Page 4 of The First Spark (Dynasty of Fire #1)

Kalie blinked awake. The pod’s metal walls swam into focus, blinding under the harsh light of the planet’s triple suns.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Her skin felt like it was on fire as the humid jungle’s vicious heat surged through the pod’s cracked viewport.

Something was whining. A low whine. She blinked, but she didn’t move.

She couldn’t move if she tried. It wasn’t the news feed on the dashboard—that was still crackling, playing the same rhythm of garbled voices that it’d played for the past… hours? Days?

Thinking, again. She closed her eyes. Shut off her mind.

The whine tapered into silence.

Animals howled in the distance as the suns dipped below the gnarled trees.

There was an ache in her neck, but she didn’t move.

The news crackled and spluttered. She gazed into the creeping darkness as the golden sky turned to bitter, burnt orange.

Howls and roars burst through the jungle.

With the gradual fall of the sun came a surge of chilly air, ripping through the gouges in the wrecked pod .

Gods, she missed the scorching heat.

“Emp… here from… disappearance…”

Her throat was dry, and her aching stomach clenched. She closed her eyes, lulled into the void by the swirl of fragmented phrases.

Then they solidified into a single, crystalline word: “Empress.”

As Kalie cracked her eyes open, slivers of burgundy appeared behind the static crackling across the screen.

The image crept closer. Through the burst of gray, a crown of glittering rubies materialized. The voice kept speaking, saying words, words she failed to comprehend.

All but one: “Duchissa.”

Her eyes widened, and she raised her trembling arm to the dashboard.

Her teeth chattered as she fumbled with a dial.

Twist to the right. More volume. Another twist, a different dial.

The crackling sounds formed a stream of words, shot through with static.

She tapped a few buttons, trying to fix the image, but it was too cold.

Good enough. She tucked her hand under her bloodied sleeve.

There were bursts of static, random breaks in dialogue—but that was Mother.

And behind her… Aunt Calida’s palace.

“Empress Hannover, what do you say to the speculation that your daughter is alive?”

Kalie shifted, easing the pain of her aching neck. Mother looked so much like Aunt Calida. Except her eyes. Same eyes, but colder.

Still, she was there . She must’ve gone to Dali to coordinate a search, to find her.

A cloud of static spit across Mother’s image, and Kalie swallowed, tasting blood in the back of her throat. The film cleared, and Mother’s glacial gaze pierced the camera.

“Kalista is dead.”

Kalie stared. She stared until her eyes burned, until she could bear it no longer.

Then she closed her eyes and sank into the seat, letting out a slow breath.

“If she’d survived the destruction of her fleet, she would’ve shown herself by now.” There was no emotion in Mother’s voice. No grief, no pain. “Please desist with these baseless rumors. I’ll be holding a vigil for her tomorrow after my sister’s funeral, and…”

Mother’s words were lost in her ears as Kalie pulled her knees to her chest. Maybe it was better this way. She could just… slip away. Let it end. Be with Ariah again.

Selene appeared beside Mother, dabbing at fake tears with an embroidered handkerchief. Light sparkled on the gaudy pearl and gold headpieces woven into her sister’s thick black hair.

Kalie’s eyes narrowed.

A line of text flitted across the banner at the bottom of the screen: ‘Etovian Princess to become the next Dalian Duchissa.’

“It’s such a tragedy.” Selene’s voice was thick with tears. Fake tears—always fake. “My baby cousin, my beloved aunt, my favorite sister… But Calida would’ve wanted me to wear this crown.”

Bile burned in the back of Kalie’s throat, and she shoved herself up. Her clenched teeth sent bursts of pain through her bloodied gums. And she stared—at Selene, at Mother, at the snakes whose blood she shared.

Selene had met Lexie once .

She’d hissed insults about Aunt Calida more times than Kalie could count.

Her nails sliced into her skin.

A rushed burial for Aunt Calida and Lexie, a quick vigil for her, Mother’s insistence that she was dead—all one of her schemes.

No wonder she wasn’t looking for her. Mother would prefer if she died in this pod, so her favorite daughter could steal the crown.

As she gazed at Selene, who was pretending to weep and tremble, it was all too easy to imagine her sister’s face when she heard the news of her death. Selene must’ve whooped with glee.

“Kalista is dead.”

Kalie pushed herself to her feet.

No, damn you, I’m not .

Her hands were stained with blood. Under the murky water spewing from the bathroom’s rusted sink, she scrubbed and scrubbed, but the crimson fluid was stained into the lines of her palms and the whorls of her fingertips.

Her breaths came harsher, faster, as she scraped her nails across her skin.

Dried mud from her trek through the jungle swirled down the drain.

Still, the blood didn’t fade. It was caked under her fingernails like scarlet crescents.

The soap dispenser squeaked. A lone bubble blew out.

Kalie sniffed viciously, pressing her grimy sleeve to her nose.

Someone banged on the door, and she flinched.

Just a minute , she tried to call, but her lips wouldn’t move.

“Hurry up in there!”

Kalie raised her eyes to the grubby mirror.

She’d slipped into the bathroom of a solar charge station easily enough, but getting out unnoticed would be next to impossible in this state.

Behind the invectives carved into the glass, the bleached face staring back at her looked like the face of a murder suspect.

Her lieutenant’s blood matted the strands of her wig.

The dark fluid had bled into her jacket, plastering the cloth to her skin like a scab.

Ariah’s jacket.

Pain ripped over her, leaving a hollow in her chest. It was crushing. Suffocating. Ariah, oh, gods.

Someone knocked again. “What are you doing in there, shooting up? It’s been twenty minutes! I have customers waiting!”

She couldn’t leave this room without the wig. She couldn’t leave with the wig.

Kalie ripped the wig off and sluiced it under the water, raking at the matted blood with her nails. It clung to the strands in hard clumps.

Dropping it in the filthy basin, she wrestled with the jacket.

Her skin burned as the fabric tore away.

The bloodstains were only bad on the sleeves and a shoulder.

She tied it around her waist. Passable. There was a spot on her shirt, but it wasn’t too obvious.

She raked at her arms, scraping away the filth.

Fresh blood spilled from the lines carved by her nails .

Another series of thuds. Kalie cringed and scrubbed her palms faster.

“If you’re not out in the next sixty seconds, I’m unlocking the door.”

Kalie plucked the wig from the sink. She’d been all over the galactic news for the past two cycles. They’d know her face. They’d know her hair. This place was seedy enough that maybe the bloody wig wouldn’t be as damning.

She pulled the wig on, knotted the worst of the bloodied strands into a makeshift bun, and scrubbed at the splotches of blood on her cheek.

Her hands were too shaky. Her chest was too tight.

Her eyes were bloodshot, but she could not cry again.

The best way to be invisible was to pretend she belonged. Confidence. No tears.

Taking a shaky breath, she yanked the door open and barreled past the manager.

“Hey, stop?—”

His hand snagged the hem of her jacket, but with a quick twist and lunge, she was out of his grip.

Grubby fluorescent lights flickered above her as she wove through aisles of rotting produce.

Her legs itched to run, to flee, but that would make him more suspicious.

Ten steps to the door. Five. He was still calling after her.

Heavy footsteps thudded against the cracked linoleum.

She reached the door, shoved it open, and took off sprinting through the rancid night air.

She ran until her lungs burned, until her legs ached and spasmed.

Collapsing against a wall covered in graffiti, she drew in shallow breaths.

Panic hammered in her chest. There were streetlights here, thank the gods, but the windows were boarded, and trash bags littered the curb.

She needed her guards. She needed Ariah.

A trio of hooded shadows crept down the street. Clouds of smoke blew from their lips.

Fighting for air that didn’t come, Kalie bolted away.

There was nowhere to go.

Above the crumbling rooftops and dangling wires, distant skyscrapers rose into the night.

She’d started there, and she’d been halfway up the stairs to a hotel cast in shades of amber and gold—then she’d realized she had no purse.

No credits. No jewelry to pawn, except for the tiny diamond earrings Ariah favored and the tight bangle hiding her identification chip scrambler.

It was illegal tech, and it’d go for a high price if she pawned it, but admitting what it was would land her in a Federation prison.

As much as she longed for the comfort of nicer surroundings, no one in the city would take her in. She’d only be a target, alone among people that would surely recognize her face.

There was no one left to call.

Something rattled, and Kalie whipped around. A can had fallen from an overflowing dumpster. The hairs on her neck stood on end. She hated this feeling. She’d always had guards trailing behind her.

Now she had no one. No armies to defend her. No family to fight for her.