Exile (2 page)

She knew it made sense from the Coalition’s perspective. If you want the body dead, cut off the head.

The Resistance rallied around the restoration of the monarchy. Without an Empress and her family, there would be nothing to fight for. There would be only the day to day struggle for survival.

The captain had finished his piss and Aja assisted him back to his bunk. He practically fell into the mess of blankets.

“Water, please.”

She helped him to drink.

“Where did Davi set her down?”

“In a deep ravine. All power is off and he’s activated the shields. A scan won’t show anything unusual.”

“It was a rough landing.”

“Yes. We skipped along the atmosphere like a pebble on a pond, letting the warships think we’d caught fire and burned up on entry. Davi cut power and glided in. He’s a good pilot.”

“Yes.”

Aja watched Aram’s eyelids grow heavy. “I’ll get you some broth. You really should try to eat something.” She hesitated. “Captain, I didn’t get a chance to thank you properly. You risked your life for me.”

She watched him lick his dry lips. “I did it for the coin…” His voice trailed off.

She knew he lied. “You took a needle for me.”

Eyes still closed, Aram grinned. “I would say better than a bullet, but I’m not entirely sure that’s true.”

“My family, have they been moved out of harm’s way?”

“That was the plan, but I have no way of knowing for sure. Davi’s kept com silence, I assume?”

“Yes.”

“If everything went well, your family will be waiting for you at our destination.”

“Thank you. I pray to the Gods they are safe. And I pray for the safety of all the men who risked their lives to help them.”

As Aja turned to leave the room, the captain called her back to his bedside. “My Lady, I thank you for the antidote, and for playing the part of nursemaid.”

“Duty, Captain. I would do it again in a heartbeat.”

“Is there enough left for our medics to replicate it?”

“Yes. And of course we have you, Captain. Your serum will be quite useful in making a vaccine.”

Captain Aram mumbled, “I’m glad my serum is good for something.”

Aja warmed to the sound of his voice, knowing he attempted a joke. The man might be a smuggler, but he had courage to spare. “Oh, Captain Aram, don’t sell yourself short. I’m quite sure you are good for many things. I owe you my life. There is no way I can repay you for that.”

“I think you already have, My Lady. I doubt helping a sick man to piss in a jar is the standard for a Princess of the Blood.”

“Perhaps not, but I enjoyed the experience immensely.”

Captain Aram’s eyes flew open and his face turned red as a beetroot.

“Please, you must call me Aja, especially in front of Chief Wyer.” She smiled. “Besides, after all this, I see no need for formality between us.”

Aja patted his hand. “I’ll be back in a few moments,” she said, still smiling. “I imagine you’ll wait here.”

The captain waved her away.

Is it possible she’s what they claim? This slip of a girl is the one prophesied to lead them? Is that why she was chosen to carry death back to her family?

Could she truly read his mind and tell his future? The Captain shuddered. He hated witchcraft. She didn’t look like a witch.

Aram folded his arms behind his head and stared at the ceiling of his compact cabin. The woman hadn’t acted as if she’d read his mind. If she had, she’d probably have run screaming. Imagine, a smuggler, a sick one at that, mentally undressing a Princess of the Blood.

Perhaps she was nothing more than a myth, something to rally the Resistance. But if she was a myth, why was her death so important to the Coalition?

Because even a myth has great power
. A myth could sway the masses and start a revolution. She was important to the Resistance for the very same reason the Coalition wanted her dead.

The Coalition would have been smarter to leave well enough alone, to keep her isolated with the rest of her family. Kidnapping her was a fortunate mistake, fortunate for the Resistance.

Kyr happened to be on a trading mission near the moon where Aja was being held. When his brother, the Resistance leader, had contacted him and offered him more coin than he’d ever dreamed of making in a thousand lifetimes, he’d volunteered without hesitation.

Of all the men under his command, only Davi knew the truth about this mission. Kyr trusted him with his life. He couldn’t say the same for Wyer, but the engineer was irreplaceable, a genius at keeping their vessel in the air, scrounging parts out of nothing and nowhere. When you spent most of your time on the run, you had to make do with whatever you could find, buy, beg or steal from others who lived beyond the reach of the Coalition’s long arms.

Kyr wondered if the Royal Family had managed to escape. Removing the Empress from Coalition control would breathe life into the entire galaxy. Word would spread through the underground channels like wild fire and the ruling Junta would have no way to stop it. For all he knew, the embers that had smoldered for thirty long years had already burst into flame.

He heard the Princess, Aja, rummaging through the pantry. Groaning, he pulled himself into a sitting position, making sure to drag the coverlet over his lower body as he waited for her to return.

Kyr had never seen a woman of the pure Blood before. Aja was striking, with the rich mahogany hair of all women of the pure Blood, the distinct gray eyes and the pale, flawless skin.

Too rich for the likes of him.

Davi had found her some clothing. She wore a soft, well-worn sweater of winat wool, but its shapelessness couldn’t disguise the appealing contours of her high, round breasts. Loose dark green trousers hung low on her hips. She’d rolled the bottoms up so they wouldn’t drag beneath her bare feet. They’d had no shoes to fit her.

She’d been naked and tied to a table when Kyr had found her. He’d feared she was dead, but she’d jumped to her feet as soon as he’d released her and grabbed a handful of wicked looking surgical knives. Alone, she’d dispatched several lab technicians and at least two guards.

Kyr had heard rumors about the inbred fighting ability of women of the Blood. Now he’d seen for himself the rumors were true.

A woman who knew how to fight like a man was unheard of these days. Since the Empress had gone into exile, women led sheltered lives. They were mothers, midwives, healers and whores. They managed the planting and the harvesting; the weaving and the sewing. They watched over the herds of winat and brill and the few remaining horses the Junta allowed them.

One of the first acts of the Coalition was to pass a law forbidding women from serving with the local militias. Perhaps to punish the women for supporting the Empress, a ruler who had led her troops, both men and women, into battle during the days of the coup.

Kyr wondered if it had bothered her, the Princess, using those knives so savagely. She didn’t utter a single word about the fight afterwards, but they’d had other things to worry about, like escaping their pursuers, and then he’d become ill.

Aja returned, carrying a ceramic bowl. He could see the steam rising from the hot liquid within. She’d covered her hands with the sleeves of her sweater to protect them from the heat.

“Sorry,” she said. “I’m not used to cooking with a double flame. Let me cool it for you.” She sat on a small stool next to the bed and blew gently over the broth.

“You cook?”

“When I’m allowed.” A corner of her mouth turned up in an appealing half-smile. “Here, sip it slow.” She held the bowl to his mouth.

Kyr took a sip. Salt, heavenly salt. The broth came from some sort of fowl. He didn’t care what sort of fowl. He sipped again, and again, until the broth was gone.

“Would you like another bowl?”

The captain shook his head. With Aja’s assistance, he lay back down and closed his eyes. He felt himself drifting off to sleep.

“Wake me when they return,” he said.

“I will…” Her voice faded from his consciousness.

Aja waited until she was certain the man was dead to the world. She reached into a pocket and eased out one of the surgical knives. She touched the captain’s palm and waited, but he didn’t stir. She drew the scalpel gently across the side of his hand, making a long, narrow incision, drawing blood. She did the same thing to her palm and squeezed the wound until she bled freely. She pressed her palm against the cut she’d made on the captain’s hand and closed her eyes.

Aja made no sound as their blood mingled. Despite her reservations, she bound them in the manner women of the Blood bound themselves to their mate. Blood dripped onto the coverlet, staining it red. When at last she pulled her palm away, both cuts had closed and the bleeding had stopped.

She had no choice. She needed him alive. The man would heal quickly now. He should be up within twenty-four hours, stronger than ever. She would have given him her blood before, but this was the first time she’d been alone on the ship with Captain Aram. She didn’t dare take the risk when Wyer was about. He’d have gutted her. At least, he’d have tried. Even Davi would have been nervous had he witnessed such a barbaric rite.

The old ones told their children and grandchildren fairytales. The stories claimed the Blood could heal wounded warriors and cure poisoned maidens, even bring the dead to life.

There was truth to the old tales.

According to her family chronicles, in ancient days, women of the Blood were sacrificed from time to time and their blood shared to appease the people of a different god. Fortunately for her family, that custom had died out long ago. The Coalition dismissed the stories of healing as superstitious nonsense, praise the Gods, or the Coalition would use them like brills and milk them dry.

Perhaps that was why her kidnappers had drawn her blood, four vials of it.

When the captain felt better she’d speak to him about Chief Wyer. She’d stopped in the Chief’s room before going to the galley, to touch some of his personal items, to take a reading of the man’s heart. He would have to be dealt with, either left behind or killed.

Killing him would ensure their safety. Her mother had a saying‌—‌
If your enemy is coming to kill you at eight, arise at seven and kill him first.

Aja had seen the Chief’s treachery. He would betray the captain. Not today, not tomorrow, but soon. She’d seen that he’d be offered a great deal of coin to give up the entire crew to the military police. She would not let that happen.

Other than Chief Wyer, she had not encountered any other evidence of treachery. She hoped Captain Aram would forgive her. As he’d said, Wyer’s talents kept his ship in one piece.

Unfortunately, he would have to find himself another talented engineer.

Aja looked down at the sleeping man. She hoped he would forgive her too, for sharing the Blood. He was irrevocably linked to her now, whether he willed it or no.

C
aptain Aram scooted to the edge of his bed to eat the meal Aja had left for him. He was feeling much more like himself, wondering if he dared a shower. He didn’t want to use the sonic shower as that would leave a power signature, but the ship was built to hold backup water tanks. The thought of water pouring over his body was inviting, even if the water was tepid at best.