Page 28 of The First Spark (Dynasty of Fire #1)

Zane grimaced. Judging by Vale’s sharp tone, letting Grant leave hadn’t been the brightest idea.

An older guard shot a look at Zane. “Kid cleared out, sir.”

“See?” Wright spun towards the Captain. “I told you, sir, you can’t trust him.”

“That’s enough, Titus.” Vale’s piercing eyes landed on Zane. “Wells.”

“Yes, sir?”

“You’re on Wright’s shift with Grant tomorrow. Perimeter check at eight.”

Zane relaxed into his chair. “Yes, sir.”

It sounded robotic at this point, after so many cycles repeating it. With a curt nod, Vale stalked to his office.

“Least it’s just a perimeter check,” a younger guard said. “Should be a breeze. ”

“Perimeter checks are no joke,” admonished the graying man. “Now more than ever, it’s critical that the palace is as secure as the prison on Titan.”

“Especially with the rumors about war,” said a woman at the kaf machine.

Every muscle in Zane’s body went rigid. His jaw tightened as he looked from one face to another. With every knowing nod, the tightness in his chest expanded.

“War?” he choked out.

“It hasn’t gone that far yet. Her Majesty’s trying to win the support of the government.”

“Yeah, but she’s been in classified meetings all week, so the formal declaration should be any day now, shouldn’t it?”

Zane lurched to his feet. The empty kaf mug clattered to the table.

Something cracked; it might’ve been the handle, but he didn’t look down.

The word echoed in his head. War, war, war .

Shrieking missiles. Billowing plumes of smoke.

Wails and blood. All the vivid scenes that made him wake screaming, night after night.

He managed a few shallow breaths, but the air didn’t go into his lungs.

Voices warbled around him. He couldn’t make them out. Mira had been right. She’d tried to warn him, and like an idiot, he’d ignored her.

Zane’s fists clenched. He took a staggering step forward.

One of the guards rose, as if to catch him.

Zane kept going. The word war pounded a drumbeat in his head, in tune with the rapid thumping of his heart.

With every step forward, his breathing grew harsher, his face burned hotter, until he felt like he was going to explode from the rage building inside.

When that happened, there was only one place to go.

The guards flanking the towering glass doors scattered as Zane barreled through, storming across the marble veranda and down the shallow outdoor steps.

Raindrops pelted his skin, turning to icy beads as wind gusted across the lawn.

Breathing heavily, Zane followed the cobblestone path through a maze of hedges and dying trees, into the fencing yard.

He wasn’t alone.

Across the lawn, stations with fencing dummies swayed in the wind. Grant jabbed at one with a training saber, then fell back, dropped into a defensive position, and lunged again. His shaggy hair flew around his head in a halo.

Zane gnashed his teeth together.

So much for solitude.

Grant turned and lowered his blade. “You here to drag me back to Vale?”

Zane’s jaw was too tight to speak. He shook his head.

“Good.” Grant whirled, jabbing the dummy again. His technique wasn’t elegant, but the way he moved suggested he had experience.

Thunder crackled through the dark sky as Zane climbed a few steps to an old wooden shed. He pulled a blunted training saber out of a bucket on the porch, testing the blade’s weight in his hand. Lighter than usual, but not impossible to work with.

“You fence?”

“Yeah. You looking to blow off some steam?”

With a nod, Zane dropped into guard. “Fair warning, I won three championships.”

“Good.” Grant grinned and took up a defensive position across from him. “When I thrash you, you won’t be able to say it wasn’t a fair fight.”

Smirking, Zane lifted his saber.

They circled each other. Mud squelched beneath their boots as the rain pounded down. Grant’s hair was plastered over his eyes. It was an advantage, but he didn’t need it. He’d faced men twice Grant’s size as a teenager, and he’d always come out on top.

Grant lunged.

Zane caught the blunted blade with his own. Grant pressed, and steel screeched against steel. With a flick of his wrist, Zane sent him reeling. Grant stumbled back and dropped into guard.

He’d learned to dance as a lovestruck teenager, but he’d always been best at the dance of blades. The constant flurry of movement kept him on his toes, watching in anticipation, reacting out of instinct rather than thought.

Parry. Grant was lunging again.

Riposte. Steel clanged as Grant batted his blade aside.

With the scrape of blades and crackling thunder as their music, the dance went on. Sweat dripped down Zane’s face as Grant’s attacks got more aggressive. He was all brute force. Little technique.

Fall back, parry?—

Grant’s blade was under his nose.

Zane blinked.

As Grant grinned, Zane scowled. He’d been bested by a feint, of all things. Apparently, Grant had more technique than he’d let on. Zane dropped his saber in surrender, letting out a pent-up breath as Grant retreated.

“Three-time champion, huh? I’d say you’re rusty.”

Zane scowled. “It’s been a long six cycles.”

“It’s been three for me. Maybe try a new excuse?” Grant trudged to the shed and picked up a battered thermos. “I’m guessing you already know who I am.”

Zane wiped rain from his eyes. “Yeah. Guess I should introduce myself. I’m Zane?—”

“Wells, I know.”

Grant drained half the bottle and tossed it to Zane. He caught the damp bottle midair, took a swig, and swished it around his mouth.

“I remember your mother.”

Zane froze with the bottle to his lips. He forced himself to swallow. “I think you’re mixed up with someone else. We left Dali twenty cycles ago, and she never made it back.”

“The Commander, right? Commander Wells?”

Zane’s eyes narrowed. Lightning struck a distant mountain, and a crack of thunder boomed through the grounds. His teeth clenched as he looked towards Hannover’s palace. The drumbeat of war-war-war thumped in his head.

“That’s right.”

Grant fiddled with a thread dangling from his sleeve. “I was in the Dalian battalion that served on Oppalli. She was our liaison officer.”

“Then you were at the compound.” Zane ducked his head. Pellets of rain pummeled his skull. When she died , he meant to add, but the words stuck in his throat.

“Yeah. I’d been posted there for five months. The Commander was a remarkable woman.”

Lightning carved through the sky, flashing like an explosion. Thunder crashed like roaring cannons, wind raged like shrieking missiles, rain struck like falling debris, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

“She said you served too, right?”

“Five cycles,” Zane muttered, and he was back there, on that war-torn hellhole of a planet. Charred earth. Broken corpses. Mom’s corpse, buried in the ruins. Any day, this lush green field could be another smoking crater, and Hannover was too stupid to see that.

He snatched his saber. “Another round?”

“It’s pouring down rain.”

“You worried I’ll win?”

“Those are fighting words, Wells,” Grant taunted, stooping to pick up his sword. He flashed a cocky smile. “It’s on.”

Once again, Grant made the first lunge. Zane parried, and the dance went on.

Rain pelted them from all sides. Wind howled past.

The hilt of Zane’s saber grew slippery in his grip. Grant seemed to have the same problem, but Zane kept striking. Anger laced every furious blow, every clanging parry.

Grant matched him step for step, until his heel landed wrong in a patch of mud. The younger guard went down into the muck. It splashed across his clothes, and he swore.

It wasn’t a victory to be proud of. The rain had done his work for him.

“Let’s sit.” Zane gestured to the shed’s covered deck. “Get out of the storm. ”

“A little rain doesn’t bother me,” Grant said, but he accepted the hand Zane offered to pull him up. Together, they trudged through the blankets of rain.

Collapsing onto the deck, Zane stretched his muddy legs out over the steps and helped himself to another drink of Grant’s thermos.

Grant braced his arms on the deck’s railing and stared into the dark sky.

With the curtains of rain and clouds of fog swirling around the shed, it seemed like they existed alone in an endless void.

“Dali doesn’t usually get storms like this, does it?”

“Only near the poles.” Grant rolled his eyes. “All the stupid priestesses are saying it’s a warning from Azura. A bad omen, or something like that. It’s a load of bull, if you ask me, but no one ever does.”

“You don’t believe in Azura?”

Grant tapped his blunted saber against the deck. “If you lived a day of my life, you wouldn’t either.”

“I don’t.” Screwing the cap on the thermos, Zane wiped his mouth. “Where’d you learn to fence?”

“When I went to live with Roth, he thought I needed something to work the anger off. He hired a fencing trainer and everything. I prefer flying, it’s more calming, but sometimes you need to hit something, you know?”

“Yeah. I know.” Zane leaned back, bracing his hands against the damp wooden boards. “You’re close with the Governor, aren’t you?”

“I owe him everything.”

“He also took everything, didn’t he?”

Grant shook his head. “My father cost me my future. Roth gave it back.” He grimaced. “Would’ve given it back.”

“What happened?”

Arcs of lightning shot across the dark gray clouds, then vanished, plunging the field into near-darkness.

A lantern dangling from the awning flickered on, casting ghastly yellow glows across Grant’s taut features.

He let out a shuddering breath. “You ever let your anger get the best of you? Screw up so badly that the people you love turn their backs on you?”

Shattering glass echoed in Zane’s ears. His mouth went dry at the memory of thumping fists, distorted shouts, and rushed footsteps as she tried to pull him away from the fight. Then that final, tearful scream: “Get out!”

He couldn’t bring himself to speak, so he nodded.

Grant scuffed his boot against the deck, smearing mud across the wooden planks.

“Yeah. It’s like that. A count’s son said some horrible things about me, so I taught him a lesson.

” A vein throbbed in his neck. “I got sent to prison. Roth was pissed. After that, he gave up on trying to get Oakwood back for me, and I took my sentence serving in the Skyforce.”

“Oakwood should’ve been yours to begin with.”

“Avington should’ve been yours. The Duchissa screwed us both over.” Grant leaned against the railing as wind shrieked past them, flinging curtains of rain onto the deck. “What brought you out here?”

“Did you know she plans to declare war?”

Grant shrugged. “I’ve heard rumors.”

“She’s lost her mind,” Zane seethed, rubbing his forehead. “There are hundreds of planets in the Federation, and she thinks she can take on Carik? I won’t follow her into another war. Hell, I don’t think anyone will follow her into another war.”

“You followed her all this way?—”

“Because we have a deal.” A deal she was taking her sweet time fulfilling. Zane clenched his jaw. “Her family destroyed this planet once, and now she’s going to do it again? Would you fight for her?”

“Yes. I’d do anything for Roth.”

“Then you’re an idiot,” Zane spat, jumping to his feet.

Grant’s hands balled into fists, but he stood down as Zane paced across the narrow deck. At least when he was moving, he didn’t feel so powerless.

“A civil war turned Oppalli into a smoking crater. Billions died, and that was one planet. A galactic war… there hasn’t been one in what, seventeen hundred cycles?”

“Since before the Age of Darkness.”

“And we have no records,” Zane said, raking his rain-soaked hair out of his face.

“No idea what happened, only that entire planets were destroyed. Civilizations were slaughtered. The end of that war caused nine centuries of anarchy, until the Federation was created. Does no one see that? War is costly, and destructive, and?—”

“You don’t need to tell me how horrible war is.”

Booming thunder nearly drowned out Grant’s voice. A gust of rain swept over them, pelting Zane like shards of ice.

“The Etovians wiped out my mother’s whole family.

A few months later, mercenaries butchered her.

I’d just turned one. My father went to jail, Hewlett stole my inheritance, and I have nothing .

” Grant inhaled deeply, visibly reining himself in.

“And Oppalli—I know. It was a living hell. I watched my friends die, day after day, and it was all pointless.”

Zane slouched against the soaked railing. “It’s been twenty cycles, and I’ve never seen my father’s grave.”

“I’ve never seen my mother’s.”

Their eyes met. Zane searched his face for any sign of the unhinged convict everyone claimed Grant was, but all he saw was a man who’d been screwed over by Calida as badly as he had. A man who’d lost as much as him. More, even.

He’d at least had Mom. When she was gone on long deployments, he’d had Nan and Pap.

Grant hadn’t had anyone. Or anything. Yet somehow, he’d survived.

“You got dealt a shitty hand, Grant.”

“Call me Mylis.” He raised his thermos in a parody of a toast. “Here’s to hoping we both get the justice we deserve.”