CHAPTER 1
BALECK
The morning air bit at my exposed skin as we climbed the ridge, sharp enough to make me tug my gloves higher up my wrists and pull up the collar of my hide coat. I didn’t mind it. After a lifetime spent in the controlled atmosphere of a Sola, every sensation on this planet felt like a gift. The wind carried the scent of snow and something almost sweet from the valley far below, where the warm season was taking hold despite the devastation of the storms.
Two cycles had passed since Cleo and Mierva left with most of the Destran-human team who had come to rescue us. Two cycles since I watched the transport ship disappear into a sky so blue it made my chest ache. Part of me had wanted to go with them, back to the familiar rhythms of Sola life, back to a world I understood. The larger part of me, though, had looked at the vast expanse of land and sea and sky that stretched in every direction and thought, Not yet.
So here I was, playing tour guide to diplomats who were clearly relieved to have not needed to perform a delicate rescue mission after all.
“The crash site is just ahead,” I said, gesturing toward the rocky outcropping where the terrain leveled out. “Though there’snot much left to see. Lord Rezor had most of the wreckage collected for repurposing.”
Sophie Diaz, the human diplomat, adjusted her thermal jacket and squinted against the bright morning light. She was a compact woman in her fifties with silver-streaked hair and a patient demeanor. I’d liked her the moment I met her, and was pleased when she offered to be one of the small team to stay here for a while. During our introductions, I learned she’d spent decades dealing with challenging people in difficult conflicts. “Repurposing. I like that word.”
“It’s accurate,” I said. “The D’tran don’t waste anything. Metals are particularly valuable here. Our pod’s hull is probably part of an irrigation system by now.”
Vash, the Destran diplomat, let out a grunt of acknowledgment. He was older than me by at least twenty sun cycles, with streaks of white in his dark hair and lines around his amber eyes that deepened when he frowned. Which was often. “A practical people,” he said. “That will serve them well as they integrate with the broader galactic community.”
I almost laughed. Integrate. As if the D’tran would be absorbed into anything. Aside from being a species related to mine, the Destrans, they’d been isolated on this planet for over a thousand sun cycles. They’d stayed behind when the Destrans departed the planet in our Solas, and they’d survived. More than survived. They’d built a society, developed their own customs, their own way of moving through the world. Integration would either be a series of small steps or a collision, I suspected. And I intended to be here and make things easier for them, if I could. Plus, I liked their leader.
Rezor had let Cleo leave him, even though she was his true mate, even though it was obvious to anyone who looked at them that they were perfect for each other. It said volumes about his ability to lead, adapt, and make hard—but correct—choices.I’d liked him before, when we were stranded and considered “guests” of the compound. He’d defended us against those who thought our unexpected arrival was a prophecy of doom and wanted to exile us to the storms that had raged for untold sun cycles across these lands. I liked him even more, now.
But Rezor wasn’t why I’d asked to stay. It was this. The open sky. Land that went on and on. Different scents on the air and surprises everywhere I looked. Here, I wasn’t just a communications liaison or a cultural bridge or whatever official title they wanted to give me. I was part of something new on the planet that used to be occupied by my ancestors. I was part of something that had never happened before.
Also, the food here was incredible. That was a factor.
The fourth member of our group said nothing. She hadn’t said much at all since we’d started the climb two hours ago.
Iris moved over the rough terrain with a fluid grace that suggested either extensive training or a lifetime spent in challenging environments. Or maybe both. She was small, smaller than Cleo, with a slim build that might have seemed fragile if not for the way she carried herself. There was nothing fragile about the way her dark eyes swept the landscape, cataloging every shadow, every ridge, every potential threat.
Her straight black hair was pulled back in a tight braid that swung between her shoulder blades. The style revealed her face, and I found myself studying it more than I probably should have. Her features were striking, all sharp angles and shadows. Dark slashes for eyebrows and lips held in a thin, grim line. I couldn’t help but notice the subtle difference in texture on the left side of her face. The skin there was slightly paler than the rest, with a faint shine to it that I recognized from my time with humans. It was probably from an injury that had been carefully treated and healed, but it must have been a traumatic wound for it to not quite match the rest of her skin.
She wore a black bodysuit that covered her from neck to boots, fitted close enough to allow unrestricted movement but thick enough to provide protection. And the weapons. I counted at least four visible ones: a blaster at her hip, a blade strapped to her thigh, another at her lower back, and something bulkier in a holster under her left arm. Those were just the ones she wanted people to see.
I’d been told she was part of the convoy that had come to “rescue” Cleo, Mierva, and me from the D’tran. Specifically, she’d been brought in case diplomacy failed and a covert extraction became necessary. The fact that such an extraction hadn’t been needed didn’t seem to have changed her demeanor at all. She remained watchful, alert, ready for something that might never come.
What bothered me most was that I couldn’t read her.
As a communications specialist, reading people was more than a skill. It was a necessity. Every person from every species I’d encountered had tells, little physical cues that revealed emotion, intention, deception. Humans were usually particularly easy. They leaked information through their faces, their posture, the micro-movements of their hands. I’d learned to interpret these signals so thoroughly that I could often predict what someone would say before they said it.
With Iris, I had nothing.
Her expression remained neutral. Not blank, but deliberately composed. Her body language gave away only what she chose to reveal. Even her breathing was controlled, steady regardless of the exertion from our climb. She was one hundred percent disciplined, and it was the most unsettling thing I’d experienced in a very long time.
It also, if I was being honest, intrigued me far more than it should.
We crested the ridge, and I led the group toward the shallow depression where our escape pod had gouged into the mountainside. The scar was still visible, a dark gash in the gray stone.
“This is where you came down,” Sophie said. It wasn’t a question. She studied the impact site with professional interest. “The reports said all three of you survived without serious injury. That’s remarkable.”
“The pod did its job,” I said. “And we had luck, although Mierva’s arm would disagree.”
“It was just a simple break.” Vash shrugged. “Destrans have endured worse.”
He was right, and while I wanted to point out that others’ pain hadn’t made Mierva’s less, I was not up for a lecture about our war-ravaged past. So, instead, I pointed toward the valley below. There, the D’tran settlement was visible as a cluster of structures nestled against the mountain’s base. “Rezor and his guards found us very quickly, thankfully, as our human companion would not have survived long in this cold without protection. It was cold even for Destrans. The D’tran evolved with thicker skin to withstand the elements, likely because of the storms.”
There were no storms, now, thanks to Torven, the Destran captain of the ship we’d been intending to arrive on, and his delightfully eccentric human mate, Zara. They’d found a way to shut down the ancient towers that had created the storms, and found time to fall in love.
Vash moved to the edge of the impact crater. His skin shifted to muted browns and grays that blended with the surrounding rock. An old habit, I suspected, from his time in hostile territories. “And Lord Rezor’s response to finding you? The initial reports were…sparse on details.”
