<Not throwing it?>
<Fine, I’ll place it down like it’s a newgrown right out of the vat,> Eris said. <Then I’ll set off the pulse to kill the factory’s power. We’ll have about five minutes to get this as close as we can and bail. You can hang back, if you want. It’s a risk. I’ve got this.>
<No chance,> Clo said, flashing her own wild grin. Eris returned it, and Clo felt a flush of camaraderie.
They picked their way through the foliage. Clo took the explosive from Eris. She set it down gently in a small hollow in the ground, nestled among the twining roots of a tree with a yellow cast to its bark.
Crack. A footstep breaking a twig near them.
“Shit,” Eris breathed.
Both women stumbled into the underbrush near the un-activated bomb. Clo tripped in the dark, smacking into Eris. The other woman hissed.
Two Tholosian guards made their rounds. Clo fought down a surge of panic. They’d plotted the guards’ routes—they should have had ten minutes at least without having to worry, and Eris’s initial electromag pulse had taken out any nearby cameras.
A horrible thought pulled at her like quicksand: is this a trap?
Clo could make out Eris crawling through the underbrush. She was low to the ground, inching toward the explosive as the guards headed away. If Eris activated it now, those two men would die.
Clo wished she could turn off the ability to care, like Eris seemed to. They couldn’t save every guard programmed with loyalty to the Empire. They would still kill Clo and Eris without blinking.
All’s fair in war.
Eris reached out and pressed the small button on the side of the sphere.
<Go!> she yelled in Clo’s mind, crawling back. <Four minutes and thirty six seconds.>
But in the darkness, Eris’s face had changed.
Clo stopped, fascinated and horrified, as the features she knew so well amended subtly. It took her a second to realize what had happened: shifter technology glitched during electromag pulses.
Eris wore a false face.
And Clo had caught a glimpse of her true one.
The other woman’s hair was still dark, but blond showed at the roots. The shifter had altered the bones of her features, the effect melting away to reveal their true shape: wider nose, blunter chin, high cheeks and brow. The most startling difference was her eyes—they glowed yellow-gold, luminous in the darkness. Gold as royalty. The spit of the icons that dotted on every street corner on Sennett.
That face was blasted across the galaxy.
Princess Discordia had infiltrated the resistance. The ultimate spy in their midst. Everything Clo and Sher and Kyla and all the other rebels who risked death to break free of the Empire—they would all be dead.
And Clo had defended her. Drunk with her.
Become friends with her.
The Empire took my siblings, Eris had said, the neck of the bottle clinking against the glass as she refilled it.
She’d neglected to mention that she had done most of the killing.
Eris read the change in Clo, but she wasn’t quick enough. Clo had the Mors from the small of her back pressed against the princess’s head before she could blink. Gods, there was four minutes before the bomb went off. What was she supposed to do now?
One shot. Discordia was supposed to be dead anyway. One shot, then Clo could run and disappear. Worst case, she blew herself up and died a godsdamned hero.
But she didn’t want to be a hero. She just wanted to live.
“Let me go,” Eris—Discordia—hissed. “We have to get out of here. There’s no time.”
Clo hesitated.
Discordia jabbed her elbow into Clo’s stomach. Clo wheezed, her grip on the Mors loosening. Discordia ducked and sprinted away from the bomb. Clo followed. She gained speed as she moved through the tangled underbrush as easily as she’d darted through the slums of her homeland.
She caught Discordia, tackling her to the ground. She shoved the Mors into the small of Discordia’s back. Were they far enough? How much time?
“Shoot me, then,” Discordia’s voice was low, almost a growl. She still sounded so much like Eris. “Kill the person who’s best placed to help take down Tholos.”
“No royal would turn their back on the Empire. Especially the Heir.”
Discordia’s expression went hard. “Well, I did.”
“You’re lying,” Clo said, her finger tightening on the trigger. “Kyla—”
“Kyla knows,” Discordia said. “So does Sher. Both of them helped me stage my death.”
A rushing in Clo’s ears. They knew, they knew. And Kyla had kept it from her. Sher had kept it from her.
“You lied to me.”
“Clo, there’s no—”
A warning beep blared in the dark. Discordia turned toward Clo, eyes wide. Clo had thought they were far enough away. But if they heard—
A boom, so loud it reverberated in her chest.
The world burned bright as the flames of the Avern.
Clo went flying and slammed into the trunk of a tree. Leaves, debris, and heavy branches rained down. She couldn’t think. Her ears rang, the world roaring like spaceship engines. She saw only the brightness of fire, then the warm, almost-red blackness. She let out a moan. Everything hurt.
Movement above her. Clo couldn’t turn her head.
“Come t’kill me proper?” Clo managed to mumble through swollen, bloody lips, Imperial accent forgotten in pain.
Princess Discordia crept closer, her face illuminated by the dying fires. She was lacerated with small cuts that were already healing over. Nanites like that were only for royalty.
The shifter had half-kicked back into place, her features a blend of the Eris she knew and the Discordia she feared. One iris was still green as forest moss, the other luminous as a sun. They were steady, no ocular dilations to indicate activated programming. Royalty, like Clo, were not influenced by the Oracle.
Which meant that every life taken by Discordia had been a choice.
“Tempting, after what you just did.” A pause, her mismatched eyes flickering down. “Your left leg is trapped by debris. You wouldn’t want to see it. By all rights, I should leave you here. You let emotion overwhelm you, and you jeopardized this mission.”
“D’it, then,” Clo said through a mouthful of blood. She’d lost a tooth or three. “Leave me or kill me.”
Discordia gave a frustrated huff. “You’re not going to thank me for this.” She rummaged beneath her oversized coat, bringing out a large, very sharp knife.