Carys
The Errosian Catalyst sat in its containment case like a sleeping nightmare.
Beautiful, I’d give it that. The compound had crystallized into structures that caught the lab’s overhead lights and split them into rainbows.
Delicate formations that looked like frost on a window. Harmless, if you didn’t know better.
I knew better.
In a few days, Tarsus would start moving pieces for the gala.
He always did this before major events—selected items got transferred for his precious “Collector’s Hour.
” A chance for his inner circle to view what they could never own, and his most precious items would go to his private office, just to flex a little further.
“Structural integrity stable,” I dictated into my recorder. “No visible degradation since last assessment. Containment field holding at ninety-eight point three percent. Recommend transfer to vault storage within forty-eight hours.”
Flinx’s voice buzzed in my head. The neural link had been an accident—something to do with a Ylapra resonance crystal I’d been authenticating three months after Tarsus purchased my contract.
One moment Flinx was just another security system monitoring my lab. The next, we could hear each other’s thoughts. We’d kept it quiet. Tarsus didn’t need to know his surveillance construct had developed loyalty.
“I’m aware.” I moved to the next case, checking the seals on a Zhyx venom dispenser that some idiot had tried to pass off as a decorative urn. “Which is why it’s going into the vault.”
“And kill half the indentured staff on this level? No.” I adjusted the containment field’s calibration. The dispenser’s organic components required specific atmospheric conditions, and Tarsus’s climate control system had a habit of fluctuating. “We’re not murderers.”
True. The man who owned us was excellent at making crimes look like legitimate business.
“We stick to the plan,” I said, more to reassure myself than him.
Flinx sent, his thought tinged with impatience.
My comm chirped. I glanced at the display and my stomach dropped.
Personal attendance required. My office. Immediately.
“Damn.” I saved my work and sealed the Catalyst’s case. When Tarsus summoned me, “immediately” meant I had about ten minutes before he started docking my meal credits. And the man was petty enough to follow through.
“No. Stay here. Monitor the containment fields.” I grabbed my slate and headed for the door. “If anything shifts, log it and notify me.”
“Always am.”
The walk to Tarsus’s office took four minutes through the villa’s staff corridors. White walls. Bright lighting. No shadows, no corners where someone could hide or plan or think thoughts that didn’t serve the owner’s interests. The design was intentional. Everything on Valyria was intentional.
His door stood open. Another power play. Come in. I’m not worried about you. I don’t need privacy from someone like you.
I stepped inside and found him at his desk, working through a meal that looked expensive. Some kind of Orlian delicacy, judging by the presentation. He didn’t look up.
“Sir.” I stood in front of his desk. Not sitting. He hadn’t offered, and I knew better than to assume.
“Carys.” He speared a piece of whatever he was eating. “I trust the morning’s cataloging is complete?”
“Ninety percent complete, sir. I have three more pieces to assess, then I’ll have the final documentation ready for your review.”
“Acceptable.” He took another bite, gesturing with his fork. “I had an interesting conversation last night. At the reception. You met our newest arrival, I believe?”
“The Vinduthi. Yes, sir.”
“Brevan Korven.” Tarsus set down his fork, a small smile playing at his lips.
“He’s expressed significant interest in Thal’reth artifacts.
Fascinating how extinct civilizations become so valuable.
Rather like your own Terra, isn’t it? Though at least the Thal’reth left behind something worth collecting. ”
The barb was a casual reminder of my status. I felt the familiar sting. “I see.” I kept my voice neutral. “Have you decided if he’ll be attending the auction?”
“He will.” Tarsus pushed his plate aside and leaned back in his chair. “And I’ve arranged for you to provide a private consultation. He wants an expert assessment of several pieces before he commits to bidding.”
“Of course, sir. When should I expect him?”
“This afternoon. Two hours. He’ll meet you in the museum wing.” He watched me carefully. “I want you to impress him, Carys. Show him what an expert can offer. Make him understand the value of having access to someone with your particular skills.”
The value. Right. Because that’s what I was. Not a person. Just a valuable asset that made Tarsus look sophisticated and powerful.
“I’ll provide my best service, sir.”
“I know you will.” He picked up a data slate, dismissing me without another word. “That’s why I purchased you.”
I left his office and took the long route back to the lab. Five extra minutes, but I needed them to push down the anger that wanted to climb out of my throat and strangle someone.
Preferably Tarsus.
Flinx was waiting when I got back, his sleek black form perched on my workstation. His eyes glowed brighter when he saw me, and I felt his concern through the link before he even spoke.
“Standard.” I sat down and pulled up my personal data stream. Not the official ones that Tarsus monitored. The hidden partition I’d built three years ago. “I have to meet with the Vinduthi this afternoon. Private consultation.”
“That’s him.” I started pulling records, searching for anything on Brevan Korven. “Tarsus wants me to impress him. Which means I need to know exactly who I’m dealing with.”
The first hits came back immediately. Brevan Korven. Vinduthi male, age unknown. Registered operations in the Outer Sectors. Known for high-value acquisitions, mostly art and antiquities.
I scrolled through the datastream. Documented transactions with legitimate auction houses. Zero arrests. Zero legal issues.
“Nobody’s this good.” I compared his records to known criminals in the database. The real ones always had flags. A disgruntled business partner. A transaction that went sideways.
This file had no edges. No imperfections.
“This reads like someone built a cover identity and forgot to add the parts that make people real.”
Flinx sent, his voice flat.
“I know.” Flinx was right. This wasn’t about the Vinduthi. This was about Tarsus. Brevan Korven was just the tool. A new, dangerous variable in a game I was already losing.
I pulled his image file. The official headshot showed a Vinduthi male in formal wear.
Gray skin. Red eyes. A row of small horns running back from each temple.
Gold tracery marking his temples and throat.
He looked dangerous. They all did. But there was something else in the image, something about the way he held himself. Too relaxed. Too comfortable.
Like he knew the camera was there and was performing for it.
Flinx sent.
“I know.” I closed the files and rubbed my temples. Two hours until the consultation. Two hours to figure out what Brevan Korven actually wanted and whether it aligned with my plan or destroyed it completely. “He’s a complication. A variable I hadn’t accounted for.”
“No.”
“Flinx.” I looked down at him. “You stay here and monitor the containment fields.”
“Then the thirty-seven cameras and the security team monitoring them will handle it.” I reached out and ran my hand along his spine, feeling the data-ports under the synthetic fur. “I need you safe. You’re the backup plan.”
His eyes dimmed slightly.
“Neither do I.” I keyed open the door. “But we don’t have to like it. We just have to survive it.”