Chapter 20
TWENTY
Vaund curled his fingers into the armrests, their bone-like tips tearing the chair’s hide covering. Part of him knew Arcanthus’s confidence was largely bluster, knew Arcanthus’s threats were empty. If the Eternal Guard had yet to find the Syndicate outpost from which Vaund oversaw his portion of the greater operation, a single sedhi had no chance of it.
But his mind kept returning to the past, to their frantic battle in a Caldorian arena long, long ago. Even now, it remained clear in his mind’s eye. Even now, thinking of it caused his chest to constrict—because Arcanthus had won. Arcanthus had been the better fighter. And it had been Vaund’s need to prove himself, paired with his greed, that pushed him to accept the challenge offered to him—face a champion gladiator in a death match and ensure that champion didn’t survive.
You’re going to wish you had killed me by the time I’m finished with you, Arcanthus.
His respirator wheezed and hissed, and the monitors for his heart rate and breathing flashed in warning inside his optical feed. He cursed his failing flesh—cursed the weakness it represented. Even if he’d survived that day, his body had been slowly dying ever since, rotting away one little piece at a time…
All because of Arcanthus.
Vaund had left Caldorius years ago, had advanced his position in the Syndicate, and now stood to gain only more thanks to the current demand for terrans—and the particular talents of his retrieval crew in obtaining them. Why had a ghost from his past appeared now? Wasn’t his own reflection reminder enough of his failures?
He dragged his hands along the tops of the armrests, shredding more of the material, and shoved himself out of the chair. He paced toward the holo screen at his desk console, where he stopped and stared. One message to his superiors would bring the wrath of the entire Syndicate down on Arcanthus—and upon Vaund himself.
It wasn’t the threat to his life—or the pile of dead street soldiers he’d soon have to explain—that kept Vaund from sending the message. No, it was something much deeper, something contrary to the cold, calculating demeanor that had earned him his reputation in the organization.
He’d lost to Arcanthus, and Arcanthus had pieced Vaund back together and acted like everything between them was suddenly settled. Like Vaund should’ve taken his disfigurement and near-death in stride, like he should have been grateful to the sedhi, like what Arcanthus had done in saving Vaund’s life made up for being the one who almost took it to begin with.
Like becoming part of Arcanthus’s ragtag gladiators’ union was some immense privilege for which Vaund should’ve been honored, and losing his fucking face was an insignificant entry price.
He squeezed his fists so tightly that the heat vents on his cybernetic forearm implants opened, bathing the surrounding area in a hellish orange glow.
Things have changed since those days, sedhi. I have changed .
Vaund brought up the console’s controls and sent a message to his remaining lieutenants with a single image attached.
FIND THIS SEDHI. SCOUR EVERY DAMNED SURVEILLANCE FEED IN THE CITY, QUESTION EVERY INFORMANT, DO WHATEVER IS NECESSARY. I WANT HIS LOCATION.
He flexed his fingers and drew in another ragged breath; had he a jaw, he would’ve clenched it. He’d deal with the Syndicate leadership later. For now, all that mattered was finding Arcanthus and tearing him apart until even the molecules that comprised his body were in tatters.
“You don’t get to fucking hide anymore, Arcanthus,” he said. “The minutes are ticking away.”