. In those years, the Grand Sister had seemed untouchable, unbeatable, but no more. She was no different than any of the others.
“You are ruthless.” The Grand Sister tried to kick, but Cyani leapt over her foot and landed a blow on the older woman hard enough to force her back a step. She would show the old woman ruthless. She wanted to show her just how much merciless blood ran in her veins.
“You are cunning.” The Grand Sister swung the whip again, but Cyani spun and slid toward the Grand Sister’s desk. The old woman held back the lash as the delicate communications lattice threatened to crash to the floor.
She chuckled as she coiled the whip again. “You are also intelligent, and by my teaching, obedient. All that I did, I did out of dedication to what you could become.”
Dedication to sculpting a perfect puppet. That is all she wanted. She didn’t know Cyani at all, or did she? When she left for her Union assignment, she never questioned anything. She had blindly obeyed orders. She led her men into battle, and she won, but she never let herself question any of it.