Twenty-nine days after the imperial ambassador’s murder.

Ghostship “Starrunner”, somewhere between Bellos and Radaar, outer space, 3423 AA.

The captain, Raid, paced the lounge room of the ghostship, the distinct clanking of his boots clearing Seyleen’s mind of any thoughts. She had come to anticipate each of the steps, the rhythm they made, and the way the sharp sound contrasted with the hum of the engines. At least the alcohol in her glass didn’t tremble, instead serenely glimmering in the muted ochre of the lighting.

With a hiss, the door to the medical ward opened, and Wicker stepped out.

“Well?” asked the captain.

“His condition is stable, and improving,” Wicker said. “Though I’ll admit, if not for your insistence, I’d have given up on him when I saw the burnout damage. The severity of his injuries almost makes me believe the ridiculous story you’ve concocted.”

“Look, Brown-coat. I’m sure you know your stuff, but I’m telling you what I saw. The lad took out an amplifier,” the captain said. “How else do you suppose he warped a void-forsaken Furnace out of the station?”

How indeed, Seyleen thought, shifting her gaze to the now-closed door down the corridor. She had only briefly visited the medical ward to see the face of their saviour.

Lying motionless on the bed, swathed in bandages, shallow breaths weakly heaving his chest, he was the opposite of the powerful figure she had witnessed. His exposed right arm, the only other part aside from his face open to scrutiny, was covered in thin lines, a lacework of scars where the flows of power had burned into the skin.

She had not lingered much, nor returned after seeing him that time. Wicker was certain the man was a high-ranking military adept. Given his actions, the man had either been on the ghostship because of her, or he had seen the opportunity to expedite his mission by utilising her connections, or her knowledge. Whatever the case, he was someone of great value. I could use him on my side. But how do I go about it?

“Your explanation would be plausible if not for the part you’re so adamant on,” Wicker said, bringing Seyleen’s attention back to their argument. “An amplifier either works or it doesn’t. There’s no such thing as a faulty one.”

“That your first-hand experience talking?” the captain asked. “I wasn’t aware amplifiers were common as rocks these days. Apparently, every would-be adept gets to play around with one.”

“Their principles are well documented,” Wicker said slowly.

“Public documents. Public. Or are you going to tell me that everyone’s decided to disclose state secrets in the last few months I hadn’t been looking?”

“It is a rule, a proven dependency on the operational integrity of a flow compressor class one unit to produce an amplified result.”

“And what of it?” the captain asked, crossing his arms.

“It means he didn’t use one, you thick-skulled cretin!” Wicker said; his patience had finally run out. “He accomplished a feat no adept in the Colonised Worlds should be capable of!”

Seyleen groaned. I can’t think like this. She downed the rest of her drink. A quarter of a glass was not enough. The argument between Wicker and the captain had been repeated six times now, and she desperately needed respite.

Wicker usually didn’t allow much to perturb his calm, and Seyleen had only seen him angry several times when they were younger. In the beginning, it was him losing his impressive self-control that she had found interesting. However, as time went on, the novelty of his becoming more irascible had lost its charm.

Having reached the limit of her patience as well, she rose from her seat and strode over to one of the adjacent rooms. The sound of the men’s voices cut off as the metal door slid closed behind her. Finally, some peace, she thought.

If there was one good thing that came out of the attack, it was the freedom the captain had granted them. They were no longer bound to a single room on the ship. Having chosen to spend most of her time in the lounge area, Seyleen had witnessed a lot of the crewmembers’ antics; never joining them, content with just observing from the side. It was a vicarious pleasure of mediocrity and its simplicity she would never get to experience.

Usually, more of the crew were present at this time, but either something had come up to make them all busy, or none of them had wanted to remain within earshot of Wicker and the captain. Who could blame them?

Glancing around the room, she first spotted a small circular table and sofa, then a large drinks cabinet off to the side. No doubt, the captain had claimed this space as his own and had made it a private retreat. Unbothered by the fact, she ambled to the drinks cabinet and took out a bottle of whiskey.

No sooner than she’d sat down, the door opened. Bottle in hand, she stared at the intruder – the captain. He stared back at her.

“Where’s Wicker?” she asked.

“With Bale. I came to talk, though I see you’ve already busied yourself with raiding my ship.” He took out a glass as well, setting it on the table.

“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” she said, placing the bottle on the table. “I’ve not even started drinking yet.” She shook her empty glass.

“Meaning I’ll have cause for worry when you do?” He sat down across the table. She studied him as he did.

The man carried himself with confidence and wore a relaxed expression that belied the danger he posed. As the captain of a ghostship, he surely had many contacts in the undersurface of all the worlds he had visited. Radaar included. With the highborn after her, and especially if the oversurface at some point became too dangerous for her, such a network would be invaluable. I should get him as well.

“I don’t particularly like dealing with your kind, miss Mannock,” he said. Particularly. So, there’s room to manoeuvre. “Highborn tend to look at those from other spheres with disdain, even more so when they require their help. The irony.”

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“You’ll find I’m quite different from the others.”

“Let’s say I play along,” he said, glancing at her left hand. He leaned forwards; she reclined, crossed her legs, and placed her left arm over the backrest. “I want to know why you’re on my ship.”

“A pleasure trip,” she said.

“The fact you said such a ridiculous lie with a straight face is quite amazing. Still a lie though,” he said. “I’m not deaf to ongoing happenings, but you’ve got too much fury in you to just be going for the inheritance.”

She frowned. In her early teens, the other highborn had read her feelings and intentions with ease, using the pitch of her voice, the placement of her hands, and the muscle twitches on her face. That ease had invited condescending gazes, even scorn. She had learned to mask her feelings since then, but this man made her doubt.

“I despise being read,” she said.

“And I despise putting my crew in needless danger.” So, the crew comes first for him, she thought. Bale saved everyone on this ship. I’ll need to use that – his debt. “Those void-crawlers on Razan station were aiming for you. Care to explain?”

“No clue,” she said tersely. “My life will be hard enough on Radaar. I took measures to prevent anyone from finding out about my plans. Speaking of which…” She filled both their glasses, then raised hers, offering a toast. He sat unmoving, his stare fixed on her face. “I take it you know enough about the undersurface and staying hidden to keep us under the radar for a week or two?”

“You assume I’ll help?” he asked.

“If it’s a matter of compensation, you needn’t worry about that.”

“It’s a matter of principle.”

She pursed her lips, but the corners refused to obey, rising with her excitement. Caught you. It took her an entire second to quell the feeling. “All the more reason to do so then. The man you had my guard treat seemed to have business with me given how fiercely he fought. I’m sure aiding me will benefit him as well. Don’t you agree?” A victorious smile spread on her face.

“This is why I hate your type,” the captain said, finally picking up his glass. He clinked it with hers. “Were you planning on roping that guy in from the start?”

“Wicker claims he’s had military training. An adept of that calibre is always welcome.” She absently ran her thumb over the barely visible scar on the palm of her left hand.

“You think you’ll be able to order him around?”

“I’ve no delusions about how things will go in our little group with you and him in the picture.” If Raid was surprised at her casually extending his services past simply hiding them, he showed none of it. “As long as I get my answers, the rest doesn’t matter.”

Raid finished his drink, then pushed himself up from the table. “Do as you please. Just take care not to drag others down with you if you sink. Ah.” He stopped in front of the door. “And I suggest not asking Bale too many sensitive questions. Especially not about the amplifier. That question might just get you killed, guard or no guard.”

Once the door closed behind him, Seyleen let out a breath she’d been holding. That went well, she thought, though it was not something she wished to have a repeat of any time soon. The man’s piercing gaze and how his eyes seemed to see through her was an unnerving experience.

She brought her hands in front of her, staring at the palms. Her eyes traced the faded scar lines forming a diamond shape on one, and the clear skin on the other. How long ago had it been? Wicker hadn’t yet joined House Mannock at that point. Right, he was still with his family.

Her fingers gently brushed across the skin of her left palm. It hadn’t always been blemished by scars. There had been golden lines instead, from the palm to her wrist, framing a perfectly black pyramidal stone, her stone, the one she had gotten when she had been nine.

It had been such a happy evening.

Her father’s face beamed with excitement – not more excitement than she felt, of course, but a close second. Not to mention that he had almost invited all of his ‘friends’, as he called them, to watch. Thankfully, Seyleen’s mother had stopped him.

When Seyleen later stood in front of her parents, ready to present her ability to them, she followed the instructions she’d been given precisely: calm the mind, steady the breathing, sense the pull of the connection, and grab it. She needed only to sense the Gift. But she couldn’t do it; the first time, the second, the third… The Gift eluded her, the power foreign and untouchable. When she opened her eyes after the fourth failure, she was greeted by her parents’ expectant gazes.

She ran away; locked herself in her room; closed the windows; turned off the lights. Alone in the darkness, she tried again and again and again and again. Her hands trembled with frustration and panic. Why couldn’t she do it? Everyone had told her how easy it was. Close your eyes and feel. Nothing more. There were no cases of highborn children failing to become adepts. Her breathing became ragged. What would her friends, whom she had bragged to so happily, say when she saw them the next day? The oversurface was always clear on one thing: failure was not accepted.

Her hands became ice; cold sweat drenched her body. The sound of her heartbeat was drumming in her head. Choking back her tears, she tried her best to steady her breathing. Sense the pull, she mouthed repeatedly like a mantra, sense the pull.

There was the hardness of the floor, the sting of cold, damp fabric sticking to her skin, the tickle where a stray lock of hair brushed against her cheek, the weight of her clothes, the pain in her joints from sitting down too long… But no pull. Eyes firmly closed, she whispered the names of the Ascendants in desperate appeal.

Then she felt something – a warmth that enveloped her hand, her left hand. I did it! she screamed with joy in her mind. Thrilled, she opened her eyes and saw her mother’s hand on hers, and her worry-filled eyes staring at her face. Seyleen could no longer hold back her tears.

Several days passed quietly after that, but such things could never stay hidden for long, and soon they all knew. In the following years, many Houses who had been allied with House Mannock severed their ties, paving the way for the fierce opposition her father had to fight in her stead.

Although Seyleen had not spent all those years idle and worked hard to prove herself a worthy successor even without the Gift, the shadow of her inability followed her everywhere. Eventually, the very notion of succeeding her father in more than name ingrained itself in her as an impossibility—

Several raps on the door brought her back to the present. Wicker walked in a moment later.

“What is it?” she asked, pushing down the turmoil inside her.

“Apologies for interrupting. If you’d prefer to be alone…”

“No,” she said, turning her head away. The word had been too quick, almost eager. The memory had affected her more than she’d thought. What am I, a child to be comforted? Such a disgrace. She grabbed her glass and downed the contents in one gulp. The past was the past after all.

“Will there be trouble?” she asked. Seeing Wicker perplexed, and in truth perhaps the broadness of the question had been too much even for him to catch the meaning, she added, “With the military.”

“No. They’ll focus on the terrorists,” he said. “The Val Tairi… probably won’t deviate from that direction either. They might increase security in all the systems neighbouring Bellos, but that’s all.”

“A station was destroyed, Wicker. Surely, they’ll want witnesses.”

“It won’t change things. There was only one adept among the people that survived who could’ve sensed what Bale did, and I knocked him out before he could realise what was happening.”

Seyleen finally noticed a new bandage had been wrapped around Wicker’s arm. The foolish man must have gotten too agitated during his argument and waved his arms about with reckless force.

“That still leaves us,” she said. After her obvious staring, she pointedly avoided looking and showing any interest in his injured arm.

“They won’t pursue it that far. Even with the authority they wield, they tend to avoid dealing with highborn if they can. Mainly because it’s usually a bigger hassle for them.”

“And if they do, or if the Lady Hand decides to come?”

Wicker stayed silent for several seconds, staring at the floor, deliberating. When he finally looked up at her, he said, “We pray.”