A Treason of Truths

by Ada Harper

  They had. They’d... That they’d come at all, Lyre hadn’t expected. Never. She’d thought Sabine would raise hell, throw all the weight of the Empire around demanding retribution after the crash. But when Mother fabricated her death, Lyre had thought that Sabine...she was too smart to—Lyre was a spy. Spies were made to be lost. A calculated risk. A clean amputation of assets. She wasn’t worth—

  “I think the explosion rattled the spymaster’s noggin,” Olivia drawled in the pause, bright eyes knowing. “It’ll be nice to see Maris poke at someone else for a change. Let’s get the others and get out of here.”

  Lyre rubbed the feeling back into her ankles as the scout loaned her his sidearm. Another scout hauled Mother unceremoniously over his shoulder—still unconscious, at least. They crawled past the blown-in door into a wreckage of what used to be the hallway. Even the turrets were blown from the ceiling, nothing more than mangled metal heaps. “Hell, kitten, I thought you were trained to be discreet.”

  “I was trained to destroy shit. We were kind of in a hurry.” Olivia shrugged. “Besides, I don’t care much for secret organizations. Or bullies.”

  That was fair. “Who else is here?”

  “Galen’s keeping exterior forces tied up outside And...” Olivia tilted her head, looking distracted for a minute. Reaching for her bond to her mate. It made Lyre’s own chest ache. Whatever Olivia found left her smiling. “He’s fine. Probably enjoying himself too much. Sabine—”

  “Wait.” Lyre stopped. “You brought Sabine here?”

  “Brought is a strong word,” Olivia said dryly. “More like she let us tag along. We’re due to meet at—why aren’t you moving?”

  “I can’t.” That lump was in her throat again, closing up and growing like a cancer. “I can’t be around the empress. I had to stay. The Vault—I’m pumped full of nanites that can do who knows what, and even if Mother’s out of commission, who knows who else could use them. You shouldn’t even—”

  “Hey. Liar.”

  Lyre was still attempting to swallow her misery, which had to be the reason the damned brat was able to smack something cold against her neck as she turned. Lyre reared and cursed, but Olivia jerked her hand back before she could counter. The idiot was grinning. “Present from Prime Minister Cian.”

  Lyre swore. Her fingers traced tentatively over the patch on her neck. Thin, flexible, but unnaturally cold in a way that created a metallic tang in her mouth. “Cian? Great. How long before it kills me?”

  “You? Debatable. But your nanites are probably feeling the pinch about now. It’s a disabling patch. Nothing nanite-related is gonna work in your system until it’s countered. Even Vault-made shit.” Olivia had about as much patience for explaining shit as Lyre did. She fidgeted with her gun, eyes scanning the hallway. “Means your med nanites are also disabled so don’t go getting shot, okay? But you aren’t gonna go super soldier on Sabine before Maris can find a fix, so stop moping.”

  “Moping,” Lyre repeated.

  “Whatever this...” Olivia gestured vaguely at all of Lyre “...angsty tragic star-crossed thing is. I liked you better when you were threatening to kill me. Can we move already?”

  “Cian did this?” Lyre warily started walking again.

  “Evidently, getting their prime minister back tortured and half-dead lit a fire under the Syn research sciences.” Olivia shrugged. “You’ll have to ask Sabine why he’s cooperating. Never thought I’d see the day Syn and Empire were sharing their toys. Can’t say I care for it, but nothing like mortal peril to bring people together.”

  “Worked on you, didn’t it,” Lyre said, and Olivia wrinkled her nose without quite attempting to hide the warmth in her eyes.

  * * *

  The wreckage of the hallway opened up to the slightly tidier dissolution of the Vault’s bunker doors. Lyre suspected Olivia and the scouts got in a different way, primarily because the doors were still in one piece. Lyre expected to walk into a battle, but instead she heard just one petulant voice as they climbed the steps.

  “You have encroached on the sovereign domain of the Cloud—”

  “Inaccurate. The sovereign domain of the Cloud Vault lies in pieces approximately three hundred clicks to the northwest. To be precise, you are located in a demilitarized zone under Syndicate control.” Lyre didn’t believe her ears, but the scouts scaled the steps to reveal Cian—Prime bloody Minister Cian—standing primly at the center of the clearing, flanked by Galen de Corvus and a mix of Syn and Imperial scouts. Cian directed his gaze over the gathered handful of detained Vault operatives. “That would make you the trespassers in question.”

  They must have put up a fight. Some were lying injured, others kneeling, and one furious pipsqueak—must have been one of Mother’s senior agents, though Lyre didn’t recognize him—stood, hands in cuffs, with I’ll speak to your manager written all over his face. If he thought anyone managed Cian, he was more foolish than Mother usually tolerated.

  “You’re lucky the Syn were in a forgiving mood,” Galen pointed out mildly. “You’ve upset my sister. That usually doesn’t turn out well.”

  Olivia cleared her throat, and Galen’s attention turned as if pulled on a string. Lyre might have found it amusing, if Olivia hadn’t gestured to indicate Mother was awake. Head tilted, listening. Too smart to talk. Lyre felt a trickle of unease. Mother might be cuffed and hogtied, but the head of Vault intelligence was a danger in any conscious condition.

  “Drop our guest.” Olivia nodded to a scout, who happily complied. He didn’t let Mother hit the ground as hard as Lyre might have.

  “Ma’am!” The squabbling senior agent paled, as if they’d produced a mythical beast instead of his boss.

  “Does she have a real name?” Olivia asked.

  Lyre shrugged. “Not as far as anyone with survival instincts is concerned.” There had always been a shadow figure pulling the strings at the very top of a pile of geniuses, always called Mother. Who filled that role was really secondary.

  The woman in question evidently had had enough. Mother coughed. Her voice was gravel and magic. “You are colluding with a dangerous criminal.”

  “Gosh. That’s what my people say about me!” Olivia’s lips took on a feral grin. “Why didn’t you tell me, Liar? That makes us practically sisters.”

  “Dear gods, no.”

  “I know all about you, Olivia de Corvus. Olivia Shaw.” Mother was gaining confidence. Her bloodied lip curled. Dear gods, here it came. Mother would turn this to her favor. Lyre tried to steel herself, but there was nothing left to hold on to. She could have accepted dying a spy’s death at the hands of the Vault, but if she’d been rescued only to be discarded now...

  “But you don’t even know what a viper you’re protecting,” Mother said. “The one you call Liar has fed me more information about the Imperial royal House than the rest of my best agents combined. She was so very good, told me every messy detail of the upstart House Corvus. If I’d wanted to pick off the royal family—even your own dear mate—I could have done it before the crown had touched their heads. Murdered them all. And this woman—”

  “Lied. Yes. We get the name. It is rather tiresome when you have to explain it.” A bored voice rang out, clear and commanding, and Lyre’s heart leaped into her throat. Sabine stepped out from the shuttle and into the light of the glen. Sunlight pooled on her braided crown, a dozen little rivers of gold amid brown, and Sabine didn’t need a crown to rule anyone today. She looked fresh and untouchable and polished—if there was a formal, couture version of tactical wear, Sabine had found it. She wore a dark emerald suit cut impeccably to emphasize her long, lean frame. The only nod to military formality was a gold wolfhead stitched at both shoulders.

  She looked untouchable, and there wasn’t enough air in Lyre’s lungs to breathe.

  “She lied,” Sabine was saying as she stalked—and that was the only word for it—
toward Mother. Goji was sharp at her heels, looking larger and more prickly with menace than Lyre had remembered the damned beast. “She lied, and she spied, and she betrayed the Empire and her empress. But do go on, finish the story. What happened next?”

  Mother, to her credit, knew when to stay silent.

  “She turned.” Sabine made a crouch look graceful, slowly lowering until she could pin all her malice into Mother’s gaze. Goji was a looming shadow of poison berries and thorny teeth over them both. “She was your creature, one of your little birds, but then I turned her. Me. That makes her mine. Not yours, Mother. Huh, Mother.” She tilted her head. “Such a curious name. You as much as raised Lyre, and sent her to me, for which I’ll be grateful. But the Empire has strong feelings about family, and I don’t believe you’ve earned that name.”

  Mother’s eyes narrowed. “Empress, this creature—”

  “Her name is Lyre, and she is mine,” Sabine bit out. Her head tilted, slow and thoughtful, and Goji began a low warning rumble. “Do you know what I do to those who try to harm what is mine?”

  To make Mother pause, to hesitate, was a miracle Lyre hadn’t witnessed often. But here, Mother didn’t just hesitate, she flinched. She drew a breath. “Justice must be served for what has happened—”

  “Yes, it must.” Sabine waved her hand, as if agreeing to an observation on the weather. “When the Vault is prepared to conduct a thorough and legal investigation, I believe you have the credible witness of several heads of state who will aid you in discovering the culprit was one of your own scheming people. Dr. Micha Sylvere.”

  “I’d offer the Syndicate’s assistance on his background in the Syndicate, but I do not believe in wasting resources.” Cian spoke up. “You are already aware he had a daughter enrolled in our caricae program.”

  “Had?”

  “Yes. Strangest thing, amid the turmoil of my return there was a minor security aberration at one of our facilities and a young woman went missing.” Cian’s cool gaze slid to Lyre, then away. “With all this nonsense I’m not certain when we’ll have a moment to spare to look into it.”

  Cian was letting it slide. Letting a caricae citizen go. Perhaps having changed his own opinion on his government’s caricae treatment. Dear gods, progress. Instead of destroying it, Sylvere had helped improve the Syndicate. Lyre felt that manic laugh bubble up again and had to bite her lip to stifle it. Change was coming to the Syndicate. Sylvere, damn the man, had gotten his daughter and perhaps something more.

  Mother processed this information, giving nothing away. “You truly believe Sylvere masterminded this, that the Scarab had nothing to do—”

  “Lyre is innocent. For once. And if I must be frank, I don’t care if she broke and gibbetted your whole bloody family on the way out.” Sabine straightened and flicked a mote of dust from her knees.

  “Because she’s yours,” Mother said slowly.

  Sabine smiled. Most might have crumbled under that smile, Mother had to at least rethink her strategy.

  “What do you intend to do with my agents?” she asked instead.

  “Well. Now we have an understanding,” Sabine said. She glanced to Cian, as if conferring in a way that was patently false. “Since Sylvere has evaded custody, I’ve retrieved what’s mine and our business is concluded. Cian?”

  “Our business with the Vault is not concluded,” he said with a calm chill that should have been enough to warn anyone. The Syndicate would be making the Cloud Vault pay dearly for the treatment of the prime minister, make no mistakes. Lyre didn’t envy the surviving members of the Vault council who would have to appease him.

  “Well, I’m sure you can work out the details on your own.” Sabine waved a hand, and the Imperial forces fell back. There were more than enough Syndicate soldiers to cover. Cian had an unpleasant smile on his face as Lyre passed, and she was glad she wouldn’t be staying to see what business came next.

  “Scarab—Lyre.”

  It was enough of a concession to make Lyre turn. Mother paid practically no attention to Cian at all, saving her troubled gaze for Lyre. “I did what I thought—” Perhaps she realized there were no apologies in their business. Mother’s shoulders eased, ever so slightly. “Ayathri.” When Lyre blinked, Mother sighed. “My name was Ayathri, before I joined. I thought—it’d be good for someone to remember it.”

  The feeling that rose in Lyre’s chest was complicated, painful, like a bramble of velvet and cut glass. She nodded, just once, and ducked into the shuttle.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  For once in her life, Lyre didn’t know how to fill a gods-damned silence. They hadn’t talked as they boarded the shuttle. Sabine wordlessly guided her to a seat next to hers and kept her attention pinned on her as Lyre managed the safety straps on autopilot. Only when she was strapped in did Sabine sit herself.

  And say nothing. Not as the shuttle took off, not as the pilots and soldiers quietly chattered about area scans. Not as they gained altitude and pointed toward home. Lyre wished she would. It was awkward, being the precious cargo instead of the officer in charge. She should be up there in the cockpit, ensuring they didn’t miss anything. But she doubted she’d get that far if she tried.

  Sabine’s arm was a warm coil around her side and Sabine showed no signs of removing it. At first her hand had been continually drifting, up and down Lyre’s side, as if reassuring herself she was really there, in one piece. Now the fingers curved protectively over the back of her neck, and clamped down hard every time the shuttle shuddered on the currents. As if Lyre were going to blow away again. As if Sabine intended to keep Lyre by her side through sheer force of will alone. As if Lyre was something worth that.

  It was an odd feeling, feeling indispensable. It felt useful and protected all at once. Lyre took a moment to decide she liked it. All of it. The hand there, the fierceness of Sabine’s eyes, the novel idea of people rescuing her. Making any effort to keep her. That was new.

  She gathered what she could from the murmur of conversation from the soldiers around her. With Sabine present, most were too leery to question directly, but Lyre picked up enough to know the collaboration with the Syndicate on this mission had signaled bigger changes. One of the soldiers muttered about changes for caricae in the Syn. When Lyre’s curiosity couldn’t stand it any longer, she glanced to Galen seated across from them.

  “Sylvere?”

  Galen’s face folded into a grimace and he shook his head. “As the prime minister said, there was an incident at a Syn caricae facility, but he’s disappeared since then. We received a single transmission that put us on the lead to where they might be keeping you, signed ‘EK.’”

  “Dr. Khait,” Lyre surmised. Kind of Khait, but damn, Sylvere had gotten away with everything.

  Galen nodded. “We looked but Khait’s disappeared too, of course. Sylvere planned well.”

  “I don’t know if he planned for Khait. I hope he catches up and punches him in his smug face for me. The Syn plan to pursue?”

  Galen shook his head. “Publically, yes, but Cian’s policies seem to have changed after his time on the Vault. There are bigger considerations. He’s announced a caricae reform bill to the ministry.”

  “Rights for caricae? That’ll never fly in the Syn.”

  “It will if we give it the right shove.” Olivia popped into the cabin, lolling against the bulkhead with a sharp glint in her eyes. Dear gods, they had a revolutionary in the Imperial family. Olivia dragged Galen off to the front of the plane before Lyre could develop the proper headache that prospect required.

  It was only when the flight entered that quiet period—past all the takeoff excitement but before nearing the destination close enough to worry about landing prep—that Sabine’s grip on Lyre’s hand loosened. She undid her straps and stood up with a single graceful motion. Even on a rocking shuttle with no audience in sight, Sabine made everything look like a
dance.

  A knightsguard rose but Sabine made a halting gesture. “Lyre, attend me.”

  Lyre arched a brow. Sabine didn’t usually bother with attending beyond what formal protocol demanded. Let alone in that...voice. She said attend the way others might have said get on your knees and beg. But Sabine was already striding toward the back of the shuttle. Lyre quickly undid her straps and followed.

  Lyre knew something was up. So when she turned the corner to an empty hallway, she knew which corner to face to see Sabine standing, arms crossed.

  The shadows hid her precise expression. For some reason, seeing Sabine in shadow while she was exposed in light made Lyre’s stomach flip. It felt wrong. “Need help taking a piss, Your Grace?”

  “Tell her I tried.” Sabine’s voice was a mincing impression of Cian’s. And the impression was shaky. She advanced out of the shadow, and light hit the serene fury in her eye. “You think I would have been satisfied to know you tried?”

  “Sabs—”

  “Not good enough.” Sabine took a breath. Her fingers pressed along Lyre’s jaw. Just this side of not painful. “I expect in the future you will not try when it comes to me.”

  “As my empress commands,” Lyre breathed, trying not to feel entirely aroused by the flush in Sabine’s cheeks. The cutting heat in her eyes. Like a warning spark from a live wire.

  Fuck it.

  The shuttle jolted again and this time Lyre didn’t brace. She flung her hands up to Sabine’s cheeks and pulled. The shuttle jolted again, and this time both Lyre and Sabine were too busy to brace. Lyre stumbled back against the bulkhead and stayed there, with the weight of Sabine pressing against her. Lips stealing her breath.

  Sabine’s lips moved against hers, nipping and creating a tiny space of air to whisper into. “What is this?”

  Lyre ran her fingers back and forth over Sabine’s jaw before sinking them into the braid at the back of her head. She gave an experimental gentle tug and was rewarded with the way Sabine’s bottom lip dropped and softened. Demanding more. A new kind of order. “This is me when I stop trying.”