“A what?”
“Valaktur. A large animal native to Vhorath.When we were young, my brother would tease me by saying I had the heart of avalaktur.” He nods towards the screen with a relieved smile. “My brother sent this message.”
I look from him to the display, where a progress bar has appeared beneath the image. “Your brother?”
“Yes. Steinarr sent this. I am certain of it.” When I don’t react, he says, “The encryption key I used is something only he and I know, and it worked.”
That familiar sinking feeling grips my spine. “I thought your brother was on the approved list of senders. Why wouldn’t he just send the message through the correct channels?”
Vexar’s expression darkens, and I think we’re both on the same page. Steinarr didn’t want his message to be seen by the government.
Anxiety hangsin the air between us as the progress bar slowly creeps towards completion. My thumbnail is jagged, but I can’t stop biting it, and Vexar is compulsively messing with the ship’s controls again. I don’t even think he knows he’s doing it.
“You trust Steinarr, right?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says absently, “Steinarr has always been ruthless and uncompromising, and that is exactly why I trust him.”
That’s good. “How long until we reach—” The computer chirps, and I sit straight up, eyes darting between Vexar and the display. “Is it done?”
With a hardened expression, he starts clicking through things. Vhorathi symbols fill the screen, and I turn my focus to Vexar. His bright green eyes flick back and forth as he reads, and then I feel it. Dread.
My breathing slows. “What doesit say?”
He shakes his head and doesn’t look at me. Whatever it is, it isn’t good. With a wave of sadness and rage, he says, “Solira, the capital of Vhorath, has fallen.” He stands and grips the edge of the control panel, knuckles going pale with the force. “Aelrith has taken the government.”
48
DANCE
AMARA
“DO YOU THINK Steinarr can actually pull that off?” I ask as Vexar finishes his fourth cup of tea and sets the empty mug on the galley table. “I mean, does he have the skill to do it?”
Fist pressed over his lips, Vexar leans back in his chair and says, “I have no concern over his capabilities, only over the allegiances of those he chooses to join him.”
Every step I take sends a sharp stab of pain through my feet, but I can’t stop pacing. “Who would Steinarr ask to join him?”
“HisSjalbanath. His personal killers.”
I stop pacing and stare at Vexar. “Your brother has personal killers?”
He grimaces and bobbles his head. “It is a poor translation. They are more like an unofficial army. He has been training with them since we were children, and I have no doubt they are loyal to him, but I do not know if they would be loyal to us.”
“How many people are in this ‘unofficial army’?”
“Approximately 300. Maybe more.”
That’s fewer soldiers than I was imagining, but it’sstill a lot. The variables and logistics alone will be a massive challenge, and if any of them aren’t fully on our side, we’ll be screwed.
“It’s a risk. Abigrisk,” I say.
“What other option do we have?”
I groan and sink into the seat opposite him. He’s right. We don’t have a better option. Stienarr’s message included a wealth of intel—everything from news articles to video clips to personal communication logs—and all of it’s bad. The capital of Vhorath has fallen into chaos. Aelrith has assumed power. The Senate is fully behind her. Warrants have been issued for our arrest. And heavily edited videos of the events in the arena have been distributed, making Vexar look like a traitor who was willing to throw away his throne for a little piece of ass.
If we go to Vhorath, we’ll be executed. If we go back to Calidus, we’ll be executed. And we can’t go anywhere else, because Aelrith has ordered the Vhorathi fleet to ‘protect’ nearby populated planets by killing us on sight. So, we’re stuck with two options: One, we accept our fate and die by execution or starvation. Or two, we agree to Steinarr’s proposal and accept the risks that come with it.
The biggest issue is that we don’t have the luxury of open communication with Steinarr. I don’t understand the technical side of it—something to do with the clerks and message codes—but we only get one shot. That’s it. Any other message we send will broadcast our position to everyone who wants us dead.
