CHAPTER EXCERPT
Vykhan Rhyksai, First Adekhan, elite imperial warrior and master of Silence, tired of restraint. His sword arm flexed, anticipating an enemy’s destruction.
It was a shame Beysikan Province criminals were this stupid—they provided little challenge. Evvek had metaphorically tripped over the trafficking cell while doing a routine sweep of the capital city’s quadrants.
He could have arrested his prey on ground—but that wouldn’t have been as satisfying. Patience, over the last several years of hunting the weak links in a human trafficking cartel was in short supply.
When he finally tracked those links to their master, he would strangle the person with it. If the chain led to . . .
Vykhan chased the stripped Imperial cruiser over the ocean away from the innocent population. He gave control to his vessel and left the cockpit, pressing a button to activate his flight armor.
Silver gray encased him, edged with royal blue and gold and etched with the insignia of his office and rank. Stepping into the exit shaft, sixty seconds later it ejected him into planet Yedahn’s atmosphere.
There was a split second of free fall before his suit activated, and he hurtled towards the enemy.
“Evvek.”
:Twenty seconds to override,: the tech said. :We discontinued this model fifty years ago, but they still retrofit them on the market. Expect up to six crew.:
Tai’ri, his Second and lead covert ops, had been displeased when Vykhan promoted Evvek from his smaller unit to overall operations with Vykhan. Tai’ri’s displeasure had been noted.
A stream of enemy fire tracked Vykhan. He weaved through the air, evading the deadly strikes as his cruiser deflected the blasts. His vessel was smaller than the one he chased, but faster and equipped with the latest tech.
:Ten seconds.:
Vykhan withdrew his en-sword. He flew above the enemy cruiser, flipped in the air and landed in a crouch, his feet locking to the hull. A round escape hatch slid open, and he jumped in before the ship’s system identified the security hack and closed the hatch.
Landing in a corridor, Vykhan’s secondary shields sprang around him in a glow of silver as hidden slots in the walls slid open and fired.
En-sword whipping, he confronted the ship’s defenses, his shield deflecting the few strikes that made it through the wall of his whirling blade. His armor would absorb the rest. Sprinting down the corridor as Evvek loaded the ship’s schematics into his visor, Vykhan turned a corner and encountered the hard-eyed security crew. Such as they were.
:Vakhsit!: Evvek swore as Vykhan’s visual feed fed him data. :Those aren’t good odds. They crammed twelve crew on board.:
“You insult me,” Vykhan murmured.
An alert signaled incoming one person flutter-cruisers, his warriors finally catching up. Vykhan knew what his team wanted, but this fight was his. It was so rare he indulged in such an exercise.
“Maintain your distance,” he said. “The day I cannot handle such as this is the day you lay me to rest.”
He abandoned speech as he engaged the enemy. There were more of them than data had indicated, but no matter.
Only two wore full body armor, the rest in cobbled together pieces that protected the head and vital organs. One faced Vykhan with an en-sword, the others used late model blasters or inert blades.
Disappointing. He nearly abandoned the skirmish as an insult to his time, but that would set a poor example for his team. Follow through was everything. Never begin a fight you did not win; if your opponent was unworthy, then next time, choose better.
:You’re not even sweating,: Evvek muttered. :Body temp is stable. Heart rate consistent with a stroll through the park.:
. . .of course.
Once he’d dispatched the criminal’s guard, he smashed the door panel with his gloved fist. This model cruiser’s functions were susceptible to physical damage. When the panel short circuited, the door to the cockpit slid open.
In a seat at the helm, the criminal raised his arms, swiveling slowly in his chair.
“You are under detainment by authority of Bdakhun Ibukay Jorokai, Youngest Imperial Daughter of the Beysikan Province,” Vykhan said. “Cooperation with your detainment will be noted. Resistance will be met with decisive force.”
The criminal smiled. Vykhan stilled. At that moment, Evvek shouted into his ear.
:Sir! The Bdakhun is under attack.:
* * *
Vykhan barely contained his anger and self-disgust, maintaining a stoic mien for his warriors. This feint was the reason he rarely indulged his need to personally pursue the criminals they hunted and obtained writs against. This one had eluded his team for a year and was a lead to far more important links in the chain they were slowly dismantling.
But the criminal had been a sacrifice.
They reported that the Bdakhun’s guards fought to preserve her life, calling for backup as soon as the threat was clear. Ibukay emerged alive, but not unscathed.
Vykhan molded his shame into rage, then crushed the emotion before issuing orders. Both feelings were familiar, and served no purpose.
His team was used to his Silences and worked efficiently as they processed the scene; vid data, the bodies of the dead assailants. One of their own had perished in the fight, two civilians caught in crossfire. The newsfeeds would not be favorable towards the Bdakhun this cycle—her detractors would latch onto the civilian deaths as another excuse to shout for her official reprimand and the dismantling of her anti-trafficking security force.
“They’re getting bolder,” Ibukay said, eyes bright with anger, the normally rich tones of her sapphire skin pale with stress. She sat on the edge of a bed in the palace medbay, her ruined evening gown tossed carelessly over a nearby chair.
“They waited until I abandoned you for worthless prey,” Vykhan said. “They must have had a team in place for months waiting to seize a chance.” Since the attack on Tai’ri’s bonded months ago, they had increased security.
Her gaze seized his. “This isn’t your fault, Vykhan. Not the attack, and not—” her mouth tightened for a moment “—Eny’s death.” Ibukay inhaled, released the breath in a slow, steady stream, blinking rapidly. “We’ll need to replace Eny immediately. We’re already short staffed and I don’t want to cut into anyone’s rest time.”
His expression didn’t change. It was not her place to offer him absolution, though he honored her compassion. “That is no matter. We serve.”
She grimaced. “You also all need sleep and some semblance of a life.” She paused, looking up at the ceiling. Vykhan glanced up. It was smooth, white, nothing of note. “I have someone in mind.”
Ah.
“An old human university friend. Well—old is relative.”
He’d been in charge of Tai’ri’s assignment during Ibukay’s last university stint. Certainty slowly rose, and he braced himself.
“Don’t give me that look, Vykhan.” She jumped down from the bed.
“Have you been cleared?” he demanded.
She gave him a look. “Who’s in charge here?”
“That question has many answers. If we reflect on the fluid concept of authority—”
“Vykhan.” She snatched her gown off the chair, stomped behind a privacy screen, and emerged dressed in the expensive rag.
Seeing further evidence of his failure incensed him. “What is this friend’s name?”
“I’ll send the data to your office unit,” she said, striding across the room. “This isn’t negotiable!”
“The name, little sister.”
She paused at the medbay’s threshold. “Obe’shan, Reign.”
The name slapped Vykhan in the face, and it took far too long to repair Silence.
* * *
A large fist smashed into her jaw.
Reign’s body flew back as she crashed onto the packed dirt circle. She rolled as a booted foot barreled towards her head, the merciless thud of her opponent’s heel grinding into the ground as she jackknifed to her feet bare seconds before he was on her again.
In the forest surrounding her second childhood home, night birds squawked strident criticism of her performance, but she was used to that. The twin moons Elhana and Yevwah squared off, sisters—or lovers, depending on the version—battling over the stars in the sky, which the first Yadeshi Inkmasters gathered to use as ink for their tattoos.
As a rare human female warrior on planet Yedahn she’d endured silent, polite, unending criticism, ever since her academy days. She had to be better, faster, more controlled than anyone else. She failed miserably at the latter and conditioned herself to succeed at the former.
The droid in front of her was part of that conditioning.
Reign tasted blood in her mouth and allowed herself a grim smile as it attacked, ignoring her swelling eye to counter his flurry of blows. It was just her, enhancements disabled, and the bot. Good old-fashioned fisticuffs, but if done right, it could still kill ya.
Pa’s sparring droids were the best, despite having no artistry. There was just nothing like an opponent out for your blood. Ma would be pissed she’d reprogrammed them to death match level, though. The droid wouldn’t stop until its program registered Reign as having suffered a life-threatening injury, or until Reign called out the safe word. Ma knew she never called out the safe word. Death was better than defeat. Zoriah, being a mother, saw things differently.
Reign deserved the beating. The pain and muscle burn of the fight ate through her guilt and rage.
A door slid open, noise from the family inside spilling out. “Maaaa! Reign’s doing a death match again.”
Tattle tale. That sounded like Meri, her youngest half-sister by twenty years, who was at the stage where she sought parental approval by being a shameless snitch. Reign couldn’t recall inflicting that unpleasant phase on her family, even when her older brother Khalid almost got them all taken by child protective on Earth for skipping school.
Benyon had intervened after it was clear her mother Zoriah was his bondmate, and now here they were on planet Yedahn living free the last twenty years on a homestead he owned. Not Low Tier factory drudges, her and her sister forced to marry and breed.
They’d been luckier than most. Reign worked her entire life to be worthy.
The door whooshed closed, then open, a minute later. “What—? Benyon!” Zoriah shouted, and the door slid shut again.
Moments later, the droid turned on its heels and marched back to its housing unit, powering down. Her stepfather must have deactivated the kill switch.
As soon as the urgency to defend her life retreated, the thoughts she’d been keeping at bay howled.
She’d failed. A person had died for her failure. It was time to face that her ambition to train, to become Adekhan, was foolish. She was a Low Tier human female from Earth. She would never be as good as a born Yadeshi, no matter how hard she trained, how many bones she broke in the cohort’s circle.
She’d failed herself, failed. . .him.
It would be better if she settled somewhere and raised chickens. One ambled by, paused and cocked its head at her, then presented its back and wandered off. She sneered at its bobbing backside and silently promised to have it for dinner.
Deprived of the droid, she switched seamlessly to training patterns, one Form blending into another until she pushed herself to the limits of what unenhanced human muscles could do, a blur of speed and the softest of sounds as her feet thudded against the ground.
Inside the house dinnerware tinked, children either chattering or whining—probably over vegetables. She heard the door open once again—all the opening and closing must be driving Ma insane.
Easing to a stop, Reign faced her stepfather.
“Why are you still here?” Benyon Obe’shan asked. He didn’t mean in the backyard training circle.
She waited until her breathing evened, loosened her dark curls from their tight braid to give her head some relief. “Kicking me out, Pa?”
“This place will always have a piece of your heart.” His voice was quiet under the moonlight. “But your soul always yearned towards the city. What happened, Reign?”
It had been three weeks since she’d come home. He hadn’t asked in all that time, waiting. He was a soldier, or he had been. Once a warrior, always a warrior, especially once one made Adekhan. Adekhans were the best, the craziest. The berserkers who somehow survived impossible odds honor intact and the battleground littered with the bodies of their enemies.
So he understood the kind of secrets that haunted sleep. She wasn’t an Adekhan, but she’d taken her training and done the next best thing a human woman on Yedahn could do.
“I lost my body. I snapped.”
He nodded. “You went hunting. How many people died?”
“I don’t know. Six, maybe more.” She shrugged moodily. “The family betrayed us. It was a blur after a while.”
The grief, the awful rage, was still fresh. It was piss poor professionalism to become emotionally attached to a client, but if you were going to take a blaster or an en-sword strike for someone else, it helped if they were more than a job. She’d liked her client. Every guard, even at her elite level, lost someone eventually. But this shouldn’t have happened. She—they’d—trusted the wrong people. Reign would never make that mistake again.
“Go back to the city, Reign,” Benyon said. “Face your demons.”
She grimaced. “You sound like Adekhyun Numar.”
“Good. He trained me.” His eyes narrowed. “And you have the face of a warrior who has accepted failure.”
Reign spun in a tight, frustrated circle, discipline broken. Just like that. Proof of everything Numar had ever warned against. She had no control, too much temper, her center was not quiet, still. Silence, Silence, Silence.
She was the opposite of Silent. She would never be an Adekhan because of that, it just wasn’t in her nature no matter how she strived to discipline her instincts to Haeemah’s Precepts. “My principle died. I failed.”
“The only failure is accepting defeat. This is your first hard lesson, it will not be your last.”
Her fists clenched. “And who should die next so I learn a lesson?”
“I didn’t say anyone had to die for you to learn your lesson.”
She shook her head, rubbing a hand over her face. “I need to go farm or something.”
He laughed. “You aren’t a farmer, Reign. If I thought that was the answer, I would have told you years ago. You’re a warrior, shujahn even before I sent you to Numar. Warriors accept death, but never defeat. Go back. Learn. Remember your dream—to become Adekhan.”
“My dream is dead.”
“But not your streak of melodrama.”
She stared at him, stunned by the flicker of contempt in his dry as brush tone.
“This isn’t the woman we raised.” He gave her one last, long look. “I will tell your mother you’re returning to the city to seek advanced training. I will inform Numar to expect you.”
Reign recalled that tone. She’d run smack into a rock-hard wall, and it was too tall to scale and too deep to burrow underneath. She had no choice.
Damn. She couldn’t even succeed at failure.