by Thomas Locke
“Aye, ma’am.”
When he was done, she went on, “You may continue to search the hidden space beyond your realm. But so shall we. This point is not negotiable. And know this. Any attack, any assault on one of our ghost-walkers, and your entire race will be no more. This is the only warning you will ever receive.” She gave that a moment, then finished, “Break this code at your peril.”
When Logan had finished translating, she retrieved the comm link and said, “Return these fiends to their waters.”
57
Nine days later, Sean stood in the Cygnean government’s main audience chamber. Sweating bullets.
The government palace sat atop the tallest hill in the capital city’s heart. Beyond windows draped in royal purple spread a civilization in all its mystery. Sean could not have cared less.
He had wanted another month, but Anyon had refused his request and Brodwyn had agreed with him. Sean suspected both leaders knew he had been hoping to avoid this altogether. Which was probably why they had been so adamant that he show up today.
There was also the small matter of how the Cygnean ruling council was growing increasingly impatient to hear his report.
While Sean paced the outer foyer, Dillon was already inside the ruling council’s chamber next door. Carver and Taunton were also inside, reporting on the interstellar hunt for Kaviti, his Assassins, and the ditrinium blades. There was nothing they could do about the technology. It was outlawed now, and everything about it was classified as top secret. But Kaviti was still out there, and Sean thought the threat it represented to all transiters was probably permanent. Another item Sean’s former professor had to answer for, when the Praetorians caught up with him.
All of Kaviti’s former allies in the Human Assembly had disavowed him, of course. They called him a rogue, a fool, and far worse besides. The cadre and their broader coalition were in full retreat. And their idiotic concepts had been publicly denounced.
As Dillon put it, the result wasn’t as satisfying as seeing them all sentenced to life without parole. But it would have to do.
Logan was there in the antechamber, along with Vance and Nicolette. They were scheduled to enter with Sean. That had been Brodwyn’s idea. As though extra manpower would help calm his nerves.
Truth be told, it was far better than facing the rulers of an alien system alone.
Sean’s past nine days had been spent poring over Kaviti’s private journals, piecing together his forty-year research into the history of Cygneus Prime. There had been serious objections at first. When Anyon faced opposition from the Institute’s pompous faculty, he took up the matter before the entire Assembly, who passed a resolution appointing Sean as temporary custodian of all Kaviti’s effects, including his offices and staff at the Institute.
And the Judiciary.
And the Assembly.
From prisoner to potentate in one fell swoop.
The young ensign who had camped out in Cylian’s front room now served as Sean’s personal aide. Each morning she presented Sean with piles of invitations from half a dozen worlds. Apparently people assumed he was now someone important enough to know.
Sean ignored it all and busied himself with tracking through four decades of research. Thankfully, Kaviti had kept precise notes. His journals dated back to his first assignment as a junior Counselor, which had been to the outpost region that contained the Cygnean system.
It all came down to the dragons.
Only two worlds within the Human Assembly had fought pitched battles against such beasts—Serena, in its far distant past, and Cygneus Prime. If ever the beasts agreed to talk with them, that was the issue Sean intended to focus upon. Had they once transited between worlds? It seemed obvious they had, as transiting was the natural component to the Watchers’ ability to hunt, which the dragons clearly shared. Was it the Ancients who had confined them? That was another issue Sean wanted to raise. And if so, why on these two worlds?
For the moment, the one thing Sean could definitely say was that the Cygnean love of combat had destroyed the earliest records. From the dawn of humanity, Cygneus Prime had been home to warlords and battle. Whatever treaty the monsters had referred to in their communication through Cylian’s nightmares was lost. But Sean suspected everything that had come out these last days—the ditrinium and the weapons and the methods of fighting—had their start in this battle between man and beast.
Which meant Kaviti had ferreted his way through fragments and snippets and rumors and legends.
No wonder the man had been obsessed.
Cylian was seated in a gilded chair beneath a tapestry the size of a putting green. The artwork depicted some long-ago battle. Of course.
She was doing much better but still tired easily. Sean turned from the windows and walked over. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, Sean. Thanks to you.” She studied him a moment, then replied, “I’m the one who should be asking you that.”
He glanced at the ornately carved doors leading to the council chambers. “Definitely not.”
“You’re going to do great.”
Sean pretended to study the two guards in official dress uniforms that flanked the portal.
“Sean.”
“What?”
“I know what’s troubling you.” When he did not respond, Cylian said it for him. “Elenya is in there. Seated next to her father.”
Sean slumped into the chair next to hers. “This is awful.”
“Did it ever occur to you that Anyon set this up precisely as it is?”
Sean turned in his seat. Despite Cylian’s pale exterior and the plum-colored circles under her eyes, her beauty shone through. “No.”
“That’s what I think. Commander Taunton does as well.”
“You discussed my ex-girlfriend with the Praetorian commander?”
“He asked what troubled you. I replied.”
Sean realized, “You’re enjoying this.”
“Well, perhaps a little.” She reached for his hand. “Do you know what is the hardest thing for a strong person to do?”
He was tempted to reply with, I’m not strong. You are. But he merely said, “What?”
“Admit to weakness,” Cylian replied. “And ask for help. You have been strong for me through the hardest days and nights of my life thus far. You’ve served as the wise planner whose work has saved thousands of lives. More. Now I want you to look around this room, my darling.”
“You’ve never called me that before,” Sean said.
“Look,” she softly repeated. When he did so, she went on, “All these people are here because of you. And they want nothing more than to support you. To praise you.”
He released a fraction of his tension. “I’m scared.”
“Your former girlfriend unsettles you. It is perfectly understandable.” Cylian leaned close enough for him to feel her breath upon his cheek. “But here is a secret, my darling. Elenya is part of your past. I am part of your future.”
The guards snapped to attention as the portals opened and Brodwyn stepped into the audience hall. She smiled at Sean and said, “Are you ready?”
Sean felt warm fingers tighten briefly, then release his hand. He rose to his feet. “Yes.”
Thomas Locke is a pseudonym for Davis Bunn, the award-winning novelist with worldwide sales of seven million copies in twenty-five languages. Davis divides his time between Oxford and Florida and holds a lifelong passion for speculative stories. He is the author of Emissary and Merchant of Alyss in the Legends of the Realm series, as well as Fault Lines, Trial Run, and Flash Point in the Fault Lines series. Learn more at www.tlocke.com.
Books by Thomas Locke
LEGENDS OF THE REALM
Emissary
Merchant of Alyss
FAULT LINES
Fault Lines
Trial Run
Flash Point
RECRUITS
Recruits
Renegades
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