Present day
Rhea watched Clo angle Zelus out into open space, preparing for another jump. They’d come up with a plan to land on Laguna.
Rhea hated it. It wasn’t as elegant as they’d hoped, nor was it easy, but after two solid days of Ariadne trawling through the guest list for the ceremony and plotting likely security scenarios, this was the best chance they had.
Unlawful docking on a Tholosian craft.
Kidnapping.
Identity theft.
And that was just to start.
Rhea figured they had already committed at least fifty crimes that were punishable by execution, so what were a few more to add to the list?
She distracted herself by flipping through the Tholosian-approved channels on the vid-screen, searching for any news of their escape on Macella. Nothing. It was as if it hadn’t occurred at all. “There’s no mention of what happened to the palace on any of these stations,” she told Clo. “They’re only covering the Archon’s speeches about the truce.”
“I’m telling you,” Clo said, easing the thrusters down to recover from the jump, “Damocles is keeping it quiet. The Archon would drop that fancy parade tour and delay the truce ceremony in a heartbeat if he found out his palace was destroyed by a Tholosian ship stolen by the resistance.”
Rhea and Clo were the only two on the bridge. Ariadne was running updates on the ship’s computer, making sure all was running smoothly after their mad dash through the labyrinthine streets on Macella. Nyx was with Cato, continuing the last rounds of his deprogramming regime.
Sher and Kyla had called them earlier to help cement the bones of their paltry plan on the most encrypted channel Ariadne could muster. The commanders had agreed to come, leaving a few of their subordinates in charge to oversee operations. With the truce ceremony so close, no one questioned why two Novan leaders would need to go dark for a few days. The rest of the Nova crew were distracted by dust storms, gritty and thick on the surface of their hidden planet. It was all hands on deck to keep the resistance colony powered.
“Then it confirms Damocles is plotting a coup against the Archon,” Rhea murmured, shutting off the vid-screens. “And that he controls the Oracle. One would have alerted his father otherwise.”
The light from the command buttons played across Clo’s face and the buzz of her hair, the tiny scars on the backs of her fingers from countless hours taking apart engines and putting them back together again. Those hands had stolen to be able to eat, held weapons, caressed Rhea’s face. Rhea found herself wanting to trace every scar with her own soft fingertips, bring them to her lips, and kiss away the remembered ghosts of pain.
“Do you think this is going to work?” Clo asked, her voice tight as her fingers danced along the controls.
“I don’t know,” Rhea said. “If Ariadne can block off the comms like she says, then there’s a chance. I just don’t like that I’m going to have to feel it all.”
Clo’s hand came off the control, hesitantly reaching for Rhea. Rhea closed the distance and laced her fingers through Clo’s. She felt the warmth flow from the other woman and her cheeks warmed in response; Clo felt so . . . alive. Unfettered.
“They’ll nae like it, but we have to do this for Eris and all those people on Laguna. It’s only temporary.”
Rhea nodded.
A message from Sher came through the comms. He’d be in their quadrant in an hour and Kyla in three. Clo sent a message back to him, telling him they were an hour and a half away from their target.
<You know what to do if I can’t get there in time,> he sent back. <I trust you.>
“Wish I had the same faith,” Clo muttered. “Without Eris here, I’m so ’fraid of sluicing this up.” She let out a dry laugh. “Can’t believe I’m saying that, after all the shite I gave her.”
Rhea squeezed her hand.
Zelus picked up speed, weaving through the sky. Clo looked most at home there in the pilot’s seat, eyes on the darkness of space, hands moving in that perfect dance. Rhea watched her and knew fighting was not Clo’s true calling. Not war. She liked things to work, to fit. To come alive.
Clo’s true calling was to fix what was broken.
Rhea rested her hands on Clo’s shoulders. The other woman’s muscles tensed, then relaxed. Rhea leaned forward and pressed her lips lightly to the back of the other woman’s neck. She shivered.
In Clo’s ear, Rhea whispered, “Place your faith in me, Clo.”
Just before they entered the dark expanse of space, to break apart and come back together again, Clo turned her head and placed a soft kiss on Rhea’s lips.
Clo hid Zelus behind the asteroids as the others joined her and Rhea on the bridge.
Their target was on the way. Lysicrates, an embassy ship from Philana, a war-proud planet that raised millions of soldiers for the Tholosian Empire. The ten delegates would be welcomed with open arms to the ball. Arriving with four fewer people than expected would raise questions, but they had their story ready. Ariadne had collected a dossier of information on each diplomat. Kyla and Sher would decide everyone’s roles, and which four would be the missing delegates.
“Seven devils, I hope this works,” Clo said.
“It will.” Nyx’s eyes were bright as she gazed out of the window, a hunter about to pounce. “We can’t think in terms of failure. We can only hope for victory.”
How Tholosian, Rhea wanted to say, but wisely remained silent.
“I’ll go, if you need me,” Cato said from his perch at the back of the bridge. All heads turned toward him. He no longer wore his uniform, but he stood as stiff and straight as any soldier.
“I’m not convinced you’re ready,” Nyx said. “Not that we don’t appreciate the offer.”
With Eris gone and this a military mission, Nyx had taken over command. Rhea had expected Clo to bristle at this, but she hadn’t. Clo was more worried about Eris than she let on.
“What’s a little identity kidnapping between friends?” He gave Rhea a grin, as if he didn’t care, but Rhea felt his nervousness. “You need all of us for this. There are ten delegates and at least ten soldiers guarding them. So, unless you want to put yourself at more risk, take my help.”
Rhea had seen so much change in him. Though Cato was working on building himself back up, he no longer recited Tholosian propaganda in his sleep. His military haircut was growing out, shaggy around the ears. He’d been regaining the muscle sapped by his wounds and fever. Rhea had seen this man sob and cry out for death as the Oracle programming dug its tendrils in deeper before the hold finally broke. She didn’t know what sort of man he’d be now. Rhea doubted he did either.
“All right,” Nyx said. “But stay close. I’ll find you a weapon.”
Rhea felt a bit of Nyx’s pride beneath those words, a warm blue glow. Cato had risen to the challenge. Rhea realized that Nyx saw him as an ally—someone else who had been a soldier and gone through the agony of deprogramming. A kindred spirit.
“Remember,” Rhea told the two soldiers. “No deaths.”
“What about maiming?” Nyx asked. “Because maiming seems highly likely.”
“No maiming unless you really can’t help it. And even then, only a little maiming,” Ariadne admonished, firm despite their fourteen inch height difference.
Rhea almost laughed, until she remembered that Ariadne had seen so much violence in recent days.
Nyx checked the various weapons, then passed Cato a gun and a belt knife. He took them solemnly.
“Five minutes,” Clo warned them.
Rhea was nervous; Clo and Ariadne were remaining behind on Zelus, which meant she’d be left alone with two people familiar with military missions. Rhea felt like the odd person out, even if she trusted Nyx to lead.
“Right,” Nyx said. “Ari, start blocking Lysicrates’s comms—they’re in range if needed?”
“Just barely.” Ariadne’s brow furrowed as she concentrated. The rest of the group stayed silent as Ariadne worked her magic. When she finished, she sat back with a small nod.
“Nyx,” Clo called. “Let’s do this.”
Nyx took up station next to Clo, ready to fire Zelus’s weapons. The unsuspecting Lysicrates came into view. A sleek ship, weaving through the debris of the asteroid belt with ease. The computers ran a scan and returned with a detailed blueprint of the Tholosian craft overlaid with the heat signatures of the crew.
“Twenty souls on board,” Clo said.
Rhea held her breath. There was no turning back.
Nyx tapped the options on the screen. “Shuttles are good to go. Kid, will you be able to open the doors to their loading docks if they don’t comply?”
“Not even a challenge,” Ariadne replied, rolling her shoulders. Sometimes, the girl amazed Rhea. Few others in the galaxy would be able to do what she just did, and she treated it like it was no more difficult than making a cup of coffee in the canteen. “Nyx, I’m about to put you on over their comm system. You remember the codes, right?”
Nyx nodded once, and Ariadne gave her an encouraging wave when she made the connection.
“Attention, Lysicrates,” Nyx sent to their ship. “This is Commander Hypathia Arktos-2. I’m going to need you to stand down for an emergency. Who am I speaking to?”
“Legate Cognos Philan-49.” A deep voice. Firm, authoritative. Ready to fight or die for his honor if need be. “What’s the problem, Commander?”
“Emergency code 06933. We’ve got a busted jump, little food, a glitching navigation system, and we’re running out of fuel. Just a bit of a fucked-up situation here, sir.”
The legate let out a laugh, and Rhea figured some form of emergency like this must have been common enough. After a short delay came the “Affirmative, Commander. But we have had nothing through our ship’s Oracle to verify.”
“Less chance of interception by Novan rebels. We had a run-in three jumps back that I’ve got to report to the general. If you prepare for us on the bridge, we’ll brief you.”
A long pause. “I don’t have any record of Novan run-ins. Did you not report to the Oracle?”
“Our comms are busted for long-range transmissions. We were hoping to use yours.”
Rhea hissed in a breath.
“Of course, Commander. In Tholos’s name.”
“He knows, or suspects,” Rhea said. The ship was too far away for her abilities to work, but she was well-trained in spotting lies on the faces of men.
“Oh, we’re so burned,” Ariadne said as soon as the call dropped. “They’re trying to send a distress signal. I can block it for now—”
“Fire,” Nyx said, not wasting time.
Clo and Nyx hit Lysicrates with electromagnetic pulses at the same time. The other ship shuddered. The crew tried to return fire, but Ariadne had locked onto their system remotely. She was already opening their outer hatches to the loading docks.
“They’re trying to get around the comms block,” Ariadne warned.
“On it,” Clo said, and she and Nyx fired again.
The Lysicrates shuddered again, drifting in open space. Clo maneuvered Zelus closer, trapping Lysicrates with a tractor beam. It was over so fast, Rhea’s mind was still catching up. They’d all moved together so seamlessly. Ariadne on comms and systems, Nyx and Clo firing in tandem like two hemispheres of the same mind.
“And that’s how you do it,” Nyx said, satisfied.
The crew of Zelus strapped on their weapons and armor and made their way to the shuttle. Rhea’s nerves fluttered. Ariadne would stay on Zelus, but she had given them sleep canisters—a gentler form of what the Oracle had used on Macella—and their group were all fitted with filters. Even if the soldiers were knocked out, there’d be remnants of their emotions floating through the ship like dust motes—the moment their pride turned to fear and shame.
It might not work in time. And if any were still awake, she’d have to influence them into surrendering. Tholosians didn’t give up easily. Death before dishonor was a refrain programmed by the Oracle, words etched into the core of their beings.
The thought of influencing them still made her recoil. She’d tried to do it on Zelus, the night of the mutiny. But at the first Morsfire, the first bloodshed, she’d lost it. The sight of Nyx taking the soldiers out one by one—no pause, no hesitation—had frozen her thoughts. The pain and death had driven her to her knees. By the time she’d recovered, they were all dead, their blank faces burned into her memory. Nyx’s face had been nearly as still, locking away her guilt.
Rhea drew a shaking breath. This time, she’d be stronger. This time, she’d save them.
The ship was close, caught in Zelus’s beam but not fully docked. They slipped through the space, and Ariadne opened Lysicrates’ bay remotely. Their shuttle slunk in and landed. A parasite. An invader.
Rhea pulled her coat around her, cold despite the climate-controlled bay. Lysicrates was much smaller than Zelus, and she felt closed in, claustrophobic.
Nyx leaned toward Rhea. “Breathe. You can do this.”
“Right,” she said. It was not her first battle, and it would not be their last. But she couldn’t stop the dread that coiled in her stomach.
Breathe. Just breathe.
Cato and Nyx tossed the canisters into the air ducts. It would only take a few minutes for the sleeping solution to worm its way through the ship.
Nyx gestured for them to move forward.
They made their way through the corridors. Everything was stark. Too clean, too perfect. The hallways were metal, polished, the dim light from above making the chrome almost glow.
The Philanians lived far enough from the Three Sisters that their culture had shifted, but their loyalty remained unshakable, thanks to the Oracle. They prided themselves on two principles: take only what they need; use only what they must. They lived in small, spare quarters, trained long hours, and ate simple food.
Rhea sometimes wondered what they truly thought of the Empire’s ostentatious displays of wealth and excess. The delegates were on their way to a lavish feast, with more food than the hundreds of guests could hope to eat. Dresses, robes, and suits that cost eye-watering amounts of money, woven and sewn by people who ate as simply as the Philanians but only because they could not afford anything richer. An evening of shining lights, beautiful courtesans, the full display of the Empire.
They were loyal, but their beliefs were at odds with the Empire’s principles. In the past, that would have been enough to plant the seeds of doubt that grew and flourished into a rebellion. Now, even if they harbored hints of resentment, their emotions would inevitably be tamped down by the Oracle.
<Ariadne,> Nyx asked. <Where are the delegates and the soldiers?>
<In the bridge, as instructed.>
<Are they moving?>
<Hard to tell.>
Rhea followed behind the others. Nyx and Cato strode ahead with their Mors at the ready. Rhea felt defenseless in comparison. She drew her abilities around her like a cloak, knowing that the fractals would be shimmering at her skin. She fought the instinct to hide them—the effort wasn’t worth it.
Nyx was calm, focused, her fear so dampened she likely didn’t realize it was still there, hiding beneath the surface. Cato’s fear was acute, no longer massaged away by the Oracle. The closer they came to the bridge, the more agitated Rhea felt. Metal sometimes weakened her abilities, if the walls were thick enough.
The doors slid open, and Rhea prepared herself for twenty Mors trained on their heads. For gunfire and screaming and blood. For a repeat of Zelus.
Silence.
Twenty soldiers and delegates, sprawled on the ground. Sleeping like the dead. Rhea knelt down, pressed her fingers to the closest man’s neck. This would be the legate. He’d receive a gentler fate than the legate of Zelus. That death she hadn’t mourned.
The man’s heart beat slow and steady. He dreamed of someone he loved. Murky, strange, drugged, but the strength of emotion still shone through, clear as a clarion call.
Cato stared down at them, his face rippling with the emotions that washed over Rhea’s skin. He’d have known Philanians in the forces. In the features of those sleeping were the echoes of his friends. Soldiers who might have saved his life in battle. They wore their Tholosian uniforms. Cato had so recently worn his own with pride. He’d moved against his own in a way he couldn’t explain away. He had already chosen his side on Ismara, but this cemented it.
Nyx made her way around the bridge. “All out like newgrowns still wet from the vat,” she confirmed.
Rhea let out a breath, expanded her abilities. The gas wasn’t meant to work for long. As Nyx, Cato, and Rhea gathered up the handful of delegates and twenty soldiers, snapping their wrists together with cuffs and loading them into the shuttle, Rhea kept them calm. Kept their dreams sweet.
They programmed the shuttle to jump them far from their location, far from their home planet, even farther from Laguna. Ariadne scrambled their comms but left them more than enough food to last them for a few days. She put the cuff keys in one of the women’s hands. They’d wake up groggy, and it’d take them some time to debug the comms.
Enough time, she hoped.
“Thank you,” Rhea said as she gathered the DNA samples for their shifters. “We’ll use your faces well.”
With luck, they’d save a galaxy.
Rhea wandered through the corridors of Zelus. It was their last night on this stolen ship that now felt like home. Their last night before Laguna. She didn’t know what would happen tomorrow, and this uncertainty had plagued her dreams when she had tried to sleep earlier. When she shut her eyes, she saw the face of that Evoli man back on Macella who had been killed by Damocles, the faces of all the dead back on Ismara, the dead men on this very ship.
It all felt like a preview of what was to come if her team failed.
Rhea sought out Clo, not wanting to be alone. Wanting one night of quiet before they risked everything again. Clo was in the observation deck, just as Rhea suspected, suspended against glass in a sphere of stars. Rhea would remember this place when they left Zelus. She’d miss it most.
“Can’t sleep?” Clo asked as Rhea settled into the soft chair beside her.
The dim lights of the stars caressed Clo’s face, softening the harsh lines. Rhea wordlessly reached up and traced the three moles at the corner of Clo’s left eye. A small constellation. Clo shivered beneath her touch.
“Nothing like almost-certain death to ruin a night’s sleep,” Rhea said. She smiled and leaned forward, as if to tell a secret. “It makes a woman think about her place in the universe.”
Clo sighed, wrapping an arm around her. “Don’t joke about that.”
“About what?”
“Dying. You haven’t even seen an ocean up close yet. We’ve still got a universe to explore.”
Rhea smiled and rested her head on Clo’s shoulder, wanting to burrow herself in the other woman’s warmth. She smelled of ardmint gum. After a few moments, Rhea tilted her head up, and Clo bent to meet her.
Their kiss was gentle, barely a brush of lips. Rhea’s tongue flicked along Clo’s lower lip, until Clo opened her mouth. Their kiss deepened. Thoughts fled, and Rhea focused on the taste, the smell, the feel of Clo.
Everything.
She wanted to memorize this moment. She wanted to forget about tomorrow. She wanted to stop time.
Here, now, this was what mattered: Rhea’s fingertips moving along the strong muscles of Clo’s back, exploring the coiled lines of her body; her hands moving down, down, down to the dip of Clo’s waist; the other woman’s movements echoing her in a mirror image.
Tonight. Tonight mattered.
Rhea dipped her head and ran her tongue along the line of Clo’s jaw, flickering at the soft flesh where her neck met the bottom of her ear, feeling the pulse point there quickening. Clo groaned low in her throat. Her fingertips left burning trails along Rhea’s jawline, down the column of her neck, along her collarbone.
More. More, more, more.
Rhea drew back. With a conscious decision, she dropped her illusion. Clo watched as the markings appeared on Rhea’s skin, unfurling like moonlight across the slopes of a landscape. The pale cream almost glowed against Clo’s golden bronze.
“You are so beautiful,” Clo whispered, and then there were no more words as she traced the marks upon Rhea’s neck with her lips.
Rhea’s skin grew brighter, a torch lit from within. Clo’s arousal fed Rhea’s own, and this dual desire was almost too much to bear. Rhea pressed Clo against the unbreakable glass that separated them from the vast abyss of space. The other woman’s legs fell open, and Rhea settled between them. Their torsos pressed together, their hip bones fitting against each other.
Rhea kissed Clo again, taking her time, unrushed. Her hands traced Clo’s sternum, the underside of one breast, lower, lower.
Clo’s hand caught hers. “Are you sure?”
Rhea pulled back at the unexpected question. But Clo’s expression was somber, her eyes seeking. Rhea wasn’t certain. A part of her wanted to wait, wanted that patience she had never been given before Clo. And the other part reminded her that she might die tomorrow in Laguna. And they’d never have this chance again.
Rhea let out a breath and settled her cheek against Clo’s chest. “I said . . . that eventually I could tell you what it was like for me. In the Pleasure Garden.”
Clo’s heart thudded beneath Rhea’s cheek. “Yes.”
“Ask me,” Rhea whispered.
Clo caressed Rhea’s shoulder, the calluses on the tips of her fingers rough against Rhea’s skin. A reassuring touch. “I’m asking.”
“It was a nightmare that pretended to be a dream,” she said, gazing out at the firmament of stars as she listened to the steady thump of Clo’s heart. “It was cruelty always wrapped in courtesy and kindness. Yet there was connection there. My fellow flowers in the Pleasure Garden and I took bits of freedom for ourselves. Sometimes, it was with clients who were looking for their own escape. But it never lasted. Honey always turned bitter. And we endured, and we hated, and we didn’t let ourselves hope. Because hope would crush us even more. So, we gave our pretty smiles. We danced for them. We did everything they wanted, and asked for nothing in return. We let ourselves disappear.”
Clo’s fingertips traced small circles along the small of her back. Rhea closed her eyes, letting herself revel in the feeling.
“We don’t have to go any further than this,” Clo said. “What do you want, Rhea? Tell me, and I’ll give you as much or as little as you need.”
“I don’t want to disappear,” Rhea whispered. She sat up again, shifted from Clo’s lap. “Undress me. I want you to see me.”
After only the barest hesitation, the mechanic’s clever hands removed Rhea’s clothes with utter care until they were piled on the glass at their feet. Then Clo returned her hands to her lap and simply looked. She drank Rhea in like nectar. Rhea felt her desire, but it was softened now. Tinged with wonder and awe.
No one had seen Rhea like this—not even when she’d been put on display. Their eyes had slid over her. In the Garden, she’d often felt like a means to an end. And they had never seen her as she truly was. Not like this. Every marking was truth written on her skin.
And she no longer had to hide.
“Let me see you,” Rhea whispered.
Clo undid her shirt, button by button. Rhea took in every inch of skin as it was unveiled. Her vest fluttered to the floor, and she wore nothing to support her breasts. More scars spidered from her right shoulder, down her bicep and forearm.
“I fell in the Snarl,” Clo said, as Rhea traced the marks.
She twisted, the muscles moving beneath the wings of her scapula, showing her ribs and the lines and dents of newer scars, only just fading to white. “Shrapnel, from the mission on Sennett. With Eris.”
Clo shed the rest of her clothes, revealing a smattering of small scars that turned deeper and led to where puckered skin met the hard metal of her prosthetic. Gods, she was beautiful. Strong. She had endured so much before she met Rhea; the geography of her scars was proof of that.
Clo returned Rhea’s appraisal with one of her own. They stayed like that in silence. Not touching. Only looking, memorizing every detail. Taking each other in.
Clo asked her for nothing. Expected nothing.
After a while, they donned their clothes once more. Clo grabbed bedding from one of the rooms and arranged them on the floor, a soft nest of blankets and pillows under the stars. Clo fit herself against Rhea’s back, slid an arm around her waist, and pressed a gentle kiss to Rhea’s neck. Surrounded by the warmth and comfort of Clo’s body, Rhea’s eyelids grew heavy.
As she fell asleep, she prayed to all the gods that this would not be her last night with Clo under these stars.