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They push me into the light. The room is huge. Not a prison block, but some sort of simulation training deck. Dozens of pilots and infantry queue for the simulators, which form a honeycomb along the crescent wall. Even I know the Pandora. A ship synonymous with House Julii. Nearly two hundred years old, a predator of the deep, and veteran of a hundred battles, or something like that.

Then I see Volga.

While only two guards were needed to guide me out to the walkway, ten surround the Obsidian. She’s taller than the tallest Gray by at least two hands, though she hunches to seem smaller. Her jumpsuit is destroyed from letter writing, and her frazzled white hair looks one part tragic, one part feral. But those arms…those legs…They look more like knotted Cimmerian cebola trees than human limbs. They could break me in half with a twist.

Maybe that’s why my hands are free and hers are bound behind her back in reinforced cuffs. Her eyes widen as she sees me, and she smiles awkwardly until she sees Fig. Her eyes go rancid. “Figment!”

“You gilded idiots,” Fig snaps at the Sol Guards. “I told you to put a slave ring on the bear!”

“She’s just—”

Fig slips forward and secures a thin bit of metal around Volga’s neck. “Hands,” Fig orders, gesturing in front of Volga. Fig slaps Volga across the face and the slave ring crackles till I smell burning skin. Wincing, Volga brings her hands around. The Grays back away and raise their rifles warily as her cuffs drop to the floor with a thunk.

Somehow she unlocked herself.

I grin a little. That’s a freelancer all right.

Unfortunately, she ain’t the only one. Fig produces a spiderlike contraption from her belt pouch. Fourteen rings constrict around the tips of Volga’s fingers, interlocking them as a thin wire snakes around her waist. “Not like last time, big girl. Made this specially for us.”

Volga’s voice is deep and mocking. “Fig the Pig. I thought I broke your spine in Old Tokyo.”

“You did.” Figment sniffs Volga. “Gods, you smell ripe as a dead seal. Good to see you again.” Volga grunts. “Julii wants you doused in cinnamon before we give you back to the old man. He’s probably worried stiff. What’s a man like that to do without his bear to kick? Move.”

They shove us toward the gravLift.

“It is nice to meet you, Lyria,” Volga whispers down to me as we load in. It earns her another jolt from Fig. Volga flinches and turns to look at the woman over the heads of the Grays. She stares at her until the doors open. “I was just being polite.”

They take us to a barracks locker room. It’s older than the rest of the ship. Some of the lockers look like those in Lagalos. At least two hundred years old, then. There’s not a spot of rust here, though. Volga is guided to another block, escorted by Fig. My lone Sol Guard tosses a change of clothing on a bench and gives me a crooked smile from behind his helmet’s jaw armor. Doesn’t look much older than me. “Pipes tend to rattle in this one.” He shows me the spigot handle and the dryer controls. “Name’s Paxton. So you’re, like, a badass thief or something?”

I laugh, but he doesn’t get what’s funny.

“You know Ephraim ti Horn?” I ask.

His eyes narrow. “Of him.”

“What’s he doing with the Obsidian?”

“He’s a merc, ain’t he? Sefi’s got a big purse.”

“All Grays are mercs. You’re paid to kill for the Julii, ain’t you?”

He squares up with me. “Julii’s mum paid for my father’s house on the Thermic, and my mother’s burial when she died forty years out of service. Julii herself has given me a birthday present every birthday of my life.” He pats his rifle. “Gave me this on my seventeenth. Where I come from, that’s loyalty.” His voice lowers. “From what we hear, you worked for the Telemanuses. I know some boys over there. Loud fuckers, but good lot.” He looks me up and down, eyes going sinister. “Not like you Vox rats.”

“I’m not Vox.”

All hundred kilos of man and thirty of armor step f

orward. “People like you are why Lionheart’s dead. Why Reaper’s in the pinch. Fuckin’ wastes of carbon’s what.”

I blink at him. “The Sovereign’s dead?”

“You happy about that? Not enough just to steal her boy?” His fist balls at his side. “If it weren’t the madam that needed you in one piece, I’d teach you a lesson right here.” He winks and smiles. “Enjoy your hot shower.”

I wait for him to leave and turn on the spigot. Sure enough, the pipes rattle like an old man’s knees. I should feel soothed by the hot water. Instead I feel numb. The Sovereign is dead?

I can’t imagine that shining woman as a corpse.

How could she be dead?