Page 68

They come one at a time, and they die alone.

Titus’ back muscles flex with each swing of his sword, his form violence incarnate, and their bodies pile in front of him, their black robes charred from his sword, their life blood streaming on the ground.

He grunts in pain as a blade-stroke catches his chest, an instant before the head of the last attacker is severed and rolls on the floor until it rests a foot in front of me, the eyes blinking as they stare up at me.

Amidst the chaos, Titus grabs my arm, his grip so tight it hurts, pulling me through the ship with unyielding strength.

I slip in blood, and he pulls me against his huge, warm, muscled mass, his blade outstretched, ready to kill anyone who comes near me.

I’m pulled out of my ship. In the hangar bay, the last branded Aurelian in black robes is surrounded by two triads, being pushed back.

He sees me and flings his blade, which spirals through the air before Titus knocks it down with his own.

The branded Aurelian gave up his only defense for the slim chance to take me out, and he groans as a blade pierces his heart, falling to the ground.

More of Titus’ men are swarming the hangar bay as Titus leads me out, half dragging me up the stairs.

I’m still in shock, and I look back at the trail of blood, the red footsteps behind us as I’m taken into the sterility of a med-bay.

Once inside the med-bay, Titus lifts me with a grunt onto the medical table and stands before me, his robe hanging open, stained like he dropped a flagon of wine, revealing the grisly wound on his chest. The golden chain with the diamond dawn of the Aurelian Empire is tinted rose, and blood is dripping down his leg.

“Adriana. Are you okay?”

His question would be comical enough to laugh at if I wasn’t terrified for him, the sheer absurdity of him worrying over me while he bleeds to death in front of me.

“I’m fine. Titus, get yourself patched up,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel, pulling myself up from the medical table and motioning for him to get onto it.

He scrutinizes me, looking me up and down, trying to assure himself of my wellbeing, then turns to face the door, blade still active in his hand. “There could be more.”

Bootsteps are sprinting towards us. Titus tenses, but glances back at me. “Don’t worry. It’s our triad,” he says, before Doman and Gallien appear at the entrance, the hilts of their blades in white-knuckled grips, faces etched with concern and readiness for battle.

“She’s fine, just shaken,” Titus announces with gruff urgency, as soon as Doman and Gallien enter the room.

Doman positions himself strategically at the doorway, a sentinel on high alert, while Gallien approaches me, those intense grey eyes searching for any sign of injury.

Meanwhile, Titus, still bleeding profusely from the deep gash on his chest, doesn’t seem to be aware he’s dying.

He sways, his eyes unfocused, and his off-hand tremors, while the other is in a steady, white-knuckled grip around the hilt of his blade.

“Titus, get your ass on the medical table, now!” I come out of shock with a jolt, as a surge of panic over his state helps me find my voice.

With a heavy grunt, Titus pulls himself up onto the stark, metallic slab in the center of the med-bay.

No concession in the design is given to patient comfort, and the utilitarian hospital room seems to be made for ease of washing down after use.

The ceiling opens, a robotic arm smoothy descending, and from one of its appendages, what looks like a pistol is aimed at his chest. A black beam surges from it, and I realize it’s Orb-Powered.

I gulp, watching the meaty slabs of muscle and skin knitted back together.

Titus’ grip never weakens on his still-active weapon, the blue-black light of his energy weapon bathing us with an eerie hue, accompanied by an almost hypnotic hum.

“Doman. I’m safe here. Your troops need you on the bridge.”

He never takes his eyes off the hallway, but shakes his head, violently, his blond mane flowing as he clutches his blade tight, marching forward to get a better line of sight. “More could come at any second,” he growls out, and I hear something I never expected to from the alien prince.

Fear. He’s scared. Scared he can’t protect me, scared that he’s brought me into a war against an enemy that can strike us without warning, no matter what he does.

“And if they do, your men need you at the command.”

He knows I’m right, but he hates it. Finally, he breaks his focus from the hallway, turning to let those burning blue eyes linger over me, and marches away, leaving the three of us.

Gallien takes up his position at the hallway while Titus suppresses a groan, his jaw clenched as he lays back on the table.

His chest is sealed up, without even a mark, and only the blood pooling over his body and down to the floor gives any indication he was wounded—though his marble face is pale, the stoney hue looking thin and fragile.

The robotic arm moves down to his forearm, and Titus clenches his hand into a fist as a syringe jolts into his veins and starts to replace what he lost. It’s hypnotic, watching the fresh blood pumping into him.

My smart-watch is flashing red with urgent calls from the Pentaris council. I hover my finger over the coms request, knowing they’ll have gotten the news of the assassination attempt and they need to see their leader alive and well.

“Gallien, what’s the report from my ship?”

“No casualties. The worst injury was a broken leg. Other than that, minor wounds in the panic. The War-God's triads were sent for you. They ignored everyone else.”

“I’m the link between Pentaris and you. And if they killed me on your ship, you’d be expelled from our territories. I’ve got to take this,” I say, holding up my flashing watch.

“Go ahead.”

“It’s private.”

Gallien shakes his head, scanning left and right, while Titus, through lidded eyelids, is clutching the hilt of his weapon tight. He expects triads to appear in the med-bay itself. “I’m not leaving you alone. Not when Obsidian could shift in more troops. Take the call here.”

“Fine.” I open the call, my smart-watch beaming out the images of the same set of faces I faced when this all began.

It seems like a lifetime ago. My plans to halt the betrothal, the rituals of each planets, planting the seeds on Virelia, it’s all a blur, like it happened to someone else.

The five reps are joining in on holo-vid call, each on their respective planets, but in the safety of their homes, far from the battle lines, none of them looks secure.

“Are you okay?” Gunnar bursts out the question the instant I join the call, not giving me a chance to compose myself. “Where are you? Your damn Administrators are refusing to send me your location. I’ve got a fleet ready to escort you back.”

“I’m in a med-bay on the Imperator. It’s not private – you are on the call with Gallien and Titus.

I’m unharmed. No fleet necessary, I’m in good hands.

Titus himself took a blade to the chest to keep me safe, but he’ll survive, along with all the citizens onboard the warship.

The Imperator has top of the line med-bays. ”

I take a deep breath, centering myself, my words far off and analytical.

“I’m going to keep this short. The Planet-Killer test went without any problems. Obsidian used the energy signal of the test to track our location and send his assassins, who were cut down by Aurelian troops.

The system is fully operational. The Toad Kingdom’s sensors will have picked up the energy surge, and they’ll know we’ve got Planet-Killers guarding our borders.

They will not encroach further. Not with the Aurelian Empire backing us. ”

Aeris’ double-lidded eyelids are wide. She hasn’t blinked the entire time I was speaking, and she’s staring at me with apprehension and fear.

With a shiver, I realize she’s scared of me. Scared of what I’m capable of, and my part in the tests.

“There was no collateral damage,” I state, to reassure her, and all of a sudden I feel very, very tired indeed.

“Are you sure?” Her soft voice, barely more than a whisper, carries. She is in a glass room, the murky oceans a backdrop.

“I’m sure.”

I try not to think of that tiny point at the epicenter of the weapon’s strike point.

Or the feeling of being watched, that something, somehow, was staring through that tiny point that should not be, and witnessed us.

“What did you see?” Aeris pushes. I wonder if she’s had another vision, deep in the caves, or if the Krakens have retreated from even her.

I can see myself in the holo-vid feed. While each of the representatives are in the clothes of their home planets, I’m a mess, my shirt ripped, my hair tangled, the sterile walls of the med-bay gleaming in the backdrop. I look exhausted.

“I saw a weapon more powerful than anyone should have. And I’m glad it’s on our side. I’m going to go now. I need to recover.”

Aeris leans in. “Wait. I need to ask you?—”

Gunnar cuts her off. “She just went through an attempt on her life. She needs to rest up. She can deal with the bureaucratic red tape later.”

I shut off the feed. I should be contemplating Gunnar’s new respect for me, and what it means for planetary relations for him to think of me as a fellow soldier. What Aeris might have seen in the depths, and what she’d say if I told her the truth.

After the adrenaline dump, all I want to do is curl up in Titus’ huge arms.

The injured Aurelian’s heavy-lidded eyes blink open.

He grunts, pulling at the robotic arm, which beeps in protest before withdrawing the syringe, the last spurt of fresh blood landing on his wrist as it retreats back up into the ceiling.

“Obsidian should not have been able to do that. The precision of it.”