PROLOGUE
WAR
In the dark spaces of every residence of the Alameeda Brotherhood, the ghostly half-light of holographic projectors simultaneously flickers on. A Star of Destiny—official symbol of the Alameeda Brotherhood—appears as a three-dimensional image within the glowing confines of the projectors. The sapphire star is on the verge of going supernova. Turning in circles, its pale pink carbon dust and silver solar flares reach out with scorching color from its surface. As the transmission strengthens, silent, strobing screams of light burst forth from the image of the Star of Destiny until it speaks.
“Brothers,” the transmission begins, as a ripple of blue fire vibrates from the star, “we who comprise the strongest, bravest, and the most intelligent men in the history of our world. We stand together as a unified force of destiny. In this, our most monumental moment, we teeter upon the precipice of a new dawn: the rise of the House of Alameeda.
“Just as Black Math, the ancient plague that decimated the population of Ethar, formed the five houses of our planet known to us all as: Alameeda, Wurthem, Peney, Comantre, and Rafe, we are poised to dismantle all who oppose Alameeda’s supremacy. Like points of a star, the five clan-houses have always been diametrically opposed. This opposition is a weakness—it denies our right to rule over all inferior creatures; it makes us complicit. The time has come for Alameeda to take our place as the one true star of destiny. The Supreme Alameeda Brotherhood, rightful heirs to the kingdom of Ethar, keepers and safeguarders of the vessels of the one true race, decree that a New World Order will come to pass. It was prophesied by our race of priestesses that we are sworn to protect. The signs they have given to us are clear. The stars of fate have aligned.
“The priestess, born of two worlds and of two houses, has returned to Ethar as prophesied. Kricket Valke, the stolen daughter of our order, is a hostage in the House of Rafe. The Rafe Regent, Manus Grayson, has repeatedly ignored our attempts to negotiate for her safe return. This pretender of power has allowed for the degradation of our priestess by attaching the taint of the Hollowell name to her. His insanity has not ended there. The weakling Regent has had the audacity to think himself worthy of an Alameeda priestess, touting a false engagement to her with malicious intent to demean and deny our claim of ownership of her. He has sought to use her genetically engineered gift of precognition, a trait she inherited through our bloodline, against her creators. For this offense alone, he has earned the penalty of death.
“Last evening, the Rafe Regent’s crimes against Alameeda were met with swift and righteous justice. Our attack and infiltration of the Rafe palace in the Isle of Skye has left Manus Grayson critically wounded. We will not stop until he is dead. It is our intent to eradicate him from the face of Ethar, along with his entire house and all of his subjects. Anything short of the House of Rafe’s complete and utter annihilation is unacceptable for the grave insult they have dealt to our Supreme Brotherhood. The prophecy will be fulfilled: one House of Ethar will fall.
“The House of Rafe.
“One House will rule.
“The House of Alameeda.
“A warning will be issued to any House that harbors Kricket Valke: ‘Return her to us or you will meet the same fate as the House of Rafe. She’s our rightful property. We created her bloodline. We own her: body, mind, and soul. She is the intended consort of Kyon Ensin, Supreme Brother and heir to the seat of the Loch of Cerulean. Any failure to meet our demands will seal your agonizing fate.’
“This, Brothers, is our declaration of war.”
CHAPTER 1
OUTSIDER
Before me, sunlight warms the wall-length window as it streams into Trey’s living quarters. An enormous expanse of blue sky stretches out ahead. I exhale a deep breath, assessing Rafe’s floating fortress—this Ship of Skye. Beneath the window, the levitating city hustles. Massive, glossy skyscrapers of silver alloy and glass jut upward from the base of the ship. My gaze travels with them from the two-hundred-and-some-odd floors below me until I tilt my head back and lose the edifices to the ceiling above. Hoards of skiffs, the ultrafast hovercars, bustle around the buildings on amethyst-lit tracks of air. Everyone and everything here moves at a brisk, urban pace—a sharp contrast to the Regent’s palace where I used to reside. There, sedate grace is valued over efficiency.
Several dark-winged fighters and slashing silver troop-movers cast dragon silhouettes over the arbors of grass on the open mall outside. Flying between the Ship of Skye’s tall buildings and spires, the fire-breathers push upward from the ship’s half-sphere base. White vapor trails evaporate like smoky breath in their wake while they patrol the area for any sign of an Alameeda attack. The antimissile guns, mounted strategically within the parapets of the Ship of Skye, track the fighters’ progression too, even though they’re Rafe ships. The clicks and whirls from the guns vibrate the windowpane, indicating that no one here is taking anything at face value.
My stomach clenches with fear as I listen to the hum of the aircraft. The sound resembles that of the Alameeda warships that swarmed the palace last night; my hand trembles on the glass. I focus on the clouds beyond the edge of the city to calm myself. They’re so thick that if I knew how to swim I might attempt it within their depths.
As Trey paces near me, his image in the glass becomes sharper. I turn and lean my back against the window, crossing my arms over my chest. He moves in front of a white-cushioned, horseshoe-shaped divan. It’s built into the sunken, recessed level of his impressive apartment. This area, divided from the main floor by a few black marble steps, is a gathering area for entertaining. Above our heads is a glass balcony that overlooks this common area from his bedroom. It has an amazing view of the wall of glass behind me.
When Trey pauses in his pacing for a moment, the shadows from the violence of yesterday are visible in his eyes—a new world-weary look that I haven’t seen from him until now. The blind faith in his mission that was there when I first met him is absent. I’ve been the catalyst for that change. When he found me in Chicago, he was so certain that he was doing the right thing by remanding me back to Ethar, the planet and culture from which my parents hid me. He was a soldier then, one who just wanted to accomplish his mission and move on to the next thrill. Now he has doubts—I’ve caused him to worry—I’ve caused him to change.
Trey’s frown deepens as he listens to the communicator pressed to his ear. Whatever Wayra is telling him is not something he wants to hear. The frustration is clear in his tense shoulders as he resumes pacing back and forth. He’s been like this ever since my scheduled meeting with Skye Council this morning was abruptly canceled without explanation. Not long after that, Trey had received a message on his communicator. He wouldn’t show it to me, but it had him sending Jax and Wayra, my other military bodyguards, away to facilitate a meeting with Head Defense Minister Vallen, Trey’s boss. Now Wayra must have some information to report, since he’s been briefing Trey for several minutes.