Beyond the Shadows

by Jess Granger

  “Are you sure about that?” He crossed his arms as the flame flickered and dimmed. The quiet isolation of the darkness forced him to see her and only her. “What about the men?”

  “The men aren’t going to fight.”

  His expression hardened. “I fight.”

  She huffed, “You aren’t—” Her eyes went wide as she clearly realized she was heading into a stupid mistake. He could see it in her abashed look.

  “From Azra?” He glared at her.

  “Damn it, Cyrus.” She shifted, twisting her body, but there was no room to move.

  “My name is Cyn.” He lowered himself onto a broken stool, feeling like a cat about to pounce on unsuspecting prey. “Where have you been the last ten years? When was the last time you spoke with one of the male artisans of the mid-cities?” He pounded his fist on the bucket, nearly overturning the candle. “Oh, that’s right. The men from the mid-cities aren’t allowed to sell their own work. They have to be gouged by an approved, which means female, dealer from the high cities, so the women don’t have to debase themselves.”

  “You’re being dramatic,” she defended.

  He shook his head in disbelief. “Have you spoken with any of the scientists? No. Why? They aren’t allowed to keep or represent their work. It is stolen from them by the government. You haven’t noticed, because the high cities don’t bother to look down, but the economy of the mid-cities is crumbling. Even the women of the mid-cities are frustrated and ready for change.”

  Yara took a deep breath and twisted her fingers together. She looked afraid and so very alone. Her humility cooled his anger. He wanted to reach out and touch her, convince her that the problems of Azra could be solved, but at this point, he couldn’t see how.

  “And the ground?” she whispered. “Why do you hide who you are from them?”

  “Because I’m the son of Cyori,” he huffed as he scratched the place above his scar. “That’s one thing the Elite and the shadows have in common.”

  “I don’t understand.” Yara’s bright gold eyes met his. His heart hammered in his chest, just three beats out of rhythm, but the open and curious expression in her face made him feel connected to her again.

  His mother’s eyes were also yellow, but fear had hardened them, fear and the deadly resolve of a mother protecting her young. “My mother brought order and law to this place. She ripped apart anyone that threatened our family. Eventually, that family grew as she took in the innocent and defenseless. The beaters, the bleeders—she saved them, she taught them to fight, and she made a lot of enemies in the process.”

  Yara leaned forward. “Is she dead?”

  “She escaped to Earth to protect me,” he explained, grateful that she seemed to be listening. He was glad that their escape to Earth had saved her as well. She was happy, though driven to protect the Earthlen victims of abuse as fiercely as she had defended the Azralen.

  But that wasn’t the point. After they lost Cyani, his mother could not lose him, too. “I’m the living blood, the last of my line.” Cyn looked her in the eye. “She knew one day the Grand Sister would want me. She tried to protect me. My name is dangerous, because my enemies are everywhere.”

  Was one of them sitting across from him? He couldn’t tell, and it drove him mad.

  “So you call yourself Cobra, and they follow you.” She seemed so still, the fire in her subdued. He thought he knew the woman inside, but so far, she hadn’t reacted to all that he’d shown her. It made him uneasy. Perhaps he was mistaken. Maybe he couldn’t trust her to help him lead Azra into a new age. His determination didn’t waver. He had to let her into his world. But would this world ever trust her? She was Elite, the enemy. This was one divide that couldn’t be bridged with policy, only loyalty and action. What would it take for the ground to follow her?

  Cyn noticed a bit of sticky mud on the side of his finger and rubbed it with his thumb. “They follow me because I’ve fought for them. I’ve bled for them. They trust me to lead them, and I will protect those who deserve it. I kick the shit out of the ones that piss me off.” He thought about the whore-masters, the endless battles. Cobra had as many enemies as Cyn in the shadows. He kept his new name because the Cobra had earned their fear and respect through his actions alone.

  “Everyone is scarred here,” she mused, as her gaze turned to his chest. “Even the little boy. Those scars on his chest . . .”

  “They’re brands.” A muscle in Cyn’s jaw began to tic, but he ignored it. “A whore-master tortured him to keep his mother submissive.”

  Yara’s eyes widened, just a flash of expression. His hope surged. “I’ve spent the last seven years trying to protect the children here. That’s why the people here will follow me to the death.”

  She swallowed.

  They fell silent. The fickle light faded and surged as it waged its tiny war against the darkness. He watched her, watched the subtle changes in expression in her beautiful face. He’d see moments of hard determination followed by confusion and sadness. Eventually the sadness lingered as her posture closed in. Her fingertips absently stroked her stomach.

  Cyn watched the self-soothing gesture. This conversation was about to get personal. His guilt flared. He couldn’t let himself feel remorse for fighting for what was right for Azra, but he did feel deep remorse when it came to how he had treated her.

  “You manipulated me. You tricked me into getting on your ship, and you used me.” She brought her hot-honey gaze to his again. In the depths of her cool expression he could see her deep hurt.

  “I’m sorry.” He sighed, not knowing what to say. “I thought I’d be taking a brainwashed mercenary on my ship, a woman who only cared about her power and position.” He swiped the dark stain on his hand against his jeans. How could he explain?

  “I was willing to use that woman, because I hated her,” he admitted. “The Grand Sister is a liar, a master deceiver, so I fought back with my own deception.”

  Yara blinked rapidly and looked down. The light caught in the single tear that fell from her eye. He reached out and lifted her chin.

  “So you used me, and you were going to hand me over to people who would kill me,” she stated with a cool, detached voice, as if they weren’t talking about her life.

  “No.”

  She looked up at him.

  It was the truth. He couldn’t have let her die.

  “Who will lead Azra once everything was destroyed? You?” She pinched her mouth into a tight line. “Did you even think that far ahead?”

  “Not until recently,” he admitted. He had been ready to let Azra decide her own fate, but that was no longer good enough.

  “When I found you, I didn’t find a power-hungry mercenary,” he offered. “I found a woman of strength and conviction. I found a woman who is brave, compassionate, and driven by a pure heart. You are noble, you are just. I believe if you sat on the throne of Azra, you would try to change things for your people because you . . . love them.”

  Yara’s breathing hitched as Cyn stumbled over the last two words. He wanted to say so much more, admit so much more, but couldn’t.

  “You captivated me,” he whispered.

  Yara let the words sink deep into her battered heart.

  “I don’t know what to do next,” he confessed. “Everyone is looking to me to start this war, but . . .” He hesitated. “We need a way into the high cities. Someone has to access the Elite com array to bypass the block on the Nudari systems. We can’t wait. The Grand Sister will never willingly step down. She’ll destroy even more if we let her. Change can’t wait.”

  “What was her name?” Yara interrupted. She needed to know.

  “What are you talking about?” He stopped cold and stared at her with confusion crinkling his brow.

  “The girl you loved, what was her name?”

  Cyn looked down, his face a mask of deep sadness.

  “Yarlia.”

  Yara felt the impact of the name deep in her gut. Her kin. Another bearing the
name of Yarini had suffered and died in this place.

  Mercy, she couldn’t believe it was possible. How had her kin ended up in this place?

  “What was her crime?”

  “Shakt, what crime? There was no crime. Her mother, Yarin, discovered tampering in the archives. Someone had modified the writings of Yarini the Just. When she alerted the Grand Sister, she was banished here. Yarin was raped, gave birth to Yarlia, then succumbed to an infection when her daughter was barely six.”

  Yara remembered the name Yarin. She had been her mother’s cousin. She’d been near the end of her trials when she suddenly disappeared. The family assumed she’d killed herself after failing her training. They had used her dishonor to push Yara even harder.

  The truth dawned on her. In a way it freed her. It was as if Cyn had turned the last piece of a puzzle around so it could finally fit. The Grand Sister had disbanded the old jury-based judicial system, the Council of Reckoning, and convinced the high cities that the justice system would be more efficient if she were the sole hand of the law. She used the writings of Yarini to justify it. False writings.

  By the Mercy, if what Cyn was saying was true, the woman stopped at nothing to solidify her power, not fraud, not murder. She had defiled the sacred trust of Yara’s line. No one dared question it, and now she knew why. The Grand Sister had eliminated her opposition.

  What had she done?

  Great Creator.

  Someone had to stop the Grand Sister before she destroyed any more lives. But it was impossible. What he was asking was impossible. “What do you want me to do, Cyn?” she said, her voice shaking. She didn’t have the power to challenge the Grand Sister alone. Only a revolution could rip the old woman from her throne, but at what cost? “You want me to start a war?”

  He stood. “No, prevent one.”

  Yara felt dizzy with the rush of her terrifying thoughts as she listened to Cyn rattle off the password that unlocked Tuz’s collar. What was he doing? Why would he release her scout? He turned and placed the key to her cuffs on the bucket by the candle. His fingers lingered over it as his dark gaze burned her.

  His stunning face looked so open, so honest. She knew this man. “I want to trust you, Yara.”

  Without another word, he turned and left her in the dark.

  Yara remained still, staring at the key resting beside the candle. A chunk of burnt wick fell off, renewing the flame. She felt the weight of her thoughts like a tangible thing as she contemplated the key.

  What was she going to do?

  She had no idea any of this existed. In her mind, the ground was filled with criminals fighting with one another over food, not this rot. Not this depravity.

  He was right. She couldn’t let the innocent people here suffer. When she took the throne, she’d bring the innocent up, she’d listen to every crime, and she’d dispense fair justice along with a panel of her peers. She wouldn’t leave criminals alone, and she wouldn’t excuse the criminals in the high cities either.

  She’d find a way, but it would take time, and the rage she could feel here was like a fire that could consume all of the jungle if given the chance.

  Then there were the Nudari. She needed to know the truth of what happened there. It made her sick in her heart to know how easily she believed their story.

  The Grand Sister ruled Azra with an iron fist. Yara had always believed it had been the fair hand of law, but now she doubted it.

  The Grand Sister had become more and more irrational as her condition deteriorated. Yara never doubted the strength of the woman’s conviction, but something in her leader’s eyes made her uneasy.

  Her name was Fira, last of the line of the great Fima the Merciless. She had no heirs. At one point, Yara thought she’d had a brother, younger than her by a decade, but he had disappeared.

  There were no children. She had no living legacy. All she had was her power, and she clung to it with all her strength.

  Yara’s heart pounded with fear as she thought about what she needed to do. There was only one way to prevent this revolution.

  Did she have the strength to see it through?

  Her decision could destroy her.

  She had to do it. She was prepared, her training had taught her well. She had the support of enough of the Elite. All her life had been moving toward this moment. Now she had to take it.

  “Tuz, open com link to Onali,” she stated.

  Static buzzed from Tuz’s collar. “Yara?” Her friend and closest ally’s voice broke through. She let out a breath of relief; it hadn’t been long, but it seemed like she’d been cut off from the other Elite forever. Onali and Esalin were her closest supporters. She needed them now.

  “I’m here on Azra, Nali,” she answered.

  “What?” the Elite warrior squeaked like an unschooled girl. “Thank the Matriarchs. Where are you?”

  “I’m on the ground. I need your help. Find Esalin and bring a judgment lift to the coordinates Tuz gives you from his collar. I’ve found my mark.”

  Yara grasped the key from the bucket, then unlocked her wrists and removed the belt. She glanced around, her mind filtering out all distractions as she prepared for battle. After grabbing a crude, rusted blade, she snuffed the small flame and left the shack.

  The foulness of the ground city choked her. The great trunks of the eldar trees rooted in this festering soil. If she didn’t do something about this place, the eldars would die and the high cities would topple.

  She couldn’t let that happen.

  Her lingering doubt ate at her with the persistence of the bugs feeding on the rot all around her.

  This had to be the right choice. It was the only way.

  With furtive steps, she stalked through the slum. Occasionally she could feel a wary stare fix on her, but like an animal, the watcher remained hidden amid the decay.

  “Tuz, track Cyn.” Tuz dropped his head low and ran through the streets. She had to find him before the other Elite arrived.

  Yara did her best to follow, heeding Cyn’s earlier warning. This place was not safe. She kept the rusted blade at the ready as she used her training to block out the vestiges of her emotions.

  She had a mission. She would do it with precision and control.

  She found Cyn in a clearing near a wall of jagged metal. It gaped up toward the canopy like the jaws of some voracious shark.

  He stood alone, staring up at the underside of the layers of civilization above them.

  “Tuz, scan area,” she whispered. The lights on his collar blinked the all-clear signal.

  Cyn turned his gaze to her, his strong arms crossed over his chest.

  Yara felt a stabbing pain in her heart. He looked at her with such trust. She knew he was a man who did not trust easily, but his loyalty was absolute.

  He’d never forgive her for this.

  “Tuz, send coordinates,” she stated.

  His brow lowered as his open gaze turned to one of suspicion.

  “What are you doing, Yara?” he asked.

  “I’m sorry,” she answered.

  He rushed to her, crossing the clearing in a few urgent steps. He grabbed her by both arms and looked her in the eye. She took a step back to brace herself, but he didn’t let her back away. The feel of his body pressed to hers woke her memories, and she felt torn. Her decision could destroy him.

  “What did you do?” He held her close, wrapping his arms around her. She felt the rush of longing in her heart. She couldn’t give in now. She was out on a very thin limb.

  She pushed out of his embrace and held up her blade.

  “I’m sorry.”

  The roar of engines filled the area as a foul wind buffeted them from all sides. The small craft landed in the clearing. Onali and Esalin fixed their weapons on Cyn.

  The shock on his face slowly faded to contempt as he turned his green eyes to her.

  “How could you?” he growled. “You will kill us all.”

  Like rats crawling out of their nests, a
crowd of people peered out from the rubble, cautious and fearful. The Elite lift had the capability of releasing a sonic discharge that could make all of their ears bleed. Usually it was enough to keep them away from Elite business, but Yara was taking their hero, their leader. As soon as they realized what was going on, they wouldn’t stand for it without a fight.

  She had to get out of there.

  Grabbing Cyn by the arm, she pushed him forward. Tuz leapt into the lift.

  “Move,” she commanded.

  He stiffened and stopped. The voices of the crowd rose as they filtered out of the heaps of refuse and into the streets. They pointed, savage expressions of rage and confusion on their muddy faces.

  “Damn it, Cyn. Move.” He was her prisoner now. She pushed the edge of one of the rusted blades against his side, knowing how deadly a flesh wound could be in this sludge. She didn’t want to threaten him but knew he didn’t want to die yet. He took a step forward, enough for Onali to jab him in the shoulder with a numbing spike.

  The shouts from the angry crowd overpowered the engines. They waved their arms, picked up rocks and chunks of metal, and flung them at the circular lift. Yara shoved Cyn forward, and Onali pulled him onto the center platform. Yara collapsed on top of him.

  With a surge that forced Yara’s body down, pressing it hard against the strong heat of Cyn, the lift shot up through the canopy, leaving the angry swell of people below.

  Cyn looked at her, helpless and drugged. Even through his glassy expression, his eyes burned with his betrayal.

  “I trusted you,” he whispered, his voice weak and hoarse with the drug flowing in his system.

  “I’m sorry,” she offered one last time as her palm smoothed over the scar on his chest.

  20

  CYN SEARCHED THROUGH EVERY WORD OF EVERY LANGUAGE HE HAD EVER heard and still couldn’t find the words strong enough to equal his rage. He fought the effect of the numbing agent as the lift rocketed toward the canopy. If he took the five worst binges of his life, shoved them together, and suspended himself underwater, it wouldn’t have equaled the slow, muddled feeling of his body. But his mind wasn’t as affected. His mind never lost focus. The fetor and darkness faded away as the mid-cities passed in a blur, and the bright light of the canopy stabbed at his eyes.