{March 2004}

Every night for the last two years, Nox killed Rayne in her dreams. And every night, she returned with her feet planted sturdily in the dirt and her fists up in an increasingly effective stance. Only now, a storm was casting clouds of inner conflict in her brilliant blue eyes, electrifying them with purpose. Lightning in her veins.

Exactly according to plan.

Celindria’s descendant sat across a long dining table from Nox, separated by a feast of Icarean dishes. He enjoyed keeping the young woman on her toes. Some nights she and Nox simply talked while dancing around the fire in combat. Tonight’s lesson was one in etiquette and galactic protocol.

With a feign of ignorance, Nox asked, “How is choir?” All the while, knowing she’d dropped out to focus on training for the invasion, according to Korac’s reports.

The reincarnation of the First Progeny ducked her eyes before saying, “I wouldn’t know. I couldn’t find time to fit choir into my schedule this school year.” She never lied to Nox, which only deepened his mistrust.

What tactics was Celindria playing at inside the young woman’s mind? Was this not a ruse to entrap Nox? Surely, she was biding her time to unleash all manner of pandemonium and suffering on him.

She looked exhausted with dark circles under her dulled eyes. When would she sleep? School during the day. Work at the bookstore after school. Training late in the evenings. And dying in her restless dreams.

All according to plan.

Once Celindria’s descendant had accepted this was not a night for fighting, she gingerly grabbed a bore kabob and nibbled on it. After swallowing, she asked, “So, if there’s etiquette for dining as a ‘galactic leader,’ does that mean you meet peacefully with other worlds? How many other worlds are there? And what are they like?”

Yes. Rayne was a curious creature. While they’d engaged in combat, she often asked Nox about Cinder and the Icari. It was a shared trait between her and The Afflicted One’s descendant, Sagan. Korac reported some of their inquisitive conversations; although, Nox could tell the General had regularly withheld details. Perhaps concealing his progress in the wager.

The First Progeny’s reincarnation waited expectantly for Nox’s response, her expression one of earnest curiosity. Sometimes, he indulged her, but this time he said, “You should ask your guardian why he’s left gaps in your education. You know, if he’d given you a nacre already, you wouldn’t be so tired.”

“If you’d let me have one night of sleep, I could get some rest.”

Rayne’s quick response brought a smirk to Nox’s lips. “Quite.” After some consideration, he said, “No. We don’t meet peacefully with other worlds.” Not anymore.

This seemed to disappoint the young woman, judging by her downcast expression. After taking a deep breath, she changed the subject. “How is my etiquette?”

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Nox leaned forward, planted his elbows on the tabletop, and steepled his fingers. “It’s customary when presented with such a feast to enjoy it with expressed enthusiasm. No one likes when an exquisite meal goes to waste.”

Still frowning, Celindria’s descendant examined the table covered in food with a forlorn expression before shaking her head. “I’m not hungry.”

Excellent.

A silence stretched between them in which Nox observed Rayne’s subdued behavior until she abruptly asked, “Nox, don’t you want peace between Cinder and the other worlds? For trade and cultural exchange?”

Nox narrowed his eyes as a familiar sensation occurred to him. It was happening more lately. Every night in which she faced him with determination in her bright blue eyes, he’d felt it.

Respect. Regard. Even affinity.

It was a remarkable privilege to see a mind such as Rayne’s take shape.

Nox flattened his arms on the table and said, “Cinder’s reputation precedes us, and we are not welcome in peace. Before your guardian and your ancestor betrayed us, I was working to mend relations. Since the Vacating, I’ve had to resort to despicable acts to foster this invasion. Nothing will stop it. Not even you, Rayne.”

Ah…

He’d used her name, and she’d perked up despite the context.

Strange.

With renewed hope, Rayne reached for her chalice and drank from it.

Victory.

Nox asked, “Is this enough for you?”

The young woman peered over the rim of the chalice. When she recognized Nox’s triumphant signature, Celindria’s descendant set the drink down, trembling. She’d figured it out. “You poisoned me?” Her offense in the accusation disappointed Nox.

“Never take bread or drink from an enemy.” Nox leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, admitting, “If you’d possessed a nacre, the poison wouldn’t affect you. True, it’s a dishonorable and pitiful end for a warrior of your caliber, but you’re not a child anymore, Celindria. You’re a killer in training.”

There.

Anytime Nox referred to the young woman by her ancestor’s name, the storm raged behind her eyes. It flared with her electric temper. Exhilarated by her reaction, he said, “Count to two hundred and forty, and you’ll wake safely in your bed—Once the poison liquefies your organs, of course.”

The First Progeny descendant’s eyes widened, and Nox could see the counting begin. Now, how would she spend these precious seconds?

A fine tremor overtook her. She gripped the table, glared at Nox, and said, “Humor me?”

This could prove interesting. “Yes?”

“I don’t want any guilt for putting you down when you invade, so tell me. Will you be leaving behind any children?”

Nox narrowed his eyes, agitated by the direction of their conversation. “No.”

“Good.” Celindria’s descendant spat blood and smeared it with the back of her hand.

So formidable, but how dare she mention family? Nox stood and walked toward her. “No children. No parents. I had a brother once, but your guardian took him from me.”

Despite the agony racking her body, Rayne’s heartache glistened in her eyes, and Nox believed it was genuine. She said, “I have a little brother, so I understand how you must feel. If anyone ever hurt him, I wouldn’t stop until I found justice.”

Justice.

Not revenge.

This young woman believed she was a being of restitution, to make right that which was wrong. It was something Nox understood.

As he approached Rayne, she fell to one knee, choking on blood. Nox knelt with her. Centimeters from his face, she groaned, “One hundred and eighty-two seconds in.”

It was a slow death not fit for a warrior—Nox would not repeat this exercise, assured she’d learned her lesson. In an act he’d scrutinize later, he reached out and clasped her hand. To his astonishment, Rayne adjusted her smaller hand in his for a more comfortable fit and squeezed the lifeline. She choked, and he held her upright.

Staring into his eyes, the brave woman said, “Tomorrow, I’ll beat you.”

Nox smirked. “I look forward to it.”

When she vanished from the dream like all the other nights, he couldn’t help but notice a significant change. The absence of Rayne’s warmth had left Nox cold. Touching her came with a price. One he couldn’t afford to overlook, yet one he’d dare not abstain.

“Until tomorrow, Rayne.”