“Antheon,” Cade said, staring out the porthole at the little poisonous planet that hung in the sky. It looked like a glistening marble, its center a trio of strangely split colors. “It’s nothing in this form. But Geisinger swears it’s revolutionary. Another pivotal change in science,” he added, in a voice that sounded oddly like the man’s, clipped accent and all. “The job won’t be easy, per se. We’ll have to take a shipload, and… well, there are some minor wrinkles I still need to smooth out. But the crew’s in, and I need you to be, too.” He reached out and grabbed hold of the chain around Karr’s neck. The necklace itself, a flattened bit of glass that looked like the sea, preserved for eternity. “They were scientists. Not thieves. We’ll do it for them. In their memory.”
Cade had given his time, his life, his freedom, to always stay by Karr’s side. When he looked back on his memories, he saw his older brother taking swing after swing from the other boys in the orphanage when those hits were meant for Karr.
He saw every extra morsel of meat passed across the table, saved for him. So he could grow strong, and defend himself from the others when they deemed him an easy target because of his size.
He saw the extra blankets, stolen, so Karr could stay warm. The boots Cade nabbed from a shop, an act he was nearly hanged for. He saw a lifetime without his real mother and father, but with a brother who’d done his best to take their place.
It didn’t matter what Cade was planning, because as much as he hated the phrase, blood was stronger than fear. He’d always take Cade’s side.
“You and me, Cade. I’m with you. And I’m sure as hell with Geisinger.”
Cade looked like he wanted to hug him, but he settled for a curt captain’s nod instead. “Get some rest.” He grimaced at the storage bay, in all of its controlled chaos. Artifacts from planets strapped down to shelves, ancient weapons and strange foods, foreign animal pelts and all manner of alien things. “I don’t know how you can stand it down here.”
“It’s like art,” Karr said. “A beautiful mess.”
“Crew meeting in thirty. Details, specs… don’t be late. And for God’s sake, Karr, clean yourself up. You smell like a brewery.”
With that, Cade spun on his heel like a soldier and left Karr in the belly of the Starfall, alone with his thoughts.
Chapter 2
The Planet Dohrsar
The Kingdom of the Deadlands
Sonara
There was a Devil in the Deadlands, with blood as black as her sins.
She stood disguised in the center of a sweltering golden throne room, her palms pressed close to the blades hidden within the lining of her skirt.
Death, the blades whispered.
Death in the shape of tiny bird bones.
Sonara would not use them yet. Not until the moment demanded, and in a sea of noblewomen hoping to become the king’s next bride, death was not in high demand.
The throne room itself—thick with bodies, heavy with the heat of a Deadlands afternoon, the walls painted a starless black, polished golden floor tiles and carved black stone pillars stretching towards a domed ceiling made entirely of shimmering diamond—made Sonara feel small enough.
But it was King Jira himself, as his dark eyes scanned the crowd, that sent a shiver of cold fear creeping across Sonara’s tanned skin.
There he sat, atop a golden dais high above her on a throne made of his enemy’s bones, staring at the sea of potential brides. Jira was a beast of a man, shoulders wide, his muscles bared and honed from years of ravaging the Deadlands to become king. His large hands curled over the armrests of his throne, easily dwarfing the inset skulls that stared down at the crowd, eye sockets filled with glittering diamonds.
Those hands caught Sonara’s eye, along with the gold and diamond rings on each of his fingers, each worth an entire small village outside the capital. They’d bring in enough coin to last for moons upon moons. Perhaps more, if Sonara could drive a decent enough deal at market.
“The Lady Anyta, of House Romar of the Blood Bucket!”
The trumpeteer’s voice rang out as a woman at the front of the crowd ascended the towering dais, her blood-red hair braided back from her face to reveal her harsh beauty.
Jira lowered his gaze as she knelt before him, her guard placing a heavy stone box at his feet. Inside, another of many countless gifts the king had no need for.
The women around the room stood with bated breath, hoping that they would be chosen, not for a marriage to the monstrous king, but for the promised future it would afford their own territories and kingdoms.
Sweat trickled down Sonara’s back. She fanned herself and held back a yawn.
The whole display was rather boring. She supposed the real Lady Morgana of House Kwell would spend her time smiling up at the king as he welcomed his potential brides. Perhaps she would even toss him a flirtatious glance as she angled her body just so.
But that was not Sonara. And the only thing she wanted to draw today was Jira’s blood.
Preferably in a solid line across his throat.
“To hell with all of this,” she whispered, hating the part she was playing. Hating everything Jira stood for.
Her lips curled into a snarl.
A fingertip gently prodded her side. “Smile, Morgana. Snarls aren’t very becoming on a Lady.”
Sonara tucked a strand of mixed blue-and-brown hair behind her ear and glanced to the right, where her partner Jaxon stood, tall and muscular in his stolen guard’s uniform, a cap pulled low over his eyes to conceal the jagged scar that ran across half his face. He looked handsome in Soreian blue. Too handsome, perhaps. He was drawing too many eyes. She could practically taste the desire each time a woman cast a glance Jaxon’s way.
Like spun sugar, sickly sweet upon her tongue.
A useless curse, her power to taste the emotions of others. She’d come back from death with it years ago, a tricky little side effect of re-entering the land of the living. Now, Sonara swallowed the insufferable tang of desire away, then pushed with mental fingers until her curse was locked back in its internal cage where it belonged.
If only she had a power like Jaxon’s.
A power that could control the bones of the dead creatures among them; like the ones currently hidden in the fabric beneath her fists. The guards had all been cleared of weapons. None would think to check a Lady’s outer skirts for a thin layer of bones.
“Perhaps snarls are not fit for a Lady,” Sonara whispered back, resisting the urge to squirm in her skirts. Sweat was already trickling down her back, the skirt’s inner slip sticking to her skin. Honestly, how could anyone breathe in these things, let alone move enough to put up a decent fight when the time came? “But they’re delightful on a Devil.”
The line of potential brides moved slowly, the Deadlands heat creeping across the throne room like a fog. It was a sea of colors, gowns in every shade and style rolling gently as women fanned themselves in the heat, or tossed their hair over their shoulders, or batted their lashes at the king.
Twenty paces, and Sonara would stand before him atop the dais.
Twenty more, and she’d finally steal a prize worthy of her outlawing name.
The woman before her, a baroness from the northern kingdom of the Wastes, was called forward. She ascended the dais, her hair a silken train of white behind her as she went to offer a gift to the king.