I don’t bother to tell her that it would take Phoenix a long time just to walk down the corridor. I simply nod. Firstborn Jenns and the rest of the investigators collect their equipment in hovering transporters and exit the apartment. A small army of mechadomes cleans up the blood from the fallen assassins. Phoenix’s iron exterior is scrubbed and buffed by a particularly advanced domestic robot. When they’re finally finished, my apartment is even cleaner than it was the day I arrived. The last mechadome out closes my apartment door.
Alone, I deflate a little. It’s past dawn. The sun is bright. Phoenix toddles over from the drawing room toward me. I squat down and run my hand over its head. “You look better, Phee,” I whisper, my voice a little shaky. Its rudimentary mouth curves up.
I find my fusionblade where I left it upstairs in the bedroom. My own investigation of the lower floor doesn’t uncover any monitoring devices left behind. On the balcony outside my apartment, the two hovering stingers guard the entrance. I use privacy mode to turn all the windows and glass doors opaque.
Hunger drives me to the kitchen. I order a meal via the commissary unit located on the wall. When it arrives on a golden salver, I find that I’m afraid to taste it, worried that it’s poisoned. Tears well up in my eyes. Phoenix lumbers in, the top of its head barely reaching the surface of the table. Lifting its vacuum arm, it delicately sucks in a few bits of pasta from the side of my plate. Humming and churning noises ensue. Words written in red laser appear in the lenses of its eyes, detailing a list of ingredients. I study it for a second, not understanding. Then I realize that Phoenix has analyzed my meal on a molecular level. Nothing about the list appears lethal. Its eyes return to glowing red.
“You’re sure this is okay to eat?” I ask in a soft tone.
Its lenses move up and down in a nod-like gesture. I lift my fork, taking a small bite, and then a much larger one when I don’t notice anything unusual about the flavor. Shoveling the food into my mouth, I finish the entire portion in a few more bites, hardly tasting it at all. We repeat the process for several more dishes and beverages, until I have a small food baby in my belly and eater’s remorse.
“Are you Phee?” I ask, setting my fork aside. The burly mechadome’s eyes move side to side. “Are you—” Using its right hand, the one that’s like a claw, it lifts my hand and points to the small star on my palm. Reykin. I stiffen. “I’m going to bed,” I murmur. “You should do the same.”
Leaving the kitchen, I trudge to the stairs and start to climb them. Behind me, Phoenix’s feet clang against the floor. I pause, turning around to find the small bot running into the bottom step, trying to follow me upstairs. It points to the sofa, clearly wanting me to sleep there. “No,” I reply. “I’m sleeping in my bed.”
More clanging sets my teeth on edge, but I ignore it. I take a quick shower and change into sleepwear that I can fight in if need be. The first-aid kit in my bathroom has liquid stitches and bandages. I use the salve to sterilize and glue my frayed skin together, and a bandage to cover the wound on my neck. Returning to my bedroom, I climb onto the enormous mattress. I grip the silver hilt of my Halo Palace–issued fusionblade and, with supreme effort, try to keep my eyes open.
A murderous nightmare leaves me breathless. I’m jerked awake by something brushing up against my arm. In my right hand, my fusionblade ignites, and I strike, but it’s met by an equally strong dual-blade, the X16 model I helped design. The energy of our blades growls where they meet, spitting and sizzling in protest. “It’s me,” Reykin hisses between clenched teeth. The golden glow of the blade makes him look like a statue of an ancient deity—maybe even Tyburn himself. “You’re having a bad dream.”
My eyes narrow, and I look around from my half-reclined position on my bed. My bedroom is the same as before, except the fat chair that’s usually by the window has been moved to the corner. It has a small blanket draped over the arm and a large indention in the cushion.
I withdraw my fusionblade and power it off. Reykin does the same. The soft light beside my bed illuminates when I touch its base. “What are you doing here?” I demand. Everything is hazy and my voice sounds groggy, even though I have adrenaline coursing through me. My nightmare was particularly horrific—my mother’s soldiers were destroying the city of Purity to get to me.
Reykin retreats to the chair, lifting it and moving it back where it was. His hair is sticking up on one side, and his dark, expensive trousers are wrinkled. The broad expanse of his back is completely bare. He turns, and I see a large handprint on the side of his cheek.
My eyes widen. “You slept here!”
“You have bad dreams,” Reykin grunts.
“So?” I ask defensively. It’s none of his business.
“So you sounded like you were being hurt.”
“I wasn’t.” I rub the sleep from my eyes and sit up straighter, shifting my legs over the side of the bed and setting my feet on the floor.
“How was I to know?” His lip curls in a snarl. “You refused to sleep on the sofa. I couldn’t see you. Phoenix can’t get up the stairs.” He stretches his long arms over his head to work out a kink in his shoulder. His body is even more toned than those of most of the Sword soldiers in my unit. He’s perfect, except for a long, faint scar from his shoulder to his abdomen.
“Are you insane? You can’t be found in my room.”
“I know.” He exhales deeply in frustration. “I’m going to have to stay until tonight when things become quieter. I’ll sneak out then.”
“I can defend myself.”
“Unless you sleep through the attack. You didn’t even hear me enter your room.”
“I’m in more danger with you here! If someone were to find you in my quarters, it’s not you they’ll punish, it’s me. You’re firstborn.” My tone implies all the malice I’m beginning to feel for all firstborns.
“Do what I tell you next time, and I won’t have to come looking for you!” Reykin snatches up his discarded shirt. I lift my chin, realizing I’ve been staring at his bare chest.
“Your shoulder healed well,” I mutter.
He has his arms through his sleeves, the material gathered at his elbows, ready to pull it over his head. Instead, he lowers his arms and glances at his thin scar. His irritation cools. “The med drone you called on the battlefield mended my bones and cauterized my skin. It sterilized the wound and inoculated me against infection. It hurt like being branded by a fusionblade when I woke up in the back of the cargo ship that transported me back to a Star base.”
“You didn’t have the scar removed.” He could easily have done it. He’s a wealthy, aristocratic Star—a landowner and a prominent member of the community that provides power and energy to the Fates. A Winterstrom.
He shrugs into his shirt. “No. I didn’t.”
“Why not?”
He folds the small blanket, placing it on the arm of the chair. “It’s a reminder.”
“A reminder of what?” He doesn’t answer. I sigh. “How did you get past the stingers outside? Did you use lead to cover your moniker?” If he has more, I want some. I haven’t yet fashioned a block for my moniker, and I need to be able to travel freely around without being tracked by The Virtue or anyone else.
“These aren’t like Sword stingers. These are Virtues stingers—equipped with an arsenal of elite caliber weapons. Your leader saves all the best technology for himself. You can’t just rely on a lead shield over your moniker. They have infrared.”
“So, how’d you do it?”
“I created an orb that allows me to cloak my temperature—used with the lead shield over my moniker, stingers can’t ping me or sense me.” He pulls a small device from his pocket and hands it to me. It’s a silver sphere the size of a walnut.
“What do you call it?” The orb is icy to the touch. The cool sensation travels across my skin on contact. In seconds, I’m practically hypothermic.
“Nothing yet, I just made it.”
“You just made it?” I ask, agog. “How did you know it would work?”
“I didn’t.” He snatches it back from me, powering it off and returning it to his pocket. “But you were crying.”
“I was crying?” I feel sweaty. I need his device back so I can get rid of my blush.
“I thought someone was hurting you,” he replies gruffly. He looks away.