Being accused of being a way did not please her.

  Sovereign continued. “I am the one who burned Condor to the ground. And then I hunted and tortured every last human who’d survived your attack. Even their descendants were punished. We removed the Alliance from power, scoured planets clean of their infection. They were made to pay for what was done.”

  She tried to ignore him.

  “Sigil, they thought we were unaware of your existence. That day in the hall, that chance meeting, we had planned for years.” Sovereign stroked down her legs, running his palms over the fabric bunched at her calves. “Just seeing you once was worth the punishment.”

  “Did they take away your toy too?” She mocked, alluding to the blonde he fucked almost daily.

  “They killed twenty of my dearest brothers, cut out my tongue, a testicle, broke every bone in my body.”

  Quinn was not impressed. “We regenerate.”

  Solemn, he nodded. “We do. But unlike the mythology you just read, those we love do not come back to life.”

  “I only love Que.”

  Male hands fisted the fabric of her skirt in a solid grip.

  Quinn imagined all the thoughts running through his mind to make his emotions so volatile yet keep his face so still. Those pretty eyes, they seemed tranquil, the only tension in the man his grip on her skirt.

  She matched her breath and heartbeat to his, so should he move she could strike first. Still he only stared. In those moments she realized aggression would end badly. She would lose.

  Sovereign mirrored her exhalation.

  Quinn spoke to herself. “I was created to kill you.”

  “You were created,” he turned his fingers, skimming her palm, “to disarm me. You were fashioned as the only viable female so we could not strike you back. You were brainwashed to hate me even though your very genetics partner mine.” Sovereign eased close as he tried to seduce. “You do not need to be scared of me. In my care there won’t be punishments or torture. All I offer you can keep.”

  “So long as I stay in this room or one like it?”

  “You are restless, I understand.” Toying with her fingers, interlacing her smaller bones with his, Sovereign smiled. “Pax is no worthy place for you. Soon we will leave.”

  But the stillness of the station, the silence, let her know the byway remained offline. With no sound of combat in the levels around her, there could be no coup. Drinta was still preparing for something. If Quinn was correct, the bitch-queen lacked the knowledge that Sovereign already walked the halls of her kingdom

  All that had been done—the collection of warriors, shutting down the byway—was done for the Herald’s eyes. If Drinta really thought the Irdesian Emperor was there, there would be no peace, no silence. Probabilities began to align, Quinn sitting silent while Sovereign kneeled before her and toyed with her fingers.

  “There are jungles, Sigil, full of trees and wildlife you could only imagine, sanctioned for you to play in—beaches, mountains, palaces far superior to this mold-ridden wreck waiting for you.” Sovereign purred, as if he knew her thoughts were bent on escape. “Let these things, this shadow life, go.”

  It was offspring he needed, even Karhl had confirmed it. “Advancing our species, that is why you say these things. You have no choice in the matter. Otherwise you would not want me.”

  “Such a thought makes you unhappy.” Sovereign understood, knowing the majority of her life she’d been used in one way or another. “Our daughters will be adored, but never as much as I worship their mother. But it is true. I cannot help but love you.”

  With so much diplomacy, such slippery compliments, Quinn sneered. “You should have been a Herald.”

  He eased closer, his fingers gliding over her inner wrist. “It seems so long as I am on my knees you speak. Is that a game you wish to play, diplomat and queen? I can offer negotiation; you can take what you wish.”

  The emperor was less intimidating kneeling, his position purposefully at a disadvantage. But with the Lord Commander looking on—in view of four converts—Sovereign’s disadvantage would not last long.

  Quinn frowned.

  Time on Pax was precious, the station known to her—the tunnels, the crawlspaces. If Sovereign dragged her to the Empire, escape would be almost impossible. But when she fled, what of the Tessan boy? His cryotube would lay forgotten until the battery cell ran dry. He would die after decades of sleep, or be ejected into space to wake scared and without air.

  A heavy hand came to rest on her shoulder. It was not Sovereign’s. Snapping her eyes to Karhl, Sigil froze and the kneading began. “Calm yourself, young one. Your heart is beating too fast.”

  It seemed they all had their special skills. Both men were waiting for an explanation. Exposing a secret might be the boy’s only chance for life and viable ploy for her freedom. “On storage deck H7, bulk 673, I have hidden a cryotube. The life inside it matters to me. If you swear to me the child will be removed from Pax and cared for, I will go to these places you speak of.”

  Sovereign turned her head so that he might look her in the eye. “Who is this child?”

  “A Tessan slave. I stole him.”

  “Sigil,” A thumb stroked her jaw. He murmured her name as if she’d done something endearing and naughty. “I would have granted your request even if I had to carry you off the station in chains. There need not be conflict between us.”

  She needed him to say it out loud. “You swear to see to his freedom?”

  “Is there anything else you desire?” Words or no, his eyes warned that she should ask carefully.

  Chewing her lower lip, Quinn shook her head, hoping she had not consigned the child to a painful death. Sigil offered her hand, aware of the human custom. “You cannot wake him on this station or the collar will kill him.”

  There was no hesitation to take the offered limb, but Sovereign did not shake it. He pressed a kiss to her palm instead, the man’s face unflinching, his eyes brilliant. “I will give you what you want.”

  Expression softening, Quinn sat still while he praised her with caresses and soft words. Hours passed, she seemed content, and when she slipped towards the lavatory neither man followed, no soldier was sent to observe her tend her body, and it was several minutes before the door was forced open.

  Sovereign found the space vacant.

  She was gone.

  ***

  The station, her playground, offered so many crevices where she might hide, scuttling about from deck to deck, offering assurances Sovereign would not find her. But that was not the art of a true survivor, nor would time allow such comforts as the dank dark. She’d had less than a cycle before the urge might claim her and drag her right back to him. Therefore, progress had to be aggressive.

  Hiding was out of the question.

  Stirring up the hive, sparking the powder keg, walking right up to Drinta’s balcony to sit with the bitch-queen—Sovereign would never anticipate such a reckless move.

  The path behind her, she’d destroyed, the level lurching from a precise blast before Sovereign or Karhl could follow her route. Slithering through ducts, gliding over regions that lacked gravity, the copious dress gathered up in her hands so legs might not tangle, she got close enough to feel the thud of Swelter’s music.

  Assuming there was a tracking device woven into her red silken prison, Quinn climbed faster, employing the most direct routes, guaranteeing she would arrive at her destination before Sovereign passed from the living quarters’ decks.

  One vent stood between her and the Atrium, her entrance the ground floor of the club. Drinta was at the center, twenty three stories higher. Twenty three stories of climbing walls with hardly a hand hold, where old bullet holes served as the tiny crevice her fingers might cling to.

  When the lights turned, flashing over another corner, Quinn slithered out, closing the vent to follow the shadows. Chin high, she walked as if she had a right to the final lift, over the last dais, interrupting conversations of those waiting to genuflect, shoving others out of her way. Two unknowns were thrown from the ramp to fall down into the club, guards having their weapons ripped from their grips so quickly they died before seeing just who had struck. The music, her speed, kept those in the inner sanctum unaware of her approach until she stepped into Drinta’s private balcony.

  “Mistress Drinta.” Quinn moved to the couch reserved for the few guests who were actually asked to sit. Someone of no importance to Quinn reclined in the seat she desired. He was thrown towards the exit, Quinn taking the vacant place and smoothing the infernal, dusty gown. “It is an honor.”

  The Tessan looked positively gleeful, entertained even as she motioned to her guards. “Are you valuable to me?”

  “I am valuable to Sovereign, who has invaded your domain. He is on Pax with a contingent of Imperial soldiers, including Lord Commander Karhl.”

  The smile fell from green painted lips. “You must have a death wish to threaten me so.”

  Quinn growled. “You would do well to listen, bitch-queen. I’m a fan of the status quo and I find your leadership inspiring.”

  “You have ten seconds before I rip out your throat, human.”

  “Did you really think the Empire had come here to deal with you?” Quinn could sense she was edging the proper mental direction, seeing the changing in the tick of Drinta’s emotion. “Did they conveniently offer you exorbitant gifts? So much that you began to grow suspicious? The tactic is an old one designed to make you question yourself, to foster suspicion—to unbalance you. Their plan has been flawless. You shut down the byway and are trapped here.”

  Drinta flicked her tail, motioning to her guards to hold position. “And just how would he take Pax?”

  “I did not say take. Sovereign will destroy it.” Lies flowed from Quinn’s tongue like honey. “All it will cost him is one Herald, patience, and the artful application of riots. Should he get his way, you will have nowhere to run. In less than a cycle your head will be in a box.”

  Quinn could see Drinta contemplate the odds.

  “It’s the Tessan Authority he truly courts.” Quinn sat like a queen and sneered. “And they are difficult to impress.”

  Drinta had not ruled for so long by being a fool. “You have no proof. Only pretty words.”

  Quinn reached for the glass left set aside by the last visitor, offering the last baited hook. “I feel him in my mind, you know. Your imprisoned Kilactarin, he will clarify.”

  The immediate deflation of amusement brought Drinta to narrow her eyes and look hard at what really sat before her. “Who are you?”

  Swallowing the drink, keeping her face clear of emotion, Quinn answered. “I am Sigil, Imperial Consort of the Irdesian Empire.”

  Drinta’s maniacal laugh welled up. “What an honor.”

  Quinn smiled. “The honor, bitch-queen, is all mine.”

  “And what is it that you want?”

  Her answer came hard. “Where I go, Sovereign follows. Open the byway and I will draw him off.” Glancing towards the line of sycophants, Quinn found the Herald hastening towards the platform. “The next move is yours.”

  Quinn stood in unison with the Tessan just as Arden cleared the gateway below.

  He only looked to Quinn.

  She glared back, smirking that he would not reach her in time.

  The Tessan made no move to stop her retreat.

  Fleeing through the levels, Quinn stripped, ripping at the red fabric until beads clattered upon the floor, until boning and wires, laces and grips, were all removed, and she was naked enough to disappear into the orgy.

  Chapter 8

  The Sudenovan she’d murdered for his armor gifted her uncleansed gear so foul with stink it turned Quinn’s stomach. But it was worth the revulsion to stand near Drinta’s balcony unseen, where no inch of pale flesh or plum hair was on display. Dressed as she was, she was only a mercenary gambling at Torr and losing.

  Hours had passed with no sound of the byway coming to life. Drinta still lounged on her platform with the Herald in attendance. There was no move on the Tessan’s end to speak with the hidden Kilactarin slave below. The Empire was waiting her out. The Herald would stay in negotiation with Drinta long enough that Sovereign’s mating would wear off. He would give the Tessan no time to explore what Quinn had told her. The bitch-queen would not open the byway.

  Options were severely limited. Without the slave collar she could not utilize many of the most useful access corridors. Not without drawing attention from overseers or setting off security programs. There were many species she could mimic, but she could not grow a Tessan tail, she could not be an overseer. That left maintenance shafts, air ducts, and public corridors at her disposal.

  Hiding in plain sight was an advantage, but it also exasperated her weakness. She could feel them, the empire, in Swelter with her. But as they could not see her, she could not see them. The constant itch of their presence was aggravating, paranoia making her nervous.

  Creeping frustration made Quinn’s hand shake, ruining her throw of the Torr blaug and earning the sneers of other patrons at the gambling table. After losing all the money she’d stolen, she stepped away.

  She had to get to Que. But how the fuck was she going to get out without the goddamn byway online?

  Why had Drinta not acted? What had that Herald said to her?

  A pushy patron bumped her shoulder and Quinn threw a punch like a true Sudenovan. A brawl began, drawing all surrounding her into its vortex. It felt so good to rip through flesh, to break bone and work off her anger; but when a pile grew at her feet, when eyes turned to her, she realized her mistake.

  She’d fought too well. She’d killed too many.

  Already, scattered movement was coming her way. Imperials disguised as she was, slithering nearer to catch her.

  Sovereign must have suspected she’d lurk in the club, and in a foolish temper she’d given her position away.

  Shouldering a blaster, Quinn shot randomly into the crowd, creating a panic that would offer cover so she might flee. Her solid armor may have reeked but it also did well absorbing return fire. Out of dozens, only three shots made it through to pierce her torso, blow open her shoulder, and skim her forearm as she fled the riled mob.

  If a hand grabbed her, she broke it. If rough arms circled her middle smashing her to the ground, she became a tornado of violence. The brawl escalated, it sucked her in, it spat her out, and it claimed her blood until she’d crawled free to pant against a dark wall.

  In that moment, all she wanted was the feel of Sovereign’s throat in her hands, to watch the light drain out of his eyes. She could go to him—rip him apart before he knew she was in his shadow—and it would feel so good.

  Bleeding where her fingers pressed her middle, Quinn stumbled off. She found a vent and fell all the way down to the base floor where she lay in misery—in such pain her mind stuttered. It was in that moment it dawned on her, the secret she needed to survive free. Extreme physical damage muted her thoughts of rampage.

  A bit of blood came from her mouth as she laughed.

  ***

  Dealing with humans was usually so banal, but there was something about Arden that Drinta simply enjoyed. He was a charmer—a man who knew how to please—but she was not pleased with the smiling male now.

  There was a subtle difference between rash decisions and immediate action. A creature of her years knew when to act and when to listen to lies with a smile. The byway would remain shut down for maintenance, Sovereign’s presence or no. Control was important when dealing with power mongers; the Empire needed to understand their place in her little corner of the universe.

  They didn’t have one.

  “You like her?”

  Drinta blinked, her smirk neither growing or diminishing. “She was a fascinating conversationalist. The title ‘bitch-queen’ was spoken with such reverence. I think your human female admires me.”

  “Sigil is a psychopath, lacks empathy, is incapable of forming emotional attachments with her own species—let alone an alien one. It would be in your best interest to help us find her before she sets her contingency plan into motion.”

  “Contingency plan?”

  “Consider how long the convict has hidden in your domain. She knows the ins and outs of Pax.” Arden lounged comfortably, sedate. “You did not open the byway as she demanded. Her mental state leads to extreme reactions. She will try to force you. Were I in her position, I would systematically disable life support and cause the drivel collected in this mire to panic. She will have them do her dirty work for her.”

  No one forced Drinta, no one survived attempted manipulation, and liars she toyed with until she grew bored of the game. “Tell me, little soft-bellied Imperial, what did she do to warrant harvesting by a Lord Commander?”

  As if admitting a minor wrongdoing, Arden grew serious and fractionally bowed his head. “That is classified.”

  Drinta flared her claws, inspecting each painted tip. “She titled herself Imperial Consort.”

  Smoothing a hand over golden hair, Arden laughed. “Sovereign may be a bit of a lecher—the man keeps hundreds of concubines all climbing over one another to earn his favor—but no, Sigil has never been one of them. She is a fugitive who has slaughtered many high-ranking Imperials. She must be collected and returned to the Empire, where she will be made an example of.”

  Leaning nearer, tail flicking in warning, Drinta hissed, “Is Sovereign on my station?

  The confusion on Arden’s face, the way his brows drew nearer, was so well practiced, even Drinta was unsure if it was insincere.

  The man shook his head, golden eyes sparkling as if the idea had grown droll. “Why would Sovereign come to Pax?”

  A definitive downward angle came to the reptile’s brow, her voice grew terse. “So he is here.”

  Arden smiled, wicked as he licked his bottom lip. “You believe the tattling of a desperate woman? One who has not honored you as we have? I’m insulted, Drinta. You shake my faith in the glories of true arbitration.”