Mercy’s head spun with the implications of everything Cannon had shared. She couldn’t imagine what that must have been like, how helpless people must have felt watching loved ones sicken and die, knowing someone had created that sickness to do exactly that.

“Is that what killed Lilith?”

Cannon nodded, and there was something in his eyes, an echo of old pain and grief, but underscored with such an intense, cold fury that she could practically feel it radiating from him.

“Yes. Lilith, my mother, my sister, cousins, nieces…too many others to count.” His voice was stiff, and Mercy realized he must not speak of this very often. That he was doing so now to share the experience with her because he felt strongly that she needed to understand it. But doing so dredged up memories that still hurt him on a profound level.

“I’m sorry.” Slowly, she became aware of a hushed silence in the room, where before there had been the low hum of voices, private conversations filling the background as people chatted over their meals. Now, no one spoke. There was a quality to the silence, a reverence, and Mercy felt acutely that everyone was aware of the subject of their conversation, and responding to it. The emotions she saw in Cannon were not limited to him, but shared by all of the pirates. Everyone had lost someone. Everyone mourned.

Cannon looked down at his drink.

“A few years back, we found out something that made it even worse, if you can imagine that.”

Mercy tried to imagine what could make it worse, and failed.

“The people responsible for creating Matera-D and sending it to us, the people who tried to wipe out our existence, were not the Planetary Representatives and the monarchy as we know it.” He took a breath. “They were not nulls who hate or fear us. There is a group within the Commonwealth. A group of Talented, like us. Who, instead of fleeing the persecution, went underground. They disappeared within the core worlds, creating a network of Talented people who became very adept at hiding. We suspect very strongly that they have infiltrated the government. That, in fact, they are the power behind the monarchy, one that the nulls do not even suspect exists.”

He looked at Mercy, his eyes flicking up to the mop of recently grown hair just brushing her ears. Something in her chilled.

Willem Frain, she thought. “The people who held me. The people who hurt Atrea.” In her lap, her hands curled into fists. The people who took my mother. She was still making a big leap there, since she had no proof. But it was so easy to imagine Willem and his people being responsible.

“Yes. Nulls may have driven us from civilized space, may have made us turn pirate to survive. But our own people tried to destroy us. Talented people.”

“Why?”

He gave her a bitter smile. “That’s the question, isn’t it? We found out this information because we have those among us who escaped this group and found their way here. Unfortunately, these people were not deep enough within the organization to understand all of their motives. I suspect that it’s a matter of power.” He shrugged. “Clearly, we represent some kind of threat to them, to what they’ve built. They have made an enormous effort to destroy us.” Remembered pain still lurked in his eyes when he said, “It is not an act we can allow to go unanswered.”

“I understand,” Mercy said very softly.

For a moment, the two of them stared at one another in perfect empathy. Mercy would never be able to ignore the disappearance or death of her mother. She imagined how much worse she would feel if she’d actually watched her mother die, murdered by a virus engineered to take her life. She could see the resolve in Cannon’s face, in his eyes and the tension of his body. He would never let this go, never forget what had been done, or who had done it.

A loud crash sounded nearby. It startled them both, but Mercy jumped so badly she spilled half her beer onto the table. She didn’t realize she’d grabbed at the cutlery from her tray until the knife was fisted in her hand, her chair knocked to the floor because she stood up so fast. Adrenaline made her shake, her heart pounding as she took in food splattered over the floor a couple of tables away. Another chair was overturned, and two teenagers stood facing off over the dropped tray. Max, and another boy.

The second boy was considerably larger, but it was Max who threw a punch. It hit the larger boy in the face with enough force to throw him back into another table and chairs. The occupants jumped up and out of the way with hurled curses, none moving to intervene. The boy landed with a crash that took out three chairs and rocked the table.

Not just a punch then, but one backed by telekinesis. Mercy understood the principle, though she’d never had the time to practice her own Talent to perfect it. What she didn’t understand was why the larger boy had simply stood there and done nothing to defend himself. Two or three other boys hung back, grouped together in that way unique to packs of teenagers. One flashed a malevolent grin at Max, and Mercy’s eyes narrowed. Though he appeared to be the aggressor, it was clear to her that Max was somehow the victim.

A touch on her arm brought her attention back to Cannon. He’d moved around the table to stand beside her, his eyes flicking down to the knife she held so firmly. She let out a breath. It was just two boys fighting. She forced her fingers to unlock and dropped the knife back onto the table.

“Shouldn’t you do something?” Her voice came out with a faint tremble, and she blew out a frustrated breath. She didn’t like being this jumpy. The question was, was she just being paranoid because of her recent experience? Or did it go deeper, because she was finally back home, where it all began? Where she started running? Both, probably.

“I could. But we have a plan.” Cannon inclined his head, and Mercy felt the familiar brush of his presence a breath before she turned and saw Reaper walking across the floor. Unlike Cannon, Reaper didn’t wear armored clothing. His shirt was thin gray cotton, the real stuff by the look of it, tucked into casual synth-cloth pants just like those Wolfgang and a thousand other spacers wore, self-mending, self-cleaning, and utilitarian black in color.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

He’d just entered the room, and he crossed over to the boys with a smooth, unhurried stride. The larger boy lay crumpled on the ground, moaning in apparent pain. Max stood with his fists clenched, hair hanging in his eyes, breathing heavily. A look was beginning to dawn on his face, one of horror that only increased when Reaper stepped into his line of sight. His face went dead white. He glanced around at the other people in the room, but no one moved to intervene. It was a little disturbing, actually, how no one had even stirred when the fight erupted.

Reaper arched an eyebrow. He glanced back at the boy still moaning. When he spoke out loud, Mercy knew it was a deliberate choice, so everyone could hear. “Kator, shut up. If you were really hurt, I’d see it.”

The boy stopped his moaning instantly. He sat up, and his face, too, had paled. His hair was cut close to his head, and he wore an old flight suit like Max’s. Mercy wondered if he hadn’t thought this whole event through, because there was no doubt in her mind that somehow, he’d set Max up. He looked around, but his friends had melted away from Reaper’s presence, backing up like they meant to escape from the room. A couple of Reaper’s dogs blocked the doorway. Mercy recognized the shaggy haired one, Jaxon, and Zion with his too-charming smile. He didn’t look charming now, but crossed his arms and gave the boys a flat look. They edged away from the doorway, but made no move to go back and help their friend.

Kator looked around, and Mercy glimpsed real fear on his face a second before he gathered himself and flung a hand toward his opponent. “Sir, Max attacked me!” He rubbed at a bruise and winced. “He hit me because I bumped into him.”

Head bowed, Max stared at the ground. His fists were still clenched, and Mercy could see his jaw was tight as well. From the crowd, another voice spoke up.

“It’s true. Kator knocked into him, spilled his tray. It looked like an accident. But Max here threw the first punch.” The tone of the speaker was reluctant, as though he didn’t like incriminating Max.

Reaper’s face remained impassive. Mercy saw his dogs move into the room. They leaned casually against the far wall, but their eyes moved over the area, vigilant and watchful.

“Max.”

“Sir?” The boy’s eyes darted up to Reaper’s face, and dropped back down again. Like he couldn’t stand to look him in the eye.

“You know what the law says about disagreements.”

Max swallowed. “Yes, sir.” The words were spoken so softly, Mercy had to strain to hear them.

“Unless the two of you can settle this now?”

“He attacked me!” Kator’s voice was full of outrage. “Everyone saw. Sir.”

Reaper turned his head and favored him with a cool look. He stared at him until Kator dropped his eyes. “I take it that an apology will not satisfy you?”

Kator didn’t look up from the floor. “No, sir. I want my day in the arena.”

Ah. So that was his game. Whatever this arena was. Mercy glanced at Cannon, but his face was as impassive as Reaper’s. Maybe some kind of tribunal? Over boys fighting?

No. Cannon’s voice was resigned in her mind. If we don’t allow them to settle it, this will continue to escalate. It’s already been escalating, for months now.

Why haven’t you done something?

He glanced at her. We are.

“Very well.” Reaper never looked at Cannon, but Mercy realized the two of them knew exactly what was happening here, and there was more to it than she knew. “You can settle this once and for all this afternoon.”

“Today? But—”

A look from Reaper had Kator swallowing his protest. “You wanted your day, boy. This is the only chance you get.” His gaze flicked to his dogs, so fast Mercy wouldn’t have seen it if she hadn’t been watching so closely. Jaxon moved to where Max still stood, while Zion went over to Kator. He nudged the boy with a boot.

“Get up.”

Kator scrambled to his feet, and a few minutes later both boys were escorted out. Max cast a look back at Cannon, but went willingly with Jaxon. Kator’s friends slunk out after them.

“What happens now?” Mercy asked as Cannon picked up her chair and set it back where it belonged.

“Now the boys will settle their dispute, and this bullying nonsense will end.”

“Right,” Mercy said as she retook her seat. She glanced up at Reaper as he approached the table. “I got that part. But how? Do they each make their case to you, or what?”

Cannon gave a crooked half-smile. “Our system of justice is a bit more…”

“Direct,” said Reaper. He sat, no hint of expression on his face as he looked at Cannon. “You haven’t told her.”

“Told me what?”

Cannon sighed. “I was getting to it.”

Anxiety was a swirl of unease in Mercy’s stomach as she looked back and forth between them. “Whatever it is, somebody better tell me.”

Cannon folded his hands on the table before him, shifting his attention from Reaper to her. “It’s why we put up with Lilith for so many years, despite her many cruelties. You are important to us, Mercy, far beyond being family.”

Mercy wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but the apparent shift in topic wasn’t it. The anxiety sharpened, making her nauseous.

“Important? Like I was important to Willem Frain? You are not going to hold me prisoner.” The fear cut through her, not entirely rational. No one had made any attempt to lock her away. Wolfgang was here, and so was Atrea. Mercy had decided to stay of her own free will, but Cannon’s words sounded so close to what Frain had said, she couldn’t stop her reaction.

Control it. Don’t let it control you. Reaper’s voice in her head, calm and even, somehow anchored her. She took a deep breath and moved past her fear.

“I’m sorry,” she said to Cannon. Her fingers laced together in her lap. “Please, whatever it is, just tell me. I have to know what this is all about.”

“Fair enough,” said Cannon. “Do you remember what Lilith was to us?”

“Sure.” Mercy shrugged. “Queen Lilith. She was in charge of everything.”

“Yes. It wasn’t just a title, though. Being a queen is who and what Lilith was.” Cannon drummed his fingers on the table. “We were, as I said, created to be soldiers and assassins. The Talented have always been a violent race, and those responsible for creating us knew we could turn on them. They built in a genetic fail-safe.”

“Okay,” said Mercy cautiously.

“We are a matriarchal people. There is a…call it a psychic pheromone, if you want. All Talented women are born with it. It connects us. Makes us feel whole. But alone, this isn’t enough. Especially for some of our more specialized Talents, like Reaper’s.”

“Meaning what, exactly?”

“Lilith,” said Cannon, “was a queen. A living embodiment of that fail-safe. A woman like her was created by the scientists who made Talent. The psychic pheromone all women have existed a hundred times over in her. It was designed to connect us all together. To lead us. To control us if we rebelled. To keep us from killing one another. Lilith was a descendant of that first queen.”

Cannon and Reaper exchanged a look. It settled the fear in Mercy, but another worry crept in. A thousand different half-conversations and moments with her mother cascaded through her mind. Things Pallas had refused to talk about, or alluded to without explaining. It made sense. A terrible kind of sense.

“Wait.” Mercy lifted her glass and swallowed what was left of her beer, the cold wash of liquid wetting a mouth and throat gone suddenly dry. “Are you saying…?”

“Yes,” said Cannon. “Your grandmother was a queen. And so are you.”