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“My Lord?”

“My numbers grow each day. But we are still outnumbered by the Aurelian Empire. We have brave triads willing to die for war. But they have masses of ships and Planet Killers I pray stay dormant. We cannot win by firepower. We need to have bravery.”

“What is the mission, my Lord?”

“Three Reavers are being filled with explosives. I will guide them behind the shields of the flagships, but I need men who can pilot the ships into the weak points, and end them. Men who are brave yet have cold cunning. Men who can use their own lives as a weapon. I trust you to find those men for me.”

I can’t speak for a long moment, hit by the magnitude of his request.

“This will cripple their fleets but not stop the assault. You will lead the defense. The rest of the attack ships will continue their assault. Our reinforcements are coming to Trebulous, but they will not be there in time. It will be up to you, Generals.”

“How many triads do you need?”

“Just one, split into three Reavers. Queen Jasmine and her Emperors have three flagships in the sector, each capable of turning every human life on that planet to dust. Choose two triads of backups, in case the first triad balks. You will have many volunteers. I trust in you to find triads with a cold sort of bravery that will not fail.”

He gives me a long, hard look as I process his words. “And General Ra’al, I will not accept your triad. I need you, still.”

I nod. He thinks that we are grieving our dead Mate, eager for a chance to die a glorious death against our enemies.

You will have many volunteers.

He is right.

We stood in front of the hordes of Fanatics, with brands on their foreheads, devotion in their eyes, staring at my double-honors of the twice filled-in tattoos like they were holy art. They would line up for the chance to be martyrs for their War-God.

“My Lord, who told you of the Empire’s plan? I need to know everything before I damn eager men to certain death. Those triads would fly into a sun for Obsidian. I cannot let their lives be in vain, no matter how carelessly they would throw them away.

“My highest advisors. My Priests have ancient networks, constructed over millennia. It is a near certainty that she has mobilized her flagships to make an example of Elsinor. They were lying in wait. She knew the planet would fall. We cannot underestimate the cunning of Queen Jasmine and her triad.”

Near certainty.

“The flagships could have been waiting to fight our orbital defenses. Why do the Priests think she is going to glass an entire planet?”Kriz’s telepathic voice is confused, with an edge of horror. He can’t imagine being up against an enemy so ruthless she would destroy an entire planet.

I wish he was right, but if one had the cruelty to end a planet, it would be a blow to the entire war effort. There would be no more surrenders. The human populations would fight to the death to buck our rule, knowing that anything else damned them to death from massive warships from above. They can fight against us. They can’t fightthat.

“The false Queen would stop at nothing to defend her brood. Obsidian brought us to our Mate. It was by our weakness she left, not his. If he says it, it is true,”answers Orr, sharing none of Kriz’s doubts. He goes where Obsidian points—if I agree.

“Ra’al. Can I trust you?” Obsidian drops the prefix of General. He looks into my eyes, one Aurelian to another, one soldier to another, equals.

“Yes,” I say it without hesitation. Even if there is a chance he is right, the flagships must be stopped.

I cannot have another Abascus on my conscience. I cannot let another planet be turned into a tomb.

“Good. There is no time. This mission will be done within the hour. Billions of lives depend on you, Ra’al. Ready the triads.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

He cuts off the communication instantly.

The three of us share a long look. There is nothing we can do.

I bring my smartwatch up to give the command, and pause.

I hope that the triads who bid for women at auction do not heed my call. I hope that they spend their free hours in bed with their new women, warm and alive, letting them massage their sore muscles from the long days of training, spending the precious moments before war living.

It won’t matter if every Aurelian who shifted with me to Trebulous, braving the rift, ignores my call.

There are thousands of fresh faces, young, eager triads who have pledge their lives to Obsidian. Older Aurelians deserted at a lower rate. Our ranks are composed of the fresh, young generation. They are young, but they are not boys. They have earned the right to be called men. Some even escaped Academy, still not even in their second century, fresh faced with cold grey eyes and brands on their foreheads, lost in the religious exultation of following a War-God into battle.