{Gait}

Korac sat on the trunk across from Pehton. Her pitch complexion melted into his black sheets where she sat on the edge of his bed surrounded by the black metal walls, floor, and ceiling. The abyss couldn’t compare to the cloud of darkness that followed her. The downpour weighed heavily on their mission.

The electrified question sparked the air the longer it lingered between them.

The panic in her voice set the storm free. “I can’t tell you that. This prison can hear. I’ll lose my title.”

Pehton left her race’s volition to the likes of the Pain Curator. Korac’s honesty shouldn’t phase her. “You lost control of this planet the moment you handed over your people’s will. And any inkling of control you’ve had since was a delusion. A delusion afforded to you by Razor.”

Pehton sharply met his gaze, and those red eyes of hers hardened into rubies.

With reason and understanding, Korac pressed, “I respect your reasons. But we can’t solve Inanis while you withhold how your children and the promotion were related.”

The determination faded. How long did she keep this secret? How lonely was it to mourn offspring that barely existed relative to a lifespan like theirs? The Executive Warden leaned forward and pressed her lips close enough to almost touch his ear. She whispered, “A Primary approached me with the offer of promotion if I gave him children.”

“Which one?”

“Rem.” When she leaned back, she looked anywhere but straight at him.

Which suited Korac fine since he slammed his eyes shut to absorb this catastrophe. Pieces fell into place and made for an ugly picture. He expected Remorse to interject half-insights any minute now—

Remorse.

The Icarus left the Lyrik in his cell. She cried out in alarm as he stepped right through the nacre-resistant barrier. No time to spare for that talk. He stormed his way over to his blockmate’s cell. Ready to wring the bastard’s neck—

Empty.

Korac half-expected as much. He hung his head and laughed bitterly at their misfortune. “This prison can hear,” she’d said. No, but Tritans could.

Pehton called to him from down the hall, “It’s you. I heard about you.” There was sadness in her words. He hated hearing it.

He ignored her and stepped into the cell. Standard. Absolutely no sign of residence. But the back wall looked wrong. Light and energy fizzled and crackled. When he shoved one hand through the disguised conduit, Pehton gasped from behind him. Korac walked through it and into an unguarded shrine in Enki.

He needed to warn Sagan.

Korac returned to find the tiny woman orange-feathered woman he left behind fuming at him. With her hands on her hips and one boot tapping, she looked utterly adorable. The hard edge to her voice was not. “You’ve withheld vital information from me, as well.” It softened to a whisper as she got closer with one finger in his face. “Like you don’t have a nacre. And you neglected to mention a partner inside—”

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“Executive Warden, stop. I told you from the beginning I’m here on my honor. Remorse wasn’t my ally. I thought he was another prisoner. He was a Tritan and—”

She groaned. “No.” The horror of it widened her eyes.

“—Exactly. I’ve good reason to believe he’s the same man who opened the conduit to Earth from Cinder. Who worked with Celindria to manipulate Nox. Why was he here?”

Pehton quit listening. She marched through the conduit. Korac rushed to follow. He called after her before she left the shrine, “Where are you going?”

“To kill him.” Her words rang across the stone slab surrounded by the ocean.

He grabbed her arm. “Stop. He’s a Primary and—”

Korac’s hand burned where it gripped her elbow. Smoke rolled off the Lyrik. Her orange feathers swayed in the kerosene-smelling fumes. Flames flickered in her eyes. He wasn’t aware of an Atramentous for her kind, but Pehton certainly activated her dark mode.

“Executive Warden, this is no time for a suicide mission. Now, as much as I’d like to see this bastard burn for his crimes, it won’t happen on Enki. He’s far too powerful here. And if you pursue him, they’ll kill you. Then you’ll never know what happened to your children.” Despite the searing pain, he refused to let go. With a gentle squeeze, he tried one more avenue to reach her. “They survived Inanis. Remorse—Primary Rem told me, himself. Xelan was the last person to see them when he ransacked the Pantheon. That was only two thousand years ago. Sagan and I will work with you.”

The tiny woman finally looked up at him and met his gaze. Damn, Lyriks were scary.

Respectfully, Korac released her and took a step away. “The decision is yours. But I want you to know I don’t want to watch you die. Or myself. Because if you go, I’ll go in after you. We’d both leave Sagan alone never to know what happened to us—”

“Why? Why would you go in with me?” Pehton gazed at him, earnestly searching his eyes for the truth.

The war criminal shrugged casually with a smirk for his warden. “I won’t let that hedonist die without getting at least one good swing in.”

A pitiful laugh burst from her. The Executive Warden choked on it until she shook with sobs. The smoke and fumes dissipated and left a broken woman in its wake.

Korac startled her with a groan. “Ugh. No. I’ve been around the Shadow far too much. I almost offered to hug you.” As she sniffed and wiped her eyes, he carried on, “Can you imagine? The awkwardness of it.” He shook his head incredulously and waved the image away.

Pehton giggled, and her shoulders eased.

“Come on. Let’s get back to the prison before we’re overtaken by the only two Tritans that patrol Enki.”

As they made their way back through the conduits and to the shrine, Pehton confessed, “Since you were so forthcoming with me, I want to return the favor. And you won’t like what I have to tell you.”

“You don’t have to say it. I already know you’re in love with me. Sagan thinks it’s cute, too.” As they crossed back into the Primary’s cell, Pehton stopped walking in step with him. He turned and found her looking at him rather seriously. “Tell me.”

The Executive Warden chafed her black arms and chewed on her lip. Eventually, she spilled the bad news. “I’ve been avoiding telling you this but… Razor has sheets he dyed the same color as Sagan’s eyes. And I think he let me see them, so I would tell you. I think he wants you to know.” After dropping that bomb, she paced into a logic frenzy. “Okay. But he had to have them dyed a while ago. Like before she started coming around the Emporium. And that’s not all. Her Lyriki coat? Triss and Oleen made it like over the last two years, right? He owns them.”

“Fuck,” Korac spat and clenched his jaw as he fumed. He hated the way the Pain Curator looked at his woman. Like he wanted to give the Icarean General a run for her. But that’s not their relationship at all. No one owned anyone. They were equals.

Pehton punched one tiny fist into her other tiny palm. “I’ll warn her when I see her next, but she gets around so fast. And I can’t hang out at the Emporium waiting for her. Triss will tell Razor I was there. But I have a plan.” She crossed the distance between them and brought him down to her height. In his ear, she whispered, “A source on the inside—Sagan’s human friend—discovered evidence which makes me believe Razor broke the slave labor laws. Matt asked for my help. I’m asking for yours. Would you like to help me bring down the Emporium?”

Korac looked into her eyes from only centimeters away. Grinning, he assured, “With pleasure.” He held up a finger and leaned forward to whisper, “Quid pro quo. I help with the Emporium. You get me in the big cell.”

“Deal.”

King Rayne might soon inherit another planet.