Page 18 of The First Spark (Dynasty of Fire #1)

Inside the conference room, a man with dark skin and salt-and-pepper hair sat behind a round table.

His military uniform was neatly pressed.

Screens covered the left wall, displaying diagrams, images of star systems, and maps with planets colored either red, green, or gray.

Dali was green. Oeksa, the Federation’s capital, was red.

“Please, take a seat.”

As she sank into a cushioned office chair, the scars covering the man’s face became clearer.

Blotchy, discolored skin surrounded his left eye, and the pupil was dramatically enlarged.

A black eyepatch with a scarlet ‘X’ covered his right eye.

He must’ve seen serious combat. She’d met Dalian veterans with wounds and scars a few times before, mainly those who came back from the mess on Oppalli, but never with injuries to this extent.

“My eyes?” The man chuckled. “Got hit with a toxin during a battle. I was around your age.”

Heat flooded Kalie’s cheeks, and she muttered a hasty apology. He flicked his hand.

“I can tell you’re nervous, Duchissa, so I’ll forgive you for staring.”

He continued with a formal greeting, but Kalie was hardly listening. Duchissa . A lump swelled in her throat. He shouldn’t be calling her that. Aunt Calida was the Duchissa, and when she died, the crown should’ve been Lexie’s. Not hers. Never hers.

The room had fallen silent, and Mira raised her eyebrows.

Kalie winced. She’d missed the man’s greeting. And possibly his name.

“Thank you, sir. But, if you can forgive me for asking, who are you?”

“You can call me General Akron. But I suspect you’re asking about all of this, aren’t you?” He swept an arm around the room.

There was no point in lying, so Kalie nodded. Of all the heads of state she’d encountered, she’d never met one named Akron, and a veteran soldier like him couldn’t be the suit Wells had warned her about.

The General clasped his hands. “Mira tells me you want revenge, and that you believe Carik is responsible for the murders of your family.”

His words touched a raw, bleeding wound in her heart, and she whispered, “Yes.”

“Then I think we have a common goal: ending Carik’s reign. You’ll forgive me if I speak vaguely. I’m not at liberty to disclose much, but everything will be explained in due time?—”

“No.” Kalie leaned forward, narrowing her eyes. The table’s stiff edge dug into her arms. “I’ve waited long enough. Tell me now. If you want to end Carik’s reign, I’m guessing you want my help. So stop dancing around an explanation and tell me what’s going on here.”

The shifting screens produced a steady buzz, punctuated every few seconds by a muted chirp. Footsteps thudded against the floor outside, accompanied by hushed voices.

Akron regarded her impassively. Kalie looked to Mira to back her up, but she was leaning against the spotless wall, watching with a hawk’s focus.

The General tapped his earpiece. “You can come in, sir. She’s committed.”

Frigid air blasted from the vents above Kalie’s seat, piercing through her thick sweater. She buried her arms in her sleeves, but she didn’t relax her posture or her glare.

The door swished open. As Kalie turned, she nearly fell out of her chair.

The Dynarian man who strode through the door, dressed in military fatigues, was as familiar a face on the news as Marcus.

Since his first appearance on the campaign trail six cycles ago, his pale green face had become more lined, his hair more gray.

Still, there was no mistaking Carik’s opponent from the last election: the planet Dynar’s radical head of state, who controlled most of Sector Eight.

Minister Gar.

Kalie’s wide eyes shot to Mira. “ He’s your client?”

Mira nodded.

The chair’s wheels rattled against the chambray carpet as Minister Gar seated himself beside the general.

“My apologies for the secrecy, Duchissa,” Gar rasped, “but surely you understand how compromising it would be if word of my operations got back to Carik’s ears.”

Kalie’s jaw dropped as it all clicked—the rebel attack on a Sector Eight outpost that had cost Krii his prestige, the silence from Dynar ever since the last election, the rumors of militarization in Sector Eight.

“You’re planning to usurp Carik’s title. The rebels answer to you.”

“Indeed. ”

Gar’s voice was brittle, his breaths heavy and ragged. It was a result of the mysterious, near-fatal illness that had preceded his withdrawal from the election three cycles ago. Everyone said poison, but Gar had been tight-lipped about the matter.

“You want my help.”

Akron sighed. “If Marcus Pool still lived… we wouldn’t be here, would we?

But as it stands, you’ll be crowned Duchissa of Dali.

Sector Four will follow you. The public is outraged, so allies will come easily.

We have fleets, but our technology is outdated, and our resources are nothing compared to what the Federation has. With the wealth Dali could bring…”

Sweat beaded on Kalie’s forehead. “You want war.”

“Yes.” Gar cleared his throat and winced. “You’ve seen the damage Carik’s done. It’s already getting worse, and we have at least another three cycles with him in office. We have to make a move now, while the people are angry enough to follow.”

Kalie swallowed. The Dalian civil war twenty cycles ago had been catastrophic, and that was just one planet. “There’s no telling what damage would ensue. Entire civilizations could be wiped out?—”

“We’ve been preparing for war for three cycles. If we don’t strike now, we won’t get a chance like this again.”

She pursed her lips. If they’d been preparing for war for three cycles, that put the beginning of their preparations shortly after Gar had dropped out of the election of 814. They hadn’t stopped preparing since, even when it looked like Marcus would win.

“If a war was fought, and Carik was removed, who would take his place?”

“It would come down to an election.” Gar’s green lips curved into a smile. “The people should decide. It’s how the system ought to work.”

“He’s a suit,” Wells had warned her. “At the end of the day, he only has his interests at heart.”

Akron pressed a button. The holoscreen honed in on the map of the Federation. “We’ve been monitoring reactions to the aftermath of the election. Based on our intel, five hundred and twenty-one planets are opposed to Carik’s continued reign. ”

“The ones in green,” Gar clarified.

“Of those, we estimate half would support military action against Carik. Others might follow, provided the initial effort seemed successful. Then there are the neutral planets, the ones in gray—” Akron pointed at the largest cluster of gray planets, which made up the bulk of Sector Three— “and with your family’s connections, you could sway some of them to join us. ”

Chewing on her lip, Kalie sank into her stiff chair.

Regardless of their motivations, their logic was sound, but if she unleashed war, the entire Federation would suffer.

There was no guarantee the Dalian military would support her, much less the nobility, who would only ever see her as the screw-up daughter of their former enemy.

And to complicate everything, Selene was trying to steal the throne.

If Mother had anything to say about it, Selene would be the Duchissa.

Under the table, Kalie’s nails tore into her palms.

“If you want him to pay, Hannover,” Mira said, “now’s your chance.”

She took a deep breath and tried to push her worries into an exhale. “I’ll consider it. I need to be crowned. Then I’ll confer with my advisors.”

Gar and Akron exchanged a look.

“If you let me go to Dali now, I’ll have an answer in seventy-two hours. But I can’t make any promises until I see the state of affairs at home.”

Gar clasped his hands. “Very well. I’ll dispatch a shuttle to take you to Dali. May Azura bless you.”

The traditional Dalian farewell brought memories of screams, bodies, and Ariah’s whispered goodbye. Kalie flinched. Pushing the memory of Ariah’s voice down into a box where she locked everything away, she echoed the same and headed for the door.

“I tried telling you she isn’t the one we need,” Akron whispered. “With her track record, she’ll be Dali’s leader in name only. We should’ve summoned Jerran Roth…”

A flush crept up Kalie’s neck as she left the room. With every step she took, the weight pressing down on her shoulders grew.

They were right. If she wanted revenge, war was the only option.

Uncle Jerran might advocate for poison, Father might suggest assassins in the night, but they’d never truly get someone close enough to Carik to kill him.

The price of war might be too high to pay, though, and the chance of her people trusting her to lead it was next to nothing.

She wasn’t capable of stepping into Aunt Calida’s shoes.

She never had been, and she never would be.