by Ben Hale
“So we are being hunted.”
“It would be foolish to discard caution.”
“I used to think Bloodblades were so mysterious.” Ero shuddered at the idea of a deadly dakorian hunting him and his brother. “I never thought they’d be coming for my head.”
“Not us,” he corrected, frowning as he looked at the control panel. “For now, we are still under the protection of a House, however small. If the Empire really is coming after us, they’re going to try to kill us through Condemnation.”
“So if Hellina is lying, why is a Bloodblade involved?”
“It might not be a Bloodblade,” Skorn said. “It might be a former enemy, or even Voice Malikin. For now, we just know that someone wants House Bright’Lor eradicated. As long as we are with the House, and Dragorn is under Condemnation, we are relatively safe.”
“And if we succeed in buying Dragorn an innocent verdict?” Ero asked. “They will certainly come after us then.”
“Probably, but by then we will be more insulated. We’ll be like any other low-tier House.”
“Father won’t settle for that.” Ero smiled at the idea of a frustrated Dragorn left to languish in the lower rankings.
If their House was cleared of Condemnation, they could rebuild, but their vindictive father would never be satisfied until they’d regained their former glory. Which meant they would again become a threat to the Empire.
“Looks like one of the power converters is failing.” Skorn pointed to the blinking crystal. “You should grab a slave and get it fixed before it destabilizes the gravity field.”
“Why do I get all the grunge work?”
“Because I fixed the waste collector while you were talking to Hellina.”
He grimaced at the onerous task and began walking away, then paused in the doorway and looked back. “Do you think the Empire caused the accident at Kelindor?”
Skorn paused, his hand above the control that would lessen the load on the gravity drive. “No. I believe Kelindor was indeed caused by Orion. Hellina can imagine all the threats she wants, but the idea that the Empire tried to destroy our House because we are the rightful heirs is absurd.”
“That’s what I thought,” Ero said.
Ero departed the bridge, but the doubt stayed with him. Before meeting with Hellina, he’d been enjoying the prospect of defying the odds and creating a harvest world outside the Empire’s reach. Now he found himself thinking of a vengeful Emperor and a Bloodblade stalking his back.
He entered the maintenance supply compartment and scanned the stacked crates for the one with power converters. When he’d located the right case, he opened it and stared at the solitary tube resting next to six empty slots.
“If you burn up, we all burn up,” he said, and pulled it out of the case. Shouldering the tube, he exited the room and shut the door behind him, not bothering to close the case. Then he made his way to the slave quarters on the lower decks.
When he passed the holochamber, he paused and left the converter against the bulkhead. Slipping inside, he activated the chamber by waving his holoview over the crystal in the wall.
Small and shaped like a bubble, the chamber was ancient compared to newer models but still allowed Ero to immerse himself into a vid. He ascended the steps to the small platform and stopped at the center. Claws on the floor wrapped around his boots, and the rest of the floor lowered out of view.
The default setting appeared—a holo of a windswept mountain top, with clouds drifting below his feet. In the distance, previous delights beckoned on neighboring peaks, but Ero tapped his holoview and activated a selection of vids that floated around his head.
The holos clamored for attention. Ero sifted through them before abruptly deleting the entire archive. Connecting to the vid network, he watched as hundreds of vids appeared, each hovering in the air like floating bubbles. Most showed a current battle in the Bone Crucible and asked for glint to finish viewing the contest. Others showed seekers, the krey who reported on interesting news and other stories in the Empire. Other vids were recordings of past events, some created by private individuals, others by House Jek’Orus for public information or entertainment. A near-infinite array of vids to watch and experience.
Ero searched for and located the vid he sought and activated it with a touch. The mountain and endless clouds abruptly disappeared, replaced with the bright-green world of Verdun. The holo made it feel like he floated down to stand on the swaying grass, but errors in the code flickered to the real wall.
The vid began with a seeker, a female krey known for an uncompromising integrity. She stood in a grassy field, obviously a construct, rather than a real place, and spoke with an earnestness uncommon for krey.
“My name is Ravel of House Aly’Ara. What you are about to see is evidence of an Imperial assassin operating in the Empire. Those who watch my vids know I am not employed by House Jek’Orus or the Empire, and although they have tried to erase this vid, I have coded it to reappear every year at random intervals. Our empire is corrupt, and we enslave billions who deserve freedom. Learn the truth, and stand with House Aly’Ara.”
Ero had to admire Ravel, the gray-eyed beauty with bright-red hair. She was infamous for her vids, but no one had been able to catch her. Like everyone else in House Aly’Ara, she possessed a genetic abnormality that allowed her to modify her body at will. She could change her features, her hair color, even her gender. Only the eyes remained. The Empire refused to even acknowledge them as a House. They owned no worlds or moons, and they were more secretive than any criminal organization. Most krey considered them renegades.
The construct vid evaporated, the scene changing to a sunlit valley. Towering trees and crystal-blue water stretched to the horizon. The lush expanse made Verdun one of the most coveted worlds owned by the largest House in the Empire, House Jek’Orus. Boasting orange eyes that looked like fire, the members of House Jek’Orus owned and operated the entire vid network, as well as the central cortex for the Empire. They controlled twenty-three planets, most filled with beautiful landscapes.
At Verdun, three Jek’Orus sons and daughters had gathered around a large arena at the base of a valley. A group of krey from other Houses also joined the spectators surrounding the arena. Ravel, her vid recording tucked into her cloak, advanced into the raucous crowd.
She reached the front of the crowd and leaned against a railing, the vid tipping down to show the makeshift arena. In a shallow pit, a pair of Houseless krey with scarred and bloodied torsos fought with their fists while the spectators gambled and jeered.
Krey duels outside of the Bone Crucible had been illegal since the fourth age, but they were also one of the most popular forms of entertainment for the krey in upper Houses. The sport pitted members of lower Houses against one another in fights to the death.
Ravel had sneaked the recording crystal into the arena, risking her life to capture the blood duel. She worked her way along the side of the arena until the image was clear, and then she shifted the crystal to show her face. In that moment, her gray eyes were filled with anger.
She spoke in a whisper. “As you can see, House Jek’Orus has created a black-market arena, with hundreds of krey being taken from the lower Houses. It is believed this is the location where Illina, daughter of the Emperor, was killed. It is not known why House Jek’Orus would be so brazen as to force one of Imperial lineage into a blood duel, but you can see for yourself that—”
A shout rang out, drawing Ravel’s gaze. The crystal shifted, showing a ship decloaking in the sky above the arena. Spectators sucked in their breath before scattering in fear. Cloaking was technology exclusive to the Empire’s soldiers. Ravel remained in place as a large figure in a black cloak dropped from the belly of the ship and landed on the raised platforms reserved for the richest of the spectators.
Three sons of House Jek’Orus, the promoters and operators of the event, bellowed to their Bloodwalls, and all three rushed the arriving dakorian. The cloaked figure
pulled back his hood, revealing the two marks on his horn.
The lead Bloodwall sneered and swung his hammer. “You’re just a lieutenant.”
The dakorian in black drew a massive sunderblade, the weapon so fine it appeared translucent. He ducked the hammer swing and swung his blade, carving deep into the Bloodwall’s body. Mortally wounded, the Bloodwall fell down the slope and into the ring, dying in a heap of broken bones.
The other Bloodwalls exchanged a look and then charged together. They fired their lances, sending ion bolts streaking from their hammers. The dakorian in black spun the weapon and deflected the blasts with ease, his body moving so quickly the blade seemed to blur in the air. Then the attacker jumped into a soaring flip over the two Bloodwalls.
He landed behind them, and his blade flashed twice, slicing through their bodies and even severing a hammer. They slumped to the ground, their expressions frozen in disbelief. In the midst of screaming krey, the black-clad dakorian turned to the cowering krey, his shadow falling upon them, and suddenly the identity of the attacker was made clear.
“He’s a Bloodblade!” a fleeing krey shouted.
“Bloodblade,” one of the three krey cried as he scooted across the ground, “you must be mistaken! We are no threat to the Empire!”
The Bloodblade placed the tip of his blade against the krey’s throat and then kicked the opposite side of the krey’s neck, shoving him into the weapon. His victim died in full view of his companions. Picking up the second krey by his foot, the Bloodblade slammed him into the ground and shattered his bones. Then he advanced upon the third.
“Please!” he shouted. “I am firstborn of Jek’Orus! You do not have to do this! It’s just a blood duel! Put us under Condemnation!”
The Bloodblade came to a halt, and the krey seemed to gain courage from his hesitation. The krey backed into a tree and stood, his hands trembling on the wood as a hush fell on the distant spectators, who slowed to watch.
Then the Bloodblade spoke for the first time. “For Illina.”
He swung his blade, slicing through the tree and the krey’s body, sending both toppling to the ground. Any remaining krey scattered. Fearless, Ravel remained in place, recording the scene with her vid crystal.
The Bloodblade turned away from the three corpses and activated his boots. Energy poured from beneath, warping the gravity and lifting him into the air. Flying upward, he entered the belly of his ship, which disappeared in a warble of shimmering energy.
The Bloodblade had obviously wanted a crowd to witness the killing, a warning to others who might consider defying the Empire in such a manner. But he had counted on the fact that recording crystals were not permitted at the blood duel by the three sons of Jek’Orus, who had been afraid of discovery. Only the resourceful Ravel had managed to get one inside and recorded the event. The only recording of a Bloodblade.
Ever.
Ero sighed and extinguished the vid, returning the walls of the holochamber to their default state. He’d always liked the idea of secret assassins for the Empire, keeping the criminals in check. But now he imagined the blade sliding through his body and shuddered. Skorn was right. Their best protection was obscurity, to remain a mid-tier House that never gained any power. They needed to finish their harvest world and free Dragorn from Condemnation. And if they didn’t preserve House Bright’Lor, a Bloodblade would be coming for their heads.
Chapter Twenty
After a lifetime of rigid servitude under Secondous Laurik, a few days in House Bright’Lor was terrifying—and exciting. As she left Ero outside the Gate chamber, she grappled with what she’d seen on Valana. She hadn’t heard Ero’s conversation with his mother, but she could not have missed Hellina’s anger.
She stepped on the ascender and the circle of glass brightened. It lowered her to the bottom level of the ship, where the other slaves were all scrubbing the walls. At her arrival, Lyn, the older woman that defended Siena, stood and wiped the sweat from her forehead.
“Where did you get off to?”
“Ero took me to Valara,” she said.
“The capital?” Lyn asked. “Why?”
“I’m not really sure,” Siena admitted. “Ero said he wanted to annoy his mother.”
“Did you?”
“I think so.” Siena shuddered as she thought of Hellina. The woman was even worse than Laurik.
Lyn wrung the rag into the bucket. “How can such a vile race build things of such beauty?”
“You’ve been there?” Siena asked.
“I served a krey noble in House Jek’Orus for six years,” Lyn said. “She loved to visit the Diamond Towers district.”
Siena had learned a great deal about Lyn over the last few days. The woman had lived in nine different Houses and served aboard starships and star bases. She carried herself with the assurance only gained after decades of labor. She frequently braided her gray hair, keeping it out of her vision so she could focus. Despite the pains she had endured, she maintained a calm that Siena envied.
“Where is everyone?” she asked.
“In the cargo bay for lunch,” Lyn said. “I’m just finishing up this section.”
Siena surveyed the corridor wall. In the time she’d been gone, the others had almost finished the hallway, with only patches still needing to be cleaned. Lyn was completing the last section of the wall between the cargo bay door and a storage room. She spotted Quis inside. The boy was crouched over a small mech, which he’d pulled from a crate.
“What do you have there, Quis?” Siena asked.
“A cleaning mech,” he said, lifting it into view. “I found it a crate of sanitizing emitters.”
“Think it works?” Siena asked.
“It won’t activate.” The boy looked disappointed.
“Give it to Thren,” Lyn said. “He’s good with mechs, and maybe he can get it working. He’s in the storeroom down the hall.”
Quis smiled and carried the broken mech into the room where Thren was attempting to repair another device. Siena leaned to the side to watch, uncertain about Lyn’s suggestion. Sullen and taciturn, Thren was a large man who spoke little. He shared nothing of his previous Houses, but the haunting look in his eye and the scars on his arms suggested Kel’Ray. To Siena’s surprise, he accepted the small, broken mech and gave a rare smile to Quis.
“Why don’t you help me fix it?” Thren asked.
Quis brightened. “Really?”
Thren tousled his hair, the motion uncertain, as if Thren were remembering another. Siena noticed Lyn was also watching. “How did you know he would be kind to Quis?” Siena asked.
“Thren came from House Mor’Val.”
“The House with color-changing eyes?”
Lyn nodded. “He stayed with a woman he called his wife and son for nine years, and when they tried to sell them, he fought. He even hit a dakorian. They sold him instead.”
Siena’s hand tightened on the bulkhead. “Sometimes I just want to break the Empire.”
Lyn chuckled softly and pointed the sanitizing scanner in her hand at Siena’s neck scar. “Is that how you earned that brand? Because you talked of rebellion?”
“I dumped roak guts on my owner,” she said.
Lyn shuddered but gave a real laugh. “I would have liked to see that. Little bits of roak antennae stuck in their hair.”
“It did improve her look.”
“I bet it did.”
From down the hall, Quis whooped in delight, the youthful sound bringing a smile to Siena’s lips. She’d rarely heard any slave sound so happy. She hoped it made Thren feel better.
“I was sad I dragged him into this,” Siena said, “but I wonder if he’s better off here than in Laurik’s home.”
“He is for now,” Lyn said. “And that’s all a human can hope for, a better present.”
“But isn’t that wrong?” Siena asked.
“Of course it is,” Lyn said. “But we cannot choose our reality.”
“Do you ever imagine what
it would be like to be free?” Siena asked softly.
“I would guess we all have, at one point or another. But I accepted a long time ago that the only freedom I possess is what I feel here”—she pointed to her heart—“and what I have here.” She pointed to her head.
“I don’t know how to do that,” Siena said.
Lyn patted her on the arm. “You start by choosing to smile at what you have.”
She activated the hand cleanser, sending a spark into Siena’s arm. Siena yelped and rubbed the spot furiously. She glared at Lyn, who only laughed lightly, the sound so bright that Siena laughed as well. She picked up a hand cleanser and tried to do the same, but Lyn skipped out of reach.
“You’ll have to be faster than that,” she said.
Siena grinned and, for the first time since gaining her brand, was grateful for being sold. House Bright’Lor might have been on the verge of collapse, but it was better than Laurik’s cruelty.
Down the hall, Quis cried out in delight, the sound of a youth making a discovery. Siena paused in chasing Lyn and pointed down the corridor, pleased to see him excited.
“I’m glad he’s here,” Siena said.
“He really is adorable,” Lyn agreed.
Bort, one of the twins, heard her statement as he exited the cargo bay with his brother. Bottle of horg in hand, he asked, “Who’s adorable?”
“Quis,” Siena said.
“Don’t get attached.” Bort said, draining the horg and grimacing. “It won’t last.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Siena asked.
Bort’s brother, Begle, followed him into the corridor. “Did Quis tell you of his last House? It was Ruath’Is. They keep young slaves with their mothers until the age of ten, and the little ones are rarely burned.”
“A kindness,” Lyn said.
Bort made a guttural snort, so derisive that Siena scowled. “You don’t think the krey should be kind to us?”