Page 5 of The First Spark (Dynasty of Fire #1)

In the storefront of a rundown electronics store, old holoscreens played disjointed footage.

Kalie paused in front of the window, looking for any glimpse of Selene or Mother.

Most of them showed Marcus’s face, displaying headlines about the Dalian Senator’s assassination.

ALL HOPE IS DEAD , one read, in bold letters.

Then her own face flashed across the screen, and her jaw dropped.

The footage was reporting her death.

A bitter chill raised the hair on her skin. She glanced over her shoulder—surely someone had seen it, they must’ve noticed her—but the street was empty. No one was looking at her face on the holoscreen. Pulling Ariah’s jacket on, she let out a slow breath and stuffed her hands in her pockets.

“—simply tragic. It’s no secret that I never saw eye to eye with Senator Pool or Duchissa Calida, but last night’s murders are a true tragedy.”

Kalie froze.

That voice .

Her jaw clenched as she turned to the screen. Footage of Carik had replaced the image of her face.

Roaring filled Kalie’s ears. He wore a black suit, like he was mourning, and his face appeared open and genuine.

Liar, murderer ? —

“Though the votes are still being counted, the Chairman of the Senate has granted me emergency powers due to this extreme act of terrorism. I know for some of you, I wasn’t your first choice, but I assure you I’ll do everything in my power to find the terrorists responsible for this heinous act and bring them to justice. ”

Her lips pulled back into a snarl.

How dare he. Carik had murdered her family, and he had the nerve to pretend he was mourning their deaths.

He had the nerve to call it a tragedy. He had the gods-damned, Zagan-cursed nerve to use his crime as a justification for emergency powers, which would extend his term in the office that should’ve been Marcus’s.

Azura forgive her, but she wanted to kill him.

Her fists twitched at her side. For a moment, she considered smashing her fist through that window, shattering the holoprojector’s lens, silencing his speech.

Then something crackled, and she jolted, tensing for an attack.

A wire flickered between two low buildings, spitting embers into the filthy darkness.

Alone in the night, she gazed at the shadowy buildings in the rundown street and let out a shaky breath.

Royal blood ran in her veins, but she was nothing now.

Carik had slaughtered her fleet. He’d killed Aunt Calida in her own capital, where she’d been surrounded by her own guards, defended by armies sworn to die at her command.

Carik was too powerful, and she—she was powerless. They’d been right all along.

Kalie’s shoulders fell. She couldn’t do anything. About Carik, about Selene, any of it.

As hushed voices carried down the street, she slunk into the shadows of the night.

With the dawn of the sun came people, crowding into the shabby streets.

Hunched on the stoop of some foreign church, Kalie filtered through their muttered conversations.

She was on Ravaris IV, apparently, in a town called Gher.

She couldn’t help but be surprised at the level of hatred the people here harbored for Carik.

It was all anyone could talk about—the stolen election, the assassination of a beloved Senator, the Senate Chairman’s decision to extend Carik’s term.

“Surely Dali won’t let this stand.”

“What choice do they have? Their monarch is dead?—”

“But their governor is alive, isn’t he? The old one?”

Kalie’s eyes flew wide.

The trio of voices moved out of range, and she shoved herself to her feet. Her joints ached and her numb feet stung, but she hurried after the women. As she burst around the corner, their voices reached her ears.

“—engine broke down on the way to the rally.”

“He could claim the throne, couldn’t he? Carik’s always been afraid of him?—”

“No, it has to go to a woman.”

Please , Kalie thought, staring at the back of their heads, please, please ?—

“Didn’t Roth used to be in the Senate, though? Before Pool?”

Kalie gasped and clapped her hand to her mouth. One of the women might’ve turned, but she’d already ducked behind the wall of a seedy pawn shop.

Holy Mother Azura, Uncle Jerran . She wasn’t alone. Someone else had made it out.

Those women were right—he would never stand for this.

He would make Carik pay.

Kalie’s stomach rumbled loudly, and she clenched her teeth against the stabbing pang of hunger.

If she stayed here, it wouldn’t be long until Azura granted her wish and reunited her with Ariah.

The thought of going back to Dali, dealing with Mother and her games, facing the retribution Carik had in store for daring to support his rival…

The idea was exhausting, and she didn’t have the strength left in her to fight.

It would be so much easier to stay. Let Uncle Jerran handle it.

But they were the only ones left.

Mother was his niece, but she wouldn’t mourn Aunt Calida.

Selene would shed tears for the cameras then snicker behind closed doors.

She hadn’t spent cycles curled up in Uncle Jerran’s armchair, listening to him read stories from the classics.

She hadn’t sat next to him in the church pew every week during her childhood.

Selene didn’t care about Uncle Jerran, and neither did Mother.

He had no sons, no daughters, no grandchildren—only her.

Twisting her bangle, Kalie gazed towards the distant spaceport.

She couldn’t leave him alone.

She couldn’t face what was waiting for her, either, but for Uncle Jerran, she might as well try.

Taking slow, measured breaths, Kalie adjusted the strap of her new purse and slid into the chair of a virtual ticket console.

She glanced over her shoulder. The crowds surging behind her paid her no mind.

Trembling, she placed her palm on the metal counter.

A holoboard fizzled to life, and she tapped the start key.

A list of spacelines, flight times, shuttle capacities, and prices appeared over the small holoprojector.

Planets she’d never heard of were listed down the right column.

Pallura had a nice ring to it, even if it was in Sector Seven.

The name Dragomir sent a shiver down her spine.

Some wretched Fringe world in Sector Eight, no doubt.

Dali, Dali…

She gave up at the hundredth row and typed in the first two letters. Only two. There probably weren’t that many people searching for flights to Dali, not with smoke still rising from the Olympian stadium. She couldn’t risk sending up a flare for Carik’s men to find her.

The pool of results narrowed to fifty-three.

She scrolled through them, and her chest tightened as cancelled flights spilled into the next day.

And the next. And the three after that. Five days, six days, seven…

Kalie’s heart sank. Absolutely nothing. No flights from Ravaris IV to Dali, not even standard routes with multiple stops.

Ju dging by the list, the entire region of Sector Five had cut off travel to Dali.

Kalie slumped over the counter, resting her forehead on her arms.

She just couldn’t win.

She’d managed to get credits, at least. Scanning her own ID chip at an ATM would’ve sent up a flare for Carik’s legionnaires, but the chip scramblers in her bangle identified her as Ariah.

In the Federation’s records, Ariah Rivers was her illegitimate second cousin—no one of interest to Carik.

She’d found new clothes, bought an auburn wig, and scrubbed her face until her cheeks were nearly raw.

All that, and it didn’t matter.

Maybe it was for the best that there were no flights to Dali. The Interplanetary Spaceport Commission was in Carik’s pocket, and she shuddered at the thought of coming face-to-face with one of his legionnaires. Not after…

Shoving the memories down, Kalie raised her heavy eyes to the list of flights. She exhaled slowly, collected her bag, and rose to her feet.

Maybe she could give Pallura a chance. If everyone was convinced she was dead, fading deep into Sector Seven would be easy.

It felt fitting to become a ghost. With Ariah’s credits, she could slip into the darkness and leave this mess behind.

Uncle Jerran didn’t really need her, and she didn’t want the throne.

Mother and Selene could win this one—they’d already won anyway.

Drawn towards the sunlight seeping through the glass doors, Kalie nearly missed the little newsstand.

She stopped a few feet away. Hardly anyone read in print anymore, but it was one of Uncle Jerran’s odd little eccentricities.

He’d always loved the crosswords. The ache in her chest propelled her forward, and she slipped a thin sheaf of paper from the stack.

Her eyes caught on the central image, a black and white snapshot of a crowded marble hall, and her breath seized.

Oh, gods.

She sagged against the wall and slid down, down, down, until she collapsed to the floor.

Under the domed ceiling of Azura’s Cathedral, two royal coffins were bathed in light.

The one on the left was tiny. Too tiny. Kalie’s throat swelled shut, and she closed her eyes, trying to hold back tears.

A cool bead streamed down her cheek. Then another.

She pressed the heel of her hand to her eyes and swallowed rapidly.

Holy Mother Azura, it hurt , but she couldn’t cry. Not here. Not now.

Swiping at her eyes, Kalie forced herself to face the article. It was printed in Galstan. Words jumped out from the dense lines of text, screaming at her— Duchissa Calida Amador, Pool’s election rally, drone strike, Heredem Lexani, Empress Ashé Hannover, Heredem Selene, planned coronation …

Kalie’s stomach gave a violent heave. She nearly tossed the paper aside, but her eyes caught on a smaller image, printed in the article below the caskets.