Page 51 of The Space Between Stars

She fought to keep her expression from revealing the way her insides shrank. Mitek’s warnings were an echo in her mind. Blinded by her faith, she hadn’t accounted for what it would do to them if Calver’s demolition didn’t go through.

“And that’s after salvaging materials. Total loss would come to seven million, four hundred thousand.”

“Where does that put us with Pazirian repayment?”

“Considering projected distributions? An additional five months.”

Kretch. “We don’t have that much time.”

A corner of Cosaile’s mouth drew down, revealing his wooden lower incisor. “You could raise the cost of your technology.”

She crossed her arms. “The whole point is to undercut Aetech by seventy percent. You gave me that number, and it’s the one I’m sticking to.”

“Or lower your internal wages.”

“That isn’t happening.”

Drogus butted his elbow against hers. “Peace, Queen,” he rumbled. “We think three circles before giving reaction.”

Cosaile frowned. “If you still intend to make your repayment before the Tera’thian coronation”—and she would have to if she wanted Pazir to fight beside her—“you’re going to need to adjust.”

In eight years, they had yet to encounter such a significant hurdle. But this was why she shelled out funds to recruit the best minds. There was no need to waste time deliberating. Cosaile, she was sure, already knew the worthiest solution. “Cut to it. What’s my magic number? Where can we undercut Aetech and break even?”

Cosaile laced his fingers and looked at the ceiling. “Sixty-three and one half.”

“Percent?”

“Yes.”

That wasn’t so bad. Her hand found her chin. “Will it affect buy rates?”

“Most likely. These are all only predictions, of course, White Flower.”

And if they asked the Pazirians for an extension? She hoped it wouldn’t come to that. “Done. Inform my scribes and bring the numbers to production.”

“Yes, White Flower.” It was the term by which Groundlings who had benefitted from her—rather, Mitek’s—philanthropy addressed her. “But there are a number of contingencies for us to review. And another item I’d like to address first…”

She raised her eyebrows.

“Ahm. Greeny”—he said the name with such distaste his tongue practically strayed from his mouth— “relayed that his holding rates have raised to six hundred silver a week. What do you want to do with the existing plates?” The ones they’d intended to sell to the Red Wing when the first batch was destroyed.

Fankalo pinched the bridge of her nose. The Chira’nanian moss lord proved to be a continual pain in the ass. “Drogus, arrange a small team to retrieve them from Chira’na. They’ve been enough of a loss as it is. Strip them for their cores. We can still use those when the Dreiden corporation unveils.”

Drogus offered a small bow. “Yes, my queen.” He made off without need for further instruction. She lifted thanks to her father for rescuing him, all those years ago. Brilliant, efficient, and endlessly loyal, Drogus and his counsel was the only reason she’d made it as far as she had.

“I want a breakdown of your numbers prepared for my review this time tomorrow,” she instructed Cosaile.

“Yes, White Flower. Please take note, there may be slight alterations after reconfiguring the recent inflation of…”

Her mind proved incapable of focusing on Cosaile’s indefinite spouting of nuanced variables. They had been rubbing noses with the belief that they would no longer be in debt—that the Pazirians would become a willing ally instead of waiting to cash in on their lien. Albeit a lien they might never conclude, due to the fear that the Shadewalker would wreak havoc on the rest of their royal line should they stray. Convenient, that, but not necessary. The point had always been to pay them back. Allies would be more valuable to her than investors in the long run.

As her thoughts spun, a swell of indescribable sensory input flooded her with such force, it threatened to replace the very blood within her veins. Her Luck rarely came on like this, without her being in a meditative state. But the fire surging through her now was insistent in the way her magic had only been on few occasions before.

Like when she’d finally found Calver.

Cosaile’s words became unregistered noise, blending with the continual barking of seals and shrieking of cockatiels outside. Fankalo walked absently in the direction of the tether and closed her eyes. This feeling… was not Calver. She could still feel him in the direction of the Jiradesh, as he had been for weeks. But it was close. So close.

A chill traced her spine. The feeling beckoned to her. It was as though her magic was listening to her. Like it wanted to meet her.