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“I think I’ll sleep a little easier in my own bed.”

“Sweet dreams,” says Doman, but his voice has a dark, honeyed tone that tells me I need to get out of his chambers, and fast.

17

ADRIANA

The huge doors of the warship open, and the endless sea spreads out before me. The calm of the oceans is disturbed by the huge ripples as the Imperator settles in on the waters, a massive, blinding white dot against the brilliant blue that spreads out around.

Aurelian triads are packed in behind us, an alert wall of marble flesh. They do not trust the planets of Pentaris. When I walked with the triad to the main bay of the warship, I saw the way the soldiers looked at him and his battle-brothers.

Respect, bordering on worship. I’ve studied these three intimately, poring through endless victories and heroics. I could have saved myself the time. One gaze of his brutal men, hard warriors who have endured centuries of violence, would have told me everything I needed to know. These three did not get their respect through the crowns on their heads but by the swords at their belts.

But of all the packed in warriors, of all the corded muscle and raw testosterone behind me, Doman is the biggest. He towers over even his battle-brother Titus, a huge barbarian of a man, and the three of them scan the empty seas.

“Where is everyone?”

“Some Etherion trick?” Titus answers, his legs widening in a battle stand. He is to my left, while Doman is to my right, and Gallien stands behind me, keeping his body between the mass of soldiers and me.

When I first met them, I would have felt pinned in, trapped. Now the mountains of men are like a protective embrace.

Dangerous waters, Adriana.

“No, look,” I say, motioning forward to what looks like a marble in the middle of the ocean. Waves crashing out from the enormous warship ripple out through what had been a still sea, but they cascade over the empty Etherion craft, droplets dripping down the shimmering air-shield.

It is like a bowl in the ocean. It rests exactly level with the waters, a glittering, transparent half-circle. Under it, jellyfish-like tendrils ripple, moving and oscillating, keeping the watercraft level with the ocean.

“Bring us in closer,” commands Doman into his smart-watch. The warship, resting on the waters, slides forward, huge waves cascading outwards and splashing over the air-shield of the bowl. We stop in front of it, close enough we can jump the small gap into it.

“Keep it still. Not a wave,” orders Doman. Whoever oversees the ship while he is gone slows the Imperator, until the last ripples flow out from the huge ship and it rests, perfectly still, a white dot against the blue.

“I don’t like it. We’re exposed. We can dive the Imperator, take it down to their underwater cities,” says Gallien from behind me.

Doman raises his hand. “We go alone,” he booms out, and his troops step back in unison, their boots hitting the ground at the same moment behind us. He steps out over the ledge, over the lip of the bowl, his feet on the seats.

Then he turns, extending his hand to me. I take it and jump, and he lifts me into the craft.

The bottom of the craft is not quite soft, but it’s not hard either, subtly conforming to the pressure points of my shoes. The craft almost seems to breathe at our arrival, an undulating vibration that courses through my body, grounding me but making me feel almost buoyant. We walk to the far side and sit on the ring of seats that circles the transparent craft, and the seats mold against our bodies, gently adjusting to our presence.

The enormous warship dominates my vision, the bay open to a horde of Aurelian soldiers. Titus and Gallien step over the gap and into the craft, but they are tense as they sit across from Doman and me.

The jellyfish tendrils pulse in unison, and we’re pulled downwards. Titus tenses, his hand roaming to his blade.

“Relax. You’ve got a warship big enough to turn this entire planet into a seafood boil.”

Titus snorts. But he leans back in the transparent seat, which molds to him as he relaxes, as much as he can. Even with his arms stretched out and resting against the material, he has a coiled violence to him.

We slip under the waters, the light cascading through. My heart beats quicker, and to my surprise, Doman takes my hand, gently yet firmly. I don’t pull away.

I thought it would feel claustrophobic below the ocean. Instead, we’re enclosed but not confined, the shimmering airfield encapsulating us, holding the waters at bay. Titus raises a finger.

“Don’t you dare,” I say, and he grins, poking it through the air-field. I take a hissing breath, and Doman squeezes my hand, and Titus pulls his wet finger back. “You ass. How did you know it wouldn’t burst?”

He smiles at me. “If my finger would burst it, I needed to know. Before we’re deep below. I’m not going to have my death because some fish bounces against us and breaks the air-field.”

“Brave Titus, slayer of a thousand Fanatics, killed by a carp,” says Gallien, in a deeply serious voice, but his slate-gray eyes sparkle for a moment.

Doman turns his head. I see what he’s looking at. In the blue of the seas, another craft the mirror image of ours is rising. “For Aeris,” I say. “She’ll preside over the ceremonies.”