Chapter 16 #2
He just ran.
* * *
The thunder of Raaevik's boots faded down the corridor, leaving Thyaar standing in a cargo bay that smelled like blood and engine wash, staring at the carnage in front of him. There were four bodies on the deck. Three dead, one breathing.
And Raaevik had done it in what, ten seconds? Fifteen? After taking an energy bolt to the ribs at close range?
Thyaar blinked. Draanth, that wasn't normal. Nowhere near normal. And no amount of training could account for it, or even sheer adrenaline. He’d fought beside Raaevik for decades. He knew the male's capabilities the way he knew his own weapons kit. What he'd just witnessed went beyond all of it.
"Clear the bay," Daaynal ordered. “Secure the doors and alert Healer Kellat that we need a team down here.”
The guard squad melted away as though they’d never been there. Thyaar didn't move. His attention locked on the blood trail Raaevik had left, from where he'd knelt to the blast doors and beyond. He doubted Raaevik had even realised he was bleeding.
"Your Majesty," Thyaar turned, his voice rougher than intended. "Why did you…”
Let him go? The thought echoed through his mind as he faced his emperor. One look at Daaynal’s face had been all he needed. The emperor knew. Knew that Raaevik had fallen for his charge, for the Empress-to-be… possibly more. Raaevik should have been executed on the spot, but Daaynal had—
“Give him the ship?"
Daaynal looked up from where he was crouched over the unconscious male, the fourth one. The only one Raaevik had left breathing. He stood and looked at Thyaar.
"Walk with me, Sub-Commander."
It wasn’t a request.
They moved to the far side of the bay, the emperor’s drakeen forming a wall between them and the doors. Daaynal stopped near the bay doors, looking out into the darkness through the shielded window.
"You saw his eyes," Daaynal said.
That wasn’t a question either.
Thyaar's gut clenched. He had seen them. When Raaevik had turned from the last body, blade dripping, his face had been wrong. The eyes, the deep violet that Thyaar had known for years, had been ringed with red. Bright and vivid.
"I saw," he said.
Daaynal nodded. He crossed his arms, leaning against the bulkhead. The posture looked casual, but Thyaar knew better. Nothing about the Emperor was casual.
"When I was seven years old," Daaynal said, "my closest friend was a boy called Raalt."
He froze at the name.
"Raalt of Izaea?” he asked, not sure he’d heard right. Every warrior in the empire knew that name. Raalt was the leader of the berserkers. Blood Rage in living form.
"The same." Daaynal's gaze didn't waver. "We trained together. Same training hall. I knew him better than his own kin. And I was there the first time his eyes changed colour."
The floor tilted under him. Something in his understanding of everything was rearranging itself, fast and brutal.
“We were nine," Daaynal continued. “And we were sparring. Another trainee hit him harder than the exercise called for, and Raalt… broke. Not the way you'd expect. He just went quiet and his eyes bled red around the edges for half a second. The training master didn't see, but I did.”
He looked at Thyaar.
"I saw the same thing in your brother's eyes twenty minutes ago. I know what it means, what the change in his voice means, even if they haven’t admitted it to me yet.”
Thyaar opened his mouth to ask who ‘they’ were, but then closed it and dragged a hand over his jaw. "But you handed him a stealth interceptor anyway."
Daaynal looked at him for a long moment. "Would you have preferred I let him take someone's flyer and ram the docking ring?"
Fair point.
"He'll find her," Daaynal said. “The thing that’s driving him, it won't let him stop. The question isn't whether he can track that shuttle. The question is what state he'll be in when he catches it."
“I need to see the emperor!” The sound of a female’s shrill voice made them both turn. Miranda Evans was just visible at the bay doors, trying to push past the guards there.
"—completely unacceptable! I was told there was an emergency, but no one will give me any details. Where is my daughter? Where is the Emperor? I demand to speak with—"
She stopped.
Her eyes found the bodies. The blood on the deck.
"What happened?" she breathed, her gaze cutting to the pair of them as they headed across the bay to her. Daaynal motioned to the guards to let her through, his drakeen moving into place to block her view of the bodies and the bloodshed.
"Your daughter was taken." He didn't dress it up. "A stealth shuttle launched from this bay roughly thirty minutes ago. Emily was aboard, along with an unknown number of hostiles."
Miranda's hand went to her chest, her mouth working soundlessly. "What does this mean for me? For my position? My accommodations? I was guaranteed a stipend, and I need to know if—"
Disgust rolled through Thyaar, and he couldn’t help the growl that escaped his throat. She trailed off as she registered Daaynal’s expression.
"Your daughter," he said, his voice low and dangerously even, "was just kidnapped by hostiles from a space station. And your first question is about your stipend?”
"I... of course I'm concerned about Emily. That goes without saying. But the practical implications—"
"The practical implications." Daaynal shook his head, looking at Thyaar, and for a moment, he realised he was witnessing the impossible. Daaynal was at a loss for words.
“Deal with this… draanthic female,” he growled to Thyaar, switching to an archaic version of Latharian that the translation matrices the humans were given wouldn’t recognise. “Before I do something I will later regret.”
Thyaar bowed. “Of course, your majesty.”
“Wait! Where is he going?” Miranda demanded as Daaynal swept past her, his drakeen following. She made the mistake of trying to run after him, but one of the combat robots turned, focusing all of its red eyes on her, and she stumbled backward.
Thyaar took a step toward her, drawing her attention.
"Your child has been taken. Stolen. The bay still stinks of the shuttle that carried her out. And you want to talk about credits? Do you have nothing else to say?”
The human female drew herself up. The fear in her eyes hardened into defiance. "Don't you dare judge me, Sub-Commander. I have been through hell. I've sacrificed everything for that girl—"
"You've sacrificed nothing,” he spat.
"You sold your daughter to the highest bidder. And when the Emperor told you there was no title in it for you, you were already hunting for a new mark before the draanthing dishes were cleared."
Her face drained white.
"That is—"
"The truth. Every warrior in that hall saw it."
He closed the distance until he was looking down at her. Used every inch of his height and the width of his shoulders. Her chin came up, but her body leaned back, instinct overriding bravado.
He held her gaze. "You want the practical implications?
Here's one. Your meal ticket just vanished into open space.
And the male who went after her would crack this station in half to get her back.
So if you want to be useful for the first time in your parasitic existence, shut up and stay out of the draanthing way. "
She stared at him. Her lower lip trembled, but he didn’t mistake it for grief. No, he knew fury when he saw it.
"I will report your… attitude to the Emperor himself," she snarled, lips curling back from her teeth.
He barked a laugh.
“Go ahead. He told me to deal with you."
That was the one that landed. Her expression fractured, mask cracking, and underneath was something small and afraid. Not afraid for Emily.
Afraid for herself.
Turning, she stalked back out through the blast doors, silk robe catching the air, leaving him with blessed silence. He had no doubt her next target would be the duke, or anyone else she could get to listen. He didn’t care, she wasn’t his problem anymore.
He turned back to the cargo bay and the unconscious warrior. Pulling restraints from his belt, he secured the male's wrists behind his back.
Then he sat on the crate opposite, leaned his head back against the beam behind him, and waited for the healer team or the interrogators, whichever arrived first.
The red ring around Raaevik’s pupils filled his mind.
His brother wasn't broken.
He was something far more dangerous.