The Valdorian server arrived with the brandy. She placed the tray on the table without comment, collected her tip with a shallow bow, and disappeared so quickly she might have teleported.
I poured a glass. The brandy tasted of burnt sugar, with a bitter, expensive finish. I sipped it anyway and let my mind work through the variables.
Senator Tarsus. Conclave member. One of the bastards who’d helped murder the Sovereign. The intelligence said he’d used his political connections to legitimize the theft of countless artifacts after the coup.
And one Regalia.
This would be the fourth. One more after this, and we could burn the Conclave to ash.
I finished my brandy and checked the time. The reception would start in two hours, which gave me time to settle into my suite, change into something that screamed ‘dangerous but civilized,’ and review everything I knew about Valdorian social hierarchy.
First impressions mattered. And I planned to make one that Tarsus would remember right up until the moment I destroyed him.
The arrival reception occupied the observation deck of the main spaceport terminal. Floor-to-ceiling transparisteel overlooked Valyria’s manufactured ocean, all engineered turquoise water and perfect beaches. The sunset looked painted in the sky, because it probably had been done by micro-drones. Every detail on this planet came with a price tag.
I’d changed into formal wear. Black jacket cut to accommodate my build, silver threading that caught the light just enough to draw attention to the gold tracery marking my skin. No visible weapons, which was a polite fiction everyone pretended to believe.
The room quieted when I entered. Conversations stuttered. Glasses paused halfway to lips.
“Mr. Korven.” The voice came from my left, smooth and polished. “Welcome to Valyria.”
I turned and found myself facing Senator Tarsus for the first time.
Valdorian, as the intelligence had indicated. Tall, easily matching my height. Pale skin with an almost translucent quality, like high-grade parchment. Silver hair swept back from a face that managed to look both distinguished and predatory. His eyes were amber, the color-shifting irises characteristic of his species currently showing interest and calculation.
Good instincts. Terrible luck.
“Senator.” I inclined my head just enough to suggest respect without submission. “Your planet’s reputation doesn’t do it justice. I’ve seen a dozen resort worlds, and none of them quite capture this level of curated perfection.”
“We pride ourselves on attention to detail.” His shoulders relaxed a fraction. “I understand you’re interested in establishing operations here?”
“Interested in investments,” I corrected. “Valyria has a remarkable art market. I’m always looking to expand my collection.”
“Ah. A collector. How delightful. Most of your kind prefer more direct forms of wealth.”
Your kind. The words hung there, polite and poisonous.
I let them slide off without comment. “I’ve found that beauty has value beyond the immediate. Some things appreciate in ways that violence never can.”
“Spoken like a true connoisseur.” He gestured toward the bar, where his security detail watched our interaction. A Mondian with orange scales, never took his eyes off the crowd. He was flanked by two Nerath, their four arms crossed in a clear ‘don’t try it’ posture. A Krelaxian with custom armor stayed two steps behind Tarsus, his hand never straying from his sidearm.
“Let me introduce you to a few associates,” Tarsus said. “There’s an auction later this month, very exclusive. I think you’d find the offerings interesting.”
“I’d be honored.” I followed him across the room, aware of every species giving us a wide berth.
Tarsus made introductions, his voice smooth, movements polished from decades of manipulating social hierarchies. An Orlian art dealer. Two Fanaith traders specializing in Thal’reth artifacts. A Lyrikan who owned half the gallery space in the commercial district.
I was charming. Interested. Just dangerous enough to make them nervous, just civilized enough to make them think they could profit from the relationship.
All the while, I watched Tarsus. The careful distance he maintained. The security detail that never quite relaxed.
He knew what Vinduthi were. Apex predators. Warriors. Criminals who kept their word but showed no mercy to those who broke theirs.
He just didn’t know I was one of the six people in the galaxy who wanted him dead more than anything.
Not yet.
“There’s someone I’d like you to meet,” Tarsus said after the third round of introductions. “My personal curator. She hasa remarkable eye for authenticity. I never make a significant purchase without her assessment.”
