Page 3 of The Space Between Stars

Another nod—he knew what came next. “And what of when the term is over?”

Fankalo shrugged. “At that point, you may do or say whatever you wish, to whomever you wish. But remember, I operate in simple terms of legislation: break your oath, and I break your contract.”

He met her gaze. “I am ready.”

With quick, precise cuts, Fankalo carved the Ratka beneath Doctor Relna’s right collarbone. Three lines made the distinction between those she would trust and those she would kill. Three lines through flesh and sinew, causing red to brim over skin and cling to metal, tinging the air with the acrid tang of copper.

The doctor clutched a trembling hand over the mark, his hands quickly stained crimson. She cleaned the knife with his ridiculous tunic before sheathing it, watching him closely. He would not be the first to faint; she would think no differently of him if he did. Fascinating, really, how the external composition of a man could change by something so simple as seeing his internal composition where it could no longer sustain him.

She tossed him the clothing to staunch his bleeding. He hesitated before sullying its perfect stitching against the wound.

“Welcome to the Ghosts,” she said. “This decision will benefit your children for generations to come.”

Doctor Relna rose onto steady feet and gave a slight bow. “Thank you, my queen.”

“Very well. Now, I think it’s fair that we get to know each other with the short time that I have. I value transparency in those I keep close to me. We may ask two questions each. I will go first.”

He swallowed. “What do you want to know?”

She'd already researched the man intensively. He'd been carefully selected for his role: respected enough to be listened to, guaranteed to double-cross them. “What are your children’s names?”

He tensed. “Surely you already know?”

Fankalo let him squirm in her silence, never losing eye contact. Outside, the waves broke in gentle heaving sighs against the hull, and the highsun horn blared on the shore of the Rollard Isles before he dared to speak again.

“I have three daughters. Susha, Irina, and Meylene.”

“Creation has blessed you, truly.”

“Yes.”

“I will have names embossed on the books delivered to them.” The plea in his eyes turned to glistening relief. “And now, you may ask me anything you wish.”

Relna was slow to open his mouth again. But when he did, he asked with confidence. “They all refer to you as ‘he.’ Moving forward, should I do the same? Is it a matter of keeping your discretion?”

Out of habit, she turned to the desk and picked up Calver’s lamp again, smoothing her thumb over its glass orb. “He, she, they, Mesu, Sesu. All have their advantages. Their drawbacks. I choose to be—and I am—all.” Warring with instinct, she set the distortion lamp back down, hoping and hoping and hoping some more. But unlike loyalty, she had yet to convince herself of the value of hope.

“I am the Hand to the Shadewalker,” she continued. “The Groundlings call me the White Flower. Some call me the Queen of the Raiders. Most of the crewmen on the Rogue’s Rapture refer to me as Captain Keane. And there are a half dozen other names for me.” Those given by her enemies were the most amusing. “You may address me as you choose, knowing that I am all of those things, and that your life is in my hands.”

Doctor Relna’s face was a windless sea, flat in a way that felt unnervingly similar to her brother’s.

“Do you take your tea with honey?” she asked.

Relna’s eyes searched the room as though expecting her to pull a kettle from beneath the woodwork, before realizing it was, in fact, her second question.

“No. I—No. Not in a very long time.”

“I find that to be a most enviable quality.”

He might have smiled. His shoulders dipped away from his ears, at least. “In my briefing I was told your inland operation was to be called the Dreiden Corporation. Dreiden—named for King Seraphindo’s favorite battle tactician?”

She nodded. “You know your history, Doctor Relna.” She’d practically been raised on the three-hundred-year-old works of Katlas Dreiden. Rather than raise an eyebrow at his child’s choice of bedtime story, her adoptive father had purchased her Dreiden’s entire collection.

“If you don’t mind my saying, naming a distortion manufacturer after him is a league shy of subtle.”

She suppressed a laugh. “Toppling a monopoly on distortion trade by destroying Aetech’s inventory only to undercut their prices was never intended to be subtle. But in times of intense need, history has proven time and again that ‘criminal’ becomes ‘overlooked.’ The oligarchy does not play an ethical game to their adversaries. Neither will I.”

The doctor passed a moment in silent complementation before his eyes snapped back to hers. “Be brave, for change does not shield,” he said, citing one of Dreiden’s famous lines.