Jesiah nodded as he flipped through the pages. “You should.”
Dian let his head rest on the booth, staring into the ceiling. “I became too complacent. I expected progress to be handed to me.” He chuckled darkly.
“Faer, did you read past the first page?” Jesiah was shifting in place, eyes scanning quickly over the opened folder. “Did you read the roster?”
Dian hadn’t. He read the first page and died of mortification.
Jesiah read, “Convicted personnel assigned to Custodial Combat Unit: Cobalt. One, Jade Avaris.” He looked up. “Isn’t that the name of that pirate woman who tore your shirt off?”
Dian snatched the folder, reading quickly until the name popped out from the rest of the print. His mind skipped straight to the first time he saw her, the curves of skin forming into a precise—unwanted—memory. Dian managed a hollow laugh.
“That’s some bad luck,” Jesiah said.
This wasn’t luck. This was the founder’s idea of a cosmic joke. Dian remembered the brief time spent in her company. The hastened undressing, her brazen comments and flirtation, her passion, her humor. The pure, wild triumph in her vibrant eyes when she’d tossed his shirt over the deck, effectively humiliating him. Her anger as she was tackled and restrained. He hadn’t even given the order. He had never been so caught off his guard before.
And now that green-eyed tempest was going to be in his unit.
Dian did not drink normally, but just then, he could appreciate the impulse.
CHAPTER SEVEN
WANTED: SECRET LAIR. SPACIOUS, RUSTIC CHARM, CLOSE TO SHOPS AND TRANSIT.
Fel hopped the curb, hands in pockets and the distant look of someone lost in their own head. He crossed the cobbled street toward the Faraday Star Theater. At one time, it was an oasis of grandeur in the otherwise seedy downtown of Meraton. Now, it blended with its background of bricked row buildings with grime buildup in its corners and edges from too much time and too many people. Cracks in the joints. Weeds sprouting from the concrete. Meraton was a bustling sort of a city with no time to keep things looking pretty. It was an ideal location for traders to stop and the streets were so overcrowded with travelers the locals couldn’t keep up.
A modest crowd gathered outside the Theater entrance. Given the state of the place, it had sold for next to nothing about a year ago. Kade had purchased the deed with minimal funds and little upset. It was the perfect home for Free Chanters, a place of safety and security.
They had cleaned a few years off the old place. Fixed the parts that needed it and opened it back up to the public each night. A quick glance and you might be fooled into believing it had never fallen into disrepair. The Theater provided a cover for their activities. An active rebellion needed a home base and Faraday Star Theater had been available. The crowd queued through the main lobby. Unsuspecting civilians with nowhere better to go and not yet bored of the repeat showings of A Task Too Great.
Fel threaded the patrons and exchanged a knowing nod with the employee checking tickets as he ducked the velvet rope barrier without one. Underneath the years of neglect was a masterpiece. The details woven into the Faraday were subtle and fascinating and Fel hadn’t found them all. He overlooked them now as he took the mezzanine steps two at a time.
Gold filigree lined the banisters and cross sections. Thick, heavy drapes of deep burgundy had been shaken from the cling of dust. The balcony seating was in the process of restoration and the smell of lacquer clashed with the lingering scents of mildew and stale wood. The place was historic and, in that way, uniquely beautiful. It was as much a home as Fel had ever known.
No one was admitted upstairs for shows. The balcony remained empty. Fel wove through the seats until he found his favorite view of the stage. He propped his legs on the row ahead and eased into the plush, scarlet cushion. He needed a cool down. Their latest mission still lingered in his bones and joints. An unease rolled in his gut. Watching the performance was his only outlet. A rare moment of peace in all the hustle of trying to destroy the status quo and fighting oppression.
Fel picked through the over-large pockets of his green hand-knit sweater until he found a bottle. He tapped the cap with his finger so that it twisted until it popped free and pinged against the cement floor. He sipped the warm beer down slowly while the standing lights of the theater dimmed. The focused beams of spheres lit the stage. Chatter began to fizzle out as the main curtains were drawn open on a scene of greenery. The forced perspective of a forest was painted onto winged backdrops. He’d helped paint the leaves on the tree furthest left.
“I knew it.”
Fel continued to sip his drink. A woman now stood at the end of his row. She glared at the stage with her hands on her wide hips, a sneer curled her lips, and her wild hair created a fierce profile against the low lighting.
“Why do you watch these? Doesn’t it get old after the first time?”
Fel’s shoulder’s lifted with a sigh. Amaria continued to talk, to ask her questions, but never to pause for his answer. She was chatty that way. And self-absorbed. It was a struggle for her to consider matters outside her scope of reasoning. Which was why she never once looked at him while she prattled on. He wanted to ask what she was doing up there if she hated the show so much, but she left no opportunity. So he sat and sipped.
“Anyway, Kade wants to see us. New mission. Come on.” She turned without waiting for acknowledgment.
So much for peace.
Fel finished his drink and tossed it into a trash bin before stashing his hands back into his sweater pockets. He descended stairways until he reached the basement. The spare props and racks of costumes were left in a maddening display of organization only the stage manager could comprehend.
He kept walking. Until the lights grew dimmer and the cobwebs thicker. A door was tucked away in the clutter. A nondescript door with chipped wood and faded paint. Inside was dark—the heavy sort of darkness that comes with being underground—except for a single light near a hole in the ground. He knew the light to be the top to a spiral staircase. Down those stairs was a cramped hallway carved into the rock and compacted earth. Roots were starting to poke through. At the end of the hallway was a steel door with bars and locks.
Amaria had not waited for him. Which was annoying because Fel hated when he had to knock.
He pounded his fist against the metal and waited. The guard on the other side called out for a password. Fel rolled his eyes and sighed. He knocked again harder.
“I said, what’s the password?”
Fel kicked the door this time and he heard the annoyance as the guard stood and opened a small rectangular window. He was angry until his eyes met Fel’s. He nodded when Fel held up the paper where he’d written the password of the day and stowed it in his pocket.
Once across the threshold, the atmosphere was charged with tension and activity. Fel descended yet more stairs—honestly, they needed a quicker way to get to and from their lair—these were carved out of existing rock and led into an enormous cavern that could fit the theater above them twice over. The bones of a city filled the chamber. Wood and metal beams. Stairs and ladders. Bridges connecting walkways and leading to small rooms and dorms.
Their leader would be in the front rooms where all the thinking happened. Amaria was already inside, seated on the edge of a cabinet instead of one of the many chairs. This was one of their meeting rooms with a long table and map of Vacua on the farthest wall that moved with the location of their deployed comrades. A living model of their homeland. Kade stood just in front of it, a pale man with paler features. Lifeless hair, blue, almost grey eyes. And scars everywhere. There wasn’t a lot known about the Free Chanter’s leader.
He was the newest in a long line of leaders. A long line for such a short-lived organization. Kade hadn’t even wanted the position. He was pushed into it by popular vote. The man possessed no charm and had the personality of a blunt sword, yet there was something about him that made you trust him. His honesty al
ways seemed genuine and he had unparalleled follow through. His promises meant something.
“Fel, there you are,” Kade said. His voice was gruff, it matched his demeanor perfectly. Fel nodded in greeting and took a seat, slouching and stuffing his hands in his pockets.
“Now that you’re both here,” Kade said, “You did great work the other day. Fifteen new Chanters and no casualties on our end.”
Amaria huffed. “But we didn’t get the soldier. I really wanted to bring that prick in, but things went to shit fast and we had to leave him.”
“It’s good that you didn’t. We’re not ready and it would have brought the wrath of the Legion down on us. We’re close, but not yet. Eventually, the Legion won’t be a problem.
“Ceol is practically ours,” Kade gestured to the map on the wall, “There’s a lot of Chanters in that region and our agents have been spreading doubt for Vacua’s Queen. There’s limited Legion presence there, and it won’t take long to clear out what is left. Our next move should be toward Lucindria and Arancrux. Those will be our biggest challenges and assets.”
“What is the goal here?” Amaria’s tone was accusing, “We’re bringing in more and more Chanters, but what’s our end game? We’re stronger than they are. We could take them all out now, if we wanted to. We could take this right to the capital and level Azlemaine to the ground—”
“The Royal Legion alone contains tens of thousands of soldiers. Never mind that the other nations will run to Vacua’s aid. Rowm and Rosewall without a doubt. We can’t take on three nations at once. Whatever you think about our numbers or abilities, we can’t take on the Royal Legion, the Militia, and the Roseguard at once. And that is if Harrowind’s Vanguard and Helvik’s Iron Spectres don’t show up for the party.” He sighed. “We shouldn’t have to take that on, either. That just sets us up for unnecessary losses. I’m not here to murder non-Chanters.” Amaria huffed. “Our goal has always been freedom and staving off the war we know is brewing.” Kade rubbed his face with his hands. He looked exhausted. “Our end game is a Liore where we aren’t afraid of being rounded up and studied or worse. It’s our own nation. A sixth nation just for Chanters. With our allies in positions of power over the other five.”
Amaria said nothing, except that Fel knew her well enough to know she wasn’t happy with that direction. Her plans would include a lot more maiming and homicide.
Kade continued, “The previous history of this group was complacency. It’s not how we’ll achieve our security.” He had a solid frame, thick with muscle. The kind of obvious physical power sane people didn’t challenge lightly. The visible patches of his skin were scored by scars, all from short blades, from some tragic past he never cared to share. Not that it made him special. Everyone down here was forced there by a tragic backstory. Only differences was the degree of fucked up.
“What’s our next move?” Amaria asked, clearly losing interest.
“We’ve made a contact in Azlemaine. An enchanter’s shop there gets a generous supply of weapons. The shop owner, Foster, has…agreed to exchange what he can spare for a reasonable price. I hope to do a steady trade with him, but his position in the capital is a concern. I want the two of you to oversee the first transaction. Make sure there’s no chance of a set-up and that this deal goes unnoticed.”
Amaria grinned. “Going right under the General’s nose, that’s ballsy. I like it.”
“You can have your pick of weapons from the first shipment. The both of you.”
Kade turned to Fel. “Is there anything you’d like to add?”
Fel’s lips thinned. He appreciated the idea of being included, it was Kade’s attempt to be fair and inclusive, but it was just a pain. There was only one person in that room that could understand him. Fel made eye-contact with Amaria. He began to sign, but she looked away to hop off her seat. Which was frustrating enough, but worse when she paraphrased her translation.
“He said, ‘no worries. He’s eager to do what’s necessary.’”
Kade ignorantly believed this to be an accurate account of Fel’s thoughts and he reached out to clap Fel firmly on the shoulder. One of those manly displays of solidarity, which rattled Fel to his bones, and only soured his mood further. Fel glared at Amaria’s spiky head as she sauntered past him.
“It’ll be a few days until we have everything set up, a week at most,” Kade said as they were dismissed. Amaria left without a word to Fel. Not that he wanted one from her.
Fel was stuck with her for a partner. She was one of the very few who understood Sign. It probably would have been better to be completely unheard. There was no point in arguing, since he would need Amaria as a go-between to request a new partner anyway. Maybe he didn't like her, but he didn't want to piss her off either. Not when he truly believed she was a finger snap away from murdering everyone in their sleep.
CHAPTER EIGHT
YES, SIR. NO, SIR. FUCK THIS, SIR.
Outside the city, the landscape evolved into grass fields and gently sloping hills. Trees dotted the expanse of green with scattered patches of blue and pink wildflowers. The relic transporting Jade and the rest of the soon to be legionnaires traveled a dusty, bumpy road toward Ravencross, the Royal Legion’s training base.
Her bag was returned, but all her weapons held until after training. Liam was next to her, head bent as he tried to sleep, body leaning against hers. He was a warm, soothing presence. She had woken up an hour ago and didn’t want to move him. They’d fallen asleep braced against each other countless times over the years. Arms crossed against a cruel wind and bodies close for some sense of comfort and warmth.
“We’re getting close,” Liam commented. He stared straight ahead, eyes shadowed by the black wisps of hair covering his forehead. She thought he’d been asleep. “Don’t forget who we’re really here for, okay?”
“I won’t,” she snapped. The worry in his voice irritated her. Like she would forget the people counting on her back home. Alexi had not intended to provide the perfect means of helping them when they’d signed up for his crazy plan of stealing Glint for Harrowind. Yet, it was easily the most efficient way for an outsider to get those sweet health care benefits. Signing up would mean that instead of stealing Glint for Harrowind they could steal medicine for street urchins. It would take a bit of figuring to get those meds, and in big enough supply, but they had a bit of wiggle room with timing. Once their former allies in Harrowind were set up with all the meds they could need, Jade and Liam could focus on their own futures. A fresh start in some other nation, this time avoiding a criminal record.
Liam moved away from her, shifting so he could see her face. Liam’s dark eyes pinned her with accusation. “In a few hours, we’re going to be Legion property. I won’t always be there to rein you in.”
She huffed. “Do you honestly have so little faith in me?”
“In this...yes. Because you hate people telling you what to do.”
“Then why are you?”
His jaw clenched. He continued in a tense whisper, “You can’t even keep civil with me. It will be worse once we’re inside. If the Legion takes their training even half as seriously as my f—” He looked away, lips falling into a grim line.
The hum of the relic’s enchantments filled their sudden silence. Jade slouched so that her knees rested on the back of the seat in front of her. She curled her arms in, hugging herself. History was a funny thing because it was easy to forget that it could still hurt you. Some memories lingered like scars, never fading even if time managed to lessen the sting. Vacua had raked over those repressed, ignored recesses of a past both of them would rather forget. Liam ignored the past with a steadfast resilience. She’d never heard him use the term ‘father’ with anything less than venomous hatred—and a hint of pain—if he used the word at all. It was not something she could fix for him and that made her unbearably sad. As for his mother, she was kind enough to split before she could do more damage. The only thing Jade knew of her was that her family was from Rosewall
, which explained Liam’s dark hair and lighter complexion.
“I can do what I’m told. When it matters,” She said softly. She shifted, trying to get comfortable, her legs still braced on the back of the seat. She opened her mouth, then closed it, unsure how to remind him that the Legion was going to ask him about his surname. Jade fidgeted. There wasn’t enough room in her stupid seat.
“Excuse me,” said a clipped, scathing voice whose tone hinted no such intention. A hand gripped the top of the seat just in front of Jade’s. The hand was followed by a face that might have been handsome, were it not sneering at her. “I swear to fucking Ysmeria, there is no consequence that would prevent me burning your entire family alive if you kick my seat one more time.”
“That’s...dramatic,” Jade replied. Liam’s hand was on her arm, clamping down in vice-like warning.
The asshat in front of her looked her up and down. When he spoke again, it was not to Jade, but the person sharing his seat. “Excellent. They’ve shackled us with Harrowind trash. How bloody fucking wonderful.” His fingers sifted through his hair then plucked a rolled cigarette from behind his ear. “My apologies for the threats to your family. I assume your lineage is untraceable? Amend that comment to my burning down the brothel that spawned you, should you kick my seat again.”
Liam’s restraining grip on her arm loosened considerably.
The man’s long, boney fingers trembled as he set the cigarette against his lips. Signs of his good looks were evident in the thin nose, angular jaw, and fair complexion beneath wavy brown hair, but hate had smothered the beauty. His cheeks were gaunt, his eyes rimmed red and sunken, darkness surrounded the sockets like some arrogant corpse with a superiority complex.
There was too much at stake to react. The need for it crawled through Jade’s limbs. She clenched her teeth to keep a retort from spilling out. They had already drawn the attention of the guards, who let them be so long as they remained in their seats.
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