We’d been wandering the room, searching for a way out of the Tomb of the First Auhtula for the past ten minutes, all too aware of my crew’s imminent arrival and Lija most likely lurking outside–if we ever found a door that would let us out. 

Nyc’arra poked the Auhtula’s other eyeball, just in case. As her escape methods grew more outlandish, she’d begun to intermittently throw out delightful little jibes about the intelligence of the entirety of the human race. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was nervous.  “It’d be entertaining watching you fail so spectacularly, but the amount of damage your little brains can wreak is nigh on catastrophic at times.”

“You think this is bad? You should see the bullshit we do on purpose,” I said, closely surveying the gem-encrusted central fresco that depicted that first Auhtula at the height of her reign. She stood atop this very temple, shrouded in her crimson cloak and jeweled coronet, and held her staff–all of which glittered in the glow cast by the silver liquid. Though it was one of my favorite pieces in the temple, I was not-so-secretly hoping the temple would do one of its appearing/disappearing door acts with it.

Nyc’arra snorted. “Trust the temple. As though trusting a tool created by an iz’waij is a good idea!”

“Maybe it is,” I said with forced mildness. “Maybe the temple is protecting us from Lija until Azo’lah can get here. Did you ever think of that?”

“I did. The latter doesn’t comfort me as much as it does you.”

“You still don’t trust her?”

“After what she did to me,” Nyc’arra cut in, her words sharper than any zali’thir, “I think trust is asking a bit much, don’t you?”

I had no argument for that, so instead I said, “I should have known it was Lija! That underhanded asshole. I thought he was just a regular run-of-the-mill traitorous piece of–”

Nyc’arra laughed hollowly. “Is there a part of you that thinks Lija and Azo’lah might be working together? A part of me thinks that.”

“No.  Azo’lah would never...” For some reason–a reason I did not have the energy to examine too closely in my current predicament–my voice cracked around the words. “What I’m saying is that I can’t believe that this asshole bureaucrat we’ve been forced to interact with on a regular basis has been the one we’ve been looking for the whole time!”

Nyc’arra grabbed my shoulder, turning me to face her. I blinked against the too-close light of the glowstick strapped to Nyc’arra’s wrist. She dropped her hand. “What do you know of this iz’waij?”

“Outside of what we learned in the garden, not much,” I admitted. “He’s a Councilor for Ty’uria, mostly advising on technological advancement… which makes a lot more sense now.”

Nyc’arra raised her eyebrows in a go on gesture, and I shrugged. She asked, “That’s all you know?”

Embarrassed heat flooded my cheeks. “How do we fix this? What’s your plan?”

“There are too many unknown variables. Is Shockley still alive? Are your friends actually on their way to help? What is the true identity of this iz’waij? To create a plan around the unverifiable information this temple,” Nyc’arra gestured mockingly at the walls and ceiling, “has been so kind to provide us with would be supremely unwise.”

“The temple didn’t provide the information. The temple provided the communication pathway to the people who gave us the information.”

Nyc’arra ignored my extremely valid correction. “The only facts we have are these: there is a murderous iz’waij roaming this structure, attempting to use their abilities to harness the power of this temple and kill you. My duty is to protect you. To do that, I must get you out of the temple.”

“What about Max?”

“I cannot risk your safety on a hope that he is still alive,” Nyc’arra spat, her jade eyes narrowing. “No matter how much I wish I could, I cannot. I must assume he is lost to us.”

“Nyc’arra–”

She strode forward, her long legs carrying her to me in less than three strides. “No. We cannot count on Shockley being alive. We cannot count on your crew. I know they will do their best, but there’s no guarantee they’ll reach us before Lija. And it’s uncertain, even if they do, that Azo’lah is…” Nyc’arra swallowed, “who you think she is. Even then, she may be outmatched.” 

It was a huge struggle to think of Azo’lah, destroyer of the Jol’pri Black Market Space Station, as outmatched by anyone. But, fuck, Nyc’arra had a point. Lija was clearly skilled. Unlike Azo’lah, who had avoided and suppressed using her technopathy with very few exceptions well into adulthood,  it appeared as though he had a lifetime of practice. He had developed a skillset far beyond my wildest imaging, a skillset that let him access my implant without even needing to be touching it. Azo’lah was maybe our last true hope and, for the first time ever…

A small, fervent part of me hoped the last message was a trick, that Azo’lah was safe in the palace on Thal. 

Oblivious to my mini-meltdown, Nycarra continued, “Our survival is up to us and us alone, so you will listen to me. Even if we had a way out of this damned room, this temple is too large and too unpredictable to attempt an escape without knowing the exact location of the iz’waij. So, we lure him here by removing this.” Her fingers gently grazed the coronet still situated atop my sweaty head. “He will no doubt use his abilities to enter, which will require him to open a door, however briefly. An escape route for you.”

“An escape route for us,” I amended.

Nyc’arra’s lips quirked up humorlessly. “Once out, you will put that silly crown back on and run to the ship. I will stay here and do what I was trained to.”

My stomach filled with lead. I had witnessed Destyrian Myax pull off some absolutely mind-bending feats, but what she was suggesting was a death sentence. “You’re going to face off with Lija, who is armed with an entire temple? Nyc’arra, he’s too powerful.”

“That’s for me to worry about. I only want you to think about getting out of here and back to the Qu’een. Matt programmed Thal into the autopilot controls before we left Destyr. All you’ll need to do is get her into the air. If landing is a concern, you can stop when you enter atmo, and they will tow you in.”

“Why are you so determined to do this?” I demanded, watching as Nyc’arra, who, with all her special Myax training, rarely betrayed any emotion she didn’t allow, let her eyes flick ever so slightly to the side. “What the fuck was the oath you swore to Fleetwood?” 

I knew that she had come to some sort of agreement with Fleetwood that had resulted in her banishment being lifted if she accepted the position as my bodyguard, but it suddenly occurred to me that I had never asked the specifics. “Tell me, Nyc’arra.” 

Nyc’arra breathed deeply. “In exchange for the lifting of my banishment and restoration of my honor, I swore to protect your life at the cost of my own until either the iz’waij was defeated or I was.” 

She moved to turn away, reaching for her borrowed zali’thir. I grabbed her arm to stop her. “And if neither of those things happens?” 

“My banishment is restored, permanently. And my family, once again, will not be allowed to leave the Destyrian system to prevent them from contacting me.” She gave a bitter laugh. “The Fulyiti knows, as someone who values it above all else, how much of an incentive family can be.”

“Why would you take that deal?” Because quite honestly, it seemed extremely not in Nyc’arra’s favor and uncharacteristically cruel of Fleetwood. 

“Because, if I succeed, my banishment is lifted permanently, my station in the Myax order could be restored. I would not go back,  but The Danger Zone’s criminal records on Destyr would be expunged, giving us the chance to put our skills to use…pseudo-legally.” 

“What does that even mean?” I threw up my hands to keep her response at bay and continued. “Okay, you’ll explain it to me later. When we’re both out of this alive. I won’t leave you. I’ll bring back up. Azo’lah can hold things together long enough for us to get you out, if nothing else.” I tilted my chin expectantly. 

Nyc’arra nodded and released my shoulders. “Give me a few moments to prepare.” She spun on her heel and studied the room, taking in every detail. Her long legs carried her around the silver-filled trenches as she muttered to herself, “Perhaps the liquid…no, too obvious. The sarcophagi. It’ll do–”

“Please, please  try not to destroy the final resting place of the First Auhtula,” I begged, my nerves about Nyc’arra’s current plan turning into queasiness over the absolute destruction that would be wrought upon such a historically significant place when she and Lija faced one another.

“The first Auhtula would think nothing of her tomb being ruined in service of saving lives,” Nyc’arra said.

“Yeah, well,” I walked to the sarcophagus and patted the knee, “I’d rather not be the reason something so beautiful is no longer in the universe.”

“Then stay alive.” Nyc’arra directed me to the right of the double doors that led to the rest of the temple. “Stay there. The moment the doors open, hide behind one. Once the iz’waij is distracted, put the circlet on and run.”

“And what if he enters through one of the secret doors the temple likes to open randomly?” I asked.

Nyc’arra said, “We’ll deal with it if it happens. But going off the level of…theatrics thus far displayed, I doubt the iz’waij will give up the opportunity to make a grand entrance.”

As I didn’t have a better suggestion, I walked to where she indicated. “I would like it noted, for the record, that this barely qualifies as a plan. And regardless, I hate it.”

Ignoring me, Nyc’arra positioned herself at the center of the room, unsheathing her dagger from her boot. She twirled one zali’thir in her other hand as though getting used to the feel of the weapon after having been so long denied its use. The troughs of silver liquid lent her an ethereal glow–in that moment, she was an avenging angel coming to wrought death and destruction upon all who would challenge her. “Remove the circlet.”

I removed it, allowing it to rest on the ground between my feet as I tightened the sloppy bun atop my head. If I was going to be running for my life through a temple that switched rooms at will, the last thing I needed was for my hair to fall into my eyes. After a long moment of silence, the temple contracted as though inhaling. 

Lija’s voice cut through the calm as he taunted, “Ah, there you are.”

“Polo,” I whispered under my breath mockingly.

The passage of time was an ambiguous thing for me on the best of days. As wrapped up in my work as I got, whole days passed in what felt like a blink of an eye. While social events of only a few hours always seemed to make time move at the pace of molasses. 

But now I understood the true meaning of time standing still. Waiting for Lija to bust through those doors took the passage of several lifetimes, all of which I watched in my mind’s eye. Adventures with my friends, exciting digs and projects across the universe, quiet moments with those I loved. Highs and lows, moments of extreme joy, and others of necessary growth. But I wanted it all. And so help me, alien Gods, I was going to have it.

“He’s near,” Nyc’arra said, her entire body flexing in preparation. “Brace yourself.”

The doors flew open, and I ducked on instinct, holding my hand out, so the door didn’t strike me in the face as it concealed me from view. I jammed the coronet back on my head.

 Lija strode in as though walking on air, a smug smile stretching his thin lips. The crimson cloak of the first Auhtula flowed behind him. He spotted Nyc’arra standing in the center of the room. “You.”

Nyc’arra’s response was to fling her dagger directly at his head. Lija was pushed out of the way at the last moment by–

“Max!” My voice cracked on that single syllable. He looked like shit–cut and bruised, and his eyes bloodshot. His clothes were dirty and ripped, his soft curls sweat-dampened and sticking up every which way.

“Gretchen,” he said, the word clearly causing him a great effort. He swung towards my makeshift hiding place behind the door, Nyc’arra’s plan ruined by my outburst. I would’ve ruined it anyway. I may not have been in love with Shockley, but I did care about him and love him as a friend. I couldn’t leave him like this. “He’s got control of me, I don’t–” He cut off, his face going haunting blank.

It was as though Max’s brain and voice had betrayed him.

And judging by Lija’s smirk, it had. “That’s enough of that,” Lija said.

My heart sank like a stone. Lija was using his technopathic powers to control Shockley via his translator implant. This living nightmare had somehow gotten impossibly worse.

“Gretchen, go!” Nyc’arra commanded.

I shook my head once. Unmitigated rage coursed through my veins. I put the circlet back on my head. I was done running from this asshole. “You are such a piece of shit,” I told Lija. “I don’t know why you got the cloak or why you want me dead, but–”

“Don’t flatter yourself, human,” Lija cackled, the sound controlled and sharp, “none of this is about you. Wanting you dead is a happy byproduct of the larger picture. It is time for the House of Fuiq to be revealed for the pretenders they are and for someone with the true power of the Auhtulas of old to sit upon the throne.”

“Really? This about a run-of-the-mill power grab? How disappointingly unoriginal,” I said.

“Unoriginal?” Lija repeated. Without warning, Shockley lunged, his hands grabbing for my throat.

I darted backward, knowing that my friend was not in control of his own body. His brown eyes, usually so full of life, stared blankly at me as he swung a fist at my head.

I ducked, then ran.

“Is it so unoriginal to have your lover kill you against both of your wills?” Lija asked as Nyc’arra raced for him, her blades raised in attack. Lija dodged easily, the cloak swirling around him. “So unoriginal to not only be taking the Central continent–by the time Pola and I are done, we will control all of Destyr.”

I stumbled along the floor, almost landing in one of the silver trenches. Shockley’s hand grabbed me by the hip–a touch I was not unfamiliar with, but this time, I could feel his fingers twitching against the command that was forcing this violence.

“Max,” I gasped as he dragged me to him. His arms locked around my torso as I instinctively rammed my elbow backward. He grunted as I made contact with his side, but his hold on me did not loosen.

I looked up to see tears tracking down his utterly blank face. 

“Max, it’s okay, I know it’s not you,” I whispered. His grip tightened further, and my breath came in smaller and smaller puffs. I stomped onto the instep of his boot futilely, and I knew this wouldn’t be okay. We had to figure a way out of this, and soon, otherwise, it may never be okay again.

“Pola? Pola!” Nyc’arra shrieked as Lija directed his power toward the temple. He yanked stones from the wall and ceiling, throwing them at her rapid-fire. Nyc’arra ducked and rolled out of the line of destruction, but I saw one of the stones clip her ankle. She grunted in pain. “You’re working with Pola, and you honestly think she’s going to let you keep any power for yourself?”

Another wave of stones fell and landed near me, a mess of wiring peeking out from inside. The entire temple was a piece of technology–that’s not only how it moved, but it was also how Lija was pulling it apart now.

“She has no choice,” Lija roared as a torrent of stones and dust rained down onto where Nyc’arra was crouched. “Pola does not have the power of the Ancients. I do! Pola was just a means to an end, once the House of Fuiq has fallen and I sit upon the throne–”

“The House of Fuiq won’t fall,” I cried, wrestling my way out of Shockley’s grip. I spun to pull a punch, but Mas caught my wrist before I made contact with his face. He yanked me viciously back in.

“Yes, it will,” Lija said as he flicked a lazy hand through the air sending a ripple through the reliefs. Shards of ruined, beautiful mosaic cut through the air, one of them slicing me clean across the cheek. “Kill her,” Lija said, his words as nonchalant as if he were commanding Shockley to pour a glass of water.

I clawed at Shockley’s hands, my nails drawing blood, as he yanked me closer for better leverage.

I thrashed in Max’s arms, my skull connecting with his cheek, but his hold did not loosen. Shockley moved an arm to my throat and squeezed. My breath hitched, and a stabbing pain lanced my lungs. Air, I needed air. 

Nyc’arra screamed as she rushed Lija, her face contorted with terrifying rage.

The ground beneath us shook so violently Shockley and I fell to the ground. He lost his hold on the way down, and I rolled away, the circlet falling from my head. He attempted to catch me, the quaking floor impeding his progress. Heaving, I sought refuge behind the sarcophagus of the first Auhtula, her serene expression a beacon of hope. But as I crawled to her, just like the first time I saw her, her eyes opened and glowed. The silver liquid in the trenches pulsed with light.

The temple stilled, and a voice I had never heard before announced, “The Rightful One has come.”

The scuffle paused for a mere moment, all of us frozen by the voice’s absolute authority. It took me a moment to realize that the words had been spoken in Ancient Destyrian and seemed to come from the sarcophagus of the First Auhtula. Nyc’arra recovered quickly, grabbing Lija by the wrist and twisting him into her, framing his neck with crossed zali’thirs. The golden coronet atop the First Auhtula’s head flickered to life, scattering glyphs across Lija’s dark hair—almost like she was crowning him. I remembered, vividly, the time the first Auhtula had turned to bestow the same blessing on Azo’lah’s retreating back.

Lija let out a triumphant laugh. “I am the rightful one. This is my—” 

He was cut off as the walls bled with Azo’lah’s heart-achingly familiar voice. “Myaxi, where are you?” 

The temple shivered, gently this time, like it was holding itself back in anticipation or…like it was being caressed. I had the sudden mental image of Azo’lah touching the wall of the temple the first time we were here, the glyph-emblazoned walls flaring to life under her touch, and—

There. The walls were illuminating, ancient glyphs suddenly blazing with blue and amber fire, outlining the stone floor right up to the feet of the First Auhtula, who blinked. Wait, what? 

“Gretchen!” Azo’lah’s voice thundered.

I had no idea how she would hear me, but I shouted, “We’re in the Tomb of the First Auhtula!” 

The supposedly dead first Auhtula was lit up like a Christmas display the day after Thanksgiving and was moving. There was a whirring, creaking sound as the sarcophagus of the First Auhtula turned her head toward the First Myax. The sarcophagus was carved so that the women aged if you looked at them from different angles. With the younger side turned toward me, I was struck, not for the first time, by the familial resemblance between Azo’lah and her distant ancestor. “Rise, my ket’li,” came the same eerie voice that had announced the Rightful One’s return. It was made doubly eerie by the fact that it was coming out of the moving mouth of the First Auhtula’s sarcophagus. “The Rightful One calls for our aid.” 

I scrambled back from the animated sarcophagus without looking where I was going. My hand slipped into one of the trenches of the luminous silver liquid. I had a brief flash, like a memory of something that hadn’t yet happened. Of Azo’lah, pressing me against the railing of her boat before closing our considerable height gap to press a warm, fond kiss to my mouth…

I yanked my foot out of the trench and tripped forward. Right to the feet of the First Auhtula and her Myax, who were standing, unfolding themselves from their elaborately carved seats like they had been casually waiting 9,000 years to move. 

This was, apparently, finally strange enough for Nyc’arra and Lija to notice what was happening.

 “Who you seek is with us, Rightful One,” the first Auhtula’s voice echoed through the walls the same way Azo’lah had.

“I’m not seeking anyone!” Lija gasped, scrabbling with clawed fingers at the arm locked across his windpipe. 

“You're not the Rightful One, dumbass,” Shockley said as he regained his feet. Apparently, being choked broke Lija’s concentration long enough to release his hold on Shockley. “Azo’lah’s a direct descendant of the First Auhtula and a technopath strong enough to bring down a space station. Plus, she damn near blew this place up the first time we were here. The temple knows Mommy’s home.” 

I snorted a little hysterically, both at his phrasing and the grudging admiration in Shockley’s tone for Azo’lah.

Lija jerked in Nyc’arra’s grip, his elbow connecting with her stomach. With both hands occupied, she was unable to defend herself from the blow and lost her hold long enough that Lija was able to thrust one hand out toward Shockley. Shockley jerked, his eyes glazing, and he started toward me.

I sank into a fighting stance, ready to defend myself if necessary, but suddenly, a tall figure was between us. For a wild moment, I thought Azo’lah had come. But it was the First Myax’s sarcophagus, quietly whining like an overheating laptop. It hit me all at once that they weren’t alive. Just like the temple, they were ancient, technological defense systems–androids programmed to respond to a specific call. 

Shockley lunged to attack, but the First Myax grabbed his arm, twisting him in her grip, kicking his leg out from beneath him, and then stepping on it with the full force of her stone leg. There was a horrible cracking sound. Shockley howled in agony, reaching for his calf, which was bent at an unnatural angle. 

“Max!” Nyc’arra shouted, already running toward him, Lija forgotten in the face of her teammates’ scream. There was a rushing sound as a wave of silver liquid swept across the chamber from the trench behind me. It missed me completely but crashed into Shockley. The liquid enveloped him and, with the speed and ferocity of the Killer Qu’een, dragged him across the chamber. He fell into the opposite trench and disappeared. 

“Shockley!” I sprinted to the trench, sliding painfully to my knees as I thrust my hands into the liquid, trying to find him. I felt nothing but the strange, cool texture of the liquid. The liquid rose in a wave, crashing over me. It filled my nose, knocking me onto my back. I turned, spluttering, to see Lija looking at the silver liquid with a revelatory expression and knew he had doused me. Shit. If it was the same liquid that had been in the temple of Delto on the witches’ planet of Huxor, it was part technology. Azo’lah had been able to control it, so it made sense that Lija could too. 

Nyc’arra pulled me to my feet and moved in front of me. “The l-liquid, it’s tech—” I tried to warn her around my coughs. 

Lija held a hand out toward the sarcophagus of the First Myax, who had been moving toward us, along with her love. She froze, her glowing amber-blue eyes blinked slowly. And then she sank into a crouch, a position I recognized as a pre-attack pose from all of the times I’d witnessed Azo’lah do it. 

“They’re very impressive,” Lija murmured in that infuriating, gloating tone he always used. “But they’re still technology and I am more powerful than any security protocol that was put in place.”

“Care to test that theory?” My heart leaped. There, framed in the door was Azo’lah, clad in her familiar, navy Myax uniform. On her gleaming silver hair rested a familiar crown of seven fractal gems like fallen stars–the coronet of the first Auhtula. And in her right hand, the staff gleamed sleek and silver. 

“Did you seriously take artifacts out of their environmentally controlled storage?” I blurted stupidly. Azo’lah grinned at me, like the beaten, drowned rat look I was currently sporting was the best thing she’d ever seen. 

“You can punish me for it later,” she smirked. 

A voice in my head that sounded suspiciously like Shockley’s inappropriately whispered, “Mommy.” 

Azo’lah’s eyes tracked Lija as she moved into the room. The First Myax’s stone-faceded sarcophagi turned her eerily glowing eyes on Azo’lah even as the first Auhtula moved to stand c beside her. The first Auhtala’s glowing crown reflected in Azo’lah’s navy eyes like flint sparking.

“Nyc’arra,” Azo’lah said, her voice tight. She didn’t take her gaze off of Lija, but her tone was tight with an emotion I’d never heard before. “I’m asking you, in honor of the fond times we shared, to get Gretchen out of here.” Azo’lah spun the first Auhtula’s staff, which seemed to thrum to life under her hand. The illuminated glyphs lining the room pulsed, like they were mimicking Azo’lah’s heartbeat. 

Nyc’arra grabbed my arm, but Lija was already running right at us. It was so brazenly unexpected of him that I froze for a moment, just long enough that I missed the animated sarcophagus of the First Myax coming at us from the opposite side. It took a moment to realize that Lija was as good as his word and he had already figured out a way to hack into the sarcophagus of the First Myax and was in control of it.

Nyc’arra’s reflexes saved her as she blocked the descending stone arm with her crossed zali’thirs. I turned, blocking out the grating scrape of metal on stone, trying to intercept Lija, but he had too much momentum, catching me around my waist and taking me to the floor. My training with Milyna was clearly paying off, for I managed to roll us, so that I was straddling him, my fist instinctively aiming for the high bones of his cheek. He didn’t even try to block the punch. Instead, he let out a cry somewhere between pained and triumphant as my fist collided with his face. His hands came up, as though to slap me in retaliation, but instead reached past my face and curled around the circlet perched on my head. 

He threw it, with one hand pressing his whole hand against my face. I knocked his hand out of the way, following it up with another punch to his already bruising cheekbone, realizing mid-motion that it was already too late. He had knocked the protective circlet off, and now he had touched my–

Agony, like the night of the assassination attempt flared through my body. I was twitching, screaming, the stone floor scraping my exposed skin raw as I writhed uncontrollably. Lija pushed himself up into a kneeling position, his palms on the ground as the temple rumbled. He looked at me, vicious triumph in his eyes. My vision blurred. Azo’lah was running toward me–

“Get him!” I panted, trying to shift to my knees as Lija sprinted toward an escape through the door of the burial chamber. Nyc’arra wrapped an arm around me, helping me stand on wobbling legs.

Azo’lah turned, probably to check on whether I was alright. And it was at this moment that everything really went to shit. 

Azo’lah paused, face twisted into horror as she screamed, “Look out!” Nyc’arra spun a second too late to find the First Myax had snuck up on us in our distraction. One arm still around my waist, Nyc’arra used her free forearm to block, but she was still wielding her borrowed zali’thirs and the blow drove the fine stiletto point right into Nyc’arra’s own shoulder. She knocked me away with her injured arm, howling as the motion shredded the muscle against the embedded blade. The First Myax slammed one stone first into Nyc’arra’s injured arm and then knocked her leg out from under her. Nyc’arra valiantly tried to regain her footing, but there was a new rising wave of silver. 

“No!” Azo’lah cried, trying to send up her own wall of the gleaming liquid to protect Nyc’arra, but she was too late. With achoked-offf scream, Nyc’arra, like Shockley, was swept into the silver trenches and vanished. 

I slid across the stone to the trench, peering down into it, knowing that it was already too late. Whatever this liquid was, whatever strange combination of magic and technology, Nyc’arra was gone. 

I reached out, hearing too late the grind of shifting stone. Arms like steel traps wrapped around me. I dug my elbow back–a stupid mistake. I had forgotten about the First Myax and had just driven my elbow into her unyielding gut. 

“Fuck,” I twisted, but the statue's arms only wrapped tighter around me, holding me off the floor, immobile. My right arm was free, the left pinned down by my side. That hardly did me any good as, even with my improved strength from training, I was no match for my current captor. I had always had a fondness for the story of the First Auhtula and her Myax, but in this moment, that fondness was rapidly dwindling. “Go!” I shouted when Azo’lah hesitated. And then, she was off, running after Lija, who was trying to make it through the elaborate doors of the tomb.

Azo’lah tapped the staff of the first Auhtula on the floor, and the doors slid closed, trapping him. He turned, throwing his arm out toward the First Auhtula, clearly trying to use his powers to take over her too. The sarcophagus’ glowing eyes turned to Lija, and she began to move toward Azo’lah.

“Command override,” the First Auhtula said in her quietly authoritative tone. “Harm to the Rightful One is not permitted. Assumption of compromise or incapacitation.” Something else followed in her lyrical ancient Destyrian that eluded my rudimentary understanding of the spoken form of the language. I would have hazarded “dispersal” or “swinging dance” and “pattern” had I not been too preoccupied trying to squirm out of the First Myax’s immovable grip.

There was a high-pitched whirring whine, like an old fan that someone had suddenly kicked into high gear against its will. It seemed to be coming from within the walls. The illuminated glyphs pulsed slowly. 

Azo’lah lunged at Lija, striking out at him with the staff, power surging through it. It hit the cloak that Lija had draped over his back, the warm steel-colored threads woven through it catching the light. Azo’lah struck again with the staff. Lija threw the cloak over his arm and the physical blow caught his arm, but the technopathic powerup behind it had no effect. 

As he turned, Lija’s boot caught the silver circlet. He tripped, and Azo’lah threw her hand toward the silver liquid in the trenches. The viscous liquid lashed out quickly, like a coiled serpent that had been waiting for her summons to strike. Clearly she had intended to rope Lija’s foot, drag him towards her but it stopped inches from Lija who laughed, once again darting out Azo’lah’s range. Why couldn’t… but then–the circlet of the First Myax had protected me from technopathic attacks. Why wouldn’t the most powerful ancient technopath have a garment that did the same in her possession?

“The cloak!” I yelled, attempting to be heard over the steadily increasing whine of the temple, the buzzing of it sending the room vibrating. “It protects against technopathic attacks. So does the circlet!” I could feel it, almost before I saw her do it. Azo’lah lifted the fractal crown of ket’li crystals from her head and threw it, like a frisbee, directly at me. 

I caught it, the motion pulling uncomfortably on my bruised ribs. A tingling warmth ran through me, like my whole body was a limb that had been asleep and now circulation was returning in an almost heady rush. I didn’t realize what was happening, as I was too transfixed by Azo’lah kicking the First Myax’s circlet up from the floor and pressing it onto her forehead, evening out the fighting field.

My implant sparked with a bolt of static electricity and I panicked, worried that somehow, Lija was attacking me again. But then a message flashed across my mind. Myaxi. 

Azo’lah? I returned, grateful that everyone was too distracted to witness my embarrassing gasp-sob of relief at the familiarity of the technopathic connection. The crown–it's tied to the temple. It's linked to the temple, it can control it, and everything in it.

I wasn’t quite sure what Azo’lah wanted, but it didn’t seem like a good time to ask. Lija was sprinting across the shaking floor tiles, darting in and out of Azo’lah’s reach like he was trying to tire her out. And then he was next to me, his hand on my arm.

“Come one step closer and I will paint the room with her brains,” Lija panted. “Undo the security protocols and hand over control of the temple to me. Make me the Rightful One.” 

Azo’lah stopped, the staff held out in front of her defensively. “I can’t,” Azo’lah said tightly, her eyes shifted to me. “It responds to me because of my unique technopathic signature. It’s programmed to recognize the descendants of the First Auhtula based on her own signature, so you must be of her direct bloodline. It only responds to my signature. Or those who have been touched by it.” 

And it clicked. Exactly what she wanted. She had used her connection with the crown to reactivate our own. I gripped the crown tight in my hand and touched the arm of the First Myax. “First Myax, let me go,” I commanded the sarcophagus in Ancient Destyrian. It might not have been the wisest wording choice as the stone arms dropped and I did too. But Lija had forgotten to let go of my arm and as I fell the few feet to the floor, already preparing to crouch, I dragged him with me, throwing him off balance. 

He stumbled, and fell on his back, yanking me on top of him. The crown of the First Auhtula clattered out of my grasp. I reached for his throat. Clearly thinking I was going to strangle him, he placed his hands anywhere they could go. I felt my implant sparking, the telltale twitch in my muscles. But even though my fingers fumbled, I was quick enough before the blinding pain started. And I was being lifted off of him, Lija’s attack soothed by Azo’lah’s presence, her arm strong around me. Lija skittered backwards, but Azo’lah stepped forward as he did, her foot trapping the cloak that I had loosened. Lija’s protection was gone. 

Lija ran. I dipped down to take the cloak with trembling fingers. No, that was the floor, the floor was shaking fervently. The ringing that hadn’t stopped when Lija attacked me was the whining hum reaching a fever pitch. 

Azo’lah struck the floor with the staff and the temple flared so brightly that I was left with the afterimage of the tomb for a second before we were plunged into absolute darkness. There was a single spark of light in the dark before the temple illuminated again. I blinked against the glare, seeing Lija’s prone body crumpled at the feet of the First Auhtula for a just a moment before the room tilted violently. Azo’lah reached for me as I stumbled. There was a plopping sound, and I realized that Lija had slid into the silver trench. 

Azo’lah grabbed my hand as the room pitched again, vibrating so hard that my teeth chattered as we bolted toward the giant doors that led to the rest of the temple. Azo’lah crossed the threshold, me scurrying to keep up. But the room pitched again and I fell backwards, and away from her. 

“Gretchen!” she screamed, trying to move towards me but the door slammed shut. Walling me off. The temple bucked and I fell sideways, my fingers desperately scrabbling against the floor, but I was unable to find purchase as the room tilted one last time. I slid into the trench of silver liquid, the unforgiving edge of stone slamming into my ribs. I wasn’t sure if I blacked out or was hallucinating from the pain, but I took one last instinctive gulp of air before I was dragged under. 

I landed hard on my back, my body ricocheting off the ground with the force of my landing. I didn’t even have the energy to yelp in pain, instead, all of the air in my lungs pushed out of my mouth in a ragged, choking cough.

“Azo–Azo’lah?” I hacked, rolling onto my side. My eyes were too heavy to open. If I was still alive, that meant the temple hadn’t crumbled to a million pieces, and Azo’lah would come back for me. I reached blindly for her and my aching fingers grasped something soft. Not the hard temple floor.

It was grass.

I pushed my eyes open and found myself in the center of the Palace Gardens on Thal, not the Tomb of the first Auhtula on Vas Roya. I was torn between bone-deep relief at being home and gut-churning confusion. How the fuck was I here?

Was I dreaming? My battered body told me I was very much awake.

I pushed up into a seated position as a group of Myax sprinted full-tilt into the gardens. At the head of the group was a very familiar face. I felt tears gather in my eyes. Safe. I was finally safe.

“Fleetwood, thank God,” I gasped as my friend and the Myax with her skidded to a halt and surrounded me. “What is going on? How did I get here?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Fleetwood returned, her voice unyielding. It also had the vaguely British accent that indicated she was speaking Destyrian. She gestured to the Myax at her side, then to me. “Bind her wrists. We will take her to the Auhtula at once.”

“Yes, Kezira Myax.” The Destyrian who towered over me on my right yanked me roughly to my feet.

“Ouch, shit, Fleetwood–” I stammered, the unknown Myax’s words finally processing in my sluggish brain. Kezira Myax. Not Fulyiti Kezira. I turned to Fleetwood and took in the details of her. The face I knew so well held not a trace of gold eyeliner or glitter eyeshadow. Her signature space buns did not sit atop her head, instead, her wild tresses were tamed into a simple braid down her back. And she wore the navy uniform of a Myax.

What the actual fuck?

I asked, “Fleetwood, why are you dressed like that? What’s going on?” I looked down to where my wrists were being bound together. “Am I–am I under arrest?”

“I am Kezira Myax, I know not who Fleetwood is. And do not act ignorant, Dangerous One,” Fleetwood replied coolly. “You know what you and your ship of deviants did. You are not welcome on this planet, let alone on these palace grounds.” 

Had I really hit my head so hard that I had broken reality? Was the time-space continuum currently offline, and this was the error code I was receiving?

My brain was not big enough to process this fast enough. I needed Chester.

“Fleetwood, get Chester,” I began.

“Enough,” she snapped, glaring at me in a way that was not only intimidating but heart-breaking. Whoever this Fleetwood was, she was not my Fleetwood.

“Come, Dangerous One,” Fleetwood said, and I was shoved into motion by one of the hovering Myax. “I think First Myax Nyc’arra and Auhtula Azo’lah will be very interested in speaking with you.”

“Fuck,” I wheezed. I smacked sideways into a narrow stone surface. Nyc’arra rolled with me in an undignified heap down to an ornately tiled floor. I realized she had managed to protect my head with her hand--an impressive feat since I didn’t even have time to register falling. I accidentally inhaled part of the dust cloud we’d dislodged and flopped over, hacking like a beached whale. Each cough sent a shockwave of pain up my side to my throbbing shoulder. I hoped it was only a nasty bruise, not a cracked rib. Knowing my luck, it was the latter. 

“Are you alright?” Nyc’arra barked, pushing herself to her feet. She sounded significantly less winded than I felt. “Where are we?” 

I shifted onto my back gingerly, cradling my ribs with one hand and my poor knee with the other. I was going to look like an overripe banana tomorrow if I survived what was happening. I found myself looking up into the tranquil face of the first First Mya–we’d landed on her sarcophagus. I knew that the sarcophagus was empty, for the First Myax was actually entombed with her wife in the First Auhtula’s burial chamber. 

“The Myax Burial Chamber,” I said, propping myself up on my elbows. “This shouldn’t be happening again. Azo’lah deactivated the temple’s security protocols. It’s been dormant for the last 26 binary cycles.”  

Nyc’arra scowled at the sarcophagus. “She is a hard bitch.” 

I raised my eyebrow at the unexpected English curse word, then reminded myself who she shared a ship with. I levered myself into a sitting position and hissed as my hip twinged. I took the hand up that she offered me. “Do you mean the sarcophagus or Azo’lah?”

“Both,” Nyc’arra replied dryly. I reached into my bandolier and pulled out a glowstick--the only non-technological light source available to me and cracked one. I dropped it in the center of the chamber’s floor. I hadn’t spent any time here at all, really, except for the first day of our dig, where I let myself have a tour of the ancient wonder that was the Temple of Aluthua when it wasn’t trying to kill me. 

The chamber originally intended to inter the body of the First Myax was, in some ways, a smaller version of the First Auhtula’s burial chamber. The walls were covered in delicate mosaics that depicted the First Myax’s Cinderella-like rise from humble servant to the Auhtula’s protector and consort. One wall showed the First Myax with her students--the fledgling beginnings of the current Myax order. The largest one featured the famous lovers, not in state as shown upstairs, but in a moment of blissful quiet beneath the moonlit sky. The First Ahutula was laid across her wife’s lap, her hair a silver river of captured starlight. The First Myax gazed down at her in adoration. On the First Myax’s forhead, rested a simple, elegant, silver circlet. The circlet was present in the murals starting when the First Myax was named protector of the First Auhtula. 

“This can’t be,” Nyc’arra whispered, sounding the closest to awed and humbled that I’d ever heard. I turned to find her across the room at a small, altar-like table inscribed with the glyphs for love, protection, and another one I wasn’t familiar with. There, resting in a crystal case next to an intricately carved, iridescent box, was a pair of zali’thir. Nyc’arra lifted the lid on the box. 

The First Myax’s signature weapons looked almost identical to the wickedly sharp blades that were wielded by Myax today. Tarnished by time and disuse, these looked somehow more lethal.  

“You can’t take them!” I tried to slap her hand away, but she merely caught mine without looking. “They’re artifacts.” 

“They’re weapons,” Nyc’arra retorted. She twirled one of them in her free hand, a lustful glint in her gaze as she watched the elegant arc of the blade through the air, “Plus, they don’t have any technology in them.” 

At her pronouncement, the floor shivered. The glyphs above the murals ignited a blinding blue for a fraction of a second before dying out. “Shit,” I murmured, the terror of my first trip into the Temple of Aluthua hitting me all over again. 

“She’s looking for us,” Nyc’arra said grimly, sheathing the First Myax’s zali’thir in a holster on her thigh next to a knife. “We need to leave, and get back to the ship.” 

I brushed the dust off of the box next to the zali’thir’s case, only half paying attention to the ancient inlaid glyphs. “What makes you so sure it’s Azo’lah?” 

Nyc’arra paused in the process of sheathing the second zali’thir. I would be taking those back later if we survived this. “What makes you so sure it’s not?” Nyc’arra snorted. “Are you really that naive, or worse, that pathetically in love with her?” 

I inhaled sharply. Nyc’arra’s words, painful in their truth, felt like getting flayed straight through the most private, vulnerable part of me. How did someone who barely knew me see through me so effortlessly?

Nyc’arra took my chin in her hand firmly, but not unkindly, and forced me to meet her gaze. “I loved her, too, once. I thought she would never harm me, and she violated that trust by using her powers in a way that might have killed me. She took my home, my family, my calling, and my planet to protect herself. You need to be prepared that if she’s here, she might do the same, or worse, to you.” 

I turned my attention to the shimmering box, trying to hide the frustrated, heartbroken tears stinging my eyes.

“What does it say?” Nyc’arra asked, giving me a moment to gather myself. “Anything useful?”

Grateful for the distraction, I leaned forward for a better look. “A gift to protect my protector, from all those who carry my gifts, but not my love.” I squinted as I inspected the final line once more.

Nyc’arra flipped the lid of the box, clearly expecting a weapon of some kind. There, resting on an aged woven cushion, was a simple silver circlet. I glanced up, recognizing it from the mosaic murals. The First Myax almost always wore it later in her life. Nyc’arra scoffed, “Looks pretty useless to me.” 

“It’s not useless,” I corrected. “It’s a priceless piece of history! Just because-”

The temple gave a violent back-and-forth heave. The table slid forward, sending the contents flying. The circlet was ejected from the box. Nyc’arra caught as it sailed through the air leaping over the zali’thir case that shattered at her feet.

 A doorway appeared in the wall, its outline sparking like a live wire as it tried to slide shut again. It was like the temple had opened the door, and something--no, the technopath, was forcing it to close.

“We have to move!” Nyc’arra grabbed my hand and sprinted toward the rapidly closing exit. She snared me around the waist and practically threw me out into the corridor, the First Myax’s circlet clattering onto the shivering floor. I scooped it up, lamenting that I had no safe place to store it. I didn’t have a bag or pocket large enough for it, and I worried it might get crushed if the temple really started shaking again. When no other ideas occurred to me, I shoved it onto my head. 

“You look ridiculous,” Nyc’arra observed, nudging in front of me and moving for the exit. “What happened to not stealing the precious artifacts?” 

I flipped her the middle finger behind her back. “You know what they say, when with a mercenary…” 

Nyc’arra raced down the corridor, one of my glowsticks clutched in her left hand, one of the First Myax’s zali’thirs in her right. “Move faster,” she instructed curtly. The temple trembled violently around us, bits of stone breaking off the wall and pinging to the floor like unnatural hail. 

“I’m moving as fast as I can,” I bit back, jumping over a pile of rubble that Nyc’arra, with her much easier stride, had easily side-stepped. My banged-up knee almost gave out on me as I landed.

My throat was dry, my ribs and hip ached, and my legs–regardless of Milyna’s exemplary physical training–burned from exertion and exhaustion. 

 We reached the winding central staircase, and my stomach convulsed. No matter how much time passed since my first time in this temple, when its security system almost compacted us into a human-Destyrian zip drive, I still hated those stairs.

Nyc’arra, having no patience for any hesitation, shepherded me up the steps. Designed for Destyrian physiology, to humans, they were steep. My injured knee screamed as I climbed.

“Once we reach the top,” Nyc’arra said, “we head straight for the ship–”

“Gretchen! Gretchen! Can you hear me?” A familiar voice boomed around us as though someone had just installed surround sound.

I stopped so abruptly that I almost sent Nyc’arra and myself toppling backward down the steps. “Azo’lah?” My voice cracked.

Nyc’arra unsheathed the second zali’thir. She used one forearm to push me against the wall, covering me protectively. 

“Azo’lah, what is happening? How can I hear you?” A terrible, wretched, bone-chilling thought stole through me. “Are you here?”

“No,” Azo’lah’s voice echoed down the stairs. “Shockley called us! We’re on our way, Gretchen!”

My relief was so strong I wanted to weep. Azo’lah was coming, I would be safe soon. 

A single head shake from Nyc’arra stopped me cold. No matter how much I hated it, she might be right. Was I sure I could still trust Azo’lah? Hell, could I even trust that this was actually Azo’lah speaking? Was voice-phishing in the technopathic repertoire? Probably, right? 

Tentatively, I asked, “Max got through?”

“Yes, seems the idiot has some use after all,” Azo’lah replied. Well, that at least sounded very much like Azo’lah.

“Is he–is he okay? And if you’re not here, how are you talking to me?”

“We aren’t sure about Shockley. His message was cut short, but it was enough to let us know you are in danger. And, as for being able to speak with you now: it is an iz’waij perk,” Azo’lah said.

As though sensing my wariness, the staircase below us shivered, and Azo’lah’s voice was replaced with Shockley’s. “Gretchen, I can’t–”

“Max!” Nyc’arra and I shouted in unison. We both looked up into the gloom at the top of the stairway, like we were half-expecting Shockley’s handsome face would be smirking down at us from the top of the staircase.

“No, no, Favored, it is still me,” Azo’lah’s voice returned. “Do not worry for Shockley. I’m sure he is fine.”

Favored. She had called me Favored when there was no one to perform our charade for. Azo’lah–my Azo’lah–would never do that.

I edged as close to Nyc’arra’s ear as I dared and murmured, “That’s not Azo’lah.”

Nyc’arra’s chin tilt was more word-filled than an actual sentence. Was I sure? Was I being delusional? Was I willing to bet our lives and Max’s on a gut instinct?

Shockley cut back in, bellowing, “Gretch! Don’t–”

The temple quaked, shifting more stones. Nyc’arra threw her arms over our heads to protect us from newly created debris. I closed my eyes as plumes of rock dust curled in the air.

“Matt has engaged the fusion drive, we will be there shortly,” Azo’lah’s voice promised.

“No, you won’t,” I yelled at the temple, no longer having the patience for subtlety. If I was about to die, I was going to know who this asshole was. “Because you’re not Azo’lah, and you’re already here.”

Not-Azo’lah made a noise of disbelief. “My beloved Favored, are you unwell? Of course, it’s me!”

“Cut the crap,” I demanded. “I’m tired, and I’m pissed. Who are you?”

The stairs beneath us juddered so vehemently I lost my footing and would’ve somersaulted the rest of the way down if Nyc’arra hadn’t deftly grabbed me by my bandolier.

She yanked me close, wrapping a protective arm around my waist. “Please don’t get yourself killed with your own idiocy.”

“Favored,” Azo’lah’s voice trilled like a songbird over the quaking of the temple. Her voice never sounded like that, even in her softest of moments. “Where are you? The Fulyiti and I will come straight to you when we land.”

I snorted at that. “I’m not falling for that, whoever the fuck you are! I’m not just going to give you my location.”

“But why not?” Azo’lah’s voice warped horrifyingly, taking on a booming baritone. “Do you not love me, Favored?”

“Fuck you,” I told the disembodied voice. As far as witty rejoinders went, it was lacking. But I no longer cared. I wanted out of this temple. And also to leave Nyc’arra alone in a room with this asshole for five minutes to see how many tiny pieces she could slice him into. 

The temple went eerily, suspiciously still. Nyc’arra hauled me bodily up the stairs, her long legs traversing the high steps two at a time.

“Such a temper,” the voice chided, its distorted timber hurting my ears. “It’s a shame that most human rage is impotent.”

“Ugh, gross,” I said. “If you’re going to be condescending, at least have the balls to do it to my face.”

“I will,” the voice promised. “Tell me where you are!”

“Up your ass!” I supplied as we reached the second-subfloor landing. Nyc’arra actually barked out a laugh.

“We’re almost there,” she whispered.

But almost wasn’t close enough.

The voice said, “Just because the temple is hiding you now doesn’t mean I won’t find you, Gretchen of Earth.”

The temple was hiding me?

“What?” I asked no one in particular. There was a sonic whoompf, and the world exploded around me.

Or at least the temple did. I flew backward and slammed into a crumbling wall. My aching hip, ribs, and legs screamed almost as loudly as I did upon impact.

I heard a muffled, high-pitched ringing as though it was reaching my ear canals through cotton.

Nyc’arra’s face moved fully into my field of vision.Her lacerated hands, dripping with yellow blood, went to my cheeks as she studied me. 

Nyc’arra shifted to help me up, but her eyes widened. The floor below us fell away, leaving us suspended for a long moment.

This was it, this was the end. I couldn’t help but be grateful that Azo’lah and the others weren’t here. At least my friends were somewhere safe.

I inhaled, prepared for the literal sky to fall onto my head, but Nyc’arra tackled me backward.

My back met an unyielding surface once more, but instead of being buried in an apocryphal temple collapse, I was now in a stable, quiet room.

A room I recognized. The glow of the silver liquid in the trenches illuminated the room as I stared at the central stone effigy of the First Auhtula, now bare that once featured the coronet, staff, and (ultimately forged) cloak that had been the focus of my first adventure.

I leaned back against the First Auhtula’s pedestal, tipping my head against the unyielding, frozen folds of her gown. Without the cloak to adorn her shoulders and the staff removed from her hand, she resembled an Italian Renaissance piece sculpted by a master. “I thought we understood each other,” I lamented to the underside of her perfectly chiseled jaw. If I had to die in a storage room, at least I would die in the most beautiful storage room in the universe. “I thought we were getting along.”

“Are you talking to the statue?” Nyc’arra asked. Though the temple had settled considerably, Nyc’arra prowled the perimeter of the room, a glowstick in each hand to light her way. Whether she was searching for potential threats or a way out, I didn’t know, but the precise way she moved reminded me painfully of another Myax I was trying not to think about.

I straightened out of my slouch, suppressing a groan as the movement agitated my ribs. I gestured to the room as a whole. “No, I’m talking to the temple.”

“Do all humans speak to inanimate objects as though they can hear them?” Nyc’arra said. She placed her hands on her hips, the harsh yellow-orange light of her glow stick flaring out around her like an illuminated skirt. “Bautista also has this habit. He also calls all objects dude. It is quite annoying.”

From the look on her face, it was clear she wasn’t as annoyed by Tyler’s behavior as her words suggested.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Seems like this temple can hear us, though.”

Nyc’arra shook her head and took up her patrol once more. My eyes followed her around the room, though I wasn’t truly watching her. Grief for Sav’asa crawled up my throat, threatening to pull me under. I pushed it down ruthlessly. I would be no good to Shockley and the rest of my friends if I lost it now. If this sociopathic iz’waij actually won–

“No, no,” I whispered to myself. A panic spiral threatened to tear through me like a tornado. Failing my friends was not an option. “One thought at a time.”

“Once you feel rested enough to keep up with me, we must leave this temple and immediately return to Destyr,” Nyc’arra said. She surveyed one of the wall reliefs: a depiction of the first Auhtula and her First Myax at their wedding ceremony. “We will contact Myax Jolail once in atmo, and brief her on the situation and the danger presented to the Central continent. She will deploy–”

“What about Shockley?” I asked, easing to my feet. Pain lanced from my hip to my knee. I straightened the coronet with a sweat-drenched palm and then massaged my hip. “We can’t just…abandon him.” The first time I was in this temple with Maximilian Danger Shockley I had purposely locked him in a room with minimal chance of escape. Today, the idea of leaving him behind was preposterous.

Nyc’arra turned to me, though she wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Protecting you is my mission. Max knew he would be responsible for himself when he came with us. As much as we both detest it, we must leave without attempting to find him.”

“No.”

“I’m not asking for your opinion on my strategy, Gretchen.”

“And I’m not giving you one,” I spat back, my fists flexing with determination. “I don’t leave my friends behind. If you want me to leave this temple, we get Max back first.”

Nyc’arra glared at me as though I was the most infuriating creature in the universe. Normally, I would have withered beneath such a scornful gaze, but I held my ground. “You can try and force me to go without him, but I’ll make so much noise the iz’waij will be able to find us with no problem.”

Nyc’arra’s surely snarky retort was lost in the rumble of the temple. The floor beneath me rattled, like an oversized deathtrap of a clock, letting me know my time was running short.

“Alien gods damn it,” I huffed, grabbing onto the statue of the first Auhtula for stability.

“Gretch–en! –etchen, are you there?” Azo’lah’s crackling voice echoed from the walls.

“Nice try,” I cackled to the ceiling, “I’m not falling for that!”

“Fall–” Azo’lah’s voice cut out as the temple stabilized.

I smiled triumphantly at Nyc’arra. “That’s what I thought.”

“Gretchen, are you safe? Are you still in the temple?” Azo’lah’s voice came through crisp and clear as though she were standing right beside me. “We’re coming!”

“I don’t know who you are, you technopathic asshole, or what you think you’re doing trying to keep up this ruse that you’re Azo’lah, but when I get my hands on you,” I threatened, my voice shaking with rage.

“It’s us, Gretch,” Chester’s voice interceded. “The rogue iz’waij is Councillor Lija. It’s been him all along.”

“It’s the truth, Borowicz,” Ryan’s voice joined in. “Right after you left with your team, a speeder from the Royal decks was stolen.”

“The official security recordings were rendered unwatchable because, hello, technopath,” Chester continued the story, “so no one could figure out who had done it. But our genius Captain had me sneakily lay some backdoor code that Azo’lah and I wrote a few I binary cycles ago, and the asshole either didn’t notice it or didn’t care. Either way, we saw the fucker. And it’s Lija!”

“Lija? No fucking way.” My mind raced to compute what Chester was saying. That dry, boring bureaucrat was the technopath who had been alluding us for years? “That bag of dicks is the technopath?”

“Right?” Chester agreed with a sardonic chuckle.

Nyc’arra cut in, “But if it’s Lija is the iz’waij here, how are you communicating with through the temple?”

“That was all Fleetwood,” Ryan supplied. “The second we knew that ship was following you, we hopped onto the Gold Dust Wo’man, and Matt put her into overdrive–we’ll be landing in less than fifteen minutes. But Fleetwood snatched a certain artifact from your first mission to Vas Roya.”

“Gret’chen, my Gret’chen, hold tight! We have your ass!” Fleetwood’s voice boomed. Nyc’arra winced at the decibel level of my favorite Fulyiti.

“She sticky-fingered the coronet from right under the Archivists’ noses,” Chester sighed a hint of amusement in his voice. “She gave it to Azo’lah and me to fiddle with. Don’t freak out too much, Gretch, we’ve been careful–”

“We used it,” Azo’lah intoned meaningfully, “and the Ancients’ technology imbued it with to establish a comms link.”

“Give me a ground report,” Ryan seamlessly shifted into Captain mode. “Everyone safe and accounted for?”

I met Nyc’arra’s eyes, and she shook her head forcefully. She said, “Prove you are who you say you are.”

“During my Myax training, my darkness returned,” Azo’lah said. “It almost defeated me entirely. Nyc’arra helped me withstand it. She kept it all secret so I would not have to stop training.”

Nyc’arra gave a grudging nod of assent.

“That’s good enough for me,” I said. “Guys, we’ve been separated from Max. The engineers and Sav’asa…” I trailed off, unable to put words to my assistant’s terrible fate.

“Lija has terminated Sav’asa and the engineers,” Nyc’ara said perfunctorily.

“He what?” Chester choked.

Fleetwood asked, her voice distressingly low and flat in a way I had never heard before, “That assmunch has dared to kill my citizens?” 

“And he has Shockley,” Nyc’arra added. “We do not know his current status. But if I know him at all, Max has found a way to be more valuable alive than dead.”

“We need to get Max back and then get out of here,” I said, leaving no room for argument in my voice. I know they were all worried for my safety, but I would not let anyone argue me out of leaving Max behind.

“No, we will get Shockley back,” Ryan corrected gently but firmly. “Chester, get me multiple potential escape routes. Azo’lah, use the coronet to locate Shockley and create a viable retrieval plan. Matt, I want every possible flight trajectory off Vas Roya prepped–we’re going to need to get the Qu’een on board the Gold Dust Wo’man in less time than it takes to microwave popcorn.”

A round of Aye, Captains reached my grateful ears, and my heart ached with relief. I had the greatest friends and crew in the universe.

Ryan said, “We’ll call you back in ten with a plan.”

“Thank you, guys,” I said.

“Of course, Gretch,” Matt said.

“Anything for you, my Gret’ch–” but Fleetwood was cut off.

The temple shivered from the top of the decimated temple down to its rubbled foundation.

Everything went eerily silent.

“Guys! Are you there?” When there was no response, I continued. “Fleetwood! Azo’lah! Chester! Guys!”

“Please, scream louder for Lija to hear you,” Nyc’arra said. “Wouldn’t want to make his search to murder you any harder.”

I held up my middle finger to her even though I knew she had a point. “What now?”

“The plan doesn’t change,” Nyc’arra said. My eyes widened incredulously. “We must be prepared for Lija to find us before your friends arrive.

I contemplated throwing the coronet at her face as I removed it from my head to swipe the sweat from my brow. “You’re my least favorite Myax,” I declared, handing it to Nyc’arra for safekeeping.

Nyc’arra held up her two middle fingers. “Honored.”

I laughed at the gesture as I tugged my ponytail holder out of my hair. I had just secured my dirty tresses into a messy bun on top of my head when a voice resonated through the room, “Ah, there you are, little human.”

“You could not sound more like an animated movie villain if you tried,” I told the ceiling.

“I do not know what you and Azo’lah Myax have done to these security protocols, but I will find you, Gretchen of Earth,” Lija hissed.

“Get fucked, Lija,” I said, my rage and exhaustion canceling out all of my fear.

Nyc’arra rushed to me and clapped her hand over my mouth. She whispered, “Stop antagonizing the iz’waij. We have remained hidden from his powers for this long–”

“Yeah, but how?” I asked, my voice muffled by her huge palm.

“Azo’lah did not put protection protocols in place?” Nyc’arra asked.

“I am so close to wrestling the temple’s secrets from it,” Lija called, his voice a dangerous melody of almost triumph. He was enjoying this little game of cat and mouse too much.

I shook my head, shoving her hand from my face. “Not that I know of. Certainly, no security protocol that would completely shield me from another iz’waij. I don’t think Azo’lah even knows how to do that.”

“Then what is keeping us–”

Lija said, “I can almost feel you. Where are you hiding?”

“Does it matter?” I asked, slightly hysterical. We just had to hold only a few more minutes, the cavalry was practically at our front door.

“Of course it does,” Nyc’arra edged closer to me, her overwhelming height even more pronounced with this proximity. “Even with incoming assistance, we need every advantage available to us.”

I truly had enough of Nyc’arra condescension to last several lifetimes. “Well, excuse me for not having years of Myax training to prepare for the moment I was being chased through a temple by an iz’waij trying to kill me!” Nyc’arra’s nostrils flared with outrage, but before she could get a word in edgewise, I continued my verbal assault. “No, really, you must be bearing the greatest weight a Myax has ever bore.” I gesticulated to a mosaic of the first Auhtula and her First Myax love. “Not like any other Myax in the history of Myax has ever had to protect someone more important from deadlier foes. No, no, certainly not.”

“Gretchen, shut up,” Nyc’arra said, her voice low. Her eyes were trained on the relief I pointed at.

I flailed my arms. “Stop telling me what to do!”

“No, truly, stop talking and look,” Nyc’arra demanded. She snatched at my arm and dragged me forward. She gestured to the image on the wall. Before us, the first Auhtula and her First Myax were binding themselves for life–it was a beautifully rendered wedding scene, both Destyrian women dressed in regalia befitting their station as the Auhtula set a coronet upon the head of the First Myax. A coronet that looked an awful lot like the one dangling so casually from my wrist.

“You don’t think…” I trailed off, my mind sprinting faster than my mouth could move. If the coronet in my possession was truly the one depicted in the relief, then it was a gift from the First Auhtula–a known iz’waij–to her most beloved. If this temple, her temple, was programmed to protect itself by her and those like her, then it was reasonable to assume that she would gift her beloved something with the same protection. The same protection that was possibly keeping me hidden from my current predator. 

“A gift to protect my protector, from those who have my gifts, but not my love,” Nyc’arra paraphrased the inscription on the box the coronet had been in. She grabbed the coronet and jammed it onto my head, already drawing the same conclusion.

The temple settled around us immediately.

“Hey, Lija, you still there?” I whispered to the ceiling. Nyc’arra looked at me as though I had lost my mind.

I probably had.

“We need to leave now,” she said. “How do we get out of this room?”

I straightened the coronet across my brow. “What? What about Max?”

“We won’t leave him behind,” Nyc’arra promised. “But I need to get you out of Lija’s grasp. And with backup coming, accomplishing both will be much easier.”

I looked at the depiction of the First Auhtula and her Myax, an inexplicable understanding flooded me. “We need to trust the temple.”

Nyc’arra gaped at me. “Trust the temple?”

“I know it sounds crazy,” I admitted, reaching forward and gently caressing the relief with the tips of my fingers. “But I don’t think the temple wants to hurt us. In fact, I think–AHHHH!”

The relief opened beneath my light touch, and I tumbled forward. Nyc’arra, swift as a hawk, latched onto my shoulder and fell after me. We fell through total darkness, my scream our only companion until we collapsed into an undignified heap on a stone floor.

“I hate this temple,” Nyc’arra mumbled as she hopped into a defensive position and took in the new room we found ourselves in.

I did not need to look around, the moment my vision cleared and I noted the silver iridescence that cast everything in a cool glow, I knew where we were. I sat up and greeted the sarcophagus of the first Auhtula. “Hello, again.”

Her knowing smirk glistened back at me.

“Tomb of the First Auhtula,” I informed Nyc’arra without prompting. “Fourth subfloor.” I struggled to my feet and brushed dust from my pants. I threw my thumb over my shoulder. “Doors are that way. We can take the central staircase to the top.”

Muttering darkly, Nyc’arra strode to the doors. She yanked on them hard. They did not budge. She pulled again.

And again.

She grabbed the handles and shook them with all her considerable strength. But they would not open. “We’re trapped.” She turned to me, “What was that again about trusting the temple?”

“I am unsure what a horse is,” Azo’lah snapped, cutting off Chester, who was clearly about to explain an Earth horse was most similar to a Destyrian reune, “but you will most certainly be dead and probably beaten if you go to Vas Roya now.” 

The entire crew of the Killer Qu’een, including my cat, was seated at our usual places around the dining table in Fleetwood’s suite. It was the tensest meal we’d ever had to date as a crew–which was saying something as, only a few days ago, three of us were dosed with sex pollen. 

Ryan pinched the bridge of their nose. I couldn’t tell if they were also experiencing a persistent headache or trying to prevent themselves from popping off in a very un-Captainly way. “Borowicz, an unknown technopath, tried to murder you. You just underwent brain surgery to replace your implant. Surely, you can stand to take a few days off.” 

“Archaeology waits for no one,” I joked lamely. 

Azo’lah swore under her breath–an ancient Destyrian curse I was sure meant something extremely offensive that she had yet to teach me. Not that it looked like she would have chances to do so in the future since, hey, she might be the iz’waij trying to kill me. 

“I don’t know how to say it any other way!” I resisted the urge to itch the metallic curving lines of my three-day-old tattoo that I’d been required to get as part of the ceremony where I became Azo’lah’s Favored. Which I was actively refusing to think about because then I would start thinking about how we had kissed--NOPE. 

I loved my friends dearly, but with all of their heightened attention on me, I wanted to slither under the table and hide. “I’m going.”

“No, you’re not,” Azo’lah spat. 

Fleetwood, who had been methodically petting Sebastian throughout this whole farce of a meal, planted her face in his fluffy black fur and groaned. It was a mark of how much my traitorous cat liked her that he only let out a plaintive mewl of protest. 

“Gretch,” Chester said, reaching out to place a gentle hand in between Fleetwood’s navy space buns. “Could you just explain why you’re so adamant about going?”

“Because it’s my fucking job!” I retorted. I winced at the volume of my own voice, took a deep breath, and forced myself to at least sound composed. “Sorry, Chester, but you and I worked really hard to secure this funding from Auhtula Tyuria–”

Matt leveled me with an all-too-knowing stare over his cup of vy’tal. “Gretchen, you know that’s not actually an issue.” He glanced meaningfully at where Fleetwood was slumped in her seat, her head resting against Chester’s shoulder, with Azo’lah pacing behind them. The usually very close cousins were actively avoiding looking at each other. “What is an issue though–”

“Is that there is an active threat on Gretchen’s life!” Azo’lah yelled. “And not a single one of you seems to be aware of the severity of the situation as we are arguing over whether or not she can leave the safety of the palace to go play with hunks of rock and old crystals.” 

An abrupt and loaded silence fell. It took everything I had not to let the sob that was threatening to bubble over out. I turned it, instead, into an awkward cough. I would not cry because Azo’lah had just belittled my job as Royal Archaeologist. She might be secretly trying to take my life, but she sure as shit wasn’t going to take my pride in my work–which was one of the only things I ever felt good about. 

I tried a new tactic. “Ryan, aren’t you the one always going on about how we have to maintain a facade of normalcy? Well, now that the Festival is over, what’s more, normal than me returning to Vas Roya to work?”

And getting away from all of my problems for a couple of days, I kept to myself.

“I think it’s an excellent idea,” Nyc’arra drawled from where she stood at the wall behind me. I flinched, already anticipating Azo’lah’s vitriolic response. 

“An excellent idea?” Matt asked, ignoring Azo’lah’s incredulous glare. “Why?”

“The palace is busy. The capital is still crawling with stragglers from the festival. Vas Roya is abandoned and ignored by the other four continents except for the spring pilgrimages for the rare believers in the Ancients,” Nyc’arra shrugged. “The only people usually on Vas Roya are Gretchen, her assistant, Chester, and a team of engineers. All are vetted and have little reason to attack Gretchen. If one of them is an iz’waij, it will be obvious very quickly.” Nyc’arra looked at Chester. “You can scan the air space around the planet. If a ship comes in, I’ll get Gretchen to safety.” She leaned forward, placing her hands on my shoulders, no doubt goading Azo’lah with a vicious grin. “There’s no reason to fear for Gretchen’s safety. I will be there to protect her.”

“But none of us will be!” Chester removed his glasses and wiped at the lenses with the hem of his t-shirt. He returned them to his nose and turned to me pleadingly. “Are you sure you can’t wait until the next binary cycle when Mey-ran’s back on Covlax and I can go with you?”

Of course, I could wait another binary cycle. The Temple of Aluthua and all of its history would still be there, waiting. I could wait until Fleetwood’s suddenly full roster of Council meetings were over, and Chester’s responsibilities to his politically-important betrothed had ended. I could wait until Ryan and Matt were done investigating the threat against my life. 

But I didn’t want to. I wanted space and time and peace. I wanted to do actual archaeology and forget the absolute anarchy my life had devolved into. I needed to pretend, for a few blessed days, that I wasn’t the target of a technopathic assassin or that I’d just become the non-sexual concubine of one of my closest friends, who I was no longer sure I could trust.

My stomach twisted into a Gordian knot at the thought: not trusting Azo’lah was anathema to everything I knew. But a voice in my head that sounded annoyingly like Nyc’arra, reminded me that we knew of no other iz’waij on the Central continent. And if Fleetwood, of all people, was questioning Azo’lah’s loyalty, maybe I should too.

I shook my head. “You’re needed here, Chester. The last thing we want is to make an enemy of the Covlax on top of everything else. If Lija is making moves against me, I can’t afford to slip up professionally and give him more ammo to use. Sav’asa is already packing up all of our gear.”

“You’re just taking Sav’asa?” Azo’lah said, “She’s hardly backup.”

I turned to Azo’lah and glared. “Nyc’arra will be with me every step of the way.”

Azo’lah’s lip curled in a way that stated that that was exactly what she was concerned about. She turned to Fleetwood. “That’s hardly enough. Since the attack, Gretchen has a rotation of half a dozen Myax watching her. Please, at least send some of my sisters–”

“No,” Nyc’arra interrupted. “No other Myax.”

My crew mates stilled.

Ryan fiddled with the small black stud in their ear. “I’m sorry, did you just say that you don’t want any more highly-trained, highly-skilled guards to help you out?”

“You heard correctly, competent one,” Nyc’arra replied. “If I am forced to bring along assistance to protect Gretchen, I will be the one selecting exactly who that will be. I do not know most of those in the Myax ranks these days. The only recorded iz’waij in the galaxy have been Destyrian. Therefore, anyone protecting Gretchen off-planet should not be a Destyrian.”

Azo’lah shook her head derisively. “If those are your parameters then only the humans at this table fit that skillset.”

Nyc’arra stepped forward and her mouth curved up in a horrifying smile. “Not just the humans at this table.”

It took a moment for her implication to sink in but when it did I dropped my head into my hands and groaned. As if things couldn’t get any worse. 

“Are you suggesting Shockley and Tyler go with you?” Matt mused. 

“Absolutely not,” Azo’lah argued. 

“That’s your whole crew,” Ryan said shrewdly. “And you’re mercenaries. You could just double-cross us and fly off to deliver Gretchen into the arms of her assassin without losing a single person.” 

Nyc’arra bit back a grin as she assessed Ryan. “Well-thought out, no matter how false. We’ll leave Tyler here, as collateral. He has many skills, but listening to me is not one of them. We may be mercenaries but we refuse to abandon each other. We’ll be back for him in a few days when Gretchen’s done with her work.” 

“I approve of this arrangement, so long as Tyler agrees to it,” Fleetwood said diplomatically. “If Shockley agrees to have his translator removed–”

Azo’lah exploded, “Fulyiti, this is–”

“Not your decision,” Fleetwood interrupted, her tone measured though her navy eyes flickered with poorly concealed ire.

A muffled, “ooph,” came from Matt’s side of the table.

“Shockley can go,” Fleetwood continued, “and Tyler may stay.”

Chester’s fingers tapped against the table. “Without Ran’dyls you’ll need a way to communicate with the engineers or if you guys separate in the temple.” He stood, his chair scraping sharply against the marble floor. “Let me see if I can get a walkie-talkie system working for you all.” His eyes went distant as the wheels in his mind began to spin furiously. “Yeah, that could work. If I manipulate the Ancients tech I could get it to operate without you even needing to touch it.”

“Thank you,” I said, reaching out and squeezing his hand as he rushed from the room.

“I’ll go comm Tyler, see if he wants to accompany me on some rounds,” Matt said, clearing his throat. He and Ryan had been conducting ‘rounds,’ walking about the palace and grounds, hiding in plain sight as they attempted to gather any potential intel. “Cap, you want to come with?”

Ryan’s eyes danced between Azo’lah, Fleetwood, Nyc’arra, and me. “No, you got this.”

“Cap,” Matt growled.

Ryan’s face contorted. They moaned as though being pulled away from their favorite episode of Cosmic Conquerors. They stood from the table and straightened their jacket. “Fine.”

Matt and Ryan left the room in step, their heads bent together as they frantically whispered something I’m sure I didn’t want to hear.

Nyc’arra said, “If Gretchen is willing, she can accompany me to the Danger Zone to speak with Shockley.”

I felt the tightening of Azo’lah’s already rigid spine as though it were my own. 

This antagonism was too much for me to bear.

I stood and said, “I can’t. I have too much to do in preparation for leaving tomorrow. Just comm him or whatever.”

And without looking back, I stormed from the room, and for the moment, my problems.

“What the hell do you need this many crates for?” Matt groused, directing another hover cart full of crates toward the cargo bay of the Killer Qu’een. Shockley and Sav’asa were already inside, making sure everything was loaded properly. “You’re only going for a week.” 

“I always take this many empty crates,” I defended, feeling very Medieval as I crossed things off in my notebook as they were loaded into the Qu’een’s cargo bay. My usual pre-dig departure checklist was on my Ran’dyl, which was buried in some kind of mini Faraday Cage of a container in Chester’s lab. He was under strict instructions from Fleetwood not to attempt to study the technopathic alterations to it, in case they were turned on him. He was most certainly doing it anyway. 

“Myaxi.” 

I turned, plastering the most brilliantly fake smile across my face at the familiar call. I’d been dreading (and, a traitorous part of me whispered, hoping) that Azo’lah would show up to see me off. Generally, when leaving for Vas Roya, I took leave of the crew at breakfast. My trips were routine, and typically, communication was easy when I was gone. My friends contacted me so often on Vas Roya, I sometimes joked that we should keep a group video call open at all times.

But today was different. My usual farewell hugs were a lot longer post-breakfast, and Fleetwood made Nyc’arra promise to send twice-daily updates on my well-being via ship comms. It was clear they had all wanted to accompany me down to the landing pad, but for the sake of appearances, only Matt had come to see me off under the pretense of “pre-flight safety checks.” 

“Good morning, Azo’lah,” I greeted with overwrought brightness. I shot her the briefest of glances before returning my attention with feigned studiousness to my loading crew. They were old hands at this now and hardly needed my instruction. I checked another crate off my list, the motion causing my Favored tattoo to catch the light.

Azo’lah’s elegant, six-fingered hand reached out as if to caress the symbol of her house, but she drew her hand back at the last moment. I tugged my rolled sleeve down to cover the tattoo. I cleared my throat and averted my gaze, only to catch Nyc’arra watching us. 

“I wanted to give you something before you departed,” Azo’lah said. She held something out to me. It was a glass pendant with two ket’li flowers embedded inside of it. On either side were tiny blue gems. “Are those from…” I trailed off as I fought down a sudden swell of emotion. 

“Our ket’li crowns, yes,” Azo’lah said. I envied the way she could appear so unaffected while giving me the most romantic present anyone had ever given me. I knew it was all in the name of maintaining our ruse, but I had no idea why she was trying so hard. The Favored ceremony was over, the law outdated but very binding. It would be extremely difficult for anyone to try to remove me from Destyr now. Unless they kill you, a malignant voice in my head remarked blithely. My traitorous face flushed. I made the mistake of glancing up, which only made the blush intensify. 

Azo’lah’s face bore an almost identical expression to the searching, scorching look she gave me right before she surprise-kissed me at our ceremony. “May I?” she said, holding up the necklace. 

“You may not,” came Nyc’arra’s cold, quiet voice as she practically materialized behind me. I barely stopped myself from screeching. I was never going to get used to Nyc’arra’s ninja ways. 

“You may inspect it if you wish,” Azo’lah’s voice was bland, but the set of her jaw informed me it was forced. “It’s merely glass and flowers.” 

“You could tell me it was a gem of actual ket’li from the First Auhtula herself, and I still wouldn’t let her have it.” 

I wondered if this is what nature documentarians felt like when watching predators face-off in the wild. Staring between them now, it was hard to believe they had ever been in love. I also desperately wanted to escape but didn’t want to draw attention to myself, so I stayed put. “Your gifts,” Nyc’arra sneered, “are dangerous.”

“My gifts are only as dangerous as the use they’re put to,” Azo’lah returned. She looked down at me. “When it comes to Gretchen Myaxi, they are only ever for her good.” 

Nyc’arra snorted and ushered me toward the ship’s ramp, where Shockley stood in the shadows of the bay doors, just out of sight of any onlookers. 

“Are you even listening to me?” Matt demanded, his arms crossed. “I’m giving you important information. Do not crash my ship.” 

“No, I’m not listening,” Shockley admitted with a grin as I approached, “cuz it’s the Fulyiti’s ship.” He jutted his chin toward where Azo’lah stood. “You better go console your Myax there, Majumdar. We’re about to take off.”

Matt rolled his eyes but upon seeing Azo’lah’s blank, steely glare ,decided not to fight it. He hugged me, tugging lightly at my ponytail as he drew back. “Stay safe, Gretch.” He turned and walked down the gangway, calling, “Not a scratch on either of my girls!” 

Nyc’arra strode past us, heading toward the front of the ship. I hit the control for the gangway with more force than was warranted, considering it was a touch sensor and not an actual button.

 “Mommy and mommy are fighting,” Shockley said with a conspiratory grin, pulling me closer to his side. 

“You’re the absolute worst, Maximilian Danger Shockley,” I scowled at him. “I hate you.” He placed a loud, smacking kiss on my cheek. 

“I know you’re stressed, Name Police, but there’s no need to be hurtful,” he winked at me as he dragged me to the cockpit. “Or to lie.” 

“Let’s try one of these!”

“Careful!” I shouted, grinding my teeth. Shockley giddily hustled across the Archives chamber of the Temple of Aluthua, an orb cradled in each arm. “Max!”

“I am being careful,” he cackled, stopping at Sav’asa’s side, proudly proffering her both orbs. “You pick this time.”

Sav’asa ducked her head as she accepted one, looking to me for approval. At my small nod of concession, she dusted it methodically with a soft brush before placing it into the round slot at the top of the cylindrical reader. The room was bathed in a sunset-orange light as a new sprawl of Ancient Destyrian glyphs scrolled across the far wall.

“Oh, look, another list of unimportant nonsense from thousands of years ago,” Nyc’arra drawled from her ever-present post at my back. I wouldn’t be surprised if my own shadow took on Nyc’arra’s shape since we’d left Thal. “What an astonishing discovery.”

I gently put the orb we had previously inspected into the waiting crate before I elbowed her shin. “It is astonishing. Everything we can learn about the Ancients, no matter how pedestrian, helps us to better understand what life was like on Vas Roya all those–”

“Let’s try this one next!” Shockley plucked an orb off a shelf across from where we were working.

“Max!” I barked. “Stop trying to look at things out of grid order.”

Nyc’arra gestured to the glyphs Sav’asa was currently recording in her notebook. “Can you even read Ancient Destyrian, Shockley?”

“Nope,” Shockley admitted, reluctantly returning the out-of-order orb to its nook. “It’s still cool as hell to see, though!”

“I could translate more if you would find that helpful,” Sav’asa offered meekly.

“Stop distracting Sav’asa,” I said before Shockley could reply. “We’re trying to work.”

I ignored Shockley’s expression, luminous with childlike excitement. Or at least I tried. It was hard not to find his interest in archaeology endearing. “Gretchen, have you come here so often that you’re bored?” 

“I’ve only been here twice, and I’m desperately bored,” Nyc’arra offered unhelpfully. 

“Of course, I’m not bored,” I said, noting the necessary data about the final orb in this grid unit before we sealed up this crate and moved onto the next. 

Shockley dropped into a squat at my side and poked me in the ribs. “What’s next?” 

I shut my eyes and inhaled deeply before fixing Nyc’arra with a baleful look. “I’m beginning to think Tyler might actually have been more helpful today,” I said.

Shockley said, “But Tyler isn’t a fellow archaeologist.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “You’re not an archaeologist, you’re a—You know what, I’m not having this argument with you again.”

Shockley leaned in close, lowered his voice so that Nyc’arra and Sav’asa couldn’t hear, and said, “Would you rather argue about the weird tension between you and Azo’lah since you guys kissed at your Favored Ceremony?”

It took all of my willpower not to grab an orb and smash it into his smug, handsome face. Lucky for him, the temple chose that exact moment to shift slightly but noticeably beneath us. 

Shockley fell out of his squat, catching himself on his hand. “I thought you said this thing was safe?”

“It is,” I assured him. And it was. The stabilization field installed by the Royal Engineers had kept the Temple of Aluthua upright and tremor-free for all of my previous visits. It was probably nothing, but I latched on to the opportunity for some peace. “It’s probably just a glitch with the stabilization field. Why don’t you and Sav’asa go check with the engineers to see if they need help with anything?”

Shockley shook his head. “I’m not leaving you. The entire point of my coming here was to help keep an eye on you.”

“And you’ve done a valiant job keeping me safe while you tore this precious historical site apart like a sugar-high toddler at Chuck E. Cheese,” I said. “Go. Check on it. Make sure it’s safe for us to still be in here. Nyc’arra’s got me. Right, Nyc’arra?”

Nyc’arra only deigned to roll her eyes.

I shoved at Shockley. “Go! It’ll be fine. Take one of Chester’s special Destyrian walkie-talkies so we can check in with each other.”

“I don’t like the idea of separating.” Shockley hoisted himself to his feet and dusted off his hands.

“Your attachment anxiety is getting worse than Tyler’s,” Nyc’arra said. 

Shockley snorted. “Doubtful. A hundred Falkirian donats says he’s left over a dozen messages back on the ship.” The temple gave another ever so slight shiver beneath our feet like someone had turned a bass on at top volume for the briefest of moments. Max fixed Nyc’arra with a look. Some sort of silent communication passed between them, and it hit me for the first time, that Nyc’arra and Max might be more than crewmates who trusted and tolerated each other–they might be best friends. 

Nyc’arra said, “I’m more concerned with this,” she waved her hand airily as though the potential collapse of the structure she stood inside was nothing but an annoying gnat, “but I gave the Fulyiti my oath.”

Shockley exhaled deeply. “Fine, I’ll go check on the engineers.” I squeezed his calf in gratitude, my fingers flexing against the sturdy fabric of his pants. He reached down and cupped my face, his thumb caressing the apple of my cheek. “Stay outta trouble, Name Police.”

“I’m just going to do my job,” I reassured him, pointing at my bandolier of tools with the brush in my hand.

Shockley took a step back. “I know. That’s what worries me.”

I held up the middle finger on my free hand.

Shockley crossed the room to where Chester’s communication device sat. For all of its sleek Destyrian tech, it resembled a miniature Earth boombox from the 90s (I think that may have been on purpose). I didn’t truly understand how it worked, only that its portability allowed us to use it, and if the iz’waij found us and hacked into it, we would be in minimal danger as it required no touch to work.

Shockley grabbed one of the docked speakers and tested it. His voice echoed through the room, creating a chorus of Shockleys. He holstered it to his belt on the opposite hip from his blaster.

He gestured to Sav’asa. “Lead on, Fearless One.” As she grabbed her bag, Shockley added, “Try not to get locked into any rooms while I’m gone, alright, Gretchen?”

“Oh my God,” I groaned. I pointed to where Sav’asa stood out in the corridor. “Go!”

He gave me a mocking salute and stepped backward into the hallway. 

I had to stop myself from collapsing against the floor with relief when the door shut. Finally, peace and quiet. And space from all of the people causing me an overabundance of emotion and anxiety. 

I sighed happily to myself and mumbled, “Now, to finally get some work done.” I twisted the orb in my hand, running my brush gently along its convex exterior.

Nyc’arra cleared her throat daintily, then said, “I never understood the appeal of penises, let alone human ones, but Shockley must know what he’s doing with his if you’re willing to put up with how irritating he is all the time.”

I dropped the orb. I cursed loudly as I snatched up the orb seconds before it impacted the floor. “Look at what you made me do!”

Nyc’arra snickered. 

I groaned, inspecting the orb's surface for any damage. “Fuck off. I sent Shockley away because I wanted to do my work in silence. I can’t send you away. I think even you, someone who hates me, can admit that I’ve had a hell of a binary-cycle and deserve a little slack. A little space. Some time to myself where I don’t have to think about Wos’kit Pollen sex or pledging myself to be my friend’s concubine to avoid political assassination.”

Nyc’arra said, “I don’t hate you. I don’t particularly like you, but I certainly don’t think about you enough to hate you.”

I held up my hand. “Don’t care. All I’m asking of you is quiet, okay?”

Nyc’arra shrugged.

“Thank you,” I said, returning my attention to my work. The temple shook. This time vigorously enough for the crate to rock onto its edges. Nyc’arra made no comment on it, so I chose another orb to dust. 

I got through three before the temple trembled again. I looked at Nyc’arra. Her brow was pinched, clearly sharing my concern. Although the temple was large, Sav’assa knew her way around it, and they should have made it to the engineers stationed outside the temple by now. 

Our walkie-talkie crackled to life, Shockley’s voice bursting forth. “Gretchen! Nyc’arra! Are you there?” He sounded alarmed.

Nyc’arra strode across the room and snatched up the device. “Yes, Shockley, we are here. No need to panic.”

“Nyc, we have to go, stat,” Shockley replied breathlessly. “The engineers–there’s something wrong. The engineers are dead.” Though the structure was stable, my knees wobbled as though it had just shaken. Dead? “Sav’asa and I just got to the stabilization field, and they’re all…”

Nyc’arra gestured me to her side. “Can you tell how they died?”

“No. Neither can Sav’asa. But it’s grisly. They’re on the ground, eyes wide and brains melting out their ears.”

A stray memory of Azo’lah’s fingers grazing my temple implant snuck across my mind. No. No, Azo’lah wouldn’t do that.

Nyc’arra snatched at my wrist as she shouldered the comm device. “Get to the ship now, Shockley. We’re leaving immediately.”

I wrestled against Nyc’arra’s grip, reaching for my supplies scattered across the floor. “Wait, my gear! I need to–”

“No.” Nyc’arra yanked me sharply back. “We are leaving now.”

“Hey, Sav’asa,” Shockley’s voice echoed through the speakers, “let’s haul ass outta–oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. Let her go!”

Nyc’arra froze. “Max?”

Shockley did not respond to Nyc'arra, instead shouting, “I don’t care! How did you get here? No, don’t hurt her!”

Sav’asa’s pleading cries of, “Please, let me go,” could be heard, but I couldn’t make out any other voice.

“Sav’asa!” I yelled, attempting to yank the device out of Nyc’arra’s hand. “Sav’asa! Max, who has Sav’asa? What’s happening?”

“Why don’t you fuck off instead?” Shockley said. There was a yelp, then Shockley’s voice begging, “No, that’s not what I–trade her out for me, take me instead! No! Sav’asa!”

Sav’asa’s scream lanced straight through my heart. Then there was only silence.

“Shockley, come in, Shockley,” Nyc’arra said.

Attempting to scale Nyc’arra to get to the comms, I bellowed, “Max, if you don’t answer, I’m going to–”

“Nyc’arra, secure Gretchen,” Shockley’s panting voice cut me off. “I’m going to get to the ship. Call Fleetwood. The technopath’s–”

The comms went dead as the temple vibrated around us. Orbs fell from shelves, tinkling against the floor and rolling every which way. Pieces of stone broke from the ceiling, nearly clipping my shoulder. Nyc’arra wrestled me forward, “Go, go, go!” 

I scrambled to keep up with her but tripped over one of the rogue orbs, dragging Nyc’arra into the wall. I grunted as we crashed against the stone.

Then I screamed as the wall disappeared behind me, and I fell into nothingness.

Though the color did not match the traditional white I had envisioned growing up, as I studied its elegant lines and the gently plunging neckline that elegantly framed my collarbones, I couldn’t help but feel…bridal. My hair was even beautifully coiffed, ringlets framing my face.

Chester, dapper as ever in his House Fuiq navy and silver tunic, stepped up behind me and clapped his hands on my shoulders. I could not bring myself to meet his gaze in the mirror. “I don’t know if anyone’s ever ready to become a Royal alien concubine. But if it makes you feel better, it’s practically painless.”

“Practically painless?” I repeated drolly.

Chester held up his left forearm and tugged back his sleeve to reveal his House Fuiq tattoo–a tattoo that would adorn my arm soon. “You’re going to want to drink an extra glass of qua’pir before the application process.”

From their seat on my bed, Ryan called, “I am always prepared to be a Royal alien’s concubine. Episode eighteen, season six of Cosmic Conquerors set me up for success.”

“Isn’t that the episode where one of the Snormanians tries to assassinate Bendleham?” Matt asked from his seat in the corner.

Ryan beamed. “Yep.”

“But that has nothing to do with becoming a Royal alien concubine.”

“I know. I’m talking about the climax of the show when Bendleham delivers that kickass–”

“I love you guys, but this isn’t helping,” I sighed.

“Sorry, Gretch,” Matt apologized, standing. “For what it’s worth, you look beautiful.”

“Smoking hot, no cap,” Ryan added, leaping from the bed. They strode to my side and used my mirror to straighten out their flowing tunic and straight-legged pant ensemble. “You know you don’t need to freak out. It’s not like you’re actually becoming Azo’lah’s Favored.”

I gulped, a stone of regret sinking heavily in my stomach.

“This is all for show, and damn,” they gestured widely at us all, “do we clean up well when we perform.”

Chester squeezed my shoulders. “We’ve got your back, Gretchen.”

I smiled at them all. “Thanks, guys, that means so–”

“Is this inane conversation over yet?” Nyc’arra groaned from her post directly beside my closed door. “If you proceed to blather emotionally at one another, you’ll miss the ceremony entirely.”

“Rude,” Ryan said, checking their Ran’dyl, “but not incorrect about the timing. Crew, let’s head out.”

Chester proffered me his arm. I entwined our forearms as Matt and Ryan led the procession out of my room, Nyc’arra falling in at my back.

With every step we took through the corridors, I felt my lungs tighten. I had my meds tucked away in a secret pocket of my gown. Even though I knew the list of attendees to the ceremony was exclusively short, I wasn't sure I would be able to stave off a panic attack.

Chester nudged our shoulders together. “So, I think I may like Mey-ran more than I originally intended to.”

Though my stomach swarmed with a thousand nervous bees, I grinned up at my friend, grateful for the distraction. “You think?”

Chester dipped his chin adorably. “He isn’t anything like I expected.”

“Really?” Ryan threw a wicked grin over their shoulder. “His uniforms are so tight, it doesn’t really leave much for the imagination to get wrong.”

Matt snorted as Chester reached forward and swatted at Ryan’s back. “That’s not what I’m talking about. I meant that he seems actually interested in what I have to say. He pays attention when I talk. In passing, I mentioned my casual interest in the crimson chlorophyll of the flora on Covlax, and when he got here for the festival, he had a bunch of plant samples delivered to my lab for me to study.”

“That’s so sweet,” I said as we turned a corner. I focused on Chester’s radiant smile, trying valiantly not to notice how close we were to our destination. 

“I know,” Chester agreed. “I figured I was a novelty. That he’d lose interest once he got over the newness of meeting a human. And I wasn’t too thrilled about being politically maneuvered into being engaged to him–”

“Still not thrilled about that one, mate,” Matt said, leading us out onto the balcony and the amber transportation platform.

“He’s apologized,” Chester said defensively. “Said we could cancel the betrothal, that he’d convince his mother to sign an agreement with Auhtula Ty’uria that didn’t require a marriage.”

Matt and Ryan stepped onto the platform, both offering their hands to help me step up without tripping. “And yet you’re still engaged to him,” I said, as Chester and Nyc’arrra joined us on the platform.

The weird weightlessness took over, and for a moment, I was happy for the flip-floppy sensation—anything to not think about where I was headed. We came to stop on the ground floor of the palace, our feet touching down gently.

“Well, yeah,” Chester said, leading me off the platform. “If we aren’t betrothed, he doesn’t have an excuse to visit.”

I said, “Who knew alien political alliances were so complicated?”

Ryan raised both their hands. “I did!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Matt said, wrapping an arm around their shoulders and tugging them into a gentle chokehold.

Ryan fought him off playfully. “It’s not my fault none of you grew up on Cosmic Conquerors and thusly lack the knowledge necessary to conquer the stars!”

Chester thrust a fist into the air and began singing the electric guitar riff that accompanied the opening credits of Ryan’s favorite show. For the rest of our walk, we sang the song, harmonizing the outlandish lyrics and sing-humming the hard rock rhythm that accompanied it.

Nyc’arra came to a sharp halt and rubbed her temples with her fingers. “Mercifully, we have arrived, and that noise you are all making can now stop.”

“Or we could roll into the opening verse of the first song of the musical episode Intergalactic Panic: Supernova Explosion!” Ryan suggested, eyes gleaming excitedly.

“Oh, look, it’s Azo’lah! A sentence I never thought I’d be happy to utter,” Nyc’arra said, grabbing at my upper arm and shoving me forward.

I tripped over the hem of my gown as I staggered. In the time it took me to catch my balance, Nyc’arra disappeared into the shadows. I was too overwhelmed by my current situation to be too impressed by her amazing disappearing moves.“Thanks for distracting me, guys,” I said over my shoulder as my friends practically sprinted to keep up.

Our Favored Ceremony was taking place in a small chamber off the Feasting Hall. And by small, I meant two cathedrals could still fit into the vaulted-ceiling, wide-windowed space. The glyphs on the mosaic floor were the verbatim speech the First Auhtula gave after shaking her enemies’ holy temple to rubble. I gaped at the small gathering of Destyrians who stood in a circle at the center of the room. Auhtula Ty’uria was dressed in a resplendent silver gown beside Fleetwood, who was clad in a navy sequined jumpsuit and combat boots with flaming skulls stitched into the side. On Fleetwood’s other side, Auhtul Cal’ton, wearing an all-white ensemble, beamed at me.

I waved at him as Chester, Ryan, and Matt peeled away to stand with Fleetwood and Cal’ton. The rest of the circle was filled in by half a dozen Myax, a handful of Auhtula Ty’uria’s councilors, and even my assistant, Sav’asa.

At the center of the circle stood Azo’lah. She was stunning in a navy dress that showed off her arms and shoulders. Her luminescent hair was an unbound wave of silver down her back. The light of the setting suns that came in through the windows at her back set her aglow. 

I stopped dead in my tracks as I took her in.

Was this really happening? Were we actually going through with this?

My tongue stuck to the roof of my dry mouth, and, as though she sensed my rising panic, Azo’lah strode over to me. She stopped a hand span before me, her fingers reaching out and flexing against my arm. Looking at her up close felt like staring into a solar eclipse. “You are alright, ket’li?”

My cheeks burned at the endearment. “Just excited to get to you.”

Azo’lah’s mouth ticked up in a grin. She ran her hand up my arm and straightened out the sleeves of my gown. “You are beautiful,” she said. Distantly, I could hear Cal’ton and Ryan cooing at one another.

“You–you too,” I stammered as she led me to the center of the circle.

When we reached the center of the gathered guests, Azo’lah linked both of our hands together, and, for my ears only, she whispered, “Are you ready, Myaxi?”

No, no, no, no. My heart ricocheted against my rib cage like a yo-yo.

“Yes,” I murmured.

She straightened to her full, towering height. “Auhtula Ty’uria, ruler of the Central continent and head of House Fuiq, I, Azo’lah Myax, present to you, my intended Favored. I ask that you grant our union your blessing.”

I gulped at the word union.

While I knew the Favored Ceremony wasn’t an actual wedding and certainly lacked the pomp and ritual of Destyrian nuptials, my sweating palms didn’t know the difference.

Auhtula Ty’uria stepped briefly forward. “I grant my blessing upon both your Favored and this union.” She stepped back in line. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Fleetwood grab her mother’s arm, a silent thank you.

I looked up and met Azo’lah’s gaze, her navy eyes hypnotizing me into forgetting my nerves. She cleared her throat and began loudly, “Gretchen Myaxi of Earth, in accordance with the traditions of my house, I take you as my Favored. I offer you the protection of my name and title from all who would harm you. I offer you a home for your rest and your warmth. I offer companionship for the rest of your days or until I release you from this position.”

My knees wobbled along with Azo’lah’s voice as she continued. “I offer you all this in exchange for your loyalty and obedience to me, and House Fuiq, in all things. Do you accept my offer and the title of Favored?”

My heartbeat in my ears like a drum.

“I–” I cleared my throat. “I accept your offer and the title you bestow.” But the words were not enough. The Destyrians, a tactile people to the very end, required a touch of intimacy to seal the agreement. I reached up and ran my fingers delicately along Azo’lah’s collarbone, ignoring the low thrum of excitement that kickstarted in my core.

I grinned, fortifying myself for Azo’lah’s hand to do the same. But instead, she wrapped one of her arms around my waist and nearly lifted me off my feet as she drew me close. Her free hand trailed across my collarbone, and goosebumps broke out across my skin. 

“Azo’lah,” I whispered breathlessly, “what are you doing?”

But instead of answering, she stooped down and for an infinite, heart-stopping moment, brought our mouths together. 

I forgot how to breathe, how to think, how to stand. I fisted her tunic to hold me steady as the entire universe began to rotate on an opposing axis.

She pulled away, and I felt the entire room exhale. She said, “Out of respect for my Favored and her culture, we decided to complete the ceremony with a traditional human touch.”

There was a moment of silence and then polite cheering of congratulations, but I barely heard it as I gaped up at Azo’lah.

She stared serenely back at me as though she had not just kissed me in front of everyone important in our lives. Like she hadn’t just torn down every single mental wall I had built up around my impossible feelings for her.

I stared down at my forearm, where, just visible under the gauzy web of a nano-bandage, my brand new tattoo rested. “You weren’t lying when you said that hurt like a bitch,” I informed Chester, gratefully accepting the drink Matt pressed into my hand. At least Azo’lah had done her best to distract me during the ritualized process while I tried not to whimper in front of everyone watching.

“Looks dope as shit, though,” Ryan supplied cheerfully. They were doing a commendable job restraining themself from poking the healing wound. “I want a Destyrian tattoo now. The metallic ink is sick.” 

“At least the healing is crazy fast because of the nanotech,” Chester grinned. “Tomorrow, it’s gonna itch, though.” 

“Great,” I said, taking a small sip. Around us, the guests who had gathered for the ceremony milled about, eating dinner in the garden. Everyone was still recovering from the First Lover’s Festival. While congenial, the atmosphere was subdued, and the alcohol consumption greatly diminished. Next to her mother, Fleetwood was uncharacteristically involved in schmoozing, somehow managing to look regal, even while dressed like a disco queen. She was currently engaged in a lively chat with Councilor Jo’son, who looked uncharacteristically charmed by Fleetwood’s apparently earnest attention. 

Chester followed my gaze. “I’m worried about her,” he nodded toward his best friend. “Whenever she’s not with us, she’s working to win over the council when it comes to—” 

“To me,” I finished for him. “And I fucked up by being seen with Shockley.” 

Matt patted my shoulder. “I’d like to say something empathetic, but my demisexual self can’t relate. But she’s not just fighting for you. You’re the fight right now because you’re the easiest, biggest target. If they succeed with you, they’re coming for the rest of us, and she’s not going to let it stand.” 

“I wish we could help. But since we don’t know why the fuck she and Azo’lah aren’t approaching this as their usual badass tag-team, we’re forced to sit this one out,” Ryan said with all the subtly of a sledgehammer. “Gretchen, you know you can trust us,” they began but trailed off as Azo’lah approached with Auhtul Cal’ton in tow. 

Azo’lah immediately wrapped her arm around my shoulder, her fingers tracing my collarbone once before they settled. 

“Captain Thorley!” the young Auhtul greeted, his face brightening as they approached Ryan. Matt grinned at me. It appeared that Ryan had charmed Cal’ton when they had stood in for Fleetwood during the wos’kit pollen incident. “Congratulations, Gretchen Myaxi,” Cal’ton added belatedly. “Are you ready for the bedding ceremony?” 

Azo’lah’s fingers clenched around my shoulder. The what now? 

“In respect to the merging of our cultures, we will be holding a modified version, as the Fulyiti and her Favored did,” Azo’lah said lightly. I looked up at her, wondering why the fuck such a potentially embarrassing aspect of this ritual hadn’t been explained to me and then realized it was probably because Azo’lah hadn’t been allowed in a room alone with me for days and everyone kept forgetting that I currently wasn’t allowed to use a Ran’dyl so it isn’t like she could send me private comm.

“I’m going to get another drink,” I choked out around a terribly forced smile. Azo’lah started to follow, but Chester hip-checked her out of the way and linked his arm through mine.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured as we walked toward the refreshment table. “They’ll get you all ready and take you to a room with everyone watching but then they’ll leave. You can just fake the noises if you’re worried about anyone listening.”

“Is that what you and Fleetwood did?” I busied myself with selecting a different cocktail. 

“Yeah,” Chester explained. “It was actually a lot of fun. We bounced around on the bed and made sex noises. Then, I introduced Fleetwood to some new music while we ate all the sexy dessert food they leave for you in there and drank the really high-quality qua’pir.” He nudged my shoulder as we reached the over-burdened refreshments table. “Azo’lah’s your friend. The night will be fun however you choose to spend it.” Usually, I was very fond of Chester’s genius, but not so much of the knowing look in his eyes. God, I was such a mess. Pining after one friend while having a friends-with-benefits relationship with Shockley was the definition of a clusterfuck.

“Thanks, Chester,” I said and meant it. “Can you cover for me, I just,” I shrugged toward the unpopulated section of the garden helplessly. 

“Need a minute? Sure.” He picked up a new cup. “Just don’t take too long with everything going on, or your ket’li will come looking for you.” 

I waved my hand weakly. “Oh my god, stop. It was just,” I lowered my voice already heading toward the longed-for solitude of one of the palace garden’s smaller arbors, “an act.” 

“Sure, an act.” Chester leveled me with a look over the rim of his glasses. “She didn’t have to kiss you in front of Queen and country, is all I’m saying.” 

I quickly turned on my heel, my traitorous face flushing. I had been trying very hard not to think about Azo’lah’s unexpected kiss or any of its ramifications or wanting to do it again at all since it happened—all of which I had been failing miserably at. I probably should’ve told Nyc’arra, who I assumed was still hiding in the shadows somewhere, where I was going, but it didn’t look like anyone had wandered out this far from the main party. I walked slowly down the lush turquoise lawn, dotted with autumnal flowers in sparkling white, like snowfall or Azo’lah’s hair—

Gah. I took a long draw of my drink and found myself on the edge of the royal family's private section of the gardens. I stepped over the glittering mosaic paving stones that lined the way to the alcove where we ate al fresco as a crew on nice days, now bathed in the pale lilac of twilight reflected off the pearlescent walls of the palace. As I rounded the vine-entwined hedges surrounding the area, I heard a low voice muttering. 

I peeked around the corner, half expecting to find my crew members had snuck away from the slightly stuffy formal reception to have a more relaxed version with pilfered alcohol and pastries. What I did not expect was to see Councillor Lija sitting at our table, his feet kicked up on the surface like he was the Auhtul for which it was built. 

“Yes, I know,” he said into his Ran’dyl, voice raising slightly in exasperation. “I want this just as badly, if not more than you.” 

I couldn’t hear the person on the other line, and Lija had deactivated the device’s output feature, so it didn’t project a miniature version of his conversational partner. 

“I know, it’s what we both deserve, and we’ll get it. While they successfully foiled my first plan, they unwittingly handed me a better one,” I heard the rustle of fabric, the scrape of a chair leg against the mosaiced slab the table resided on. In my mind’s eye, the image of Lija purposefully marring the glittering glyph for the Destyrian word for bloodless family (more accurately translated into English as found family) sent a flash of ire through me. Fleetwood had this area outfitted especially for our crew.

I was ready to storm around the hedge and unleash all my pent-up rage. Then Lija said something that doused my white-hot flare of anger with icy terror. “The House of Fuiq has been concealing an iz’waij.” 

Holy shit.

Stupidly, without thinking of anything other than my need to protect Azo’lah and Fleetwood, I strode around the cover of the hedgerow into open view. “I wasn’t aware that you had the royal family’s permission to enter their private garden, Councilor,” I said. My tone was so mild and yet so cold, I almost impressed myself. 

Lija turned to me, his hand at his side. His call abruptly ended. He raised one dark eyebrow. “Becoming Azo’lah Myax’s Favored has made you even bolder than before. Foolishly so.” 

“I’m not the one in a place he has no right to be,” I said. I approached him, doing my best to keep my pace even and unconcerned. 

“But you are,” Lija smiled in a way that sent chills down my spine. “And you have stayed there for far too long, by accepting the Fulyiti’s friendship and ensnaring her cousin, you revealed their secret.” 

“You sound very confident for someone who couldn’t be more wrong,” I said, fighting against the steel-sharp spike of anxiety his words produced. 

“Come now, Gretchen.” Lija sighed like I was a wayward child he had to instruct. “I know you suffered an attack, and I know that only Azo’lah and the Fulyiti were with you. Then, you were taken immediately to the medical wing, where your translator was removed and replaced. And now, you have a new bodyguard, a disgraced Myax whose language shills render her the only one capable of guarding you against a Destyrian iz’waij without the aid of technology.” He exaggeratedly scanned the alcove. “I can see why she’s disgraced, letting you wander off alone so soon after having her name cleared.” 

“How do you know that?” I asked. How did he know of any of this? “The royal Healer Wing is private. The records are confidential.” 

“Nothing in this palace is secret from me,” Lija grinned, smug and self-satisfied. He turned to leave, but I played one last card born of desperation. 

“How do you know it wasn’t Fleetwood?” I was shocked at how even the words sounded. Acting had never been my strong suit. 

Lija turned his head, listening but not facing me. I continued. “If your sources are correct, which they may not be, how do you know it wasn’t the Fulyiti that allegedly saved me?” 

Lija considered for all but a moment. “Because, if that were the case, her mother would have revealed that information 68 binary cycles ago when her claim to the throne was questioned. An, iz’waij heir to the throne would’ve rendered your services unnecessary. Instead, you’re here.” 

“Fleetwood has never wanted to be Auhtula.” I hoped that somehow pieces of the truth would help me cast some doubt in his mind.

“She no longer needs to be concerned about that.” Lija stepped into my space, crowding me against the table, scant inches between us. “Just know that when I reveal Azo’lah’s lifelong secret when I send this continent into chaos, when lives are lost and dynasties broken, it was all because of you, Gretchen of Earth.” He reached out, like he was going to brush my hair behind my ear or cradle my head in a benediction when a hand shot out from nowhere, wrapping around Lija’s wrist. 

Nyc’arra whipped Lija away from me so hard that he stumbled and fell, the pale robin’s egg blue of his robes swirling onto the grass like watercolor paint. “You will not touch my charge.” 

Lija scrambled to his feet, the elegant schemer instantly erased by an embarrassed man. “Now she’s your charge? She’s been—” 

“I’ve been here the whole time,” Nyc’arra said, her voice as steady as her hand, which unsheathed a dagger. It might have been the most terrifying and satisfying thing I’ve ever seen. “If you think for even a moment Gret’chen is unguarded, you are wrong. I am the best at what I do.” 

“Your lack of technological accessories is very telling,” Lija said, slipping into his cool demeanor uneasily, like it no longer fit quite right. 

“Are we trading fashion tips now?” Nyc’arra asked blithely. “Here’s mine. I’d go change, you have grass stains on your robes. You look as sloppy as your blathering tonight has proven you to be.” 

“This is not over,” Lija promised before turning and exiting the gardens. Nyc’arra said something in Destyrian, which sounded like a catcall, probably regarding the stains on the back of his robes. As soon as he was out of sight, Nyc’arra’s smile faded as she resecured her blade.

“Come, we must go tell the Fulyiti immediately. The palace is even less secure than I thought,” she pressed her hand into the space between my shoulder blades, guiding me back toward the reception.

“And Azo’lah?” I prompted. “We have to tell her what Lija suspects.” 

Nyc’arra snorted. “We tell Azo’lah nothing. I won’t let her near you, bedding ceremony be damned.” 

“She’s in danger, too!” I protested, futilely trying to fight against Nyc’arra’s hold.

“You’re in danger,” Nyc’arra stopped, resting both hands on my shoulders. “If Lija is correct, Azo’lah doesn’t need protection. If Lija’s correct, Azo’lah can send this continent into chaos with a well-placed sentence.” 

“But she doesn’t want to be queen.” 

“And you believe her just because she said so? Do you know the best way to stage a coup? Let someone else lead it, pretend it’s not what you wanted, and then sit obligingly on the throne when they beg you to stop the bloodshed.” 

“Are you suggesting Azo’lah’s in league with Lija? That she, what? Hid her abilities her whole life, plotting for the right moment to take over the throne? She would never—”
“I once had very defined ideas of what Azo’lah would never do,” Nyc’arra said sharply. “And it turns out mine were very wrong.” She looked down at me, her eyes fierce. “I hope, for the sake of everyone on this continent, that you’re right.”

I moved toward the sitting area, away from the suddenly overwhelming press of body heat at the table. I hoped to curb my raging libido until Ryan returned. They had been dispatched hours ago—or maybe minutes—time was immaterial at the moment, along with hastily programmed perception distorters that would allow Shockley to enter the palace disguised as an unassuming member of the staff. 

I flopped onto the sofa that LinManHam was resting behind. Sebastian scaled the dino-skeleton spine like it was a cat-palace. My cat perched at the top of LinManHam’s skull and gazed judgmentally at me. “I can’t take your disappointment, too,” I whined, curling up into a tight ball.

As everyone trailed into the room behind me, Azo’lah complained, “We don’t have time to wait for Shockley. We need to move Gretchen, now.” She should quit putting up such a fight regarding my safety and just come here and put her hands all over me. Shit. 

“Gret’chen?” Fleetwood asked. “Are you well?”

I waved my hand vaguely because Fleetwood couldn’t do anything for me that wasn’t being done, except…Wow, this was powerful stuff because I’d never once thought of Fleetwood that way, and here I was actually considering it. 

“No,” Nyc’arra’s voice was low and firm. “You don’t get to touch her anymore unless absolutely necessary. And I get to decide that.” I lifted my head just enough to see Nyc’arra with her arm thrown warningly across Azo’lah’s chest, barring her way to me. 

If Nyc’arra had still been wearing any shred of technology, I was quite certain that Azo’lah might’ve shorted out her implant a second time in accidental rage. Azo’lah’s eyes darted to the small, round nanotech bandage sitting right where Nyc’arra’s implant used to be, down to her bare wrist. “Why did you have your implant removed?” Azo’lah asked.

Nyc’arra smiled savagely. “It was a condition of the job.”

“Cousin,” Azo’lah turned to Fleetwood, “what have you done?” 

And oh, this was so bad. The heartbreak in Azo’lah’s eyes as she met Fleetwood’s carefully ambivalent ones was almost as overwhelming as the wos’kit pollen. 

“This is unquantifiably the worst.” Matt groaned from the nearby chair where he had flopped. A large mermaid sequin throw pillow was arranged decorously across his lap. 

“Why don’t you go to your room, Matty-Matt?” Fleetwood suggested. I was honestly surprised Matt hadn’t left to go lock himself in his quarters the minute Chester had excused himself. Mey-ran had followed close behind, after a quick and non-subtle threat from Fleetwood that if Mey-ran took advantage of the situation, war would be the least of the Covlax Vic’s problems. Fleetwood was terrifying even when she wasn’t trying; when she was trying, it was bone-chilling. It also really brought out the family resemblance to Azo’lah, who was much too far away from me at the moment, much like Shockley. God, what the fuck was taking so long?

“I will once Ryan’s back and Gretchen’s safe,” Matt assured Fleetwood. “You’ll keep Ryan with your security detail the rest of the day, right? With everything going on—” 

“The Captain has agreed to entertain Auhtul Cal’ton in my place. They’ll have a Myax escort of ours, plus the Auhtul’s full complement.” 

“Where are you going?” I asked her, crossing my legs in vain and trying not to squirm at the position shift sent a wave of pleasure up my spine. Then I gasped a tightening spasm locked my arms against my sides.

The door chimed. 

“Don’t move,” Nyc’arra instructed Azo’lah as she went to the foyer with Milyna. A moment later, Shockley strode in, his open jacket fanning out like he had brought his own wind with him. Even with concern twisting his features, he was handsome as ever. I sat up, shoving my sweaty hair out of my face sure I looked anything but appealing. I vaguely registered Tyler walking in behind him, twirling a perception distorter in his hand. 

“Thanks for coming.” I immediately regretted my word choice. 

He dropped to one knee in front of me. He placed his hands on the sofa, bracketing my thighs, careful not to touch me.

God, why wouldn’t anyone touch me?

“Never a dull moment with you, Name Police,” Shockley smiled. “I know Ryan said you asked for me, and I’m happy to help. But I need to hear it from you, given the circumstances.” 

Touched at his concern and really fucking grateful for him at the moment, I clumsily reached for his hand, knowing anything else would lead to public indecency. “Yes, Max, I would like your help,” I smiled. My legs quaked from the way he smiled back or from a painful tightening of my calf muscles, I wasn’t sure. “Like, as soon as possible, please.” 

I flushed, not having meant to voice that last bit. My brain-to-mouth filter wasn’t exactly functioning anymore, and the pollen’s effects on my muscles were about to make me start screaming. And not in a fun way. 

Shockley stood. “You heard the lady.” He looked over at Tyler. “Do not blow up my ship while I’m gone.” 

“You're staying here?” Matt asked, sweat dripping down his temple and onto Fleetwood’s throw pillow. 

“Duh,” Tyler said like it was obvious. “Someone has to look after you.” Tyler’s handsome face reddened as he waved his hands frantically. “Not like that, but you know, Ryan’s covering diplomacy duty for FleetMerc, Chester’s got Mey-ran, so I figured I’d be on Matt-watch. Make sure you’re hydrated, fed—all that stuff! Oh, and I can give you viewing recommendations if you need some!” 

Matt looked the closest to tears I’d ever seen him. Yet, he managed a sincere smile, despite the fact that I’m sure he was in similar agony to me. His hands gripped the mermaid pillow so tightly sequins fell to the floor. “Thank you, Tyler.” 

Tyler shrugged and offered his hand. “Let’s get you to your room, okay?” 

Matt’s Adam’s apple bobbed before he accepted. We all politely averted our eyes as he stood.

Fleetwood placed her palm on their heads as they passed on the way to the door, like a weird but sweet version of a papal blessing. 

“God, this is mortifying,” Matt muttered as he passed. I could relate. I was ready to crawl in a hole and die of embarrassment, but only after climbing Shockley like a tree.

“The Killer Qu’een is prepped for takeoff,” Milyna informed the room. I had to give her props for her professionalism. Her mildly pleasant expression revealed nothing. 

“Distorter on,” Nyc’arra instructed. Shockley activated his, turning into a plain Destyrian man wearing the uniform of a palace porter. With Shockley’s help, I half-walked, half-stumbled to the door. “Fulyiti, Azo’lah, time to pretend you’re still a happy family.” Nyc’arra fell into step beside Milyna at the back of the group. “But remember, Azo’lah, hands-off unless absolutely necessary.” 

I barely caught Milyna’s confused look at us before she schooled it back into Myax neutrality. No wonder she was nonplussed. I was slated to become Azo’lah’s Favored in a few days. Even though Milyna knew our Favored relationship was a ruse, Nyc’arra’s forced separation would look strange to her.

“Is that why you’re coming?” I asked Azo’lah, the last syllable of her name coming out as more of a groan of pain. “To keep up the front?”

“Uh doy,” Fleetwood said, a little too airily. We’d managed to make it through the corridor outside Fleetwood’s suite and turn the corner without running into someone. But our luck, as shitty as it had been recently, didn’t hold. We rounded the corner just in time to see Councilor Jo’son with Lija’s aide, Roz’al. They were deep in discussion regarding a readout on Roz’al’s Rand’yl, but they looked up just in time to catch my sweat all over the palace floor. 

The young aide dropped immediately into a bow. “Fulyiti, it’s an honor that the seven stars crossed our paths.” 

“And where are you off to in such a hurry?” Councilor Jo’son asked with a much less sincere bow. His robes were pale pink, fluttery, and, quite frankly, the most yonic wardrobe since Janelle Monae’s vagina pants, and that thought was not helping me. My muscles spasmed painfully. I grit my teeth, hoping it would pass off as a shiver. I turned, instinctively, to Azo’lah, who moved close to me. 

“Should’ve brought my jacket,” I lied lamely. Azo’lah smiled, the same conspiratorial smile she usually gave me when using her powers. Christ, I missed being able to use our technopathic link. I mourned the loss of my old implant. 

“I had it sent to the ship, ket’li. It’ll be colder outside of the city this time of year.” Azo’lah ran her hand down my spine, causing another full-body spasm that knocked me off-balance. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Shockley reach to steady me, but Azo’lah had already effortlessly swung me up into her arms. 

“That was so hot,” I blurted. My crimson flush deepened, and I hid my face into Azo’lah’s neck, away from the rather scandalized expression on Councilor Jo’son’s face. Roz’al looked down to hide her amusement. 

“Then I will keep you warm until we get to the ship,” Azo’lah smirked, moving down the corridor. 

“You’re in public, love turds,” Fleetwood hissed, sounding the proper amount of embarrassed and fond. I heard her give a hurried, cheerful apology to the Councilor before hastening after us, Milyna at her side. Nyc’arra had seemingly vanished upon the approach of our unwanted company. I had no doubt she was watching from somewhere, though. 

“Gretchen,” Azo’lah’s voice was strangled. I realized that my thumb was absentmindedly stroking her collarbone. 

“Shit, sorry.” I forced my hand to settle on her shoulder. Her really lovely, muscled shoulder. Azo’lah stepped onto the amber-light transporter platform that led to the Qu’een’s dock. 

“Gretchen,” Azo’lah began, her eyes wide and earnest in her exquisitely boned face. Guilt sank into my stomach as the platform descended. I wasn’t even sure if I could trust Azo’lah. Fleetwood and Nyc’arra had me half-convinced that our entire history was a con-artist’s curated performance. And here I was wrestling the part of myself that wanted so desperately for it to be Azo’lah who was staying with me after we got off the ship instead. 

I flopped my arms uselessly against the bed, relishing the scent of the freshly laundered sheets. “I will never be able to lift my own limbs again, will I?” I whined into the lusciously fluffed pillow beneath my head. The royal country estate that we had absconded to for our sex convalescence was just as comfortably appointed as the palace. 

Or at least this particular suite was. I hadn’t left it since we’d arrived yesterday. I’d been thoroughly preoccupied.

Shockley stretched out beside me. “Good, maybe it’ll keep you from running into danger for a while,” he said with a grin that promised he knew exactly how hypocritical he was being. He was naked, his hair still damp from the shower we had just taken, droplets of water cascading down his neck and onto his pillow.

I felt the fire of the last few days, the one that had been slowly lessening, rekindle. I opened my mouth to say so, but instead, a low crackle escaped my mouth. I licked my lips and sighed, “I’m thirsty again.” I couldn’t remember a time when I had ever been this dehydrated before–not only from my constantly raised internal temperature but also the wos’kit pollen-induced sex.

I lifted my arms weakly, reaching for my bedside table, and the glass of water I knew waited for me there.

Shockley’s delicious body heat blanketed me as he leaned across me, his chest pressing to my back. “All out, Gretch.” He snatched up the glass and placed a line of gentle kisses down the side of my face. “I’ll go refill it.”

I grabbed his elbow. “No, don’t go.” I captured his mouth with mine, and he stayed mercifully put for a few moments.

He pulled back, chuckling. “I’ll be right back.” When I whined, he kissed my temple and said, “You need water.”

“I need you.” Normally, I would’ve hated myself for being so needy, but I knew regardless of my situation, Shockley would never hold it against me. He was an asshole, but he wasn’t that kind of an asshole.

“And I’m not leaving you,” he promised, standing from the bed. He shrugged into a robe and shuffled into a pair of slippers as he strode across the room. The door disappeared as he stood before it. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

It felt like nine ages of the world before he did, a glass of water in each hand and a tray of snacks balanced on his forearms. “I come bearing sustenance.”

My stomach grumbled as it caught the aroma of fresh fruit and grilled breakfast meat. I inched my way up the headboard until I was upright and peered hungrily at the tray. “There’s no pyrotas, right?”

Shockley snorted as he settled the tray on the mattress. “Look who’s got jokes again.” He passed me one of the glasses, which I drained in three gulps. I made grabby hands at the other glass–the sweet raspberry tang to the water was even more refreshing in my current state. Shockley smiled and handed it to me. “Feeling better?”

“For sure,” I agreed, wiping stray droplets from my chin. I peered at the tray, and my stomach rumbled audibly. I teetered across the sheets and snatched up the bowl of melon and berries. “Thanks for grabbing all this.”

Shockley reclined against the pillows, his robe falling open to reveal his chest. He balanced a small bowl of nuts on it and tossed a few into his mouth. “Always happy to prove my worth as a provider, Name Police.”

I laughed. “Yes, your Hunter-Gatherer skills are fantastic.”

“Hey, I may not have had to trap and kill it all myself,” Shockley argued, “but I did have to brave the Tundra-like mood that pervades the rest of this house.” With my mouth too over-stuffed with fruit to speak, I rolled my hand in a ‘go on’ gesture.

“The tension between Nyc’arra, Azo’lah, and Fleetwood is so thick I couldn’t even use my blaster to shoot my way through it.” Shockley chuckled softly as he pulled himself into a seated position, his back straight and legs crisscrossed beneath him. His snack bowl returned to the tray half-empty. When he continued, his voice was gentle but full of concern. “What the fuck is happening, Gretchen? Someone tried to kill you, and you won’t talk to me about it. Whatever else is going on between us, we’re still friends.”

My stomach threatened to regurgitate everything I’d just eaten. “Max, I’m so sorry, I didn’t–”

Shockley held up his hand, stemming my apology. “I’m not reaming you out to make you feel bad or guilty or what the fuck ever. I just don’t want you to forget that I’m here for you, no matter what you need. Whether it’s a sex-friend to ease you through an accidental wos’kit pollen ingestion or a rival archaeologist to race against to an invaluable alien artifact.”

Overcome by his unexpected sweetness, I leaned over and kissed his cheek to hide my wide smile. “You’re not an archaeologist.”

“Notice you didn’t argue about us being friends.” Shockley squeezed my knee. “So now that’s settled, want to talk to me about what’s really going on?”

My throat clenched at his sincerity. “Max…”

He ran his hand through his still damp hair. “I’m not asking you to spill Destyrian state secrets here. But maybe you could shed some light on why Azo’lah and Fleetwood, who are tighter than most siblings, won’t look at, let alone speak to one another. Or possibly help me understand why Fleetwood has appointed Nyc’arra, a member of my crew and disgraced former Myax who was not even allowed on Central Continent soil, as your personal protector.”

“It’s…complicated,” I whispered, tapping my fork against the edge of my bowl.

“Then uncomplicate it for me, Gretch. Because from where I’m sitting, there are only a couple of reasons for this shit to happen, and all of them are pretty goddamn unlikely.”

I brought my thumb nail to my mouth and gnawed at it. I wasn’t going to lie to him, after everything he had done for me, and not telling him anything seemed like it wasn’t an option either. “Max, I…”

“I get that there is stuff you can’t say,” he continued. “Whether it’s because you don’t know how to say it, or because it isn’t your right to tell me, but what if I guess? If I guess what’s going on, would that make it easier for you to talk to me about it?”

I gulped. “I can’t promise I’ll confirm or deny anything.”

“Fair enough.” He nodded. “Azo’lah did something, or maybe lied about something, that Fleetwood views as a betrayal. This something that Azo’lah did is connected to you almost dying, which is why Fleetwood doesn’t trust Azo’lah anymore.”

I said nothing. Shockley took my silence as a concession.

“Now, that brings us to Nyc’arra.” He waved in the general direction of the rest of the house. “Fleetwood could’ve appointed her because she was conveniently close and the most likely to piss Azo’lah off to no end. But,” Shockley bit his lip thoughtfully as he reached up and caressed my temple where my new implant sat, “something tells me that isn’t the only reason.”

“Nyc’arra has worked with English-speaking humans before,” I said feebly. “Makes communicating easier.”

Shockley’s hand trailed down to my Ran’dyl-less wrist. “It does, but if Nyc’arra’s implant hadn’t been removed, that wouldn’t be an issue. Why would your bodyguard need to have her implant removed when almost all high-level Myax have one? And where’s your Ran’dyl been this whole time?”

“Pretty sure I’ve been too distracted to need a Ran’dyl,” I joked.

“Gretchen.” The way he said my name was soft and familiar and a bit like coming home. “Don’t insult either of our intelligence like that. I’m going to say one word, and you don’t have to say anything back.”

My shoulders locked up, my palms were suddenly sweaty, and it had nothing to do with the wos’kit pollen. “Max, please don’t—”

“Iz’waij.”

I did everything within my power not to react.

Shockley smiled and pumped a fist into the air victoriously. “I knew it!”

“No, that’s not–”

Shockley’s beam diminished to a moue of concern as he reached for me. A protectiveness rose up in me like a snake beneath the lull of a charmer. “Max, you have to promise me you won’t sell this information to any of the other Auhtulas. I know you worked for Pola in the past. But, please, this is my family. Everything is already a mess with Fleetwood finding out. If anyone else learns about this, Auhtula Tyuria– Azo’lah doesn’t want that, and…”

“Hey, hey, I’m not going to say anything or tell anyone. If I’m right–which I think I am–then Azo’lah’s secret is safe with me.” Shockley held a hand over his heart. “Scout’s honor.”

I snorted. “You were never a boy scout.”

“Fine. Mercenary’s honor.”

“Mercenaries don’t have honor. It kind of comes with the territory.”

Shockley clutched at his chest mockingly. “You wound me, Name Police.”

I shoved playfully at his shoulder. Shockley tipped gently to the mattress, grabbing my hand and tugging me down to the pillows with him. He cupped my face between his warm palms. “Don’t worry, Gretchen. I’m not going to tell anyone.”

“Thank you,” I said, turning my head to place a kiss against his thumb. “For everything.”

Shockley grinned. “Of course, what are emergency sex friends for?”

As someone with social anxiety, it wasn’t unusual for me to feel like everyone was staring at me. What was unusual was for it to be true. I walked into the common area on the Killer Qu’een shortly after our takeoff back to Thal. I had been looking forward to easing my sore and tired (but in the most excellent of ways) body into one of the plush armchairs and distracting myself with a murder-mystery paperback I’d borrowed from Chester’s room. However, I found myself in the Bermuda Triangle of Tension formed by Azo’lah, Fleetwood, and Nyc’arra and immediately wished I had opted for my room or stayed in the cockpit with Shockley. 

“Uh, hey,” I waved lamely, avoiding everyone’s gaze, but especially Azo’lah’s. She was seated on one end of the tacky, lip-shaped sofa, polishing her already gleaming zali’thir. 

“Qua’pir?” Nyc’arra indicated the decanter set on the end table next to her with the glass she was holding in her hand. “If I had to spend that much time with just Shockley’s pathetic face for company, I would need a drink afterward.” 

“Myax do not imbibe on duty,” Azo’lah said tartly.

“I’m no longer a Myax, and Gret’chen hasn’t taken the oath,” Nyc’arra reminded her saccharinely. I cringed, hoping this mentioning of my resistance to taking the oath wouldn’t rekindle Azo’lah’s prodding of the issue. “We don’t have to abide by your boring rules.”

Nyc’arra tipped her glass in a mocking toast to Azo’lah before taking a drink. Azo’lah turned her gaze back to her zali’thir. I noticed that the liquid level in Nyc’arra’s glass didn’t go down. She was pretending to drink just because she knew it would piss off Azo’lah. Fleetwood probably knew this too but didn’t care to intervene because she was too pissed at Azo’lah to care. 

Fleetwood stood and crossed to me, pouring me a generous glass of qua’pir. “Are you well, Gret’chen?” Fleetwood asked, leading me by the hand to the bean bag chairs, in the corner farthest from Azo’lah but still well within earshot. 

“I’m okay,” I lied. Well, it hadn’t been a lie until I came into this room. Now, my skin felt like ants were crawling on it, and I wanted to slink away to anywhere on this ship that wasn’t here.

“You look like you were dicked downtown,” Fleetwood pronounced, ignoring the choked-off sound Azo’lah made before she could restrain herself. “It looks good on you, sugar boo.” 

“I feel the sudden urge to vomit,” Nyc’arra announced. And for a moment, I could absolutely see how she and Azo’lah had once gotten along well. 

“I still don’t understand why they dosed me,” I said, mostly to distract from the current topic of conversation. It was bad enough that everyone knew what I’d been up to for the last few days. I wasn’t keen on giving out details.

“I thought that was quite obvious,” Nyc’arra said.

“To catch you with your pants down with Shockley,” Fleetwood supplied. “To disprove you and Azo’lah aren’t actually going to Bone Town. And then, they’d yeet you back to Earth.”

Nyc’arra shook her head darkly. “I hate that I understood that entire sentence. I need to spend less time around Tyler.”

I cleared my throat. “So, what’s the plan for when we get back?”

“Counting wooly mammals,” Fleetwood said, “gotta look swell for your big day.” 

I took a sip of qua’pir. I had almost forgotten completely about the Favored Ceremony. Was it already time? 

“Her appearance can only be improved from here,” Nyc’arra said blandly. “But I do not think rest will do much.” 

“Shut up,” both cousins said in tandem before returning to completely ignoring each other. Grimacing, I took my glass and headed toward the cockpit and Shockley’s easy, uncomplicated company. 

I scooped up Sebastian and flopped onto my bed. My cat curled into a warm ball on my chest, purring. I loved this stupid furball, so, so much. We’d returned later than usual for dinner. I seized the opportunity to eat alone in my room. Well, alone except for Nyc'arra, my for-now-silent-and-unseen shadow. I think we were both supremely glad she’d elected to remain stationed in the foyer. It gave me at least some space to think. And by think, I meant brood on the spectacular bisexual disaster that I was. 

 “Politics are dumb, Bash-bash,” I told him. “So is love. And I’m dumb for maybe being in it. Maybe with someone I trusted with my life who may be trying to kill me. Urgh.”  Bash stared at me with his large, yellow-green eyes before rubbing his face against my cheek in a conciliatory manner. He was the absolute best, most understanding cat. 

My door chimed. “Wait,” Nyc’arra ordered from the foyer. 

“Tell whoever it is to go away,” I whined, hardly caring that Nyc’arra was probably judging me for it. 

“Not a fucking chance of that,” Ryan called cheerfully. I clutched Sebastian closer as my bed was invaded by Matt and Ryan and a deluge of snacks. I eyed Chester, who was pulling the table up to my bed and depositing a small barrel on top of it. 

“What are you doing? Oh, hey, Tyler,” I added as the latter entered the room with cups. 

“Humans-only hen do before your Favored Ceremony,” Matt grinned. “We thought you might be brooding.” 

“Gretchen, brood?” I glanced up, surprised to see Shockley swaggering into the room, tossing his perception distorter languidly between his hands. Nyc’arra trailed behind him. He was wearing a plain navy blue t-shirt that fit him like a second skin. I let myself have a rare moment of pride that I had bagged that several times. He climbed over Tyler and shimmied his way in between me and Matt, pressing a genial kiss to my cheek. “How’re you feeling, Name Police?” 

“I’m fine. Why’re we having a bachelorette party? I’m not getting married.” It still didn’t stop me from accepting the cup Tyler proffered me. Apparently, we were just all going to party on my bed. If the party was happening whether I wanted it or not, at least I didn’t have to move.

“It’s us, Gretchen,” Ryan tore open a bag of Doritos. My mouth immediately salivated. Destyrian food was delicious but predominantly healthy. No one did craptastic junk food like Earth. “We saw an excuse to party, and we took it. Also, I wanted to hear about everyone’s sex vacations. I need details for my totally-not-based-on-this-event fanfic.” 

Everyone groaned.

“Fan-fucking-tastic, Captain,” Shockley said with no trace of shame. Nyc’arra pulled a chair up to the end of the bed, kicking her feet up on the mattress and rolling her eyes at the Captain.

“You didn’t have to hear it,” Nyc’arra snorted. She refused the glass that Tyler offered her. She instead stole the bag of Swedish Fish directly out of Matt’s grasp. “It was repellent.” 

I hid my mortified face behind the Dorito bag. “Oh my god.” 

“I wasn’t referring to you,” Nyc’arra clarified. “It is Max who should be ashamed. He sounded like a Phloebian Sweinward in heat.” 

The rest of the group broke into amused laughter. Shockley accepted the jibes with good grace. He shrugged. “It’s not my fault I can’t control myself when faced with the full force of sexy Gretchen Borowicz,” he winked at me before tipping his glass at Chester. “Where’s your Vic-shaped shadow, by the way?” 

The conversation turned to Mey-ran, and I gave thanks to all of the alien gods for it. I also gave Nyc’arra a small nod of acknowledgment, grateful that she did not expand on my mortification by making an easy joke at my expense. She returned it with a wry smile, her eyes alight with mischief. I was finally understanding why Shockley and Tyler liked her, and not just for her considerable, dangerous skillset. I let Chester steal the Doritos and took a sip of my drink. But it was this, the friendship I was fighting so hard to stay on Destyr for, that warmed me far more than any beverage ever could.

My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth from dehydration, and my arms and legs felt like they were supported by lead pipes instead of bones.

The raging migraine pulsing directly behind my left eye wasn’t helping either.

I lifted my head in an attempt to get my bearings. Unfortunately, that only made the unfamiliar room spin. I flopped back onto the mercifully soft pillows and shut my eyes.

The only thing keeping a panic attack at bay was the fact that I lacked the energy for it.

I forced myself to think. The last thing I remembered was Azo’lah promising that she would wait while I underwent surgery to have my translator replaced. She said she would be here when I woke up.

I cracked a lid to find that I was right in assuming I was in the Healer Wing of the palace. And a private room, no less. Dove gray walls, an empty chair, a rolling tray with a pitcher and a glass, and a curving sculpture casting blue-amber light were all I saw.

No Azo’lah.

I ignored my pang of disappointment. I knew it wasn’t right to hold her to such a small promise. I could only assume that since the attack, she’d been recalled to duty guarding Fleetwood and was, therefore, busy.

I smacked my parched lips together and pushed the button that elevated my bed up into a reclining position. The implant surgery itself was extremely safe, but it seemed I had a stronger reaction to Destyrian anesthetic than the first time I underwent this procedure. At least the calibration process seemed smoother, my headache was already improving. I prodded gently at my new implant, vaguely wondering what color the gem on it was now. A pang of sadness at the loss of my original translator shot through me. It had been with me from the beginning, through all of my adventures with my friends, across multiple planets and galaxies, not to mention our inaugural adventure at the Temple of Aluthua, which had endowed it with unique capabilities.

The door to my room dissipated and my eyes, still struggling with being fully awake, caught onto an exceptionally tall and muscular silhouette. “There you are!”

“Yes. Here I am,” said a voice that was not Azo’lah’s. As the interloper approached the bed, the soothing blue-amber lighting threw Nyc’arra into sharper relief.

She was dressed in a simple white tunic, much like the one I currently wore. Her long hair hung in a simple braid behind her.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice scratchy.

Nyc’arra glowered. “You sound worse than you look.”

With my left hand I held up my middle finger, and with my right, I pulled the rolling tray closer. I filled the glass to the top and gulped down the raspberry-sweet water. Once emptied, I refilled the glass and asked again, “Last I heard, you were still banished from the planet by the Authula. Answer the question.”

Nyc’arra picked at an invisible piece of lint on her hospital gown. “Every time I converse with a human being, I wonder how your species still exists. Truly, the lack of charm, intelligence, and grace is so unbecoming, it is a wonder you all reproduce eno—”

“Nyc’arra,” I interjected, absolutely not in the mood for a long-winded, insulting diatribe detailing the many failings of the human species. “You’re part of a two-human mercenary crew and have been for years. Cut the bullshit.” I sighed. “Either get to the point or get the fuck out.”

Nyc’arra’s icy frown twitched at the corners. She looked to the floor as she began meandering my small healing quarters. I hated how much the precision of her steps and her bearing reminded me of Azo’lah. Finally, she cleared her throat and said, “Recent events have altered my circumstances,” she admitted. What the hell did that even mean? “Before I attend to my business here, I came to see if, in light of recent events, you had given our previous conversation any more thought.”

“Our previous conversation,” I repeated, closing one eye hard, scrubbing at it, then repeating the motion with the other. Watching her pace while things were still fuzzy was giving me motion sickness worse than the first time Matt let Ryan fly the Killer Qu’een. “You mean the one where you monologued at me about the dangers of Azo’lah, then swept out of the room like a vaguely threatening vampire throwing ominous be carefuls over your shoulder? That conversation?”

Voice tight, she said, “Yes, that one.”

“Yeah, no.” I gestured to my new implant. “I’ve been a little preoccupied. Don’t know if you heard, but someone tried to kill me.”

“That is why I am here,” she said. Her continuous footsteps rapped a sharp staccato against the floor. “You have options that don’t force you to stay in such proximity to danger.”

“I don’t need options,” I spat. I folded my arms across my chest like a petulant toddler. “I’m perfectly happy exactly where I am.”

Nyc’arra stilled, and her form was bathed in the perfect golden hue of the setting suns. The evening light dripped across the floor like fresh honey, giving her a preternatural glow.

What was with Destyrians and their ability to catch the perfect light?

“You are perfectly happy, lying here alone,” she imperiously indicated the empty room, “in the Healer’s Wing, looking and sounding terrible, as you recover from an attempt on your life by a rogue iz’waij.”

My stomach roiled at that word.

“Your brain was almost fried inside your skull. What more do you need to see just how dangerous Azo’lah—”

She knows.

“Azo’lah didn’t do this to me,” I bit out, low and fierce. 

Nyc’arra sighed, her spite dissipating with the exhale. “I cannot force you to see what is right in front of you if you wish to remain blind. All I can do is remind you–”

I pinched the bridge of my nose in aggravation. “That I have options, yes, you said already. I don’t want them.”

She stared out the windows above my bed as the warm glowing colors of sunset dispersed, leaving only cold shadows. When she finally broke the silence, her voice was softer than I had ever heard. “Max would happily provide you safe passage off-planet. You could… join our crew.”

I snorted loudly. “You want me to join The Danger Zone’s crew?”

“Absolutely not,” she replied. “But I want others to go through what she did to me even less.”

I shook my head hard. Pain spiked through my temple.

Nyc’arra took a step back and shrugged. “I cannot force you. I only wished to remind you that you need not continue to put yourself at risk.”

I attempted to clear my still parched throat and immediately regretted it. It felt as though I had jagged glass lodged in my trachea. “Nyc’arra, I…” I trailed off, unsure what there was to say.

I was saved from having to come up with anything by the royal family’s personal head healer, Ji’lana entering my room. “Ah, Nyc’arra, we are ready for you.”

“Ready for her?” I stammered. “You’re here for a procedure?”

Her white tunic suddenly made sense.

Nyc’arra shuffled to Ji’lana’s side. “Rest well, Gretchen of Earth.”

“That’s not an answer!” 

Nyc’arra’s signature sneer reappeared as she followed Healer Ji’lana out of my room, the door rematerializing in the blink of an eye.

I groaned loudly. I hoped sleep or a wanted visitor would arrive soon to distract me from the thought hurricane my conversation with Nyc’arra had stirred up.

But as long moments passed, my room remained empty and my head full of the unignorable truth.

I didn’t know enough about Azo’lah’s powers–powers that seemed to be getting stronger since our visit to the Temple of Aluthua. No matter how much I trusted Azo’lah and knew she would never hurt anyone who wasn’t a threat, I also could no longer lie to myself.

Azo’lah’s powers were dangerous. And there was someone else out there, with the exact same abilities, who wanted me dead.

“Don’t ask again. I’m sure.” I met Azo’lah’s concerned gaze in the mirror as she jabbed a pin into my hair. “I’m more likely to suffer at your hands,” I griped, gesturing to where she inserted two more pins.

“I still don’t like it,” Azo’lah replied, but her subsequent pin placement was much gentler. “We don’t know who the iz’waij is. You’ve barely recovered from your attack, and going to tonight’s closing celebration is–”

“Necessary,” I replied. Azo’lah began methodically brushing out the bottom of my hair, her mouth twisted in displeasure. “Unless,” I added, the fear creeping up on me, “you would rather not me become your Favored. I can just return to Earth.” 

“Nonsense,” Azo’lah smacked the brush on my vanity. I had been released from the Healer’s Wing the day before and had only left my bedroom for meals–and never alone. I now had two Myax guards assigned to me at all times. Two Myax guards stood just inside the door to my room, watching Azo’lah and me closely. 

The way they eyed her made my stomach spasm with anxiety. What did they expect her to do to me? What had Fleetwood told them to watch for?

Azo’lah grabbed the ket’li crown she had bestowed upon me days prior. She adjusted its blossoms unnecessarily. “If the attack has made you reconsider, I would understand.” 

“Hey,” I tugged on her elbow. She turned to look at me, and I rose from my seat in front of the vanity, the flower crown held between us like an offering–or a shield. “You’re my home–the crew, I mean, is home. It's worth it. You’re worth it.” Realizing I was holding her arms, I let my hands drop awkwardly. 

Azo’lah cleared her throat lightly. “Very well.” She raised the flower crown, nestling it snugly on my traditional Destyrian updo. She smoothed the blue and silver ribbons into place. Her fingers lightly brushed my brand new turquoise implant. 

“You should probably go get ready,” I said, breaking the tense quiet. 

“Matt is coming to wait with you. Please don’t leave your rooms until I return for you.” Azo’lah stepped away, taking the warmth with her. She crossed to my balcony door and deactivated it, cutting off the lazy mineral-rich breeze I’d had wafting through. “They’ve come after you twice now. This isn’t the time to be reckless.” 

“We’re always a bit reckless,” I said, trying for light but only managing a forced smile. When Azo’lah didn’t smile back, I gestured to my silent Myax shadows. “They won’t let anything happen to me.”

 My door chimed. My guards moved to unlock the door, but Azo’lah went to the control panel, briefly turning on the one-way function to see who was on the other side. Matt waited, flanked by Ryan and Chester. They were all impeccably dressed in their specially crafted Fleetwood originals for the evening. Matt gave a snarky little wave, knowing exactly what Azo’lah was doing. 

She nodded at our friends as they stepped inside. “Lock the door. I’ll be back shortly.” The door had barely rematerialized behind her before Matt’s hand activated the locking mechanism. 

Sebastian meowed as he flounced off of his favorite chaise by the balcony door, wending through my friend’s feet in greeting. 

Ryan whistled. “Wow, Fleetwood’s not fucking around with the outfits tonight.” 

“I look ridiculous,” I huffed, gesturing to my dress which was a modernized version of the gown the First Auhtula wore in several depictions on the temple, complete with a sweeping scarlet cloak attached to my shoulders.

“Don’t tell Fleetwood that,” Chester said mildly, moving toward the small beverage cart in the corner of my room. “She thought the idea of modeling your outfit after the First Auhtula’s was cute,” Chester said, snatching up a bottle of qua’pir and plonking it down on the counter. 

“Not to mention timely and pointed,” Ryan snorted. “Azo’lah’s absolutely going to slay her First-Myax inspired look.” I thought back to my discussion with Max on the Danger Zone. It was almost like Fleetwood had known something like this was brewing and prepared for it. “Only one glass for Gretchen’s nerves,” Ryan pointed at Chester. “We have to have our wits about us tonight.” 

Chester shot Ryan a look over his glasses as he removed the stopper from the bottle and poured four glasses. “Duh,” he said. 

“Speaking of Fleetwood,” Matt said, stretching out on the chaise. “What in the bloody hell is going on between her and Azo’lah? Just months ago, Fleetwood fought tooth and nail to keep Azo’lah as her Myax. And suddenly Azo’lah’s kicked off duty and replaced with Milyna?” He swept a hand toward the Myax still standing by my doors. “Not to mention all of the extra fire-power for Gretchen. There’s something big going on there.” 

“And don’t say it’s nothing,” Chester said, heading off any brush-off I might attempt. He pressed a glass into my hand. For the first time, I realized that Chester looked worn out and not the pleasant kind derived from too much partying at the festival. “FleetMerc won’t even tell me.” 

Ryan knocked Matt’s feet off the end of the chaise to make room to sit. “Our favorite cousins can barely be in the same room and, if they are, they don’t look at each other. It started the night you were attacked. What the hell happened?”

I took a small sip of the fragrant beverage while building up my courage...to tell a bald-faced lie. “I don’t really know. I remember the pain and sort of collapsing and losing control, but then it’s all a blur. The next thing I remember is waking up in the Healer’s Wing.” Okay. So, it was the truth, just minus the part where I knew exactly what had caused the falling out between the cousins.

“Are you even feeling up to this?” Matt asked, tilting his head. I wasn’t sure if he bought my lie of omission or not. 

“Physically, mostly yes. Mentally, no.” I shrugged. “But we don’t have a choice. If we want to stay on Destyr, I have to put on a good showing tonight. And, maybe, it’ll draw out my attacker, so we know who we’re dealing with.” 

“Well, the good thing about Azo’lah being taken off duty for the night is she’ll be with you the whole time.” Ryan knocked back their drink. “No one is to get near Gretchen besides the crew tonight. Note who tries, but under no circumstances is anyone to touch her,” they placed their empty cup onto the sideboard. “No techno-asshat is frying my crew member’s brain a second time.” 

“I’ll drink to that,” Matt said, finishing his drink. 

“Don’t worry, Gretch,” Chester said with a tight smile. “We’ve got you. Even Fleetwood, no matter what’s going on with her and Azo’lah.” He shot me a look that very clearly read I-know-you-know-and-aren’t-telling-me. 

The door chimed. Matt stood, his hand going to his sleeve where I knew he had a weapon, as my guards activated the one-way feature. Azo’lah stood there, looking unfairly sexy in her perfectly tailored rendition of the First Myax uniform, her flower crown glinting gold on her silver-white hair. 

“Alright, crew,” Ryan clapped their hands together. “Showtime.” 

In typical Destyrian fashion, the closing ceremony to the week-long festival was an all-night party. The moon was high, the streets were full, and spirits were soaring. Out in the city proper, live music trilled from multiple stages while Destyrians danced to traditional and modern songs. The air was redolent with the honeyed scent of the sweet pastries and the potent rul’vol being sold at stalls lining the streets.

Chester held up an armload of tartlets. “Eat up. These babies are only available this time of year because the fruit is only in season for one binary-cycle.” He distributed a pastry to each member of our crew and then to Mey-ran, who looked longingly at Chester, like he’d rather eat him instead. Chester resumed his place in the protective circle my friends had formed around me before popping the small pastry in his mouth.

I mimicked him, inhaling the treat in one massive bite. The nutty, fruity taste was a welcome distraction from the everpresent press of Azo’lah’s hand on my back or the brittle, silent tension between the cousins. 

“Thif if delifus!” I said through a sticky mouthful of food. With a small smile, Azo’lah handed me hers, too busy scanning the streets for potential threats to enjoy herself. I accepted the treat without argument and immediately deposited it in my mouth. “Seriuffly, fo goof!”

Ryan held up their thumbs in agreement.

“We shall get more, yes?” Mey-ran volunteered, looping his arm around Chester. The Vic was dashing as ever in his ceremonial ensemble, this one an eye-catching aubergine.

“Yeah, for sure,” Chester agreed, smiling up at his betrothed. I caught his eye and gave him a teasing wink as he snuggled himself more neatly into Mey-ran’s embrace. If anything good had come out of this disastrous week, it was seeing these two crazy kids start a tentative but real courtship.

My life was in shambles, but I smiled brightly as I watched Chester link his fingers with Mey-ran’s as they retreated for more treats. Milyna and my assigned Myax guards filled in the gaps they left. 

“Oy! Get more water, too,” Matt shouted at their retreating backs, holding up his empty cup and shaking it demonstratively. “Those pastries are making me thirsty.”

I glared at all of their rul’vol-less cups. “Guys, I’m sure Milyna and my guards have got my safety covered. You can drink! You shouldn’t have to spend this last rager completely sober just for me.”

Ryan and Matt snorted in eerie tandem. “Yeah, right,” Ryan said.

Matt said, “Gretch, keeping you safe is more important than getting a good buzz going.”

Fleetwood nodded. “I would do anything for love, and I will do that.”

There was a sudden knot of emotion in my throat. I reached for Matt and Ryan and yanked Fleetwood closer to our huddle. A group hug was made exceptionally difficult by my cloak, and the lingering animosity between the cousins. “I–I love you guys,” I said, looking at them with misty eyes.

Fleetwood leaned in and, careful of my ket’li crown, laid a smacking kiss against my forehead. “Love you too, boo boo bear.”

There was a loud throat-clearing to our right, and a familiar voice said, “Are we interrupting something?”

Azo’lah’s arm lassoed around me and dragged me back as Fleetwood, Ryan, and Matt created a protective wall between me and Shockley, who had snuck up on all of us. From beneath Matt’s sleeve, something metal and sharp glinted as it slid out from his shirt and into his palm.

“Oh, it’s you,” Ryan said, their posture slackening upon realizing I was not in immediate danger.

“Max, shit! I’m so sorry! I don’t have my Ran’dyl anymore,” I said, showing off my bare wrist.

Fleetwood smiled widely. “Shockley, you gave us a–”

“Dont!” Ryan held up a hand. “That joke is beneath you.”

Matt returned his weapon up his sleeve as he said. “Stupid move sneaking up on us, mate, considering...”

I extricated myself from Azo’lah’s hold and stepped toward Shockley. Azo’lah, the only member of our party, who hadn’t relaxed upon realizing who the interloper was, placed a hand on my shoulder and hissed, “What do you want, Shockley?”

Before he could answer, Tyler came barreling past him, hands full of pastry. He shouted, “Gretchen!” He shouldered by Ryan and Matt, ignored Azo’lah’s protective grip, and pulled me into a mercifully gentle bearhug. He rocked us back and forth soothingly. He said in a surprisingly discreet undertone, “Scared the shit out of us, my dude. I’m glad you’re okay. Can’t lose my favorite frenemy like that, yo.”

His worry for me warmed my heart. It appeared as though, regardless of his mercenary status, Tyler Batista was truly more friend than enemy these days.

He pulled away and proffered his pastry-filled hands to Fleetwood, Ryan, and Matt. “You guys! Have you tried these yet? They’re like an orgasm for your stomach.”

All three graciously accepted Tyler’s offering.

Max stepped forward, closing the gap between us. He lowered his head close to mine and said, “What the hell, Name Police. You almost die, and I don’t even get a comm–”

“I know, I’m so sorry.” I reached for his wrist, but Azo’lah snatched my hand back and threaded our fingers together.

I met her stern gaze as she nodded to the swarming crowd we found ourselves in.

Right. Not the time or place for this intimate conversation. Especially when I was trying to maintain a story of Azo’lah’s and my intense and committed love.

Before I stepped away from Shockley, I whispered, “We can’t do this publicly. Meet me later so we can talk.”

Shockley nodded, backing away, his fingers grazing against my wrist in a tender touch. He grabbed Tyler by the collar of his shirt and wrangled him away from Matt and Ryan. “Glad we got to see you all,” he said. “But Batista and I need to head back to the Zone, get ready for our early departure tomorrow.”

Tyler frowned. “But I want to hang out, you said we–”

“Tyler,” Max reprimanded under his breath, starting to drag his crewmate away.

“No, don’t go!” Fleetwood whined, wrapping her arms around Shockley.

Azo’lah looked apoplectic. 

Fleetwood looped her arm through Tyler’s and declared, “You both must stay and boogie down with us!”

Shockley shot me a questioning look, gesturing discreetly between the cousins as if to say, What’s going on between them?

Tyler’s response was lost in the jubilant greeting of Auhtul Cal’ton as he approached us. “Greetings, Fulyiti Fleetwood!” he grinned, arms outstretched. Fleetwood rushed forward, enfolding Cal’ton in a spinning embrace.

“Auhtul Cal’ton, dearest friend,” she said, pressing her forehead to the younger ruler’s in the traditional Destyrian greeting. “Are you available to join us for closing festivities?”

Cal’ton pulled back from Fleetwood and gestured to the middle-aged male Destyrian on his right. The man was dressed in a deep navy tunic and a resplendent cloak of silver, I assumed he worked for House of Fuiq in some capacity. “Your invitation is greatly appreciated, Fulyiti Fleetwood,” Cal’ton said through clenched teeth, “but I am being so kindly escorted by the esteemed Councilor Jo’son.”

Ah, Jo’son, that name did ring a bell–he was on Auhtula Ty’uria’s advisory committee for Natural Resources and was not my biggest fan. He had never been outright hostile, but he downright ignored Chester and me whenever we presented our updates on our work at the Temple of Aluthua. I flashed a polite smile at Jo’son, who sneered down his aquiline nose as he surveyed me.

Azo'lah, catching his glare, stepped behind me, pulling my back against her front. Her arm wrapped around my shoulders, her thumb lazily stroking my collar bone.

Upon seeing our public display of affection, Cal’ton gushed, “Ah, yes! Gretchen of Earth and Azo’lah Myax, accept my most heartfelt congratulations on your impending Favored ceremony!” The sincerity of his smile soured the pastry settling in my stomach. It was one thing to fool these judgy-ass political advisors, it was another to lie to an ally and friend.

Above me, Azo’lah seemed to have no compunction selling this for all she was worth. She sighed dreamily and said, “Thank you, Auhtul Cal’ton. Your felicitations are most gracious.”

“I wish I could attend the ceremony itself,” Cal’ton continued. “Favored ceremonies happen so infrequently, I have not had the honor to witness one.”

“They aren’t all they’re cracked up to be,” Chester said, returning to the group, with a tray of assorted foods. Mey-ran stood at his back carrying two trays over-full with drinks. “Oh, hey, Tyler, Shockley. Didn’t know you guys were coming.”

As Ryan, Matt, and Tyler descended on Chester’s trays ravenously, Cal’ton asked, “Have you already started making arrangements for the ceremony?”

“Uhh,” I stammered as Councilor Jo’son snorted at Cal’ton’s side.

“Councilor Jo’son,” Azo’lah said slowly as she drew herself to her full and intimidating height. “Do you have something to ask my beloved and I? Or something constructive to add to the conversation about this sacred ceremony?”

Jo’son swept his unbound, dark hair over his shoulder. “Other than my sincerest disbelief that a Favored Oath between the two of you will ever occur, no Azo’ah Myax.”

We all stilled at his words, Ryan mid-bite of the pastry Fleetwood was feeding them.

“Excuse me,” Fleetwood said, her voice soft but unyielding. “But my mother has already granted the blessing for their binding. In this matter, the Auhtula’s word is law.”

“Apologies, Fulyiti,” Jo’son said, inclining his head toward Fleetwood. “I was not implying that the Auhtula would attempt to obstruct their union. I was, instead, stating my doubt in the sincerity of Gretchen of Earth’s affections for Azo’lah Myax.”

Matt choked on his gulp of water, and Tyler swatted at his back concernedly. “Dude, you good?”

Wide-eyed, Chester gaped at the proceedings from the safety of Mey-ran’s arms.

“Ah, Councilor, you have been spending too much time listening to Lija’s lies,” Azo’lah said gently. “But let me be the first to disabuse you of these silly notions that Gretchen Myaxi and I are anything but committed to one another. In fact, we have already set a date for our ceremony. We will take the Favored Oath two days from now in the eyes of the Auhtula and anyone else who hopes to witness our union.”

Matt choked on his drink again, spurting water across the ground. Ryan closed their eyes tight, pinched the bridge of their nose, and muttered something unintelligible to themselves, though they seemed to be fighting a smirk.

“Two–two days?” I stammered.

“Yes, beloved,” Azo’lah replied, her smile tight. “Did I not tell you of the Auhtula’s approval of our request? We kept getting…distracted. Pastry, Councilor?”

Councilor Jo’son looked as though Azo’lah had offered him to feed him glass. “Well, then, congratulations are in order.”

I grimaced, panic gripping me like a vice. Two days.

“Two days!” Cal’ton exclaimed exuberantly. “What a joyous piece of news! I must certainly stay then and witness your union myself.”

My jaw ground together so painfully I was sure I would crack my teeth. “Thank you, Auhtul. Your presence at our ceremony would be an honor.”

I don’t think I had ever really understood the axiom ‘caught between a rock and a hard place’ until that night. The rock being Azo’lah and the hard place being Shockley. Azo’lah’s hands were always on me, running through my hair, resting on my shoulder, curling around my ribs, stroking my collarbone absentmindedly. While Shockley’s eyes were always on us, assessing us in a distant, calculating way that reminded me strongly of the mercenary Captain I’d first met. Like he was looking for weaknesses. 

I leaned against Azo’lah, feeling exhausted, both physically and emotionally. I took a small sip of the cup of water I’d been nursing. My crew maintained their vigil around me, but the whole situation was grating in a way that made me want to take the Killer Qu’een into orbit and sleep for a few days. “Are you well, Myaxi?” Azo’lah murmured near my ear. I caught Shockley watching us out of the corner of his eye while he laughed at something Ryan said. 

“Just tired,” I said. “I think I’ll head back to the palace soon.”

Shockley leaned over to say something to Tyler. The next thing I knew, Tyler hollered, “Princess Fleetwood!” 

As she turned to face him, Tyler wrapped his arms around her and dipped her smoothly, kissing her full on the mouth in the middle of the bustling square. Fleetwood let out a squeal that was equal parts surprised and amused as she thrust a fist into the air like this was the end of an 80s teen classic. Milyna was already moving in, but Azo’lah was quicker, hauling Tyler up by the back of the shirt. 

Something tugged on my arm, spilling my water all down the front of my gown. I would’ve screamed if Shockley hadn’t murmured, “It’s just me, Name Police.” I let him lead me away from the group, down an alleyway, and around the corner. We stopped behind a row of woven tents set up for the festival that hid us mostly from view. I knew we had to be quick before Azo’lah noticed I was gone, but I felt guilty that I had been avoiding Max since the other night on the boat with Azo’lah, and the incident afterward. 

Max grabbed my elbows and squeezed. “What the hell is going on, Gretchen?” he demanded, maybe more serious than I’d ever seen him. “One day, we’re having sex–great sex–on the Zone, and the next, you’re in the medical wing under armed guard. Nyc’arra said you could have died…” His hands came up to clutch my face, his dark eyes piercing straight through me. “You gotta give me something, babe.” 

“Don’t call me babe,” I responded reflexively. I sighed, and Shockley drew me into his chest. I sagged against him, letting him take my weight for a moment. This was nice. This uncomplicated, honest affection. Unlike Azo’lah, where I only knew where my feelings stood. I knew she cared about me, but I doubted her feelings were as entangled as mine. With Shockley, things were straightforward, easy. I leaned into his warmth and gave him the short version of the past week’s events, leaving out certain aforementioned emotional revelations. 

“I think you should come with us for a while,” Shockley said, his warm palm pressing between my shoulder blades. “At least until the heat dies down.” 

I shook my head against his chest. “There’s no guarantee it won’t pick back up again when I come back. Besides, I’d rather keep the heat on me than have it transferred to another human member of my crew.” 

Shockley drew back, his thumb tracing the tense muscle of my jaw. “Bring ‘em all with you. Come on, you guys will love it!  Let me persuade you into living your best mercenary life.” 

I smiled, faint but genuine. “I know you can be quite persuasive, but I’ve made up my mind.” 

Shockley bent down, pressing his lips to mine, tenderly at first, but with an easy heat, I was tempted to let myself slide into. “Can I see you again tonight before I go?” He sweetened the offer with another kiss, this one just the polite side of dirty. I knew it would be hard to get away from my protective detail. I already felt guilty at kissing Max this way, but Shockley and I had been upfront with each other. We were frenemies with fantastic benefits, and I was doomed to pine for Azo’lah from afar. And right now, a pleasant distraction sounded like the best worst idea I’d heard. 

“Alright,” I said against his lips. “Yes, of course.” 

“Gretchen?” Azo’lah called from a distance. I turned, not wanting her to find me kissing Shockley, but the figure I saw, swiftly turning the corner, wasn't the familiar striking image of Azo’lah in her casual tunic but the sweeping robes of a Destyrian Councilor. 

“Was that…” Max began.

“Councilor Jo’son. Fuck,” I stepped back, scrubbing my hands over my face and resisting the urge to scream at my own stupidity. We’d been seen. I’d just definitively blown my own cover and in front of a Councilor who was close to Lija, no less.

Azo’lah was going to murder me. If I wasn’t kicked off the planet first. 

“And you’re sure it was Jo’son?” Matt asked, running his hand through his sleep-flattened curls.

“Yes,” I confirmed for the twentieth time since last night. After telling a stone-faced Azo’lah and an unreadable Fleetwood about Jo’son catching me ensconced with Shockley, I buried myself in my sheets for a sleepless night. It felt as though every time I did anything, I fucked everything up further.

Even sitting in Fleetwood’s dining room, having breakfast with my friends, I couldn’t shake the thought that there was a strong possibility I might fuck up breakfast, too. At least my guards were stationed outside of Fleetwood’s suite, for once. 

I refilled my mug to the brim with vy’tal and passed the carafe to Ryan. “Could’ve been worse,” they said, filling their own mug. “Could’ve been Lija himself or his assistant.”

“Then everything would be well and truly fucked,” Chester commiserated as he slouched sleepily against Mey-ran, whose well-defined physique apparently made an excellent pillow.

Fleetwood hummed her agreement as one of the kitchen staff entered, bearing multiple steaming dishes. The platters clattered onto the table as I said, “I know you guys think you’re helping, but you’re really not.”

I took a little solace in the fact that Azo’lah was not present to hear this conversation. I could only take her withering disappointment being directed at me for so long.

“I was unaware we were trying to be helpful. I thought this was the human custom of bantering in a defeated, sarcastic manner,” Mey-ran leaned forward and scooped up a spoonful of perotas–Destyrian oatmeal, which I was currently obsessed with. “What is this?” he asked as he allowed the gelatinous food to splat onto his plate.

“You’re not gonna like it.” Chester swapped their plates. He shuffled a plate of smoked breakfast meats Mey-ran’s way. “This’ll be more your speed.”

Mey-ran happily speared the meat with his fork. “That still doesn’t answer my question.”

“Pyrotas,” Matt said as he served himself a large helping of the porridge. 

“It’s foul,” Ryan added, making grabby hands for the platter of meat.

“It basically tastes like cinnamon apple oatmeal,” I argued, heaping a large scoop of pyrotas onto my plate. I could certainly use some comfort food this morning.

“Who cares what it tastes like when the texture is weirdly slimy yet chunky?” Ryan asked. “Like seriously, what the fuck is that about?”

Fleetwood, whose breakfast plate remained noticeably bare, hummed again. Her gaze was fixed on the wall above my head, the laugh lines around her mouth taught with concentration.

I caught Chester’s eyes as he drained his juice glass. He nodded, reaching for Fleetwood and threading their fingers together. “You okay, FleetMerc? What’s going on in that glitterfied brain?”

Fleetwood startled at her name, and when she saw that we were all staring at her as we stuffed our faces, she sighed. “I will not lie, beloved, I am troubled. But all will be well. I am sure of that.”

“Course it will.” Matt held his mug up and toasted the air. He tugged at the belt of his robe and said, “Someone want to crack the windows and let in some air? I thought autumn on this planet meant cooler mornings?”

“The windows are already thrown wide, Matty-Matt.” Fleetwood gestured to where the windows were indeed open, the morning sea-breeze stirring Fleetwood's diaphanous drapes.

I tugged at my sleep-creased t-shirt collar. “Is it supposed to be colder than usual today? It feels like they’re really cranking the heat.”

“Feels like the environmental controls broke,” Chester said, yanking off his beanie and swiping at the back of his neck. “Hot as hell in here all of a sudden.”

“Are you alright, beloved?” Fleetwood eyed Chester with concern.

Mey-ran reached to cup Chester’s cheek. “You are hotter than a conflagration, Chester. Is this a sudden onset of some rare and beguiling human disease?”

I placed my own palm on my forehead. My temperature had sky-rocketed since breakfast started. A low throb of something familiar but unnamed began low in my abdomen.

“Ugh, I swear to God, if any of you gives me the flu,” Ryan threatened half-heartedly as they surveyed all of us over their vy’tal mug. 

“Don’t think it’s the flu, Cap,” Matt cleared his throat uncomfortably. Adding under his breath, “Would prefer the flu, actually.”

“Yeah, no, definitely not the flu,” I said, raising a cool glass of juice to my burning cheeks for some relief. The throb in my abdomen roiled into a violent current, sweeping up my body so forcefully I barely noticed the wave of mortification that followed it.

Why was I unbearably turned on for no reason at an incredibly platonic breakfast with my friends?

Hand still gently caressing Chester’s cheek, Mey-ran intoned, “Are you sure it is not this human flu?”

Chester leaned into Mey-ran’s touch with a deep sigh. “Definitely not the flu. Unless there’s an alien flu that we’re susceptible to that makes us horny.”

The tines of Ryan’s fork missed the piece of melon they were attempting to spear and eeked across their plate. “I’m sorry, what did you just say?”

Fleetwood and Mey-ran pushed back from the table at the same time. Mey-ran hissed, “They’ve been dosed with wos’kit pollen!”

“It must be in the food!” Fleetwood stilled Ryan’s arm. “Captain, eat no more!”

“Wos’kit pollen,” I repeated slowly. The name was vaguely familiar, but I had no idea what it did. “Have we been poisoned?”

“In a way,” Mey’ran answered, reaching across the table to gather all of the food into the center. “But you will not die. Wos’kit pollen is not lethal. But its adverse effects can be extremely painful.”

Matt rubbed at his sternum as he shifted awkwardly in his chair. “Fuck.”

I rocked in my seat as panic bubbled up. I gripped the edge of the table to anchor myself against my warring emotions.

“Let me call down to the Healer Wing,” Ryan offered, their fingers already tapping at the comms on their Ran’dyl.

Once again, Fleetwood stilled our Captain. She said, “They don’t need the Healer Wing.”

“They need sexual release,” Mey’ran said as though this were a normal breakfast table topic.

Ryan’s mouth dropped open. 

Fleetwood stepped out into the foyer and opened the door to her suite. She said to the Myax guard posted there, “Send for her. It is time.”

The doors to her suite shut as she strode back into the dining room. If I weren’t lost in my own frenzied panic, I would’ve paid better attention to Fleetwood’s uncharacteristically neutral expression.

“Are you saying they got dosed with sex pollen?” Ryan said, hiding a chuckle behind their hand. “Holy shit, I’m pretty sure I’ve written this fanfic before.”

“Wos’kit pollen heightens the need for sexual intercourse. Unfortunately, if one does not act on it, the pollen invades the muscles of the host and tightens them to an extremely painful degree. For most alien species, the chemicals produced by sexual release eliminate this side effect.”

“Oxytocin,” Chester supplied, trailing a hand up Mey-ran’s toned forearm. “It’s oxytocin in humans.”

“Obviously sex with a partner is not necessary to avoid the exceptional levels of pain as one can reach release on their own.” I didn’t know whether to laugh or sob at the fact that the fearsome Covlax Vic was lecturing us on masturbation. The topic was doing nothing to help the situation either.  “Though it is a much easier experience with a partner to help care for you during this time of heightened need.”

Chester bent over double in his chair and howled with laughter.

“Chester?” I queried, worried for my friend’s sanity. Though at this point, it felt as though we were all entitled to a mental breakdown.

Chester sat up, his eyes streaming with tears and his body shook with mirth. “Of course, this happens to us. Shit isn’t already stressful enough, and now we’re a target of a sex pollen scheme!” 

“I doubt you guys were the intended target,” Ryan said. “Most likely, you were just cannon-fodder for someone trying to embarrass or incapacitate our Fulyiti for a little bit.”

“I must disagree with you, Captain,” Fleetwood said. Her face was still emotionless, though the crinkle of her eyes betrayed her concern for us. “You, the Vic, and I are untouched, meaning the wos’kit pollen was in a portion of food we did not eat. None of us ate the pyrotas, the rest of our crew did.” We all did a sweep of our jumbled plates, and Fleetwood was right. She continued. “My distaste for pyrotas is well-noted. It was not a dish brought to my rooms for breakfast until I found out Gret’chen favored it.”

Everyone turned to me as they all reached the same conclusion.

If the pyrotas was dosed, and my preference for it was well known, then I was the intended target.

“Goddamn it,” I mumbled as, behind me, Fleetwood’s suite doors disappeared.

 “Where is the threat?” Azo’lah demanded, running into the room, her zali’thir drawn.

“Weapon away, Myax. Not that kind of threat,” Ryan said. “Matt, Chester, and Gretchen have been dosed with wos’kit pollen.”

Azo’lah’s zali’thir clattered onto the tabletop. “How did that happen?”

“That is the concern of my new security detail,” Fleetwood replied icily as Azo’lah snatched up her weapon and stowed it into her thigh holster. I gulped audibly as I watched her fingers skate along the handle of the blade. Fleetwood said, “They should not have contacted you for this.”

Ryan’s eyebrows shot up. “I called Azo’lah.”

“While I do not argue with your decisions, Captain, it was unnecessary,” Fleetwood said. “Azo’lah’s services are not needed.”

For some reason, Chester snorted at that. Then his face twisted into a grimace. “Alright, the muscle tightening and pain Mey-ran mentioned, that’s starting.”

“We must move you all to a secure location,” Azo’lah said.

Mey-ran wrapped his arm around Chester and looked to Matt and me, “Do either of you need help contacting partners?”

“No,” Matt replied automatically.

The doors to Fleetwood’s suites dematerialized, and someone else entered. I groaned–how many more people would be witness to my embarrassment?

“Fulyiti,” Nyc’arra said as she glided into the room.

“What is she doing here?” Azo’lah, Ryan, and I asked in tandem.

Fleetwood drew herself up to her full height. “I have appointed Nyc’arra as Gret’chen’s personal bodyguard.”

“You did what?” Azo’lah gritted out. I collapsed deeper into my chair, wondering vaguely if I had ever had a worse breakfast in my entire life.

“With the most recent attempt on Gret’chen's life, and with you compromised as Gret’chen is your intended Favored,” Fleetwood said, “I appointed the best Myax available to keep her safe.”

“Nyc’arra is no longer Myax,” Azo’lah spat. “Milyna is the best available.”

“Milyna has been assigned to the Fulyiti’s personal detail,” Nyc’arra returned lazily. She studied her fingernails as though she found the confrontation unfolding around her gauche. “The Auhtula seemed quite fixed on keeping Milyna with her daughter.”

“You have been banished from this continent as a traitor!” Azo’lah said. “You should not even be here, let alone–”

“Nyc’arra’s banishment has been lifted, as her punishment was decided when my family was not in possession of all of the facts,” Fleetwood said. 

I watched Azo’lah’s fists flex, pretty sure I was on the verge of watching her murder someone while dying myself from intense horniness. She glared at Fleetwood. “What have you done, Fulyiti?”

“What needed to be done to protect Gret’chen,” Fleetwood bit out.

“Guys!” Ryan held up both palms in a cease-fire gesture. “Whatever this drama is can wait! Right now, we have to focus on taking care of our affected crew members.”

A lightning bolt of pain shot up my back, arcing my body against the chair. My eyes grayed around the edges from the pain. “Fuck, that hurts.”

Ryan said, “If they’re riding this out alone, we need to get them to their rooms and–”

“Not alone,” I said, gripping the edges of the chair. Mey-ran said I didn’t need to have a partner but that it would be better and safer if I had one. And right now, feeling safer and cared for sounded pretty damn good. I also had someone who had already proven he was ready and willing to help me out in this area of my life. Hopefully, he was still on planet. 

I bit my lip as another bout of scorching pain rocketed through my body. “Call–call Shockley.”

Ryan barged into my room in the early afternoon, Matt at their back carrying a tray laden with lunch and a carafe of steaming vy’tal. Tyler Batista, of all people, was with them, playing an imaginary trumpet and making the accompanying noises. He announced, “Time to wake up and party, Archaeologist of the Ages.”

I fake coughed and buried my face into the sheets. “I’m sick.”

“Not buying it,” Ryan hopped onto my mattress and yanked me up into a sitting position.

“And even if you are sick, power through that shit, homie. Today is the day,” Tyler said as he scooped Sebastian into his arms and fell gracefully onto the bed beside me. He propped himself against my spare pillows and cuddled my cat, who traitorously nudged Tyler’s chin and began batting at his backwards snapback.

Matt handed me the food tray with a commiserating smile. “Fill up, you’re not going to want to do today on an empty stomach.”

“I don’t have to do today at all,” I argued petulantly. I speared a large piece of fruit on my fork with more vehemence than the moment called for. “The schedule says so!”

After last night’s shitstorm of emotions (all of which I was blatantly ignoring), I was hoping to remain alone in my feelings while blasting Adele until I was coerced into another Fleetwood-approved gown for our next official appearance.

Ryan knee-walked up my bed, their blue eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “That’s because today is Veri’pos Day!”

At my questioning glance, Matt explained, “It’s a friendly competition for the little ones where they perform traditional Myax feats of strength and endurance. Think of it as a Destyrian Highland Games for the kiddies.”

“And the adults start turning up before sunrise,” Tyler cooed to Sebastian, booping their noses together.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, nudging Tyler with my elbow as I poured my first mug of vy’tal.

Tyler shrugged. “Max is doing some serious detail work in the engine room today. And since the last time I was allowed near the engine, it almost exploded, I was given the day off.” Tyler scratched behind Sebastian’s ears as he looked at Matt and Ryan. “Figured I’d come hang out with my fave frenemies for the day.”

“Hell. Yes,” Ryan held up their hand for a high-five which Tyler happily met.

I stuffed my mouth with bread and debated the merits of weaseling my way out of today’s festivities. But, taking in their excited faces, I knew resistance would be futile. “Let me shower and get dressed, then we’ll go,” I assented to whooping cheers.

Three mugs of vy’tal, a shower, a clean pair of breeches later, and my ponytail looped through Azo’lah’s ket’li crown, we trooped out of the palace, arms linked. The streets were already teeming with partying Destyrians. Opened barrels of qua’pir sat on street corners. Children darted through our legs, ribbons streaming behind them. “Where’re Chester, Fleetwood, and Azo’lah?” I asked.

“Azo’lah said she had some Myax stuff this morning,” Ryan said. “And Fleetwood’s dad and oldest sister, Ree’la, got in this morning, so she’s spending time this morning.”

I almost ran face-first into a pillar. “Fleetwood’s dad’s alive?”

“Right?” Tyler adjusted his snapback. “I thought he was dead, and that’s why no one talked about him. Turn’s out he’s in a band with his throne-abdicating daughter!”

“A popular, intergalactically-touring band,” Matt clarified as we joined the crowd in the streets. I tugged at my collar. The jubilant atmosphere had been quelling my anxiety the past couple of days, but today, the swelling crowd made me feel claustrophobic. We were buffeted on all sides by revelers. Considering my height compared to the average Destyrian, the stray elbows and hands often grazed my neck and sometimes my face. Ryan hooked a thumb over their shoulder, indicating the city’s central-most square where a stage was being erected. “They’re performing tonight, and it is going to be lit.”

“What about Chester? Is he with Fleetwood?” I asked.

At this, Matt and Ryan chuckled. Matt said, “Not exactly.”

“Chester is giving Mey-ran a tour of his precious laboratory,” Ryan said.

“And that’s not a sex thing, I asked,” Tyler clarified unnecessarily. “Chester is actually showing Mey-ran a lab.” He shook his head in disbelief. “And weirdly, he seemed real hype to see it.”

I grinned as Matt said, “Mey-ran is smitten. He’d spend the rest of his life inside a test tube if it made Chester happy.”

“They’re so cute,” Ryan rhapsodized. “It’s so gross. I love it.”

“We’re going to meet up with them later,” Matt directed our group down a lane pock-marked with food and drink vendors. I spied even more open barrels along the street. I could practically taste the fruit-laced alcohol in the air. He cocked his head and smiled cheekily. “Zlatah, anyone?

The afternoon passed in fits and bursts of flowing zlatah and plates of sweet pastries. We walked to the riverside park designated for the children’s competitions and watched the little ones (most of whom were taller than me) demonstrate their strength, speed, and agility.

As the suns stretched towards the horizon, Mey-ran and Chester, hands-linked, joined us for a dinner of deliciously greasy kebabs from a street vendor. Chester waxed poetic about the tour he gave Mey-ran of his laboratories and the Royal library. Mey-ran’s fond smile, while Chester spoke, was sweeter than the zlatah in our cups.

When the sky darkened to full night, the central streets of Thal, already filled to capacity with bodies, swelled further. The energy swelled to match, a jackrabbit pulse of dopamine-fueled impulses slipping through relaxed controls. People began singing, chanting, dancing to intermittent bursts of music. Others jumped into the city fountains, splashing gleefully. 

We huddled close as we wended towards the central square where Fleetwood’s father and sister’s band were to perform that night. But instead of feeling insulated and safe with my friends, the ever-increasing press of the crowd had my claustrophobia from earlier returning rapidly. The motion of the crowd buffeted us together. Mey’ran’s side grazed mine, and the weight of Ryan’s arm across my shoulders felt leaden. 

Ahead of us, Matt carried Tyler piggy-back style, one of Tyler’s dangling hands tipping a cup to Matt’s lips upon demand. My crew was joyous, giddy even, having the time of their lives. And all I could feel was a growing lack of oxygen as the crowd packed tighter and tighter. A Destyrian male drunkenly rammed into me. He apologized quickly, placing a placating hand on my shoulder before rushing off to join his friends.

I stammered, “Hey, guys, go ahead. I’ll—uh—I’ll meet you there.”

“Gretch?” Chester asked, his eyes narrowing with concern.

“Go! It’s not a big deal. I just have to check on something,” I lied, taking off without hearing a response. 

I stumbled through the crowd in search of an open space, my Ran’dyl vibrating against my wrist. I reached the river’s edge, gasping. I sat on an artistically carved bench, only vaguely taking in the blessedly few people around. I checked my Ran’dyl guiltily. There were multiple messages in our crew group chat checking on me. There was even a separate message from an unknown source that started with, “My dude,” which I assumed was from Tyler.

I took in half a dozen heaving gulps of warm air before I replied, reassuring them all that I was okay.

But I was, most decidedly, not okay. Everything abruptly felt like too much—Lija and the Council's scheming, my relationship with Shockley, whatever the hell was happening with Azo’lah—and I was sure it was all going to end in disaster. I walked on coltish legs to the railing that overlooked the jade water. I leaned my elbows against it and stared at the gentle flow of the river. I rested my forehead against my palms and gripped Azo’lah’s ket’li crown a little too tightly.

Fuck, what a mess.

“Myaxi,” said a voice on my right.

I startled, clapping my hand over my galloping heart. I turned to Azo’lah, clad in a casual tunic and woven pants. Her hair was half down, my ket’li crown gold against its silver. “Damn it, Azo’lah. Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“My apologies.” She joined me against the railing. “I was on my way to the performance when I saw the messages.” 

I was going to ask her how she knew where to find me but remembered the technopathic tracer she’d placed on all of us. I thought about lying to her as well, promising her I was fine and joining the bloated crowd to watch Fleetwood’s family’s band perform.

“I just… needed a minute,” I said.

Azo’lah nodded. “Your darkness?”

“A little,” I conceded, biting at my thumb nail. “But also, everything, you know?”

Azo’lah’s mouth set into a grim line. “I do. We are asking a great deal of you, Myaxi. I understand if you are uncomfortable with the level of fervor I displayed last night to illustrate our—”

“No, that’s not…” I trailed off, frustrated. Because it wasn’t that Azo’lah’s displays of affection last night made me uncomfortable. It was that I was, maybe, sort of, a little bit, comfortable with it. And I was not ready to think about that.

Instead of asking me to explain further, she said, “Come, Myaxi.”

“Come where? The concert?” I asked. “Shouldn’t you be getting back to Fleetwood? Aren’t you on duty tonight?”

Azo’lah’s head dipped in a motion I would normally associate with mild embarrassment. “Ah, yes. But after our display last night, I have been removed from all official duties for the remainder of the festival. Milyna is temporarily guarding the Fulyiti.”

My cheeks burned at what was left unsaid. Azo’lah was taken off Fleetwood’s protective detail because her superiors didn’t want to leave the Fulyiti in the care of a sexually-distracted Myax.

“Let us go,” Azo’lah said, walking in opposition to the flow of the crowd.

I gestured to where the performance was moments away from beginning. “Don’t you want to see your cousin and uncle perform?”

Azo’lah ignored my question. “Do you want to see them perform?”

I thought of the throbbing crowd, the feeling like I couldn’t get enough air. All of the accidental and unwanted touches. “God, no.”

Azo’lah grinned. “Then, come. There’s something I wish to show you.”

“What are we doing at the Royal Marina?” I asked, staring down the long cranberry wood dock. The royal family’s boats bobbed serenely in their slips. It was startlingly quiet after the pandemonium of the festival.

Azo’lah led me to the smallest vessel, a teal sailboat. “After you,” she offered her hand. I took it, allowing her to help steady me as I stepped onto the boat.

“What are we doing?” I asked as Azo’lah deftly unraveled the rope tying the boat to the dock. “Whose boat is this?”

Azo’lah nudged the boat with her sandaled foot, leaping to board as we drifted from the dock into the gentle waves. “It’s mine.”

“It’s your…” I watched, gobsmacked as she unfurled the sails, revealing large swaths of iridescent rainbow fabric. Her hands flew about so quickly I barely saw what she did before the sails hoisted towards the stars, refracting their light. The warm breeze billowed us away from the Royal Marina and out into the river proper, the current carrying us to the sea.

Azo’lah moved about the boat as comfortably as she did a weapons training room. Her movements, quick and assured, spoke of significant practice. The muscles of her arms flexed and pulled as she adjusted the sails. I stared as she moved to take the chrome steering mechanism. “You know how to sail? How come I’m only learning about this now?”

Azo’lah shrugged, pushing a few buttons on the steering panel. “It never came up before.”

We sailed down the river, through the outskirts of Thal, the mineral aroma of the sea growing stronger. “And this,” I gestured to the teal hull and the rainbow sails, “is your boat? Did you let Fleetwood design it?”

“Zerin chose the teal,” Azo’lah admitted. I grinned at the idea of Azo’lah letting her little brother pick the color of her boat. “The sails are the best material for inclement weather.” She grinned up at the glittering fabric. “I also thought they were pretty.”

I mirrored her smile. “They are.”

As we entered open water, Azo’lah stepped away from the wheel and gestured to the glyph-embossed benches that hugged the sides of the small craft. The sails snapped above us as the wind rushed up the center mast. The deck rocked beneath us, and the ropes tightened. Mechanisms whirred and locked, steadying us against the rocking waves.

“Did the sailboat just… sail itself?” I asked, settling into the plush, woven cushions. 

“In a fashion.” Azo’lah sat beside me. She pointed to the steering panel and the various mechanisms interspersed across the ropes, sails, and railings. “I’ve made a few modifications to make the boat more…responsive to my talents.”

I looked out across the glowing water, my grin widening. “Technopathic sailing. Cool.” 

“I’ve always liked to sail when I’m feeling overwhelmed,” Azo’lah said. “Being out on the water has a way of clearing my mind.” Azo’lah sighed and looked back at the glowing lights of Thal. “And the sea doesn’t have ears the way the palace does.”

I tipped my head down to where the bioluminescent water seemed to spark where the boat touched it. “And you can’t beat the view.” 

“No, you cannot,” she said quietly. I turned, surprised to find her looking, not at the impressive landscape, but at me. And fuck me, it was the look. The same soft but heated look from the night before. I was stunned to see it here, in the privacy of the open water where there was no one to sell our fake relationship to. “Do you want this, Gretchen?”

I blinked, blindsided by the realization that yes, I really did want this. I wanted her. I felt the invisible fist of panic wrap around my lungs and squeeze. I had always known Azo’lah was attractive, but here, in the moonlight, the emerald of the sea shimmering across the elegant lines of her face and catching against the natural sparkle of her hair, she was devastating. 

I unwillingly released the noise of a dying cow that Azo’lah must have interpreted as a question because she clarified. “Do you truly want to stay here on Destyr with us? I wanted to ask you away from the others, so you could answer honestly, without feeling any pressure.” She shifted so that she was facing me head-on, her elbow resting on the safety railing, as she surveyed me. 

“Of course, I want to stay here with you,” I said automatically, too overwhelmed to overthink my response. “This is my home. You guys are my family.” 

Azo’lah nodded, the motion sweeping the unbound portion of her hair over her shoulder. “We did not have time to discuss the finer details of what you pretending to be my Favored will be like. I understand if you are second-guessing your decision to go along with our plan now that things are clearer.”

“No, I’m not second-guessing it.” I edged ever-slightly closer to her. “I guess I didn’t realize how interested everyone else would be in me becoming your Favored. There’s a lot of pressure with that many eyes on us.”

“Especially when one of those looking is actively plotting to remove you from the royal household.”

“Lija can suck my whole ass,” I said.

Azo’lah lifted one elegantly arched brow. “Is that even physically possible?”

I buried my face in my arms on the railing. “Just take your zali’thir and kill me now.”

Azo’lah tugged on my elbow, her palm cradling my chin as she pulled me away from the railing. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.” She tilted my face, so I was looking directly into her eyes. “I would miss you too much.” 

“That’s so nice. I’d miss you too,” I blurted. Azo’lah, eyes crinkled with amusement, trailed her hand down the side of my neck. Her fingertips brushed aside the open collar of my button-down trailing, with spine-tingling electric awareness, across my collarbone in—oh my alien gods—a Destyrian gesture of affection reserved for romantic couples. 

What was breathing?

She leaned in, resting her forehead against mine, skimming her nose against my flushed cheek. Both of her hands came up to cradle my face, her fingers brushing my temples. She just had to move millimeters, and we’d be kissing. I was going to–

Azo’lah froze. She pulled back, the vulnerability in her face replaced by horror. 

“Azo’lah?” I asked. What had I done wrong?

“Who has touched you?” she demanded. 

“What’re you talking about?” I asked, wondering where this was coming from. Destyrians were, by nature, tactile people and not particularly possessive when it came to touch.

“What Destyrian has touched you since we danced last night?” She brought her hand back to my face, one of her fingers tapping my implant deliberately. 

“I don’t know,” I said. My mind was a flurry of faces as I tried to remember everyone I’d interacted with in the last day. “I greeted a lot of dignitaries last night, and then I was at the festival all day. There’s no way to know how many people I accidentally touched in a crowd that size. Why?” 

“Your implant,” Azo’lah said, standing up, as the mechanisms located all over the boat shifted the ropes and sails, turning the ship back toward Thal. “It’s been tampered with. My signature isn’t the only one on it now. Another iz’waij has touched you. We need to alert the crew and get it removed. Now.” 

“Yo, where’s the fire?” Ryan asked as Azo’lah, and I came striding into the living room of Fleetwood’s suite. They were laying across the floor, legs propped up on one of the velvet sofas, where Matt and Tyler sat. They were passing an almost empty bottle of qua’pir between them. Mey-ran and Chester lazed in the high-backed armchairs, their eyes bloodshot and glazed. 

They had all changed out of their festival-wear into comfy sweats and t-shirts. It appeared as though Tyler had borrowed a pair of plaid pajama pants from Matt. He had paired it with a shirt he must have pilfered from Fleetwood’s collection, bedazzled with the slogan, Not Today, Satan.

In the far corner, LinManHam was curled up, watching over them all with his smoky, orb-like eyes. Sebastian was tucked up against one of LinManHam’s sizable leg bones, snoozing.

Clearly, Azo’lah and I were the only ones currently not under the influence. Though, if I was being honest, a glass of qua’pir would make the last few hours more digestible.

“Where is the Fulyiti?” Azo’lah asked, her tone as clipped as her steps as she retreated towards Fleetwood’s bedroom. She stormed into Fleetwood’s clothing-strewn but otherwise empty room. Azo’lah returned, maybe more annoyed than I had ever seen her. “I specifically stated in my comm that the whole crew, and only the crew,” she eyed Mey-ran and Tyler, “were to be present for an important debrief.”

“Tyler’s an honorary member of the crew,” Ryan announced, reaching out and slapping palms with Tyler in a high five.

“Hell yeah, I am,” Tyler agreed, taking a long pull from the bottle. “You guys are like top-tier frenemies. A dude couldn’t ask for more. I love you guys.”

I strode across the room and pried the bottle from his grasp. “I’m going to assume that’s the qua’pir talking,” I grumbled, draining the paltry amount of remaining alcohol in three gulps. I shook the empty bottle. “Is there any more?”

“On the tray,” Chester said, lifting his arm as though moving in slow motion. 

Mey-ran giggled, sounding shockingly akin to a pre-teen girl, and grabbed Chester’s hand, his movements only slightly less languid. Christ, how much had they imbibed? 

Azo’lah, teaching a masterclass in ignoring our crewmates’ bombed behavior, simply stated, “Tyler, however honorary a member of our crew, is also a Dangerous One. As the Myax of the crew, I must insist upon his exit before we discuss what has happened.” Azo’lah’s attention turned to the armchairs where Mey-ran and Chester were still laughing. “And Vic Mey-ran, though a valued ally, should also leave. For the security of the crew.”

At that, Ryan executed an impressive leg-swing-swivel, which resulted in them seated upright, with their back resting against the couch and their legs crisscrossed beneath them. If I had attempted that move at that level of inebriation, I would’ve ended up hurting myself. “Security?” they asked, their mirth-filled face growing serious.

Azo’lah nodded.

Tyler groaned and slouched deeper into the cushions, his head hitting one of the pillows and sending his backwards snapback askew. “But I’m so comfy here! Come on, let me stay. I’m so super good at secrets.” He tossed his legs across Matt’s lap. “Just ask my little sister! To date, I haven’t broken a single pinky promise.”

Maybe the qua’pir was starting to affect me, but I was mildly impressed by that admission.

“Wait,” Chester said, pushing himself into a more upright position in his chair. After a moment of struggling against gravity, he allowed himself to drop back against the seat. “You have a sister, Tyler?”

“I have two sisters,” Tyler announced, holding up two fingers demonstratively.

Chester leaned forward, over-enthused by this information. “I have multiple sisters, too!”

“Where exactly is the Fulyiti?” Azo’lah asked, the edge to her voice sharper than her zali’thir. “Milyna has only responded to my comms to say that the Fulyiti is safe.”

Matt shrugged. “Last we saw her, she was crowd-surfing during her dad and sister’s final set.” He sounded the soberest of the group, though that wasn’t a particularly tight race at the moment.

Tyler and Ryan immediately took to harmonizing like a clowder of caterwauling cats.

They all cackled as the front door to Fleetwood’s suite opened, and the Fulyiti herself, decked out in more glitter than I knew one body could contain, strode in with Milyna at her side. Instead of looking high on life and rock n’ roll (and the same substances our friends had ingested), Fleetwood appeared concerned.

“Apologies for the delay,” she said, quickly roping Azo’lah and me into a tight embrace. I felt my body relax in Fleetwood’s hold—she gave the universe’s best hugs. “I would have arrived sooner, but Ree’la and Father were intent upon catching up on everything in one evening. I could not get away sooner. What has happened?”

“We’ll explain everything.” Azo’lah nodded to Milyna, who did a quick security sweep of the room before stepping back into the hall to stand guard.  Azo’lah said, “That is, we will explain once all our extra guests have left.”

“Guess that’s my cue,” Tyler sounded genuinely put-out at having to leave. He stood up. “Alright, peace out, homies.” But instead of exiting the room, he stooped over and kissed Matt’s forehead. Tyler proceeded to wend his way through the room, bestowing everyone with farewell kisses. He even had the audacity to lift himself onto his toes and peck Azo’lah’s cheek. 

“Goodbye, sweet Tyler,” Fleetwood said.

Tyler held up peace signs with both hands. “Dudes, call me about shenanigans tomorrow!”

“Bye, Tyler!” Ryan hollered to his back.

“See you,” Matt said much more quietly. There was a slight flush in his cheeks as his fingers lightly brushed against his forehead.

After a long moment of silence in which Azo’lah glared at Mey-ran, I cleared my throat and said, “With all due respect, Vic Mey-ran but…”

“Leave,” Azo’lah said curtly when I trailed off. It seemed her patience had left the building.

“That wasn’t particularly respectful,” Chester pointed out, but he used his hand linked to Mey-ran’s to jostle the alien prince to his feet. “But they’re right, babe. You should go to bed.”

“But I wish to never be parted from your side,” Mey-ran replied, tightening his grip on Chester.

I flopped into Tyler’s recently vacated spot on the couch and held back the urge to simultaneously wretch and coo at the sweetness. Ryan had no such compunction. “I’m going to vom from how adorable this is,” they professed loudly.

Either not hearing them or, more likely, completely unaware of the rest of the room, Chester said, “Go to sleep. I’ll be in once we’re done here.”

Mey-ran stooped to kiss the back of Chester’s palm and sauntered from the room. Everyone but Azo’lah unashamedly watched him leave, the fit of the sweatpants he was borrowing was particularly snug.

“Stop objectifying my betrothed,” Chester demanded, though he smiled smugly.

Fleetwood took Mey-ran’s chair and flopped her legs over one arm, her head inclining over the other to rest on Chester’s shoulder. Sebastian, who had ignored my arrival, had woken upon hearing Fleetwood’s voice and now leapt into her lap. Traitorous little shit. He snuggled down into a purring ball of floof as she ran her long fingers through his fur.  “Azo-zo, Gret’chen, tell us what has happened!”

Azo’lah took to pacing behind the empty chaise across from where I sat. We locked gazes, and I nodded. We had agreed on a story—an explanation—on the way back to Fleetwood’s rooms. Although neither of us relished lying to our friends, there was no way to give them the truth without revealing Azo’lah’s technopathic secret. 

Azo’lah said, “While Gretchen and I were walking along the riverfront, I received word from one of my Myax contacts that someone has tampered with Gretchen’s implant.”

Prolonged, stunned silence met her proclamation. The joyous atmosphere of moments before distilled into an eerie solemnity.

Matt straightened up and looked at me. “I’m sorry, what did she just say?”

“Is this a joke?” Ryan added.

“Wait, what?” Chester asked, blinking owlishly through his glasses.

Without disturbing Sebastian, Fleetwood righted herself in her seat. “Someone placed a tracker in Gretchen’s implant? How? The only information about our implants is kept in highly secured files in the Healer’s Wing? Who gave you this information?”

Azo’lah gritted her jaw and fixed her cousin with an unassailable look. My stomach suddenly transmuted into a snake pit, complete with writhing. “As you know, Fulyiti,” Azo’lah began, “I have many trusted and anonymous contacts through the Myax order. The Myax intelligence network is vast. It appears as though the plot against Gretchen is more severe than we originally realized. Someone was able to access her implant and—”

Chester interrupted, suddenly staggeringly sober. “Someone? Who? Also, how? They would need physical contact with Gretchen’s implant and the access information that, like Fleetwood mentioned, is super securely kept in the Royal Healer’s Wing? If that’s the case, that makes this an inside job from someone with high-level clearance in the palace, most likely medical staff. They might’ve been able to do it if they had the access codes to your implant and had a very sophisticated and high-speed program override ready to transfer on their Ran’dyl. They’d just have to tap it to your implant. Gretch, do you—”

“We’ve interacted with dozens of Destyrians and delegates for the festival. And most of them I greeted with the traditional forehead touch,” I rattled off. “Not to mention the hundreds of people we’ve bumped into on the street. It could’ve been anyone.”

“What about one of those iz’waij?” Matt asked. “They can control technology with their minds, right? Could one of them have done this?”

My heart clanged in my chest as I fought against a wave of frustration at my friends and their astuteness, even while under the influence. Any other time, it would’ve warmed me down to my bones to watch them apply their considerable expertise toward dismantling something dangerous to me. At this moment, however, I was more concerned about protecting Azo’lah’s secret than about figuring out who had infiltrated my implant. 

Ryan leaned forward, resting their elbows on their knees. “I thought they were hella rare? That’s why that iz’waij baby on the Western continent is such a big deal.”

“Just because we haven’t heard about them doesn’t mean they don’t exist,” Chester pointed out.

Fleetwood, who had been curiously silent, asked, “Cousin, this source—”

“Is trustworthy,” Azo’lah cut in, not allowing Fleetwood to finish her question. “Obviously, Gretchen must have her implant replaced immediately. We cannot have an unknown threat having access to her location at all times for her own safety and for yours, Fulyiti, since you are often together. I have already contacted the Healer’s Wing, and they will conduct the procedure in less than an hour.”

They all swore loudly.

Ryan wobbled to their feet and looked at me. “You holding up, Borowicz?”

I gulped around the stone of guilt lodged in my throat. “I’ll be okay.”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Ryan said, more to themself than to the rest of us. “Good work on this, Myax. Keep all of us updated on any more information you get through your top-secret Myax channels.”

“Yes, please do, cousin,” Fleetwood said. The hardened glint in her eyes did not match the almost playful tilt to her mouth. I didn’t like the disconnect, it made Fleetwood look dangerous. Shockley’s words from the day before came back to me: Have you truly not stepped back and thought about how devastatingly brilliant Fleetwood is?

Chester said, “I’d like to take a look at the implant once it’s out. See if I can reverse engineer the tracker in the gem.”

“And we should start making an extensive list of potential suspects. Lija and his cronies are definitely at the top of it,” Matt patted my knee. “We’ll get this figured out, Gretch.”

“We need to start considering some deep-state level conspiracy that doesn’t just include Central continent suspects but members of the other continents,” Ryan said. “Let’s not forget that break-in at the wedding in the East. We thought Fleetwood was the target and the perpetrator accidentally ended up in Gretchen’s room. But what if Gretchen was the intended target all along?”

I inhaled sharply. That thought had never occurred to me. I knew the political schemes I found myself unwillingly entangled in were dangerous, but someone going after me? Me? That was stupid. I was no one. 

But then again, I was the current target of an unknown iz’waij.

“Captain, I think it best to put high-level security protocol in place for both Gretchen and the Fulyiti,” Azo’lah said.

Ryan nodded, as did everyone else in the room. Ryan said, “Absolutely. Gretchen, Fleetwood, you go nowhere alone. If one of us isn’t available, Azo’lah will have a list of Myax escorts for you to contact.”

Fleetwood nodded her ascent.

“I appreciate the concern,” I said, “but I don’t need to be babysat.”

Matt’s hand squeezed my knee. “Gretch, there’s no bloody way you’re winning this argument. Just accept it, yeah?”

Chester leaped from his chair. “Let me get some vy’tal, and I’ll head down to my lab to start researching iz’waij and technopathy and…” He held out his hands to steady himself. “Fuck, I’m still fucked up. I’ll stop by the Healer Wing, grab something to sober up.” He shuffled over to me and kissed the top of my head. “Don’t worry, Gretch. You’ll be okay.”

He waved goodbye to the rest of the crew and promised to see me once I woke up after my implant was removed. He left the suite, already pulling up research on his Ran’dyl.

“Majumdar, with me,” Ryan pointed towards the foyer. “We should hit the Healer Wing too, then start brainstorming suspects and put together a schedule for Gretchen coverage. Fleetwood, Azo’lah, can we take Milyna with us as a Myax consultant for security?”

“Absolutely,” Fleetwood said. “Have her tell my night guard that Azo’lah and I will be staying with Gret’chen for the foreseeable future. I will let her know if I have plans to leave my rooms.”

Matt and Ryan hugged me before they left, already compiling their suspect list.

Their exit removed the last buffer between our half-truths and Fleetwood’s shrewd mind. The tension between the cousins’ was so thick, I doubted even Azo’lah’s zali’thir would be able to cut it. Fleetwood’s steely sapphire gaze swiveled between Azo’lah and me. I felt like a child waiting for a chastisement from the school principal.

“Should we head down to the, uh, Healer’s Wing?” I ventured, my voice cracking under the strain of the evening. I was being tracked by an iz’waij, had lied to my friends, had almost kissed Azo’lah—

“In a moment, Gret’chen,” Fleetwood said. She shifted Sebastian’s sleeping form to Chester’s empty chair and fluidly stood. She was a living sun, the glittery gold of her halter top and bell-bottoms reflecting every light source in the room. She was radiant and intimidating. “Cousin, this source you spoke of—”

“As I said,” Azo’lah cut in once more, “they are trustworthy.”

Fleetwood nodded. “I know they are. Because I think the source is you.”

I shifted uncomfortably on the cushions, fairly certain my blood had just curdled in my veins. A dull throb started in my temples, the stress of the night finally manifesting itself as a migraine.  I said, “Fleetwood—”

Fleetwood held up a silencing hand. “Dearest Gret’chen, you and Azo-zo have been acting sus all week. The lies cease now.”

“I am not lying, Fulyiti,” Azo’lah said, the steel in her voice flagging at Fleetwood’s accusation. “Gretchen’s implant has been tampered with. She is in danger. It must be removed immediately.”

Fleetwood stepped towards Azo’lah. When she spoke again, her voice took on the vaguely British intonation that let me know she was now speaking in Destyrian. “I know that is the truth. You would never lie about Gretchen’s safety. But the source of this information, that is the lie.”

“I have no reason to lie to you, Fulyiti,” Azo’lah said.

“Which is why it is baffling that you are,” Fleetwood retorted. “How did you get this intel, Azo’lah?”

Azo’lah shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “A source through the Myax—”

Fleetwood swore in Ancient Destyrian, fire sparking in her eyes. The cousins now stood only a few feet apart, Fleetwood’s fury a tangible, overflowing presence. “Why are you lying to me?”

“I’m not!” Azo’lah insisted. I stood to go to them, and the room spun. I blinked hard. I must have downed a lot more qua’pir than I thought.

“What has happened to trusting each other with everything?” Fleetwood gestured to me and the empty room as she continued, “Our family is under threat, and yet you refuse me the truth! What in the seven stars could be more important than our family…” Fleetwood trailed off, shaking her head in disappointment. 

“Nothing! Nothing could ever be more important!” Azo’lah exploded.

“Guys, please don’t fight,” I pleaded, stumbling forward. The throbbing in my head abruptly flared into an unbearable, agonizing supernova that burned down my spine.

“Now, I am left to wonder what else you have not seen fit to share with me,” Fleetwood spat.”

“Guys!” I tried to shriek, but nothing was working properly. I tried to reach for them, but my arms simply twitched. Everything around me started to go dark. My legs buckled. 

Fleetwood and Azo’lah rushed to me. I felt Azo’lah’s strong arms catch me just as my body began to thrash, completely out of my control.

Was I—was I seizing?

Fleetwood’s voice came, choppy and distant, like a poor transmission from an out-of-range planet, “What’s happening?”“Gretchen!” Azo’lah hollered, attempting to still my body. I thrashed wildly in her hold. I had no control over my own body anymore.

I screamed soundlessly against the roaring fire that leached through my nervous system. 

Azo’lah cradled my head. “Gretchen, tell me what’s—” She trailed off as her eyes latched onto my forehead. My boots juddered against the floor. Azo’lah looked to Fleetwood and then to me.

Fleetwood hollered, “I’m calling the Healer’s Wing and—”

Azo’lah bit her lip, and as I opened my mouth in another silent scream. Azo’lah, tears pooling in her eyes, pressed her fingers to my burning temple, the touch firm and sure. 

“It will be over in a moment, Gretchen,” Azo’lah promised in a whisper.

My body stopped seizing. The incandescent pain faded into a throbbing echo of its former strength. I sagged against the floor.

Fleetwood’s astounded, gaping face, staring at Azo’lah, was the last thing I saw before the world went completely dark.

I awoke to a world that was fuzzy and made little sense. I was supported by strong arms, my head lolling against a muscled shoulder. I felt weightless and unmoored but inexplicably safe. Voices came to me in snatches and bursts, familiar voices, but they spoke a language I couldn’t understand. 

I thought I recognized Fleetwood’s navy space buns amongst the mess of color and indistinguishable shapes my eyes couldn’t focus on. But before I could fully grasp onto consciousness, I slipped back into the darkness again.

I opened my eyes slowly to a dimly-lit room. Warm, blue-gold light, like the sun breaking the horizon on a crisp autumn morning, filled my peripheral vision. I rolled my head to the side to see a curving sculpture and a tall lilac-skinned Destyrian dressed in the crisp white tunic and pants of a Healer. I had a strong sense of deja-vu. I was in the Healer’s Wing of the Royal Palace. 

“Azo’lah Myax,” Healer Jil’al said quietly. Every word was like a needle being tapped into my skull. Then again, it was hard to distinguish that pain from the rest of my body, which felt like one giant, beaten bruise. “‘Gretchen Myaxi is awake.” 

A shadow eclipsed the sculpture’s light, familiar and instantly comforting. “Azo’lah,” I tried to say her name, but my thoughts and my mouth weren’t quite in sync. It came out more like a croaky rasp. 

“Could we have a moment?” Azo’lah asked the Healer. 

“I will monitor her vitals from outside. But she should rest and avoid speaking as much as possible for the time being until her new implant fully integrates.” Azo’lah waited until the Healer had left before crossing to the rematerialized door. She placed her palm against it, no doubt using her powers to secure it. Shit. 

“What happened?” I asked as she crossed back to the bed. Azo’lah sat in the crook of my hip, her long fingers brushing the sensitive skin near my implant. Clumsily, I reached out to fumble for her wrist, stopping her. She wove her fingers through mine. 

“The iz’waij who tampered with your implant attacked you,” Azo’lah said tightly. “I intervened.” 

The fight came back to me in a brilliant, painful flash.

“Fleetwood,” I whispered, trying to follow the healer’s advice. “She knows?”

 Azo’lah nodded, looking miserable. I wished my limbs didn’t feel so heavy, so I could offer her more than just a limp squeeze of the hand holding mine. “She was...upset by the knowledge.” That was code for Fleetwood is fucking apoplectic. 

“How did they attack?” I asked. “I thought you had to touch or be close.” 

“Whoever it is must be a powerful iz’waij to so precisely manipulate something they have had little contact with, and do so from a distance.” Azo’lah frowned. At my questioning look, she added, “I did not utilize my powers for many years, so I prefer touch. It allows me to be more accurate.” She looked down at our intertwined hands. “I’m sorry, Gretchen.” 

I lifted my free hand, but all I managed was a pathetic pat to her cheek. “S’not your fault. Better make me your Favored,” I mustered up a genuine, if pained, smile at Azo’lah’s incredulous look. “Give me that sweet royal protection.” 

Azo’lah returned my smile, hers more sad than hopeful. Like she was already grieving something she had yet to lose. “That entirely depends.”
“On what?” I said with effort. 

“On me,” Fleetwood said from the doorway.

Azo’lah bypassed the table completely. She headed straight for Fleetwood’s bedroom, drawing up short when the door did not immediately admit her. Huh. That was new.

Azo’lah pounded her fist on it. “Fleetwood!”

“What’s up with Azo’lah?” Chester asked. 

“There’s been a development,” I supplied, dropping into my seat. I scrubbed a hand over my eyes, desperately wishing I was having lazy morning sex instead of dealing with political intrigue and a disproportionately pissed-off Azo’lah. 

Matt flipped over one of the artfully crafted ceramic cups and poured steaming, gloriously caffeinated vy’tal into it. “I could kiss you,” I said gratefully as I took it from him.

“Looks like you don’t need Matt for that.” Ryan gestured demonstratively to the juncture of their neck and jaw. “You’ve got a humongous hickey. Was Shockley trying to suck out your soul or something?” They scowled over the rim of their open laptop, which Chester had worked his magic on to make it compatible with Destyrian technology. Clearly, our captain was upset that we had interrupted their breakfast writing time. Matt patted Ryan’s shoulder in a conciliatory manner. 

“Fulyiti, get up. It’s important! If you don’t open this door, I will use my Myax override and come in regardless!” Azo’lah barked.

Without warning, the door dematerialized beneath Azo’lah’s still slamming fist. Azo’lah barely checked her fist from hitting Fleetwood in the face. Fleetwood, blearily mutinous, looked like she wouldn’t mind returning the favor. She was clad in a stunning black robe with voluminous feathered sleeves—like an old Hollywood starlet who had killed her husband and looked amazing doing it. Azo’lah judgmentally eyed the neckline, which plunged to where a navel would be on a human. “You could not bother to dress?” 

Fleetwood tied the waist of the robe in an ostentatious bow. “You could not bother to chill your pill until everyone is awake and not overhung?” She scooped up Sebastian and squished into the chair next to Chester, leaning her head on top of his. Her messy, unbound hair cascaded down his shoulder.

I poured her a cup of vy’tal. She looked like she needed it as badly as I did. Fleetwood’s muzzy gaze landed on my hickey. “If you woke me up to tell me Gretchen tapped Shockley’s effervescent derriere, I am bouncing back to bed.”

Chester snorted so inelegantly into his vy’tal it sprayed across the tabletop, while Matt and Ryan did a terrible job covering up their grinning mouths.

“I have important intelligence regarding Councilor Lija and his cronies,” Azo’lah announced over our friends’ chortling laughter. “He is the one behind the rumors surrounding Gretchen. He is laying the foundation to have her removed from Destyr. Apparently, he believes her influence over the Fulyiti has grown too dangerous.” 

“WHAT?” Ryan hit a button on their laptop and closed it with a snap.

“Apparently, he would remove Chester as well, but, as Chester is the Fulyiti’s Favored, his position is more secure.” 

“What about Matt and me?” Ryan asked.

Azo’lah shook her head. “There has been no word about ousting either of you.”

“Should I feel offended that I’m not viewed as a threat?” Matt said mildly. He ripped a piece of steaming bread apart and handed me half. Even with this unpalatable news, I was ravenous. I shoved the bread into my mouth and loaded a small plate with autumn fruit.

“I definitely am,” Ryan said. “But I sort of get it.” 

“Get what?” I watched Azo’lah pace in front of the table, wishing she’d take her spot next to me. 

“Well, he isn’t wrong,” Ryan mused, a distant glint in their eye as they mulled over everything. “You do have influence. You’re close friends with the Fulyiti and have a working relationship with the Auhtula. She respects you and your opinion. You could make waves if you really wanted to, and you went about it smartly. But still…” They trailed off, frowning. “Chester’s pretty untouchable, at least for the time being. He’s been practically adopted into the royal family—” 

“Not quite,” Chester coughed, whacking Fleetwood lightly when she giggled. 

Ryan waved their hand. “Close enough. And he’s engaged to a powerful ally, who could become a powerful enemy if Mey-ran sides with Chester. Given the heart eyes, the dude can’t stop throwing, it doesn’t look like the Vic is going anywhere fast.” 

“But Chester will eventually if they get married. It’s not like the sole heir of Covlax is moving to Destyr after their nuptials. So all Lija has to do on that front is wait,” Matt chimed in. 

I slowly refilled my cup, pointedly not looking at Chester so he couldn't see the devastation on my face. “You’re going to move to Covlax?” 

“And leave you to discover paradoxically advanced ancient technology without me?” Chester grinned as Sebastian hopped from Fleetwood’s lap to his. “Not likely. I’m not actually gonna marry Mey-ran.” 

“We require a plan,” Azo’lah cut in, pausing at the head of the table. She crossed her arms, which did incredible things to the muscles in them that I totally didn’t notice. “As Gretchen is the one Lija is politically targeting, we must come up with a strategy that will put her out of his reach.” 

“I will take Gret’chen as my Favored,” Fleetwood announced with a shrug. During the ensuing silence, she leaned forward to take a bite from Chester’s fork. Ryan and Matt shot each other a look. 

“No one will believe you a second time, Fulyiti,” Azo’lah sighed. She rubbed at her temple like a frustrated teacher dealing with wily kindergarteners. “Your first Favored is currently betrothed to the heir of a highly powerful political ally. It is unlikely, after Chester, that anyone will believe your new Favored is any more romantic than the first. That ploy only works once.” 

“Perhaps we fell out of lust but remained friends. Let people speculate,” Fleetwood said. “They will do the same with Gretchen.” 

“What does lust have to do with being a Favored? I thought it was an advisory position?” I interjected. 

Ryan muttered, “For the kama sutra, maybe.”

“Are you all gonna embarrass me on top of everything else or explain what the fuck I’m missing?” I placed my cup down on the table, ready to return to my room, or better yet, find Shockley and go back to activities that didn’t require talking. 

Matt, mercifully, answered, “Long story short, Favored were concubines in ancient Destyr.”

“The position was born out of the need for heirs,” Azo’lah explained. “It was typically male donors who were given familial status and protection for their part in producing an heir. Then later, Destyrian royals started broadening the definition to provide the same station to long-term lovers that were unsuitable for marriage until it was deemed crude and fell out of practice. A Favored, once bound, cannot take another lover without permission and cannot marry unless released by the Royal they gave their oath to.  ” 

Horrified, I gaped at Fleetwood. “And you revived this practice, why?”

“Because the Council was tweaking about my beloved,” Fleetwood said, snagging Chester’s glass of juice and draining it. “There were similar rumors that he was trying to marry me for nefarious purposes. The law of the Favored is ancient and has never been revoked. It is also ironplaid. Therefore, so long as my beloved remains my Favored, he is protected and immovable from my side. If Chester finds the one for him, I will release him, but by then, the Council’s fears will be moot, and I can argue for his years of service to Destyr and retain him as my advisor.” 

Ryan clapped their hands, looking unreasonably delighted with themself. “Okay, so obvious solution: Azo’lah takes Gretchen as her Favored.” 

Someone let out a high-pitched, hysterical giggle. Oh, wait. It was me. “Oh, come the fuck on.” I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry as I took in all of my friends’ considering faces as though Ryan’s suggestion was plausible in the slightest. “That’s even more preposterous than me dating Fleetwood. No one would ever believe someone like Azo’lah’s into me.” Azo’lah’s stare was an uncomfortably tangible force further warming my already burning cheeks. “Say something,” I begged, a little ashamed of how desperate I sounded.

“Wow,” Ryan drawled finally. Chester chucked a roll at them, dislodging Sebastian from his lap. Ryan merely popped the piece of delicious ammunition in their mouth before folding their hands on top of their laptop. “Gretch, we literally just came from a mission where our enemies gathered all of the video evidence regarding our crew, including, apparently hacking Destyr—”

“We are shoring up our security,” Azo’lah interjected.

Ryan waved her off. “My point is that said enemies, when they looked at that footage, came to the conclusion that you’re together. You spend most of your off-work hours together when you’re not on missions, also together. You two even have your own weird brand of flirting—Yes, you absolutely do,” Ryan insisted when I tried to protest. “I bet you if we started a rumor that you and Azo’lah were a thing, literally no one would question it.” 

Sebastian leapt into my lap, almost knocking over my vy’tal. I righted the cup before it could spill, silently thanking my fur son with a grateful nuzzle for buying me time to think. 

“Look, I appreciate that you want to protect me from Lija’s political-whatever-he’s-doing but—”

Eyes wide with alarm, Fleetwood leaned forward, her loosely wrapped robe slipping open in the haste of her movement. “Do you wish to phone home?” 

Chester reached over and pulled her robe closed.

“No, of course not. I’m happy here.” I scratched behind Sebastian’s ears, refusing to meet anyone’s eye. “I just think there’s got to be a way to go about this that’s more plausible. Like, I’m plain for human standards and ugly by Destyrian—”

“Just let us try, Borowicz,” Ryan cut me off. “We’ll reevaluate if we have to.” 

“Fine,” I bit out, ashamed of how sulky it sounded. But I really wasn’t looking forward to how humiliating peoples’ responses were going to be to this faux-relationship. I could already hear the mocking laughter. 

“Eat up, Gretchen,” Ryan ordered, reopening their laptop. “Same for everyone else. We’ve got some rumors to spread.” 

Azo’lah finally sank into her chair. I risked a quick glance her way. Her face was fairly dispassionate. But I could tell from the way her fingers twitched against the wood that she was already bothered by something. “For this to work, you cannot flaunt your tryst with Shockley,” she said finally. 

I speared melon on my fork and said, “We met privately in my room. That’s hardly flaunting it.” 

“Your neck says differently,” Azo’lah flicked the mark with her fingers, her navy eyes inscrutable. 

Would today’s indignities never cease?

“I can just say you did it,” I shot back, annoyed. “Unless this is you saying you’re not a biter?” 

Azo’lah busied herself by pouring a mug of vy’tal. 

I ate my breakfast in silence, navigating around Sebastian, who was content to sit in my lap for the duration of the meal. As I finished my fruit, the door to Fleetwood’s room dematerialized. Tyler Bautista shuffled out, wearing nothing but boxer briefs and a flowing chartreuse robe that was clearly Fleetwood’s. 

“Oh, hey fam,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “What’s the plan for today?” 

“Bro, you good?” Tyler tugged his backwards snapback more snugly against his head. Though hidden by the hat, his dark hair remained an uncombed nest that escaped in random spikes that spoke very clearly of his previous evening’s activities.

“Yeah, I’m good,” I squeaked, still unable to meet his earnest gaze. I was accompanying him back to The Danger Zone in order to explain the need for high-key secrecy to Shockley. My friends thought it was risky for me to be seen going to Shockley, but I felt I owed him an in-person explanation.

Tyler had maintained an effusive monologue about the “hella dope” architecture of the royal palace as we exited said building and then moved on to ask me the names of all the flora we passed in the royal gardens. While Tyler seemed to have a million questions, (only about half of which I had no answer to) I only had one. And that was, what the hell was going on between him and Fleetwood? I hated myself for my hypocritically rampant curiosity. It drove me crazy when my friends dug into my relationship with Shockley, and yet—

“How?” I threw my hands up as we left the gardens. 

“How what?” Tyler replied with a good-natured grin. We passed the palace guards at the arching gates and entered the crowded streets, already packed with festival-goers despite the morning hour. The warm autumn air thrummed with energy and laughter.  We waded towards one of the dozen or so specially erected spaceship ports, built to accommodate all of the off-continent visitors. They were all eight stories tall and shaped in glyphs that represented the First Auhtula and her Myax love. The spaceships hung off the sides like cell phones plugged into wonky charging ports.

“You and Fleetwood!” I couldn’t keep the note of accusation out of my tone. “How?”

Tyler stopped in his tracks and grabbed my forearm. A pair of Destyrian women, arms linked and ket’li crowns woven into their glistening hair, passed by us, narrowly avoiding hip-checking me. “Are you asking me about, like, sex between humans and Destyrians? Because there are def some articles that I could hook you up with—”

“I don’t need articles, Tyler,” I pulled him along through the reveling crowd.

Seemingly ignoring me, Tyler said, “No shame in doing research and being prepared. If you have questions about Destyrians or whoever, I’m your dude! Some aliens aren’t like us, you know?” He gestured indiscreetly to his groin. “ Like, the Groshal are basically just beams of light,” Tyler’s smile widened, “but damn, they know what they’re doing.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” I said, impressed by Tyler’s nonjudgmental sincerity. Tyler Batista may have been a space mercenary but never let it be said that his heart was nothing but pure sunshine. “I just didn’t even know you and Fleetwood were into each other that way.”

We entered the temporary spaceship port with a wave of Tyler’s wristband. The temporary port was bustling. Many of the ships had their hatches thrown open as people roamed between them, exchanging ket’li crowns, hugs, and alcohol. Tyler directed me onto an amber platform at the center of the port. 

“Level 6,” he said. Amber light surrounded us and shot us upwards, in a stomach-churning whoosh that I would never get used to. “Fleetwood’s hot. We’re friends. Plus, sex is fun. Why wouldn’t we have sex during a festival all about sex?”

At Level 6, I followed Tyler off the platform and across the deck. “Oh, so it was more of a casual thing?” While this was the expected response to my question, it still relieved me. I wasn’t sure if either of our crews could withstand what would surely be an enthusiastic and adventurous relationship between Tyler and Fleetwood.

Tyler nodded, “For sure. Don’t get me wrong. Fleetwood’s my number one princess in the whole galaxy. But there’s no way that’d be a good long-term deal. A princess and a mercenary? Yeah, right. Plus, I probably shouldn’t be with someone who goes along with all my bad ideas.” Tyler scrubbed at his forehead self-consciously. “Someone who can mellow me and keep me from blowing shit up, you know?”

My attention caught on a young couple making out against the side of a ship, ket’li petals raining like confetti from their…enthusiasm. “Yeah, I do kno—woah!” My arms pin-wheeled as I tripped over someone’s feet, the floor threatening to smack me in the teeth in the very near future.

Tyler gripped my waist, preventing me from face-planting.

“Oh, my God,” I breathed, embarrassment burning up my face, “I am so sorry.” My mortification turned to anger as my eyes met the person I had literally stumbled across.

Councillor Lija glared down his aquiline nose at me. At his back, his assistant, Roz’al, the one Azo’lah had flirted with, cowered at his back.

Alien Gods, what was it with this guy popping out of nowhere?

“Councillor Lija, we have to stop meeting like this,” I joked feebly, righting myself. 

Lija’s sneered, “If only we could stop meeting at all.”

This asshole.

Tyler cringed. “Shit, homie, that’s cold.”

I cleared my throat awkwardly. “Well, I don’t want to keep you, Council—”

“What brings you to the port, Gretchen of Earth?” Lija asked, his intense gaze shifting from me to Tyler. His sneer ticked up into an imperceptible smirk; his interest piqued.

“Just...uh, walking my friend back to his ship,” I replied.

Lija inspected Tyler from the top of his backwards snapback to the bottom of his boots. “What interesting company you keep.”

I grimaced at a loss for how to respond.

Lija’s judgmental sneer turned to me. “And that isn’t even counting the other banished members of The Dangerous Ones.”

I grabbed Tyler by the elbow and yanked him away from Councillor Lija. The faster we lost this douchecanoe, the better. “Well, we don’t want to keep you, Councillor. Archaeology waits for no festival,” I added as an afterthought. Maybe tacking on a professional reason for us to be together would help?

Barely out of their earshot, Tyler said, “Who was that bag of dicks? Wait, you don’t like that guy, right? Cause he seemed like a big bag of dicks.”

I released his arm. “The biggest. He’s trying to get me ousted off of Destyr.”

“Fuck that noise,” Tyler said, gesturing to where The Danger Zone was parked, its eagle-shaped hull shading half the street below. “If you can’t stay here, you could come with us!”

“That’s very sweet, but I don’t think the space mercenary life is for me.”

Tyler shrugged. “You never know until you try it. A lot like alien sex.” He typed something into his wristband, and the door opened. With a grandiose sweep of his hand, he bowed to me. “After you, my lady.”

“Well, thank you, good sir,” I stepped carefully into a high-ceilinged navy corridor lined with chrome doors that ran from stem to stern of the ship. A few feet ahead, flat against the wall, were ladders on either side of me that led up and down.

I was surprised by how clean the ship was. The air carried a pleasant aroma that reminded me of the lemony scent of most Earth cleaning supplies. For some reason, I had been expecting a Fraternity House vibe with sticky surfaces, tacky decor, and the odor of sweaty laundry permeating every room. But instead, I had stepped onto, what appeared to be, a very organized and adult-run spaceship. 

Tyler stepped in beside me, and the door shut. He hopped onto one of the ladders and hoisted himself up, screaming, “Max! Max! Someone here to see you!”

When there was no response, he hopped down and craned his lean body into the opening that led to the sub-floors. “Yo, Max! Dude, where you at?”

We stood in ringing silence for a long moment before Tyler raised his wristband and attempted to comm his Captain. When there was no response, he announced, “He’s probably in the engine room and can’t hear me over everything. Come on, I’ll show you around!” He walked backwards, pointing out doors like the galaxy’s best tour guide. “On this floor are most of our communal and workspaces. Armory, lab, storage space for high-value items.” His hands waved left, right, left, right as he listed them off. “We have some spare quarters that we use for holding cells when we need it.”

“Wait, did you say you have a lab here?” I asked, perplexed. What did a bunch of space mercs need scientific equipment for?

“No doubt. It’s nothing like what Chester’s got, but sometimes we have to check if the shit we stole is authentic. Max doesn’t let me in there much anymore since I kind of blew out half the ship testing some Yortesix powder.” Tyler came to a stop, tapping his fist against a command pad and opening the door to a spacious room filled with couches, a dining table, and a pair of battered but plush La-Z-Boys. All of the furniture matched the navy and chrome color palette of the corridor, though I did notice a wildly colored pinball machine crammed into a far corner, its rainbow lights dancing across the glass of the framed art hanging on the walls.

Nyc’arra, her white hair bound in a perfect plait down her back, was seated at the table, shoveling green goop into her mouth. She dropped her spoon into her bowl and growled, “What is she doing here, Batista?”

“It’s kind of a long story?” he replied. “You know where Max is at?”

I missed Nyc’arra’s reply, my attention caught by the massive piece of art hanging above one of the pillow-strewn couches. I stalked over to it, my chest burning with indignation at noticing the architectural design with its many tiers and Ancient Destyrian glyphs littering the sides. I stepped onto the couch cushions for a closer look to make sure my eyes weren’t deceiving me. “Is this—is this what I think it is?” I stammered. My palms pressed reverently against the glass protecting the tapestry depicting the Temple of Aluthua from Golyn that Shockley and his crew had stolen out from under us. 

Nyc’arra and Tyler paused their bickering.

“Oh, yeah, the temple tapestry,” Tyler said as though we were discussing a $5 reprint of Starry Night hanging in a freshman dorm and not a priceless piece of history stowed away in their ship’s lounge. “Looks dope, right? Charlie did a great job!”

“Who the fuck is Charlie, and what is he doing touching this tapestry?” I roared. Panicked, I pressed my nose to the glass to inspect the tapestry as closely as possible. “Oh, God. Did this Charlie idiot tear it?”

Tyler came to my side and placed a placating hand on my shoulder. “Chill, Gretch. Max is a huge history dork, he’d never let anything happen to any of this stuff. Charlie’s, like, a total professional. That’s why Max always goes to him.”

The word always caught me. I hopped back down to the floor. I spun in a slow circle, my eyes raking over everything that hung on the walls. Not pictures or movie posters, but innumerable antiquities. There were other tapestries, scrolls, paintings, small artifacts in shadow boxes, and a whole wall of weapons.

“What the actual fuck, you guys!” I turned my fury on Tyler. “You have more here than most museums! How dare—”

Tyler backed toward the hallway, holding up his hands in surrender. “I think I’m going to find Max now.” He disappeared before I could continue to admonish him.

I gaped at the walls, at the unassuming way everything was laid out. My hands itched to catalog and study everything, to figure out how to get it all back to its planets and peoples.

Nyc’arra’s snicker pulled me back to the present.

“What?” I snapped, forgetting momentarily how intimidatingly scary she was. Not just her physical size either, though her biceps were thick as my calves.

 She stood and carried her bowl to the counter. “I get it now.” She shoved her bowl and utensil into a machine the size and shape of a microwave and pressed a red button. 

“Get what?” I crossed my arms, suddenly defensive. Under the knowing sweep of Nyc’arra’s gaze, I felt exposed.

Nyc’arra returned the now clean bowl to a cupboard before turning to half-sit on the counter. “Get the fixation with you. Despite all of your repellant physical attributes, you are passionate, strong-willed, and steadfast in your morality. It is no surprise Azo’lah has taken to you so strongly.”

The bottom of my stomach dropped out. Azo’lah? I had assumed Nyc’arra was talking about Shockley. My astonishment must have shown on my face, for Nyc’arra chuckled dispassionately. “Do not fret, tiny human. Her fascination will wane. It always does.”

“It won’t,” I bit back, flushing. “I mean, there is no fascination, so how can it wane? Azo’lah and I are just friends, crewmates. Like you and Tyler and Shockley.”

“I doubt that immensely.” Nyc’arra shook her head pityingly. “I have lived with Max and Tyler long enough to know that nothing of reason I say will penetrate that humanly-thick skull. But if I were you, I would exercise extreme caution where Azo’lah is concerned.” 

My fingers tingled with the sudden rush of adrenaline flooding my body. “What? Azo’lah would never hurt me.”

Nyc’arra took a tentative step toward me, her jade-green eyes alight with curiosity. “She wouldn’t? Is there nothing she wouldn’t do to protect Fulyiti Kezira? To protect their secrets?”

The sound of our clones’ bodies hitting the floor of Coswir’s moon base echoed in my head.

A cold sweat broke out across the back of my neck.

“Azo’lah… wouldn’t…” My voice shook. I swallowed. “Azo’lah wouldn’t hurt any of us. And she doesn’t have secrets.”

“I thought the same, once.” Nyc’arra snorted dispassionately. “Do you even know the story of my exile from Destyr? The stripping of my title and honor as a Myax? My banishment from my home and family?”

I shook my head. Azo’lah had said that Nyc’arra had broken her oath, betrayed the House of Fuiq in some way, but I didn’t know the specifics.

“Well, that makes two of us,” Nyc’arra whispered.

“What do you—”

“I mean exactly what I said. I don’t know what I did. The last thing I remember is arguing with Azo’lah. My throat hurt from the yelling. So did my mind.” Her fingers caressed her temple. I did my best not to stare at her translator implant. “Azo’lah took my face in her hands,” Nyc’arra mimicked the action as though reliving the moment, “and said I looked like I needed a Healer. Next thing I knew, I was waking up in the HealerWing surrounded by half a dozen of my Myax sisters. No one would tell me why I was being held prisoner.

“I was brought before Auhtula Ty’uria. She… she charged me with crimes of treason.” Nyc’arra’s throat caught on the last word. “When I had no defense for my actions for I knew not what I had done, I was banished from the Central continent, and as a disgraced Myax, I would know no welcome on any of the other continents. Azo’lah, a member of the royal family and my lover for many binary cycles, the one who knew me the best, the one who knew I would never betray my oath, said nothing in my defense. She… let them strip my life away.”

My throat constricted with sympathy. My automatic reaction was to defend Azo’lah. But there was no doubt Azo’lah had used her powers. What had Nyc’arra done to make Azo’lah do that to someone she loved?

Azo’lah wouldn’t do what she did to Nyc’arra to me. She wouldn’t. I pushed the image of my lifeless clone away.

I opened my mouth to apologize, to argue, to say what I didn’t know. Thankfully Nyc’arra held up a hand. “I don’t want your pity,” she commanded. “I want you to be careful.”

“Borowicz, doesn’t know how to be careful,” Shockley said from the open doorway. He leaned against the doorjamb with folded arms, his hair still damp from a shower. He looked just as good now as he had that morning in my bed.

“I do too,” I snapped, my need to bicker triggered by Shockley’s mere presence.

Shockley laughed. “Let’s not debate the obvious.”

I threw my arms wide. “Alright, how about we debate why you have all of this stolen history hanging on the walls of your ship lounge like you have any goddamn right?”

Nyc’arra sighed and strode for the exit. “I don’t need to be here for this foreplay.”

Shockley patted her elbow and huffed, “I got this, Nyc.”

Nyc’arra’s response was lost as Shockley entered, and the door slid shut at his back. Shockley shoved his hands into his pockets and grinned at me like he was picturing me naked. Even in my current predicament, I didn’t hate it.

“So this is a pleasant surprise,” he said, shuffling closer to me. “You look good on my ship.”

“Amongst all these important historical and cultural pieces, I’m sure I do,” I bit out.

“You came to fight?” Shockley chuckled. “Should’ve guessed.”

“I did not come to fight,” I said, gnawing on my thumbnail. “I came to explain some things. We need to talk.”

“Really? ‘We need to talk’ after only one night?” Shockley’s tone was jocular but I saw the strain of nervousness around his eyes.

“It’s not you, it’s me,” I blurted. He came to a stone-cold stop. I went to him, snatching his hands out of his pockets and linking our fingers together. “No, wait, that’s not what I meant at all! I’m not here to end our thing. Last night was great, and I definitely—” I stopped myself as his self-satisfied grin returned. “Can we sit down and talk? There’s some complicated shit that’s happening that I need to tell you.”

Shockley pulled me onto the couch beneath the Temple Tapestry. “Tell me.”

So I did. I spoke for such a long time, explaining how truly frustrating my morning had been that Shockley provided me with two glasses of water to keep my mouth from becoming permanently parched. By the time I was done, my legs were stretched across his lap, his arms resting along my knees. “So you have to pretend to be Azo’lah’s Favored, so this Lija asshole stops plotting to get rid of you?” He pushed out a long breath. “You weren’t lying. That’s some complicated shit.”

I set my now empty water cup on the floor. “Which means while you’re still on Destyr, we have to keep what’s going on between us quiet. Unless, you know, because of all this new information, you don’t want to see me anymore.” My stomach knotted at the prospect.

“Don’t act stupid, Name Police, it doesn’t suit you.” Shockley kissed the top of my head in an unusually tender gesture. “Don’t worry too much. You'll take care of this Lija douche easily enough. You guys are one of the scariest crews I’ve ever encountered, and I’m a fucking mercenary.”

I cackled outright at that statement. My crew–with our bedazzled outfits and matching friendship sunglasses-–scary? “Yeah, right.”

“I’m not kidding,” he said emphatically. “You guys are all moral high-ground, blah, blah, blah. But think about it. Azo’lah is a certifiable lethal weapon even when she’s not wielding actual lethal weapons, Chester is the smartest person in space, and Ryan is one of the most competent. Then you have Majumdar, who flies like he was born to it and has a wealth of morally questionable skills.” Shockley squeezed my knee. “They’ve got you, the badass archaeologist who always comes through in the clutch. And then there’s Fleetwood, easily the most dangerous of you all.”

I laughed. “Ah, yes, Fleetwood Mercury, the scariest Fulyiti this side of Destyr.”

Shockley shook his head. “You laugh, but that’s because you’re one of her best friends, not her political rival. Have you truly not stepped back and thought about how devastatingly brilliant Fleetwood is?” He had a point there. “She’s smart and kind and quirky in a non-threatening way which endears her to others. It makes people underestimate her. She’s the most politically savvy person I’ve ever seen. First, she puts your crew together and establishes your credibility by averting a major political disaster. Then, she utilizes your crew’s adventure junkie tendencies to build powerful political alliances. She’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

“I mean, I don’t—”

“Gretchen, think about it. Your team has revitalized the Central continent’s relationship with the Ynoom and the Valik. You’re the first outsiders to form any kind of friendship with the witches of Huxor in a decade. And isn’t Chester, Fleetwood’s best friend and most trusted advisor, betrothed to the sole Covlax heir?”

It took a moment for what he was saying to sink in, but once it did, I murmured, “Holy shit, Lija’s going at Fleetwood through me.”

“Absolutely.”

“But why? Shouldn’t Lija want a powerful Central continent?”

Shockley shrugged. “Maybe it isn’t about the Central continent and more about who the powerful one is. Probably, he wants to be the one with connections and influence. In his eyes, Fleetwood’s getting too powerful, and her team is the one helping her. Lija can’t go after her directly since she’s the Auhtula’s daughter, but he sure as shit can try and dismantle her team,” Shockley said.

“Fuck Lija,” I said. “Just when I thought he couldn’t get any worse, he proves me wrong.”

“You won’t hear any disagreement from me on that.” Shockley’s hand wandered up my thigh. “Though I will admit, all the sneaking around will definitely add an unanticipated layer of hotness to this week’s festivities.”

“Will it?” I asked, teasingly.

“Absolutely, Name Police. All of the forbidden, clandestine meetings.” His hand grasped my hip, and he tugged me bodily into his lap. “Take right now, for instance. It’d be such a shame to waste an opportunity like this when we don’t know when we’ll be alone in secret again.”

I leaned forward, kissing him hard. Who was I to argue with such solid logic?

Later, when I left Shockley asleep and naked on the couch aboard The Danger Zone, I had a smile on my face and a framed Ancient Destyrian tapestry tucked beneath my arm.

After all of our adventures, all my near-death escapes, I couldn’t believe this was how I was going to go. Death by internal combustion caused by Azo’lah. 

Bathed in amber-blue light of the palace ballroom’s towering sculptures, she was dressed in her formal Myax uniform with her hair in its usual braid, though tonight it highlighted her ket’li crown. She stood at Fleetwood’s shoulder as the Fulyiti held court with several off-world visitors and Auhtul Cal’ton. I’d offered to get Fleetwood and Cal’ton drink refills, a convenient excuse to get out of conversing with strangers, if only for a few minutes. I could feel Azo’lah’s eyes on me from across the room, and when I turned, she was still giving me that warm, devastating under-the-lash look, like I was all of her favorite things wrapped up in one gift. A gift she also really wanted to bang.

“Jesus,” Ryan muttered, tugging on their silver and blue embroidered sash and fanning themself dramatically. “I can’t believe she’s bringing out that look in public. It’s hot enough in private.” They winked at Azo’lah, who smiled before turning her attention back to her charge. 

“What do you mean in private?” I drained a glass of rul’vol, a potent alcoholic beverage whose origins dated back to the Ancient Destyrians. “Azo’lah has never looked at me like that. Oh, hey, Chester, honored Vic.” I smiled as the two approached. Chester looked dashing in the High Destyrian dress required for tonight’s formal ball, allowing Mey-ran to escort him by the arm. 

“I think I’m supposed to congratulate you, but I completely disagree with your decision, so I wont,” Mey-ran said primly, selecting a cup of qua’pir. He took a sip and then handed the glass to Chester. I arched a suggestive eyebrow at Chester as he accepted the glass.

“Wait,” I said as Mey-ran’s words registered. “Congratulations on what?” 

The Vic turned, his expression similar to someone who just caught a whiff of dog-shit. “Becoming Azo’lah’s Favored.” I recalled our tense negotiations with the Vic when he first made a play for Chester. Things made so much more sense now. “I don’t understand why you don’t court normally instead of binding yourself to her like chattel.” 

I blinked at Mey-ran. “You actually believe Azo’lah would date me?” 

“Everyone does,” Matt’s familiar accent said, seconds before his arm reached over me to grab his own rul’vol. He, too, was dressed in the colors of House Fuiq. “It’s really not a hard sell. Especially when Azo’lah’s pulling out the big guns.” 

Not even the dance floor full of dipping and spinning Destyrians separating us dampened the power of Azo’lah’s gaze.

“Jeez, she’s released the look,” Chester noted, following my eye line to Azo’lah. 

“She needs to stop releasing whatever,” I waved my hands.

“Oh, is it too much to be caught between Azo’lah’s love you/wanna fuck you gaze and Shockley’s sexting?” Ryan drawled, snatching up their own glass of qua’pir. As if on cue, my Ran’dyl illuminated.

“You’re the worst,” I said. “I don’t wanna be on your crew anymore.” I pretended to fix my hair, the draped sash attached to my sleeve providing coverage for my burning face. “Oh my god, kill me.” 

“No can do, Gretch,” Matt said cheerfully. “But Azo’lah is coming over here, so you might die anyway.” 

I dropped my hands. Azo’lah was indeed crossing the ballroom, her face illuminated by an arresting smile. If I didn’t know her, I would’ve called the expression ecstatic. However, I’d spent long enough around her to see the slightest pull to one side of her mouth. Azo’lah was trolling an entire ballroom full of people, and she was having fun doing it. My friends, the traitors, slithered away, leaving us alone. “I didn’t have a chance to tell you how lovely you look this evening, Myaxi,” Azo’lah said as she approached. 

My eyes narrowed. “You saw this dress before at the wedding on the Eastern continent,” I accused. Azo’lah ran her hand down the shimmering green-gold sleeve until her long fingers wrapped around mine. 

“You looked lovely in it then, too,” she smirked. 

“Why aren’t you with Fleetwood? Aren’t you on duty tonight?” I asked. Azo’lah brushed my hair over my shoulder, her fingers hovering above my collarbone.

“Milyna stepped in for a few minutes,” Azo’lah said, using our joined hands to tug me toward the dance floor. “I wanted to dance with my soon-to-be Favored.” 

“Azo’lah, no—” I pleaded as the music changed and she took her place for the beginning of the dance. 

“You know this one,” Azo’lah promised. “And I’ll take small steps so you can keep up.” I had the urge to punch her grinning face. With my own. Wait, what? Grudgingly, I took up the customary starting position for traditional dances across from her. The musicians struck up a familiar tune. 

“Really?” I said as Azo’lah extended her hand, drawing her fingers slowly along the protrusion of my collarbone. “The First Auhtula’s Reel?” It was a sensuous dance that had been derived from an encounter between the First Auhtula and her Myax love. It was typically only performed by romantic couples. “You're enjoying this, aren’t you?” I traced the bare skin of Azo’lah’s collarbone. Beneath my fingertips, I could feel her breath catch. Azo’lah turned me into her chest, leading me into the next step, her hands gliding down my ribcage. 

“Immensely,” Azo’lah admitted. “Shall we really get them talking?” Her tone was playful and challenging. When I met her gaze, the damn look was back, and fuck it, if two couldn’t play at whatever game this was. 

“I’m beginning to think you’re all talk,” I retorted as I passed in front of her, my hand brushing against her breast.

“Don’t humans have a saying about playing with flame?” Azo’lah pulled me close, her hand pressing warm into my spine, drifting dangerously close to my ass. 

Refusing to give even an inch, I pressed up on tip-toe, so my lips grazed her neck. “Even if that were true, I’m still not feeling the heat.” 

Azo’lah let out a choked laugh. The rest of the dance was a blur of one-upmanship that was just the wrong side of appropriate. When the song ended, I was pressed against Azo’lah, her face cradled in my palms. My eyes automatically darted to her lips and then back up to her eyes, which were wide. Their usual bright navy shone midnight in the dim light of the ballroom. She dipped her head, and for a heart-stuttering second, I thought she was going to kiss me. Instead, she pressed her lips to my flushed cheek before drawing back. I shivered as she removed her hands. 

I tried to say Thanks for the dance or any other reasonable response, but Azo’lah was lifting her ket’li crown from her hair, the gems winking at me as if in mockery.

Oh, sweet alien-gods, no. She wasn’t going to do this in front of everyone, was she?

“Gretchen Myaxi,” her voice carried in the sudden hush of the ballroom. “Will you take this crown and me until the flowers fade or festival’s end, whichever comes first?”

Holy shit, she was. 

What’re you doing? I sent across our technopathic connection. I wasn’t sure if the message arrived with the hint of hysteria with which I sent it, but I really hoped so. 

Exactly what it looks like, Azo’lah returned, her eyes widening meaningfully. Are you really going to reject me in front of all these important people? This time I wanted to punch her. Normally. In her stupid, smirking, stunning face. 

“You honor me with your suit, Azo’lah Myax,” I replied, hoping none of the warring emotions came through in my tone. I removed my own wreath of flowers and allowed Azo’lah to replace it with her own. “Um, will you take this crown and me until the flowers fade or festival’s end, whichever comes first?” I choked out, hyper-aware of the eyes upon us, of the weight of Azo’lah’s flowers on my head, of the sweat running down the divot of my spine. 

“I will keep you much longer than that, ket’li,” Azo’lah said. Christ, she was a good actress because she sounded terrifyingly sincere. She stooped slightly so that I could more easily place my more humble flowers upon her silver hair. “I must return to my post,” she brushed tender fingers along my cheek. “I shall see you later?” 

“Of course.” I would see her later when the team inevitably gathered in Fleetwood’s room to debrief about the outcome of the night’s missions. 

“Don’t have too much fun without me,” Azo’lah kissed my forehead, right beside my implant, and walked across the ballroom to return to Fleetwood’s side, like she hadn’t just pulled the metaphorical rug out from under me in front of a bunch of strangers. 

I swept by the beverage table, grabbing another cup of rul’vol and heading out onto the terrace to cool my face. 

The artistic installation that had debuted at the festival’s opening depicting the Temple of Aluthua was playing. The First Auhtula’s serene face looked down at me. I turned away from her knowing, beatific smile. It reminded me too much at the moment of Azo’lah’s. I downed the drink. 

“I know what you’re trying to do.” I barely held back a startled scream as I whirled to find Councillor Lija standing beside me. His hands were folded behind his back. The light of the art installation skittered off his shimmering robes. “I warn you, it won’t work.” 

“I’m just enjoying the festival,” I said, moving to reenter the ballroom. 

“I know, Gretchen Borowicz,” he said simply. 

“You know that I’m enjoying the festival?” I played dumb. “I’m so glad it’s apparent.” 

“What’s apparent is that you and your crew are scheming to keep you on Destyr.” He stepped closer to me, his expression amiable, like we were colleagues chatting at a work party, not political enemies pitted against one another. “I know that you and Azo’lah Myax are not romantically involved. I know that her gambit to take you as her Favored is a ruse. And I know that I will stop you.” 

“Wow, you sure do know a lot.” I picked imaginary lint off of my embroidered sash, trying not to betray any reaction to his threats. 

“I do. I know everything that occurs on this continent and in this palace.” He ran his knuckles up my forehead, nudging my flower crown. “Such as you, entertaining the Captain of the Dangerous Ones in your room last night.” 

How did he know that? The Royal families’ living quarters were supposed to be private, save for the Myax security, which was discreet. I glared at him.

Lija shrugged. “No place and no one is as safe as you think, Gretchen of Earth. Not even those closest to you.” 

“Are you so hard up for prospects Councillor Lija, that you must attempt to woo someone else’s?” Fleetwood stood framed in the center doorway, Azo’lah just behind her.

“I see no prospect here,” Lija answered with a slight bow. 

“Gretchen Myaxi,” Azo’lah said. “The Fulyiti was looking for you. Representative Dazir of Skyria desires to speak with you. They are in need of your professional expertise.” 

Fleetwood held out her hand, and I immediately moved to take it, grateful for the rescue. 

“Enjoy your power while it lasts, Fulyiti Kezira,” Lija said. Azo’lah gestured for him to go in front of us. 

“Ah, Councillor,” Fleetwood returned sweetly as he passed, her gleaming smile flashing like a knife in the installation’s light. “It is good to take one’s own advice.” 

“Oh shit, sorry, Ryan.” I untied the teal bandana around my neck and dabbed the soup off their cheek. “Oh, shut it, mate,” I grumbled at Matt, who was having a hearty laugh at my expense. 

“No more reading event overviews at lunch. Captain’s orders.” Ryan flicked my Ran’dyl meaningfully before soaking a piece of thick bread in their own soup. “Lunch is for relaxing and pre-hydrating for the festival.” 

“The festival is exactly why I’m not relaxing and you know it.” I chucked a piece of bread at Ryan who, like a show off, caught it in their mouth. Matt applauded them politely. 

“That’s because you’re focusing on, like, the two official functions we have to attend, instead of the other ninety percent of the time where you lot get to be randy, and we all get to be sloshed,” Matt waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Isn’t that right, LinManHam?” he patted the bony crest of Fleetwood’s mammoth skeletal familiar, who was sunning himself beside the lunch table. 

“Listen to Majumdar and drink up.” Ryan refilled my water from the carved pitcher on the table. They kicked back in their chair, turning their face upwards to soak in the warm, double sunshine in the palace garden. 

Early Autumn had arrived on Destyr, and with it, the planet’s biggest holiday—a weeklong celebration commemorating the First Auhtula, the first Myax, and their legendary love story which shaped the foundation of Destyrian culture. Chester, the only one who had previously attended the festival, the year before the rest of us had arrived on the planet, promised nonstop fun and debauchery. However, he had failed to mention that, since the entire crew was either part of, or under the employ of, the royal family, we were expected to attend certain events as Royal representatives, and to behave ourselves as such.

“Let’s talk about something else,” Matt suggested. He dipped his bread in my soup, having already cleaned his own bowl. 

“Has anyone heard anything about the Western continent?” I asked, turning my attention to eating and fending off Matt’s attempts to ingest more of my food. 

“The iz’waij thing?” Ryan asked. “Shit’s wild. I still can’t believe they're trying to replace their queen with a fucking newborn. Imagine if that happened here.” They swung their feet up on the table and crossed their ankles. 

“Would never happen,” Matt evaded my attempt to hold him off, dunking his hunk of bread so forcefully that more soup ended up on my button down than it.  

“Dude!” I chastised, wiping my shirt with my already soiled bandana. “And why, praytell not?” 

“Cause,” Matt said around a mouthful, “If Auhtula Ty’uria gets deposed, so too does our posh lifestyle. And we can’t let that happen. We’d have to fight for crown, queen, and planet. All that good stuff.” He winked. 

Ryan snorted. “I think we’d have to get in line behind Azo’lah.” 

I didn’t reply, instead choosing to mask my unease with a convenient sip of water. The growing unrest in the Western continent was concerning. If the obsession with return of the iz’waij spread here and Azo’lah’s powers were discovered, we would be in line behind her. Everyone would because she would be elevated as the default ruler of the Central continent. 

“Ket’li crowns and official schedules!” Chester’s timely arrival saved me from repeating that alarming thought spiral for the fourth time today. Chester’s left arm was ringed by half a dozen impressive flower crowns adorned with embroidered, gem-studded ribbons. He deposited one on my head with a smile. 

“These aren’t potatoes,” I said. 

Chester shot me a bemused look as he wreathed Ryan’s laughing face with their crown. “You missing french fries or something, Gretch?” 

“No, I know it’s an endearment for lovers. But once, Azo’lah called me that when we were undercover with the Sarl. When I asked her what it meant, she told me ket’li was a type of root vegetable. Like a potato.” I lifted the crown to inspect it. The flowers were small, brilliantly golden blossoms whose petals unfurled in an artfully asymmetrical and haphazard way. It reminded me of something. “What’s so funny?” I demanded as my friends roared with laughter. 

“And you believed her?” Matt wheezed, reaching out to right Ryan when they almost tipped their chair backwards. 

“Gretch,” Chester sighed, taking pity on me, “she was trolling you. Ket’li is a rare crystal that, as far as we know, is found only on Vas Roya. It’s what the First Auhtula’s coronet was made out of. The flowers are named after the crystal because of their color and distinctive shape. When used as an endearment, it means your significant other is a rare find, and you’re lucky to have them type of deal.” 

“What a bitch,” I said, without any heat. I should’ve known better than to take Azo’lah’s word for it. Well, at least I realized what the flowers reminded me of now. I returned my flower crown to my head, tilting it at a jaunty angle for maximum effect. 

“Damn, these look great in sunlight,” Ryan set theirs atop their pastel pink and blue hair. They weren’t wrong. The small, multicolored gemstones woven into the crown caught the light, drawing attention to the wearer. The ribbons, the navy, and silver of House Fuiq offset the golden blossoms. “Must be why everyone’s staring.” 

“They’ve been doing that the entire time we’ve been out here, Cap,” Matt corrected. I glanced behind me to where he tipped his water glass toward two robed Destyrian diplomats who were eying our small gathering, heads tipped toward one another in heated conversation. 

Chester took the empty seat on Ryan’s right, placing the remaining flower crowns in the center of the table. Two of them, which presumably had been designed for Azo’lah and Fleetwood, were larger and more elaborate. He tapped his Ran’dyl. “I’m sending you guys the schedules for the week. Fleetwood has color-coded them. Fuiq blue is an official, required function. Hot pink is required fun times attendance, and neon yellow is suggested fun times attendance, but you don’t have to be there. Fleetwood’s also listed out your hand-selected outfits for each event, so you don’t have to worry about the dress code—” 

“THEY WILL CURSE THE WAY!” A familiar voice shouted, before altering, the accent changing into something vaguely British as it was filtered through our translator implants. “I swear on my mother’s throne, I will gut them if they so much as try, Azo’lah! How dare they imply what they did? To my face!”

“Is that Fleetwood speaking Destyrian?” Ryan, the teenager, transmuted seamlessly into Captain Thorley. Chester rose to his feet, expression wary. Fleetwood was rarely angry, let alone so irate that she slipped into her native Destyrian. 

“FleetMerc, what’s wrong?” Chester asked as she rounded the corner. Fleetwood was blinding in her rage, or it could simply be her wardrobe:  sparkly leggings and a blinged-out version of a Broadway-esque tuxedo jacket and her gold-glitter boots. Her usually smiling face was unyielding. Azo’lah, clad in her Myax uniform, followed a step behind her. 

I stood, gesturing that Fleetwood should have my chair if she wanted to. She sat, the tails of her jacket catching on the back of her chair as she slumped in it. “Those pheasant fuckers,” Fleetwood fumed, back to her typical brand of self-taught English, “are implying that Gretchen is a threat to the security of Destyr.” 

My stomach and, not to be dramatic, my world, bottomed out. 

“Me? Why?” I asked. A hand settled on my shoulder. I tilted my head up to meet Azo’lah’s eyes. They were more concerned than comforting. Azo’lah caught my flower crown before it tumbled to the ground.

“Gretchen can barely shoot straight, let alone hurt a planet,” Ryan frowned. “In fact, she’s saved it!” 

Chester looked at Azo’lah. “Who exactly implied this?” 

“We were in a meeting with the Auhtula and several council members regarding the festival. The Technology and Arts worked together to create the display for the festival’s opening event,” Azo’lah explained. “As some of the artwork Gretchen unearthed at the Temple of Aluthua is incorporated in the display, her name was mentioned. And Councilor Kypail implied that Gretchen is utilizing her position as Royal Archaeologist for reasons beyond securing continued funding for her work.” 

“Like what?” I put my flower crown on the table, not trusting my restless hands not to crush the blossoms accidentally. “What did I do that they think I’m some sort of...I don’t even know.” 

Fleetwood levered herself out of the chair and wrapped me up in a fierce hug. “You have done nothing. The only ones maneuvering for political gains are them, and their briefs are in a pickle because they can’t control me, and my mother’s not dumb enough to fall for their equine shit.” From within the circle of Fleetwood’s arms, I saw another passing official slow down and look askance at us. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Did everyone in the palace think I was up to something? 

Azo’lah refilled my water glass, taking a drink before pressing it into my hand. Fleetwood released me, and I drank, vainly attempting to settle my nerves. “Do not fret,” Azo’lah ran a soothing hand down my back. “We will remain alert and find the source of these idiotic ideas. Then, the Fulyiti and I will take care of it. I highly doubt whoever is responsible will have time for rumor-mongering once the festival starts tomorrow anyway.” 

Our unusually dour demeanor cast a shadow on our sun-dappled corner of the garden. Azo’lah turned, seconds before the rest of us even heard the rustling robes of the approaching Destyrian. Her midnight blue hair was braided into a crown across her head. When she was level with the table, she bowed respectfully. 

“Fulyiti Kezira,” she began, looking as nerve-wracked as I felt. “Councilor Lija requested that, if you refuse to return to the meeting, that I…” she trailed off uncertainly, off-put by the full brunt of Fleetwood’s withering glare. Or it could be because LinManHam had unfolded all ten feet of his frame and was towering over his seated owner like Clifford, the big, dead guard dog.

“Councilor Lija has no right to request anything from me after he stood by in silence while his colleagues insinuated that I care not for the best interests of our people. So much so that I would willingly befriend someone who is actively plotting against them. Anyone who dares assume that my friends are anything but loyal to my mother shall have no cooperation of mine today,” Fleetwood said in the clipped, cultured tones of the translator. And then, in her normal unfiltered voice, “The council can suck my whole ass ‘n a teet.” 

I let out a hysterical giggle. Even Azo’lah failed to completely repress a smile. I felt a bit bad for Lija’s aide. Apparently, so did Azo’lah, for she crossed to her, pressing her forehead to the assistant’s in greeting. 

“Forgive the Fulyiti her foul temper, Roz’al.” Azo’lah’s voice was low, borderline sultry. “Her great failing is she loves fiercely and loyally.” Azo’lah pulled back slightly. Roz’al now looked a bit dazed and more than a little dazzled. I couldn’t blame her. Being in close proximity to Azo’lah would do that to anyone. “Councilor Lija sent you with files, did he not?” 

Roz’al nodded and then said, a bit breathlessly, “Yes, I have the program for tomorrow’s opening, as well as the Fulyiti’s approved speech.” 

“Comm it to my older sister,” Fleetwood drawled loudly. “Let her come do her job as crown heir, for once.” 

Azo’lah grabbed the Roz’al’s Ran’dyl-bearing wrist. “Leave them with me,” Azo’lah instructed with a smile, running her hand across the device in what could only be described as a caress. “I’ll make sure she looks at them later. Wait,” she added, pulling the aide back as she moved to depart. Azo’lah’s long fingers slid across her temple quickly. “Apologies, you had a leaf in your hair.” 

“My thanks, Azo’lah Myax.” Roz’al hurried back toward the palace, clutching one hand to her chest like she had to keep her heart in check. 

“What?” Azo’lah demanded when she turned to find the whole crew staring at her.

“As your Captain, if you’re thinking what I think you're thinking, the answer is absolutely not. That’s a fucking order,” Ryan stood, crossing their arms.

“And what, pray tell, am I thinking?” Azo’lah reached up to stroke LinManHam’s beaky snout.

“If you’re planning to give that flower crown to Lija’s assistant, so she’s forced to spend the whole festival with you while you seduce information out of her, I absolutely forbid it. I have other plans.” Matt snorted at this pronouncement. Ryan immediately smacked his shoulder. The two shared knowing grins. 

Azo’lah shrugged and plucked my water glass from my hand again. “I hadn’t thought about it, but that’s an excellent strategy, Captain.” 

Ryan’s eyes lit up as they watched Azo’lah drink. Like water was suddenly exciting. Ryan picked up Azo’lah’s ket’li wreath and placed it on her head, the gold flowers fanning like a halo across her silver-white hair. “Approved heads given only, Myax,” Ryan said firmly. 

“That’s what he spake,” Fleetwood interjected. 

Azo’lah winked at me as the crew dissolved into completely mature laughter. “Of course, Captain.” 

Anticipatory tension threaded through Thal’s air, like the ribbons of the flower crowns circling its citizen’s heads. Like its populace, the Central continent’s capital was decked out for the festival. Sparkling streamers hung from fountains, woven pendants danced in the breeze, bejeweled floral garlands winked in the light of the setting suns. As night fell, the First Lovers Festival began in earnest.

Destyrians flooded the streets in their finest tunics, their long hair elegantly braided and bedecked in ket’li crowns. We joined the masses, gathering in front of the palace where the opening ceremony was to begin shortly.

“Damn, this crew cleans up well,” Ryan said, admiring all of us in our official, royal wardrobe. Dressed in exquisitely tailored tunics in the colors of House Fuiq, even I could admit, together we made a striking image, not even my awkwardness could mess up.

“I’m a winter, so Navy is my color,” Matt said, ever-so-modestly. He puffed out his chest exaggeratedly, showing off the fine cut of his tunic.

“Navy is everyone’s color,” Chester corrected, though he too straightened his outfit.

Ryan linked their arms with Matt and Chester and tugged them both close. “No one pulls it off quite like us, though.”

Azo’lah cleared her throat, announcing her presence. “Hey, Azo--Azo’lah,” I greeted her. She was on duty tonight and was dressed in her formal Myax uniform, but instead of her typical low ponytail or serviceable braid, her bright hair was woven into a traditional up-do with her ket’li crown regally perched on top. She looked ethereal in the waning light—the soft beauty of her flowered hair contrasting with the hint of danger in her stance.

“Shouldn’t you be up on the platform with Fleetwood?” Matt asked as Chester linked his arm with mine. 

“It is protocol to never have the Auhtula and the first three members of the line of succession in one location, even with a full Myax detail present,” Azo’lah said, inclining her head to her Myax sisters who stood along the perimeter of the central stage. I spotted Milyna dead-center, her bright eyes scouting the crowd for threats. I caught her eye and gave her an overzealous wave.

Ryan said, “But aren’t you fourth in line?”

“Yes, but in the event that something happened to both the Auhtula and Fulyiti Fleetwood, then I would be acting Auhtula until the crowned heir returned to Destyr from her latest political assignment,” Azo’lah explained. She took in all of our finery and said, “You all look nice. For humans, you wear our traditional clothes well.”

We all laughed; from Azo’lah, that was quite the compliment.

Overhead, the gathering darkness was suddenly broken by a resounding boom of drums and a radiant blossoming of purple light.

“Fuck yes,” Ryan murmured as we all craned our necks to look up at the Destyrian equivalent of fireworks. They looked almost exactly like Earth fireworks, except they weren’t actual explosions, but nanotech that Chester had tried explaining to me, but I didn’t totally understand. The crowd gasped as blue and green, magenta and crimson fractured in kaleidoscopic swirls overhead. The fireworks took on the shapes of Destyrian glyphs and even the ket’li blossom. The finale—a rapid-fire spark of whites and lavenders left an after-burn image of the First Auhtula and her Myax. 

A cacophony of cheers rose toward the stars winking from behind the swirling, fading smokescreen.

The stage before us, previously darkened, blazed to blinding life, Fleetwood Mercury, in all her glory, stood at the center.

“Goddamn, FleetMerc,” Chester murmured at my side.

She was magnificent in a sweeping silver gown in the style of Ancient Destyr. Her navy hair flowed down her back in elegant waves and braids. With her extra bedazzled ket’li crown, she looked every bit the princess she was.

She smiled at the crowd, the same easy and sincere smile she bestowed upon her friends. “Greetings, beloved citizens. It is finally time to once again commence the First Lovers Festival.”

The crowd shouted riotously joyful greetings back to their beloved Fulyiti. And our crew, our little family, who loved her best, were the loudest. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Azo’lah and Matt beaming with pride, Ryan screaming themself hoarse, and Chester dabbing at the proud tears welling in his eyes.

“I have been given the honor of welcoming you all to this opening ceremony,” Fleetwood continued as the cheers died down. “Over 200 centi-binary cycles ago, when a young Destyrian ruler fell in love with her loyal protector, they could not have known that their love would birth the thriving society we enjoy today. But we are living proof of the creativity and ingenuity of our people. Tonight’s special presentation is not only a marriage of our arts and technology but a marriage of our previously neglected past with our unquestionably bright future.”

With those last words, a series of images bloomed behind Fleetwood, the drums from before taking up a new, intricate beat. Whoops and hollers rose toward the sky as images of the mosaics we were working to preserve from the Temple of Aluthua were projected into the sky. The images moved and interlocked, a full-blown 3D rendering of the temple reforming above all of our heads. The building thrum of the drums overwhelmed the roaring joy of the crowd. As the cheers dissipated and the drumbeat changed, the temple disappeared in bright, flashing light. The First Auhtula and her Myax were rendered larger than life against the stars, the colors of the mosaics returned to their original vibrancy due to the technology employed tonight.

“I love that she sparkles even when there’s no light on her,” Ryan remarked, their eyes still trained on Fleetwood and her spectacular dress.

“As though we would expect anything less from our most radiant highness, Fleetwood Mercury,” said a voice at my back. Goosebumps broke out across my neck as I spun to find Maximilian Danger Shockley standing behind me, a knowing grin making his already stupidly handsome face even more so. 

“Hell yeah, that’s my princess!” hollered Tyler Batista from Shockley’s side.

“What are you two doing here?” I hoped the elevated pitch of my voice was camouflaged by the still raging drums. 

Shockley slid easily into my personal space. “Heard there was a party we shouldn’t miss.”

Heat flooded my cheeks.

“What’s good, my dudes?” Tyler asked, roping Chester and Matt into tight embraces.

“Aren’t you both wanted by the Auhtula for crimes against crown and continent?” Azo’lah asked as she frowned down at us all.

Shockley, eyes still trained on me, held his wrist above where Tyler and Ryan were being introduced for the first time. His wristband projected a familiar-looking comm. “Personal invitation from Fulyiti Kezira herself. It would appear as though we have special permission from the crown to be here.”

In the flashing light of the lasers, Azo’lah’s jaw clenched. “I will be speaking to her about that.”

“You do that,” Shockley lowered his arm, circling it around my waist. “How’ve you been, Name Police? Miss me?”

“I, uhm, I’ve been, er—” I stammered, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. While Shockley’s sudden appearance was a pleasant surprise, surprises were still difficult for me and my social anxiety. It didn’t help that Shockley was wearing the hell out of the traditional Destyrian tunic and linen pants that he had donned for the occasion. Tyler, save for his backwards snapback, matched him perfectly. Even their ket’li crowns matched, though Tyler’s was slightly mis-shaped from stretching to fit around his hat.

Shockley’s grin gentled, understandingly. Instead of waiting for me to respond, he leaned close and said, “No worries, babe. I’m here for the whole festival. We have all week to talk.”

The last notes of the music faded out as the stage lights came up, hitting Fleetwood and turning her into the personification of a disco ball. She raised her arms wide as if embracing the cheering masses. “Thank you, my beloved people, for your kind attention. Now,  let’s get this party started!”

“Oh, sorry, Under-Councilor,” I said reflexively. In retrospect, my apology was silly because she had collided with me. Chester pulled me sideways, avoiding the qua’pir sloshing over the rim of her cup.

Under-Councilor Twy’let stared down at me with overwide, dark eyes framed with snow-white lashes. “You know, Gretchen Myaxi,” she said thoughtfully, reaching up to straighten her ket’li crown but only managing to make it even more lopsided. “I don’t understand what all the fuss is about. You’re even nice to dead things. That one,” she pointed toward the dancefloor, where Fleetwood was dragging a laughing Shockley into a dance circle with Tyler, “she’s a menace, and he... it’s a shame he’s too stocky. He’d be handsome otherwise. Yes,” Counselor Twy’let proclaimed. She adjusted the robe she wore over her tunic before walking—more like stumbling—into the crowd. 

“Is she drunk?” I gawked. 

“Oh, hell yeah,” Chester snorted. “So’s the Minister of Royal Residences.” He gestured toward the aforementioned official who was gesturing with his glass, his alcoholic beverage of choice splashing onto the terrace’s mosaic tiled floor. “Everyone cuts real loose. Even stocky Shockley might look good to them by night's end.” He waggled his eyebrows at me. “You gonna dig that ass, oh Royal Archaeologist?” 

I whacked his arm with the back of my hand while Chester laughed uncontrollably at my aflame face. On the dance floor, Shockley, Tyler, and Fleetwood shimmied with the choreographed synchronization of a 90s boy band. Azo’lah stood on the edge of the dancefloor and watched them with an annoyed smirk.

“That was truly terrible, Chester,” Ryan critiqued as they sauntered up next to me. “I can’t even tell if it’s a pegging reference or just a bad general innuendo.” 

I almost spit out my drink. “You’re too young to know about stuff like that.” I raised an eyebrow when Ryan snorted. 

“I’m eighteen and a popular author in my fandom. I know way more than anyone probably should.” They shrugged. “So, are you going to continue living in denial and fuck Shockley, or—” 

In my peripheral vision, I saw Chester shaking his head rapidly, eyes comically large behind his glasses. I said, “Denial? What are you—?” 

“Chester Leon!” In unison, our heads snapped up at the euphoric call of Chester’s rarely used full name. Striding toward us, was none other than Vic Mey-Ran, Chester’s fiance in the strangest arranged marriage this quadrant had ever seen. “Chester, my betrothed!” Mey-ran repeated, stopping right in front of Chester.

“Mey-ran! I mean, Honored Vic, I thought you weren’t supposed to arrive until later in the week!” Chester floundered a bit, perhaps due to Mey-ran’s unexpected sudden appearance or, more likely, his appearance in general. Mey-ran was lethally attractive on a good day, but tonight he looked extremely good. He had ditched the usual monochromatic utilitarian armor the Covlax favored for missions for what must be his people’s formal attire. He was wearing a structured scarlet tunic trimmed with black and dotted with golden accents that matched his leather-like bracers. Around his shoulders, he wore the artfully draped black cowl of an official Covlax ambassador. The whole ensemble complimented his jet-black hair and teal skin. But nothing set it off so much as the look of sheer adoration on Vic Mey-ran’s face. 

“My sincere apologies for my unannounced arrival,” Mey-ran said. “There were a few issues for me to address before I could depart Covlax. But I completed them and am here for the duration of the festival. Would you prefer to be greeted in the human, Destyrian, or Covlax tradition?” 

Chester blinked. “Um, whatever makes you most comfortable.” Mey-ran held out one hand, and Chester placed his into it, clearly thinking, like I was, that Mey-ran was going for the human handshake. Instead, Mey-ran twisted his forearm, drawing Chester close, their entwined forearms pressed between their chests. Mey-ran pressed his lips to the back of Chester’s knuckles with a look so scorching I thought Ryan and I should probably excuse ourselves. 

“That’s how you all say hello on Covlax?” Ryan asked a little too nonchalantly. They were trying and failing to suppress a now-familiar expression—the same one they bore whenever their favorite characters on Cosmic Conquerors did anything that could be viewed as cute or romantic. 

“It is how lovers greet each other, yes,” Mey-ran said in his usual, matter-of-fact way. 

“You never mentioned you were lovers, Chester,” Ryan teased, taking a sip of their qua’pir. I should probably take it away soon. 

Mey-ran looked utterly unruffled. “We will be. We are affianced, and Chester is very attractive.” The Covlax Vic lifted his own ket’li crown from his head. Whoever was in charge of making them had surely customized his. It was bound with black and gold ribbons, woven with Destyrian glyphs and another language, which I assumed was Covlaxi. “I was informed the custom is to offer this to the one you are romantically interested in. If they accept, you are to spend the festival together.” 

Chester cleared his throat. “Yeah, that’s right.” 

Mey-ran proffered the jeweled flowers, his smile soft. “Will you accept this and me until the flowers fade or the festivals’ end, whichever comes first?” 

“Of course, Vic Mey-ran,” Chester answered. He removed his own crown, allowing Mey-ran to replace them with his. Chester proffered his humbler wreath. “Would you—” 

“Yes,” Mey-ran said, not even allowing him to finish the traditional words. Mey-ran wrapped his hands around Chester’s, pressing the ket’li crown down. 

“The honored Vic is wasting no time, I see.” Shockley sidled next to me, sipping what smelled like whisky but looked like Kool-Aid. Perspiration dotted his hairline like dew, and even that was attractive. “Gretch?” He held out his cup, his expression mischievous and more than a little heated. 

“Oh, I’m good.” I gestured to my still half-full glass. 

“Babe,” Shockley already sounded exasperated with me. I had no idea what I’d done to warrant it, though. 

Ryan reached around Shockley to pat my shoulder. “Good job.” 

I glanced at Chester, wondering what I was getting praised for. “You missed his mating cue,” Mey-ran observed baldly. “He wanted you to drink from his cup, which, in an informal social setting, declares a romantic bond on this planet. Haven’t you lived here for a significant duration of time?” Mey-ran looked at Shockley. “If you are interested in Gretchen, I would recommend a direct approach. You could offer her your flowers, but I was under the impression—” 

“Vic Mey-ran, fiance mine,” Chester reached for the hand that Mey-ran had curled possessively around his waist and threaded his fingers through it. “Let’s dance.” Mey-ran allowed Chester to pull him out into the crowd of dancers. Mey-ran moved fluidly, clearly having studied Destyrian dancing before arriving. Once again, I felt shitty that the Covlax Vic knew more about my new home planet than I did. 

“The Vic is an odd duck, isn’t he?” Shockley mused, “But he’s got a point.” Shockley placed his glass down on the small table next to us, his hands closing around his ket’li crown.  “What do you say? Will you take this and me?” 

I knocked back the rest of my drink, certain I was hallucinating. Was Shockley really asking to spend an entire week doing everything together at a lovers festival? 

“Gretchen Myaxi must decline.” Azo’lah materialized from the crowd on my other side. “Auhtul Cal’ton has just arrived from the Northern continent. He wishes to greet the crew.” Azo’lah raised a questioning eyebrow at Ryan, whose eyes were trailing between Shockley and Azo’lah like they were watching a particularly exciting volley at Wimbledon. 

“I think Gretchen can decide what she wants for herself.” Shockley retrieved his cup and took a pointed drink before offering it to me. I hesitated, feeling trapped. 

“Gretchen,” Azo’lah’s voice was low and urgent. “It won’t help your case in the Council’s eyes if you agree to spend the festival with a former enemy of the Auhtula who, I might add, received a sudden pardon from the Fulyiti just yesterday. Please, Myaxi.” 

I looked up into her navy eyes and saw the seriousness of our situation reflected back at me. I nodded. 

“Your princess is leaving your sightline,” Shockley drawled. He gestured with the hand that still held his flower crown toward where Fleetwood, Tyler, and Matt were wending through the dancefloor toward where Auhtul Calton, dressed in the crisp white of his own royal house, was waving excitedly at them. 

Azo’lah shot Shockley a look so dirty it could’ve rivaled the New York City subway. “Myaxi, Captain, we should go give our regards to our friend.” She moved off, Ryan following reluctantly in her wake. They both walked slowly, clearly waiting for me to catch up to them. 

“Sorry about that,” I said to Shockley, looking awkwardly at his left bicep. It was a very nice bicep. “We found out a couple of days ago I’m not exactly popular with the higher-ups. Some members of the Council think I'm a danger to the Auhtula. So, given your, uh, history, I probably shouldn’t be seen to favor you in public.” 

I moved to join the rest of my friends, but Shockley caught my arm. When I looked up, his dark eyes were warm. “And what about in private? Can you favor me then?” 

Arousal spiked, liquid hot, in my gut despite the obvious line. I nodded. “I could do that, yeah. In private, my flower crown and I are all yours until the festival ends or whatever.”

Alien gods, I was dreadful at this. 

Thankfully, Shockley didn’t seem to mind. “Or whatever,” he echoed and finally released his hold. 

I woke to the light of the twin Destyrian suns glaring through my windows. I had forgotten to activate my shades the night before, and now I was paying the price.

“Ugh, God, no, too bright,” I groaned, rolling onto my back. A heavy arm trailed from my waist across my stomach.

“Not a morning person, huh?” said the reason I forgot to activate the shades. I tucked my face against Shockley’s very nice, very naked bicep and grinned. I burrowed into his warmth. “Christ,” he said, his breath warm against my forehead, “doesn’t this damn palace have any blinds?”

Making noises of displeasure, I shifted toward my nightstand and grabbed my Ran’dyl. “Forgot to close the…” I waved my Ran’dyl tiredly through the air, “the things that make it dark.” 

Shockley chuckled softly. “Your eloquence astounds me, Borowicz.”

“Fuck off.” I slapped at my Ran’dyl until I located my room settings and dampened the light trailing through the windows. I turned to gripe at Shockley some more but stopped my tirade when I caught sight of him in the diffused morning glow. He was stretching, his strong arms raised over his bedhead and his long legs arching beneath the sheets, his rogue-ish grin half-buried in my pillow.

It was an excellent sight to start my morning.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Shockley suggested, catching my admiring gaze.

“Okay,” I agreed, holding up my Ran’dyl. 

“You absolute smartass,” Shockley huffed. He lunged forward, wrapping his arms around me and drawing me close. I couldn’t stop my delighted laughter as we tangled together, and his hands sought out my ticklish sides.

“Max, not the ribs! Max!” He curbed my giggling protests with kisses that I happily accepted.

Just as things were getting interesting, we were interrupted by my growling stomach.

Shockley pulled back, smug. “Worked up an appetite?”

I used the excuse of pushing at his chest in mock indignation to shamelessly feel him up. “Possibly,” I said. “Or possibly, I’m always this hungry. Breakfast?”

“I wish.” Shockley pressed his lips against my cheek as he pulled away. “I should get back to the Zone, make sure Tyler hasn’t caused an intergalactic incident.”

I tried to not let my disappointment show on my face. “Why? Tyler doesn’t piss people off the way you do.”

“No, he does not,” Shockley conceded, rolling out of bed. He stood there, gloriously naked, and continued. “But Tyler does unwittingly have sex with a lot of powerful aliens. Gets us into some weird situations. Once, he accidentally married an Oplitracan King. And unfortunately, the annulment proceedings on that planet were a lot less fun than their weddings.”

Pretending I wasn’t distracted by his nudity, I asked, “How do you accidentally marry someone?”

“When you don’t know that all it takes to do so is exchange orgasms.”

“Ah.” I eased down onto my pillows. “So by Oplitracan law, we’d be married?”

Shockley leered at me. “A few times over.”

I was about to see if I could convince him to delay his return trip to his ship when the door to my room vanished. I could’ve sworn I had engaged the privacy lock last night.

Azo’lah, in full Myax dress, strode in. 

“Azo’lah!” I shrieked, scrambling to tug my sheet up to my chin. “What are you—”

“Leave.” Azo’lah glared at Shockley.

Not even bothering to cover himself, he asked, “Do you have a tracker on me or something?”

“Leave,” Azo’lah repeated, her glare intensifying.

“Maybe a fun detector that you use to hunt down good times to ruin?” Shockley suggested.

Azo’lah took a measured step towards him that Shockley smartly backed away from, hands held up in surrender. “Alright, I got it. I’m going.” He turned to me and winked. “I’ll see you later, Borowicz.”

A pleasant warmth rose in my cheeks as he hurriedly hopped back into his pants and boots. I reached out and toyed with the ket’li crown that sat on my bedside table. “Yeah. Definitely.”

Shockley, still shirtless, backed out of the room, tossing Azo’lah a sarcastic salute and me a deep bow. My door rematerialized, and any mortification I had been feeling at being walked in on was replaced with roiling fury.

“How dare you barge in here—”

“Get dressed,” Azo’lah cut in, not meeting my eyes. This passing of judgment on me, when she was the one who unceremoniously invaded my space and my privacy and probably used her powers to do it, enraged me further. 

“No.” I folded my arms across the sheet that was covering my chest.

“Myaxi, we do not have time for stubbornness.” Azo’lah crossed to my wardrobe, opening it with precision. She pulled out one of my many pairs of Fleetwood-curated breeches and a button-down the exact shade of my eyes and tossed them at the bed. “Dress quickly. We must meet with Fleetwood immediately.”

Even in my haze of anger, that hooked my interest. “Why? Is something wrong with her?”

Azo’lah snapped my wardrobe close and strode to my door. “Not yet, but there will be if Councillor Lija is successful.”

“You have new intel on Lija?” I asked, reaching for my button-down. “From where?”

“Lija’s assistant.”

I gaped, freezing in the buttoning of my shirt. “Did you actually sleep with her for intel?”

“No, I used my powers on her implant and Ran’dyl in the garden. I’ve been monitoring her comms ever since.” 

“Jesus, you bugged her?”

Azo’lah met my gaze across the room, and for some reason, I felt more exposed than when Shockley had been under the sheets with me. “Hurry, Myaxi. Lija has plans to get rid of you. We must act quickly if we are to stop him.” 

Huddled with Azo’lah in the far corner of the room, staring at The Other, I whispered, “What the hell are we going to do?”

“This must be handled... delicately,” she returned hesitantly.

“Handled delicately,” I repeated. “Define delicately. I can’t tell if you mean the diplomatic kind of delicate or the cloak and dagger type of...Wait, are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”

Azo’lah sighed, her eyes closing. “Myaxi. We cannot have duplicates of us running about the universe. Think of the potential consequences.”

“Who said anything about letting them run around unchecked,” I argued, not wanting to consider the alternative. 

“Gretchen, even if we get all of our clones safely back to Destyr, what then? Do we keep them prisoner? What if one got loose? Could you imagine the political chaos of having two Fleetwoods, especially if no one can tell the difference between the real one and her clone? Or worse yet, two of me? These clones are exact replicas. Are you truly willing to take the risk of bringing an untrained Iz’waij with us?”

My stomach twisted in on itself, and I grabbed onto my knees to ground myself as I was consumed with the overwhelming need to vomit. She was right. There was no way we could risk having two duplicate Destyrian royals, one of them the co-possessor of Azo’lah’s most closely guarded secret. The potential damage they could create, or be manipulated to create, was much too great.

She was right. I knew she was right. That didn’t stop me from hating it.

I stood, doing my best to pretend I had regained my composure. From the look on Azo’lah’s face, I don’t think she bought my amateur attempts at acting. I undid my ponytail, hastily piling it into a messy bun. “Azo’lah, we can’t just—”

“No, we can’t,” Azo’lah agreed. “But I can. To protect my planet, its people, and my cousin is what I swore to do as a Myax. Leave this to me.”

I grabbed her sleeve and held on for dear life. “No, Azo’lah. This,” I turned to look at The Other, still tied to the chair, “is too much.”

Azo’lah’s hands settled, firm and grounding on my shoulders. “Myaxi, your concern is appreciated and not misplaced. I will certainly need time and Soul Healing upon our return home. But for now, I can do this, so you all don’t have to.” She released me. “I would order you into the other room, but—”

I shook my head hard. “I’m not going. You’re not doing this alone.” 

Azo’lah’s mouth ticked up into a sad but knowing smile like she’d known this would be my choice. “Then, all I ask is that you not watch.”

I turned to face a wall that was as blank as my brain. I felt simultaneously hyper-aware of everything around me and also not quite present. Like a small part of me was cataloging the experience from my corner of the room, but also at Azo’lah’s side.

I heard Azo’lahs footsteps, and then, The Other asked, “Is there a plan, Azo’lah?” 

“I am truly sorry,” Azo’lah replied softly. 

“For what?” The Other asked.

But there was no reply. In fact, there was no noise at all.

Azo’lah’s footsteps were deafeningly loud as she returned to me. “Come, Myaxi,” she ordered, ensnaring my wrist. 

“Azo’lah,” I gasped as she practically carried me toward the door. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of The Other, slumped in the chair as though asleep. A spidery spread of onyx lightning sprouted from the implant in her forehead. Her green eyes had turned vacant, polished, glistening marbles beneath the harsh lights of the room.  

It was good that Azo’lah was bearing most of my weight as my knees gave out beneath me. Azo’lah had chosen a painless end for The Other, one that required just a touch of her Iz’waij powered hand and a fatal electric surge to the piece of technology lodged in her brain.

I shut my eyes as Azo’lah—who would never hurt me, who had just easily killed someone with my face—shepherded me from the room. I was beginning to realize how little I understood about her power and what she was truly capable of, and how right she was.

The universe could not survive with two Azo’lah’s in it.

“Azo’lah?” Fleetwood asked tentatively upon seeing her cousin’s face when we returned to the neighboring room. I was grateful that, for once, Fleetwood had obeyed her cousin’s instructions and had managed to gather Possibly-Ryan, Paranoid-Matt, and Pretty-Sure-Not-Chester in the room. I had changed the latter’s designation because this Chester looked utterly unaffected by our haunted expressions, and the real Chester, even with science to distract him, would have spotted our distress right away. 

Possibly-Ryan pushed off the wall they’d been leaning against. “What—” 

“Jesus Cricket!” Fleetwood shouted as Azo’lah lunged at Possibly-Ryan. She grabbed their wrist and twisted, forcing Possibly-Ryan against her. Azo’lah rested the tip of her zali’thir on the pale skin of their throat. 

“Azo’lah, we don’t know that’s not the real Ryan!” I moved to intervene but was knocked into the wall as Paranoid-Matt bolted past me, right into the room with my brain-fried doppelganger. 

“Yes, but now I’m certain that’s not the real Matt,” Azo’lah said. She practically threw Possibly-Ryan at Pretty-Sure-Not-Chester. The two crashed to the floor in a flailing tangle, but Azo’lah leapt over them in pursuit of Paranoid-Matt. Fleetwood tried to chase after them, but the door slid shut and refused to open. Azo’lah must have secured it with her powers. 

There was the sound of a brief, furious scuffle, a sudden, aborted scream from Paranoid-Matt, and then, deafening silence. 

“Fuck,” Possibly-Ryan swore when Azo’lah returned, the door sliding swiftly down behind her, shielding the tragic scene in the other room. Azo’lah met my eyes, and I knew Matt’s clone had suffered the same terrible but swift end as mine had. Azo’lah looked away. The line of her jaw tightened like she was gritting her teeth to hold back tears. 

“The real Matt would never let anyone threaten Ryan,” Azo’lah explained. “I figured it was not him but would not act until I was certain. Do not go in there,” Azo’lah said sharply when Fleetwood moved to do just that. 

Instead, Fleetwood offered a hand to Pretty-Sure-Not-Chester, helping him off of the floor. Her long-fingered hand, usually steady as a rock on missions, was trembling. Knowing her cousin attacked a friend, even out of sight, was probably even more jarring to her than it was to me. “What do you mean the real Matt?” Fleetwood said carefully. “What did The Other tell you?” 

I reported everything we’d been told by the Other, about the report we’d found that confirmed her story, her description of the video she’d been shown.

“Clones?” Possibly-Ryan said. “Fucking dope.” Their head tilted to the side, considering. “Except for you two. I guess we can’t have two duplicate royals running around. Like Destyrian politics aren’t dire enough already.” 

Azo’lah nodded. “Fulyiti, I think I already know, but I must ask to be sure. When you were 224 binary cycles of age, what happened at the celebration of your parents’ marriage renewal dinner?” 

“We were angry at my sister for abdicating, so you distracted her while I slipped gur’vat onto her food. It was so spicy that she spent the entire meal glistening unattractively in front of her crush. She wouldn’t speak to me until she returned from her first tour that summer.” Azo’lah dove forward, lifting Fleetwood off her feet and locking her into a tight embrace. Fleetwood clung to her cousin like a many-limbed Ynoomian.

Azo’lah returned Fleetwood to the ground, but the cousins stayed connected with their hands clasped and Fleetwood’s head on Azo’lah’s shoulder.

“I think this is not my Chester, but I, too, cannot be certain without finding the other one. Please,” Fleetwood’s voice was smaller than I ever heard it. 

Azo’lah nodded, her cheek mussing the space bun it was pressed up against. “Of course. Let us go find him.”

The lights flickered, and Matt’s garbled voice came, along with blessed relief, in a brief broken burst across our Ran’dyl. I took a long, shaking inhale. Matt said, “Guys, where are you? Does anyone copy?”

Then the lights winked, and Azo’lah’s familiar voice overpowered Matt’s hails. “Gretchen, ket’li, answer me now!”

I looked at Azo’lah with dawning horror. In order to survive this nightmare, Azo’lah would have to defeat herself. 

“Answer her,” Azo’lah instructed, pointing at my Ran’dyl.

“What?” I hissed. 

“We must get this over with, Myaxi,” she said in a low tone as Pretty-Sure-Not-Chester and Possibly-Ryan drew closer to us. “We must eliminate those we know are not true.”

Fleetwood sighed heavily and pulled her cousin into another tight embrace. Fleetwood hooked her chin over Azo’lah’s shoulder as she whispered soothingly into her ear. Azo’lah closed her eyes, nodding at Fleetwood’s words. 

I fucking hated this stupid moon station and whatever asshole had lured us here.

I activated my comms and said, “Hey, uh, Azo’lah. What’s up?”

Not-Azo’lah swore. “Where are you? I’ve been worried! Are you well?”

“I’m fine,” I promised, looking into the real Azo’lah’s eyes. “Where, uh, where are you?”

“In a lab, near the entrance.”

“Stay there,” I said, my heart twisting.  “I’ll come to you.” I shut off my comms before she could reply. While I understood the stakes of having a Not-Azo’lah gallivanting across the universe, I detested the idea of my Azo’lah having to eliminate someone with her face.

Possibly-Ryan hopped from foot to foot. “This is high-key intense.”

“You can say that again,” I agreed solemnly as Azo’lah secured her zali’thir in its holster.

“Cousin, normally I would not ask, but considering our situation,” Azo’lah said, gesturing  to the inside pocket of Fleetwood’s spacesuit, “you’ll need to take the back.”

Fleetwood blade materialized from the folds of her clothing, her eyes gleaming with determination.

“Humans in the middle,” Azo’lah instructed. “Fulyiti, you and I shall change our hair to differentiate ourselves from our clones.” She swiftly unplaited her braid as Fleetwood unwound her space-buns. They both pulled their hair into functional, low buns. Azo’lah spun on her heel and led us into a narrow hall.

Through our technopathic link, I sent to Azo’ah, How are you going to...you know...with Fleetwood and everyone watching?

We will do as we did before, she replied, pulling up a schematic of the moonstation on her Ran’dyl. Once identities are confirmed, I will separate out the clones and deal with them. 

As we reached the end of the corridor, Azo’lah pointed at a closed door. “If I’ve read this correctly, she’ll be in here.”

My stomach churned. Two technopaths in one room, one of them untrained, might short circuit this entire quadrant. “Prepare for potential hostility, but do not take any action unless it is to defend yourself.” As though an afterthought, Azo’lah added, “Captain?”

“Flank positions,” Possibly-Ryan instructed us.

Pretty-Sure-Not-Chester grumbled beneath his breath as we took our designated positions, me and Possibly-Ryan to Azo’lah’s left, Pretty-Sure-Not-Chester and Fleetwood to her right. “This is ridiculous,” he said. “If these are our clones, doesn’t it stand to reason they don’t want to hurt us?”

“Logic need not apply in times like these,” Fleetwood said, her eyes on the back of his head.

Azo’lah opened the door before us to reveal yet another white room and three people.

Not-Azo’lah, Wrong-Fleetwood, and a Chester stared at us as we entered the room.

Not-Azo’lah stepped forward, arms outstretched to me. “Gretchen! Get away from them. They’re dangerous!”

The Chester across the room looked at Wrong-Fleetwood at his side and then to the real one to the right of Azo’lah. “Oh, thank the alien gods, FleetMerc. I was starting to think you had been straight-up body-snatched.”

My heart leapt. Chester. Our Chester. It was so easy to know it was him the moment he spoke.

“Nope,” I said, grinning hard at him. “No body snatching. Just a normal, run of the mill, involuntary cloning situation.”

Chester studied Wrong-Fleetwood and Not-Azo’lah. “That makes so much more sense.” He pointed at Not-Azo’lah. “This one was obsessed with finding Gretchen to the point of totally ignoring me and Fleetwood.” His accusatory finger moved to Wrong-Fleetwood. “And this one wouldn’t stop trying to kiss me on the mouth.”

Fleetwood seemed to fill the room with her rage. “She did what?”

“He is my Chester! You cannot have him!” Wrong-Fleetwood shrieked, grabbing Chester and holding him close. 

From within Wrong-Fleetwood’s strangling grasp, Chester struggled. Fleetwood, Azo’lah, and I rushed forward, but Not-Azo’lah cut off our path. She wielded a perfect imitation of Azo’lah’s zali’thir. “You can take him, but only if you leave Gretchen with me!”

The lights flickered. Our Ran’dyl’s erupted into a cacophony of malfunctioning sound. 

“Hey, listen, we have a Chester. We’re more than happy to trade you,” Possibly-Ryan said, as the lights blinked back into a more stable setting.

Definitely-Not-Chester, who had been curiously silent this whole time, shrugged. “Can we go home now? This has all gotten quite out of hand.”

“Without the whole crew?” Fleetwood asked, aghast.

Definitely-Not-Chester said, “We can just supplement who we’re missing with the clones. We do have quite a skill set overlap.”

“What if you three assholes fuck off?” Chester spat. “We’re not leaving Matt!”

Azo’lah pulled out her zali’thir. “You are correct, Chester. We are not. Fulyiti, round up the humans and once you have them, go to the hall while I handle things in here.”

“Are you sure, cousin?” Fleetwood asked, tearing her attention from Chester for a moment.

“For our crew, I can do this,” Azo’lah answered, tucking me discreetly behind her back.

Azo’lah? I sent across our link.

Go with Fleetwood, Myaxi, please. I will not be able to focus on my task if I am worrying about your safety, came back almost instantaneously.

I  despised the idea of Azo’lah dispatching clones wearing Chester’s, Fleetwood’s, and her own face without any emotional support. But I also understood her need for focus. This was already the most difficult thing she’d ever have to do. To split her attention would only make her more vulnerable.

Okay, I agreed, but I hate this for you.

I would’ve sworn I spied a slight grin on Azo’lah’s face as she leapt forward to engage her own clone in combat. At her side, Fleetwood did the same, grabbing at Wrong-Fleetwood’s arms to uncage Chester.

I ducked as a stray punch missed Azo’lah’s ribs and almost found a home in the side of my head. Not-Azo’lah stabbed her zali’thir toward Azo’lah’s abdomen, missing by mere inches, then elbowed her in the chin. Azo’lah kicked her clone in retaliation.

The Fleetwoods wrestled in an awkward dance as they attempted to commit violence against one another but did everything in their power to protect Chester between them.

“Release him!” Fleetwood demanded.

“You will pry him from my fold, shred body!” Wrong-Fleetwood shrieked.

Possibly-Ryan darted across the room. They entered the fray with a flying leap and brought their fist down across Wrong-Fleetwood’s temple. The clone dropped, loose-limbed to the floor, knocked out cold.

The overhead lights strobed, giving the whole encounter a trippy, dream-like quality. Not-Azo’lah, still locked in a scuffle with Azo’lah, shouted, “Fleetwood!” Though I knew it was not actually Fleetwood on the ground, nor was it Azo’lah crying out for her cousin, the noise still cut through my heart.

Fleetwood snatched up Chester, who clung to her as they shuffled away from Wrong-Fleetwood’s prone form and the battling Azo’lah’s. Fleetwood cupped his face as Chester looked her over for injuries. 

He turned, reaching for me. “Gretch, you good?” He pulled me close and slung an arm around me. “Ryan, you good? Wait, you are Ryan, right?”

Possibly-Ryan had backed away, they looked sick to their stomach. Their wide eyes were glued to Wrong-Fleetwood’s body. “I know I had to do it, I know I did. But never again. Don’t make me do something like that—”

“Fleetwood, please,” Azo’lah gritted out as she slammed her heel into the knee of Not-Azo’lah and sent her to the floor. “Get them out of here!”

“Right-o,” Fleetwood said.

Chester snagged Ryan by the elbow. “It is okay, Captain,” Fleetwood soothed as she coaxed Ryan out the door. “You did what you had to in order to protect your crew.”

Chester and I were about to cross the threshold when I felt a tug on my ponytail. “Excuse me, are we leaving?”

Definitely-Not-Chester.

In the chaos and his utter detachment from it, I had forgotten about him. 

I could not let him get out of this room. 

“Uh,” I said. Chester and I were still blocking the doorway. 

Definitely-Not-Chester looked between us and the battling Azo’lah’s. His face fell with realization. “You aren’t leaving me here with them!” He dove to push past us.

This was hard on all of us, but the longer this dragged on, the harder it would be for Azo’lah to recover from it. I grabbed Definitely-Not-Chester around the waist and heaved him backward. He hooked his fingers around the doorjamb and dug his feet in.

“Chester, help me!” I cried, pulling with all my might.

“This is so fucked,” Chester said, adding his strength to mine. “We’re all going to need so much therapy.”

“For sure,” I gasped as we both dug in. With our combined strength, we dislodged Definitely-Not-Chester from the doorway and flung him back into the room. Unthinkingly, I shoved Chester out the door, shouting, “Go, go, go!” 

“Gret’chen,” Fleetwood called. But I ignored her pleading tone as I waved my hand and the door closed, blocking Definitely-Not-Chester’s path to escape. The last thing I saw as the door lowered was three equally devastated faces. 

I sank into a defensive stance, prepared to use all of what Milyna had taught me to keep Definitely-Not-Chester away from the door.

“Let me out! She’s going to kill me!” Definitely-Not-Chester charged toward me. I lowered my center of gravity further and braced for impact. But it never came.

Definitely-Not-Chester gave a strangled cry and dropped to the floor. Azo’lah towered over him. She dipped forward, her fingers flitting across his forehead. She was heaved away by Not-Azo’lah. I would’ve thought Definitely-Not-Chester were unconscious were it not for the tell-tale black lines radiating from his temple implant.

A guttural shout, like that of a wounded animal, drew my attention back to the fighting Azo’lahs—one of which was limping, the other’s zali’thir jammed into her thigh. They were moving so swiftly, their moves so perfectly matched that it took me a moment to figure out that Not-Azo’lah was the injured party.

“Azo’lah, how do I…” I trailed off, wiping tears I hadn’t been aware were falling from my cheek. Not-Azo’lah grabbed Azo’lah by her hair and stilled her long enough to deliver a brutal hit to her ribcage. Azo’lah spun out from her doppelganger, landing a blow to her opponent’s throat.

Our Ran’dyls exploded with garbled static. Like radios attempting to capture frequencies from across the galaxy.

“Myaxi, go,” Azo’lah panted as she reached for her clone’s temple. Not-Azo’lah smacked Azo’lah’s hand away and kneed her in the stomach with her uninjured leg. Unthinkingly, I ran to Azo’lah as she doubled over with a choked-off grunt.

Not-Azo’lah blanched. “Ketli, no—”

“Don’t call her that,” Azo’lah surged upward, latching onto Not-Azo’lah’s arm. She leveraged the clone's arm, trying to immobilize her. Not-Azo’lah tried to kick her way out of the hold, but Azo’lah grabbed the handle of the zali’thir lodged in her clone’s thigh and yanked it free. Yellow blood gushed forth, and Not-Azo’lah howled as Azo’lah stabbed the zali’thir right back into the same injured leg.

Not-Azo’lah lost her footing and crashed to the floor, bringing Azo’lah down with her. The two rolled across the ground. Their hands and elbows flew furiously as they bellowed and grunted in pain.

Stupidly, I darted forward and attempted to grab Not-Azo’lah’s shoulder. “Get off her!”

I got a sharp elbow to my jaw for my trouble. Pain exploded across my face, and my mouth flooded with the hot, coppery taste of blood. I had bit the inside of my cheek.

“Gretchen—”

I spit a glob of bloodied saliva onto the floor, clutching at my face. “I’m fine,” I promised shakily.

“Ketli!” Not-Azo’lah grabbed for me but was intercepted by Azo’lah.

The static of our Ran’dyls crescendoed to a piercing ring that made me clamp my hands over my ears, unsure which hurt worse, my face or my ears. I closed my eyes against the pain. After a few seconds, I removed my hands and noticed that the lights had settled and our Ran’dyls were silent and otherwise functioning.

I looked over to Azo’lah.

Azo’lah who was kneeling over her own prone and bloodied body.

My knees finally gave up the fight, and I collapsed under the weight of the devastation of the day. “Azo’lah.”

“One…” she whispered, not looking at me. “One moment, Myaxi.”

With the grace of a jungle cat, she rose to her feet, crossed to where Wrong-Fleetwood was still unconscious, and placed her hand to the face of the temple of her cousin’s clone. I watched a crackle of electricity pass over Wrong-Fleetwood’s forehead. And though there was no indication that anything had happened, I knew that she would never open her eyes again.

“Azo’lah.” My voice didn’t sound like my own. It was too high-pitched, jagged with hysteria. This was what I sounded like when I was having a panic attack.

Dropping her bloodied zali’thir at her feet, Azo’lah kneeled beside me. “Myaxi? Did she hurt you?”

“I’m fine,” I gasped, inhaling deeply in an attempt to keep my head. “I don’t think anything’s broken. Just bruised, and I bit the inside of my cheek. Are you…” I trailed off before I could ask the stupidest of questions. Of course Azo’lah wasn’t okay. Who would be after the day she’d been having?

Azo’lah placed her hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “Has your darkness come?”

I inhaled deeply, held my breath, then released it slowly. I said, “I’ll be okay in a minute.”

“You do not need to be okay for my sake,” Azo’lah wrapped her arms around me, careful of my face. “I am certainly not okay at the moment.”

My heart swelled at her soothing words. I couldn’t stop the laugh that clawed its way up my throat. What a mess.

My Ran’dyl crackled to life on my wrist. “Captain Thorley, to all parties! I don’t know if you can hear me, but I’m with Majumdar, and we… we have something fucking insane to show you. If any of you can hear me, meet us at the entry bay ASAP! Captain Thorley out.”

I met Azo’lah’s gaze. For a second that spanned infinity, I contemplated just staying in this hug and ignoring the rest of the world forever.

“Come, Myaxi, “Azo’lah said. She hefted herself up and held out her hand to me. “We have one last clone identity to discover.”

“This is fucking wild,” Chester murmured, flicking through the readings projecting from his Ran’dyl. They were so interesting, in fact, that he had unpinned the device from his t-shirt and was cradling it in his hand like a holy relic. “I’ve been trying to figure out why the lights and comms were going haywire, and now everything’s fine. These power fluctuations are ridiculous, but there’s no discernable pattern to them.” 

Distract him, Myaxi, please. Azo’lah’s words flared across our connection. I’m fairly certain the power surges were caused by my duplicate—she had all of my power but none of the knowledge on how to control it. 

“What do you think Matt and Ryan have to show us?” I asked, grabbing Chester’s hand and squeezing hard. He blinked at me as he flexed his fingers against mine. “Sorry,” I said, loosening my grip slightly, “I’m just glad to have the real you back.” I didn’t even feel guilty for my chosen tactic, I was beyond relieved. 

Fleetwood plucked Chester’s Ran’dyl from his hand and reaffixed it to his shirt. At his affronted look, she explained, “Beloved, it is wise to have two hands to toss.” 

“You’re inverting the saying, FleetMerc,” Chester grinned. “It’s to catch hands.”

“Here,” Azo’lah stopped outside a door, glancing at the tracker she had pulled up. Matt’s icon, a tiny stylized fighter jet, was practically on top of us. The door slid open before Azo’lah could activate it. 

“Oh, thank fuck,” Ryan called. “We could see you coming.” They gestured to Matt’s Ran’dyl, which displayed our jumbled icons. 

“What happened?” Matt asked, glancing at our haunted faces as we filed into the entrance bay where our golden helmets glistened on the benches we left them on. Beside the entrance to the control room, Matt stood with Ryan and...Ryan stood. Wait. There were three Ryans?

“Yeah, we’ve been cloned,” Possibly-Ryan shrugged, spotting the look on their doppelganger’s face. 

“Way to ruin the announcement for me,” Other-Possible-Ryan tilted their head, considering their duplicates. “This one’s a better copy of me.” They jutted their chin in the direction of Possibly-Ryan. “The one Matt and I found is too quiet.” 

“I am not,” the third Ryan retorted. It was a rather lame comeback for our witty Captain.

“How come there’s only one of each of you…” Matt trailed off at the expression on Azo’lah’s face. 

“The consequences of having two of us, especially Fleetwood and myself—” Azo’lah began, but Matt shook his head, holding up his hands. 

“I understand. You did what you had to.”

Azo’lah shot him a watery, grateful look. 

“So, will the real Captain Thorley please sit down?” Fleetwood mused, meandering in a twisting pattern around the three Ryans. 

“How the hell are we going to tell them apart?” I asked. “The rest of us, there was some obvious tell, but the Ryans…”

Matt said, “We need to be absolutely sure.”

 “They’re exact clones, so doing DNA scans in my lab won’t get us anywhere,” Chester said. “We should think of something only the real Ryan would know. The clones seem to know the weirdest mishmash of information like they got basic data, but nothing of our private lives or memories.”

“Clearly,” I said. “My clone hit on Azo’lah. Which, come on.” 

“I feel insulted on Azo’lah’s behalf, and I don’t quite know why,” Other-Possible-Ryan said. 

“What is your favorite episode of cosmic conquerors?” Fleetwood asked. 

“Erratic Season,” Possibly-Ryan and Other-Possible-Ryan answered immediately, in tandem. 

“Come on,” Third-Ryan replied with a characteristic eye roll. “Everyone knows that.” 

“They have a point,” I conceded. It wasn’t out of character for the third Ryan not to answer the question we knew the answer to, but if two out of the three…

“I’ve got it,” Matt said, leveling the Ryans with a terrifying stare. “You once told me the first thing you ever wrote. What was it?” 

Third-Ryan sighed, their cheeks pinking with embarrassment. “I still can’t believe I told you about my free-verse poetry phase.”

“Wrong,” Possibly-Ryan countered, pointing a finger at Third-Ryan. “The first thing I ever wrote was a FlyCaptain Cosmic Conquers one-shot which was a follow-up to episode five, the Bare Era.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Other-Possible-Ryan said, hiding their face with their hands. “You’re the worst, Majumdar.” 

“Sorry, Captain, but I need to hear the answer. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t serious.” 

Other-Possible-Ryan dragged their hands slowly down their face. “The first thing I ever wrote was a Cosmic Conquerors one-shot, but it was for Bendelholmes.” 

“GET OUT!” Chester crowed at this shocking admission. “The Captain and the Ship’s Doctor? The shoehorned hetero couple they force-fed us? They have zero chemistry—” 

“I thought I was straight, okay! Jesus, Matt!” Other-Possible-Ryan yelped as Matt grabbed their arm and tugged them behind him. 

“This is our Ryan,” Matt said. “I’d stake the ship and our crew on it.” 

“I just don’t understand,” Chester said, turning to Third-Ryan, whose expressive face was closed off in a way I’d never seen before. “The rest of us were only cloned once. At least that’s all we encountered. So why was Ryan cloned twice? Maybe something went wrong with the first attempt?” Chester activated his Ran’dyl. “Though I doubt it’ll show anything conclusive, I’ll run a biometric scan and… wait, there’s something here that’s reading—” 

Azo’lah, it appeared, didn’t care about whatever was different about Third-Ryan. She darted forward, hauling Third-Ryan’s lithe form against her, one thick arm straining around their neck, but from where I was standing, I could see the gem on the clone’s temple sparking until…

“You would hurt me so, cousin?” Third-Ryan’s voice shifted higher, even as they grew taller, purple seeping rapidly across their pale skin. The pastel pink and blue of their dyed hair darkened to midnight blue, and their hands rippled as a sixth finger sprouted from their palm. Azo’lah’s arm was now wrapped around Fleetwood’s throat. 

Azo’lah’s grip faltered. The Fleetwood look-alike craned her head to look at her. “Not so easy to do it a second time, is it?” the look-alike asked with an unapologetically cruel expression that had no business being on Fleetwood’s face. Azo’lah splayed the fingers of her free hand on the side of her face like she was going to snap the lookalike's neck, but I knew better. The lookalike twitched as if shocked and then laughed. 

“That won’t work on me. But, thanks for the confirmation. Sadrilla likes to be right.” The Fleetwood lookalike shrank into a smaller, unassuming male form with pale skin, brown hair, and wide-set eyes. Jordan, Sadrilla’s right-hand man, and a Yurdan shapeshifter. 

“This motherfucker,” Ryan said, taking a determined step forward. Matt threw a protective arm in front of them, holding them back. 

“This was a stick-up by Sadrilla.” Fleetwood twirled her favorite knife in her hand so that it landed point down in her grip. “Azo’lah,” she added sharply. Azo’lah--who clearly had come to the same, terrifying realization that I had, that Sadrilla had been suspicious of Azo’lah’s powers since J’olpri and Azo’lah had, unwittingly, just confirmed her biggest secret to our biggest enemy--stood frozen, her hand still cradling Jordan’s cheek. At Fleetwood’s reprimand, Azo’lah unsheathed her zali’thir. 

I said, “It wasn’t Senator Mirshan who sent us here. It was you, wasn’t it?” 

Jordan laughed. “Well, the idea was Sadrilla’s once she learned that you were headed to Val. But, yes, it was me. You’re a very trusting crew, aren’t you? Though,” he surveyed our group, “it wasn’t my best work. Clearly, I lacked all of the details.” 

“Like our actual personalities?” Matt deadpanned. “Where’d you get your information, social media?” 

“For some of it, yes. Especially your Captain there,” he shrugged, backing toward the glass-gated entryway. The difficulty of differentiating the Ryan’s made more sense now. “For the rest of it, you’re all very conspicuous when you travel. There are countless hours of security footage of you all over this galaxy. And your home planet isn’t as secure as you think.” 

“What did you think would happen?” Fleetwood demanded, “that we would spin on each other?” 

“That’s what I was hoping for,” Jordan dodged the first, testing slash of Fleetwood’s knife. “But it wasn’t a total waste.” He grew a couple of inches, his skin darkening, his form filling out until Jordan was a carbon copy of Chester, his gaze was soft and pitiful as Fleetwood instinctively pulled back from her next attack. “You confirmed all your weak spots. How disgustingly kind you are, how much you care for other people, and each other.” He looked right at me, eyes cold and dark. “And how easy that kindness can be manipulated into the perfect trap.” 

Azo’lah dove for him, her zali’thir descending so quickly the blade twhipped through the air. Jordan ducked and spun, his Chester-imitation fading into Matt. His fists flew against Azo’lah’s in deadly, unfamiliar ways I’d never seen. Azo’lah’s blade sliced Jordan’s bicep as he sprang back into Fleetwood. “How’s your crew going to trust you, Myax, now that they’ve seen you kill people wearing their faces?” Jordan panted. 

“I’m sure you’ll tell me. I know your boss has killed her crew members before,” Azo’lah snarled. 

Jordan slid under Azo’lah’s arm, landing a vicious punch to her knee, which buckled. Azo’lah tucked gracefully into a front roll, rising on the other leg and slashing at Jordan, who somersaulted over her. Mid-leap, his form changed from Matt to Fleetwood, his chuckles morphing into Fleetwood’s adorable giggle. 

“More importantly, how’re you going to trust yourself? You still have one left to go,” Jordan taunted, shifting into Ryan. He held his arms out wide in mocking invitation.  “I don’t think you have it in you.” 

Azo’lah took the invitation, but not the bait. She grabbed his hand, pulling him forward onto her zali’thir. “Ket’li, please!” It was my voice, my green eyes, huge and terrified, my breath catching around the words. My stomach with the knife in it. 

“Gretchen,” Azo’lah breathed, reaching for Jordan wearing my body as he stumbled back, clutching a bleeding abdomen. 

“It’s not me,” I promised, reaching for Azo’lah.

Jordan’s impersonation of me melted until he was nothing but an amorphous, oozing mist that rose rapidly. All of us attempted to snatch at it, but it passed through our hands, rising to the ceiling. It seeped into the ventilation system and disappeared.  

Azo’lahs bloody zali’thir clattered to the pristine white floor of the compound. Azo’lah fell with it.

I nudged Azo’lah’s zali’thir out of the way with my boot. I untied the bandana around my neck and tossed it toward the blade, hoping one of my teammates would get the message. Matt immediately picked up both and began to wipe away Jordan’s blood. I knelt in front of Azo’lah, hesitant to touch her. “It wasn’t me,” I said. “I’m here. I’m fine.” 

Ryan ran into the control room. “Chester, help me get us out of here,” they ordered. “Sadrilla’s ship must be nearby, and Jordan’s seriously injured. We could still catch them.” 

Azo’lah tipped forward, her forehead pressing into my collarbone. I wrapped my arms around her shaking form. I looked up at Fleetwood, who stood over us, my concern reflected in her eyes.

“Not today, Captain.” Fleetwood crossed to Ryan and tugged them away from the controls. “We’re compromised AF.” 

“But—” Ryan protested. 

“She didn’t say not ever,” I added. “Just not right this second. We need time to regroup.” They looked at Azo’lah, still hiding in the too-small shelter of my arms, and then turned to Fleetwood. 

“Gret’chen is correct, we must formulate a plot,” Fleetwood said softly. “I’m gonna kill and super roast that biatch like a turfucken.” 

I stroked my hand through Azo’lah’s hair. Roasting Sadrilla sounded like the least of what I wanted to do to her once I got my hands on her Lisa Frank knock-off ass. 

With her fingers threaded through Azo’lah’s, Fleetwood asked, “So what’s the plan, Mediterranean?”

“Get off this stupid moon, go home, and get some therapy,” Chester said from his spot sprawled across Fleetwood’s lap. We were all sitting in a tight circle around where Azo’lah was still resting against me, even Other-Ryan.

“I’ll get us all set up for individual sessions with Soul Healers tomorrow morning and a group session for after dinner,” Ryan said as they tapped against their Ran’dyl. “And we’re all grounded until further notice. No off-Destyr missions until we know how truly fucked up we are from this.”

“Yes, yes,” Fleetwood agreed. “But I meant, Other-Ryan. What’s the plan for them?”

I felt the tension that had been slowly leaking out of us like air from a punctured balloon immediately return. In the chaos of learning about who was behind this spectacularly terrible day, it appeared as though we had all forgotten what fate awaited Other-Ryan.

To my surprise, the cloned teen didn’t cower away from us. Instead, they clenched their jaw and said, “I think we all know what the plan is for me.”

Azo’lah dug her forehead into my shoulder for a long moment before pulling slowly away. “You all should go to the ship. Chester, you have figured out how to get out, yes?”

Chester sat up and pointed over his shoulder to the control room. “Already hacked it. We can be out the door in thirty seconds.”

Azo’lah nodded wearily. “Then you should lead everyone else back to the ship. I will join you once I’m done.”

“Absolutely not,” I said firmly. Azo’lah would be crushed beneath the weight of having to end the life of another clone wearing one of our faces.

Matt said, “I can do it. You’ve already done more than your fair share of protecting us today, Azo’lah.”

Azo’lah inclined her head in gratitude to Matt. “I appreciate the offer, Matt. But ask yourself: what will it do to your soul to end the life of someone with Ryan’s face?”

“If you could do it to the other clones, I think—”

“What if no one has to kill other me?” Ryan asked loudly. “What if there’s a third option?”

I really hoped the third option was a good one. I was desperate for the death portion of the day to be over.

Ryan pulled themself to their feet and began circling us. “Hear me out. What if we send my clone back to Earth and let them live my life there? I know it’s a bit crazy,” Ryan began to bounce around us, as their idea took fuller shape, “but this kills two birds with one stone without killing anyone else! It’s kind of perfect actually. I mean, my parents are already paying an exorbitant amount of money for me to go to UCLA, might as well have Other-Ryan go and get that expensive ass education instead of having Chester run interference with his techno-wizardry.”

“There would have to be rules,” Matt said slowly, his eyes traveling between both Ryans hopefully.

“Obviously,” Ryan agreed, coming to a halt beside Other-Ryan. They plopped down beside their clone and crisscrossed their legs. They nudged Other-Ryan’s shoulder. “We’d have to do check-ins and shit, make sure you aren’t fucking up my good name back home. And you’d have to promise to keep all of this secret! Not just the clone thing, but outer space and aliens and all of that shit, too.”

Other-Ryan nodded quickly. “I can do that.”

Azo’lah sagged minutely beside me. Relief rolled off her in powerful waves. My heart pounded with hope. “This could work.”

“Guys, hold on,” Chester said. “While I am all for a plan that doesn’t involve Azo’lah doing something that will haunt her for the rest of her life, are we sure about this? We can’t guess at the consequences of having two Ryans in the universe. This could spiral out into a clusterfuck that we can’t handle.”

“I’m okay with there being two Ryans in the universe,” I said. “As long as Other-Ryan agrees to stick to the rules, we’ll deal with the potential consequences if they ever come.”

“There can never be too many Captain Thorleys!” Fleetwood said cheerfully.

Matt said, “If both Ryan and Ryan agree, I don’t have a problem with it.”

Chester turned to Azo’lah. “Are you in, Azo’lah?”

Azo’lah nodded.

Chester collapsed back into Fleetwood’s lap. “Then it’s decided. Other-Ryan, looks like you’re going to Earth college!”

Matt hopped to his feet and held his hands out to the Ryans and hauled them to their feet. “Now that’s decided, can we get the fuck off this rock?”

The Gold Dust Wo’man was unnaturally quiet. Despite the fact that the diplomatic cruiser was built for a larger crew and able to house a complement of ambassadors and their aides, our six-man squad always seemed to fill its corridors with cheerful noise. Today, there was no musical soundtrack blaring through the corridors, no bickering drifting from the mess, or Ran’dyl’s chirping with crew members asking others to settle playful arguments. It was mournful. Which, I supposed, made sense. 

I hesitated outside the door to Azo’lah’s quarters, feeling foolish. 

Myaxi? The question flashed into my mind’s eye. 

Can I come in? I sent back. 

Azo’lah’s reply was the door dematerializing to admit me. I stepped through the doorway, which rematerialized at my back. 

“How’d you know I was outside?” I asked, hugging the weighted blanket I held closer to my chest. 

“Forgive me.”  Azo’lah was curled in a ball on her bunk, her eyes didn’t lift to mine. But she sounded like she had been crying. The thought of Azo’lah, alone and hurting, did something unpleasant to my heart. “I should not have done so without your permission, but I have been…”

“You’ve been checking on us with your technopathy,” I surmised quietly, “to make sure we’re still here.” 

Azo’lah nodded against the pillow, bringing her arm up to hide her face. I moved forward, sitting on the bed beside her without, for once, thinking about it too much. “Hey, it’s okay. For you to check on us. We’re over Earth right now, though, so if you’re looking after Matt and Ryan, they’ll be gone for an hour or so to get clone Ryan situated.” 

Azo’lah pushed herself up. “I must go, the Fulyiti—” 

“Is onboard,” I said quickly. “She’s with Chester in the lounge. She thought...well, Matt and Ryan said they could handle it. It’s known territory, and Matt’s more than enough for anyone on Earth.” 

Azo’lah nodded, sliding back down. “She did not need to stay for me.” 

“Yes, she did,” I brushed her hair away from her eyes, their whites faintly yellowed—the Destyrian equivalent of bloodshot. “I think she stayed for herself too. This one hurt.” I left the obvious, that it had hurt Azo’lah the most, unspoken.

I rose and spread the weighted blanket I kept on my bunk over her. I kept it with me on the ship when I was away from Sebastian. It wasn’t the same as a warm, snuggly cat, but it soothed me all the same. She blinked up at me. “Thank you.” 

“Of course.” I turned to leave. “Well, whenever you’re—” 

Azo’lah’s hand shot out, wrapped around my wrist. “I’m sorry,” she said, withdrawing her hand immediately as I turned. “I didn't mean to frighten you. It’s understandable if you need some time away from me after…” 

I reached out for her hand, slowly and deliberately, the answer falling from my lips, so honestly, I’d probably be embarrassed about it later. “Being apart from you is the last thing I want or need right now.” 

Azo’lah smiled, small and brittle, but lifted the edge of the blanket in invitation. I sat on the edge of the bed and toed off my boots. I folded myself on the bed, facing her, a foot or so between us. It was odd, but while seeing Azo’lah like this was heartbreaking, it was also reassuring that she was our Azo’lah. That even with all her power and ability, she still abhorred the idea of hurting us, that doing so to poor facsimiles of us still brought her immense grief. 

Her hand settled on my side, lightly, like she wasn’t sure it would be welcome. I scooted forward slightly with an encouraging smile. With one swift movement, I was cocooned in Azo’lah’s embrace, her face pressed against my neck. We breathed in silence for long moments, or maybe hours, I wasn’t sure. 

“I think,” I said, after a while, my hand running absentmindedly through her undone hair,  “that maybe you would feel better, we would all feel better, if the crew wasn’t apart tonight. If we have nightmares, we can check on everyone.” 

“No one’s quarters on the ship can accommodate that many,” Azo’lah pointed out, her voice barely above a whisper. I pressed my cheek to her head, hiding my smile at her answer which, while it wasn’t a yes, wasn’t an outright no, either. 

“That’s what the lounge is for,” I replied. 

Azo’lah’s arms tightened around me, but she lifted her face to meet my gaze. “I know I must face this. We all must. But until we can meet with our Soul Healers, I would appreciate that and...a distraction.” 

“Slumber party and dubious Earth Entertainment it is,” I murmured. “I’ll go ask the others.” 

Her hand traced briefly over my abdomen where her zali’thir had punctured Jordan when he was impersonating me as if to check that I was still there, that I was unharmed.  “In a moment,” she said, resting her forehead on mine. 

“Coming through,” Chester announced, entering the lounge. He held his tray even higher out of our reach as Ryan and I, buried in a nest of pillows on the floor, raised our hands demandingly toward him. “Cut it out,” he chastised, “unless you want me to spill hot liquid all over you!”

“Hot choccy?” Fleetwood asked from her blanket cocoon on the chaise.

He slid the tray onto the snack-laden table and winked at Fleetwood. “Of course. Nothing but the best for this crew.”

“These are quite delicious,” Azo’lah agreed as she continued to demolish a bag of Hot Cheetos, where she lounged on my right.

“Maybe we should make snack runs to Earth more often?” Matt suggested, propping his feet, clad in his rocket-ship-themed slippers into Fleetwood’s lap.

“Next time, don’t forget the slushies!” Fleetwood said, accepting a steaming mug proffered by Chester.

“Sorry, FleetMerc,” Ryan apologized, waving their Buggle-tipped hand between themself and Matt. “We only had so many hands between us.”

“And don’t forget,” Matt said, producing a bottle of whisky from behind the chaise, “we had to make a pit stop for the good stuff.”

I held up my mug of hot chocolate. “Oh, share!”

“Me three!” Fleetwood said, shoving her mug under Matt’s nose.

“After the day we had, I think we all deserve a little nip,” Matt uncapped the bottle and generously poured the amber liquid into Fleetwood’s mug, as well as Chester’s. He extended his arm to pass the bottle to me. “Here you go, Gretch.”

I poured whiskey into mine and Azo’lah’s mugs and even a tiny bit into Ryan’s. I returned the bottle to Matt, who topped off his own hot chocolate and raised his mug. “To Sadrilla’s immediate and painful demise!”

“Hear, hear,” I said.

“Bet,” said Ryan.

“Huzzah!” said Fleetwood.

We all took long draws from our mugs.

“At least it wasn't a complete trauma-filled waste of time though,” Ryan said, snagging a bag of Skittles from the table.

“How do you figure?” Chester asked, wedging himself like a puzzle piece beside Fleetwood but beneath Matt’s extended legs. “Because there was a shit ton of trauma and not a whole hell of a lot of anything else.”

Ryan poured Skittles into their palm and began separating them by color into piles. “Think about our clones, what did you notice about them?”

“That every emotion I telegraph with my face is unattractive,” I replied immediately.

Ryan slapped my thigh. “Not true. I meant the gaps in their personalities in comparison to who we really are. It shows that Sadrilla doesn’t really know us. Chester’s clone was just some emotionless genius. Azo’lah’s actively chose to leave Fleetwood. Matt’s was on some darkest timeline conspiracy bullshit.”

“Yeah, what the hell was that all about, man?” Chester asked.

Matt took a gulp from his mug then poured in more whisky. “My first few years in space were interesting.”

“Interesting as in interesting? Or interesting as in dangerous as fuck?” I asked.

Matt smirked sardonically. “You met my clone, you tell me.”

“Matt’s double isn’t the point,” Ryan intervened. “The point is that our clones were fed accessible information on us, but they didn’t get the whole picture because Sadrilla doesn’t have the whole picture on us. She thinks she knows us, but she doesn’t.She’s formed an idea of who we are based on one interaction and a bunch of random footage. She underestimates us.”

I snorted. “That’s what this feeling is? Underestimated?”

Ryan shoved a handful of green Skittles into my mouth for my snark. “Today wasn’t a cake walk.” They nodded to Azo’lah. “It was the farthest thing from it, but we got out. We figured out what was happening and we survived. We assessed the situation, and worked like a team even when we were separated. Sadrilla chose the wrong weak points, well, almost all our weak points. Head’s up, Fleetwood.” Ryan tossed an orange Skittle across the lounge into Fleetwood’s waiting mouth.

“What did Sadrilla get wrong?” I asked, wondering how Ryan had been able to parse all this out in the few hours since we had left Coswir.

“That I would abandon my duty and leave Fleetwood,” Azo’lah said.

“Oh, yeah,” I agreed, snagging the Bugles from Ryan’s lap. “That was a dead giveaway. Also the fact that our clones thought we were dating.” I craned forward to grab a bowl from the table to mix my snacks together while we marathoned movies and caught Matt, Chester, Ryan, and Fleetwood all gaping at me.

I scrubbed at my chin. “What? Do I have hot chocolate on my face?”

None of them answered, instead they sipped pointedly from their mugs.

“Pass the popcorn, Gretch?” Chester asked.

I did as requested. “You guys want anything else?”

“Tasty worms! And the chocolate-butter!” Fleetwood requested.

I smiled. “Gummy worms and nutella coming right up!”

“Nothing better than junk food and animated movies,” Chester said, dimming the lounge lights from his Ran’dyl. “Except maybe for the First Lovers Festival! Which is soon.”

“Three binary cycles from now, right?” Ryan asked eagerly. 

Chester nodded. “Best time of the year on Destyr, no contest. It’s like Pride month on steroids.”

“In all these love festivities maybe I’ll be able to find myself a date,” I said off-handedly.

Again, I felt Matt’s, Ryan’s, Chester’s, and Fleetwood’s eyes on me.

“What?” I asked, around the mouthful of Skittles Ryan shoved into my face with a sigh. 

“Someone start the movie” they ordered. 

Chester pressed play and our little family sank further into the comfort of being safe and together. 

“What the actual fuck is happening?” I blinked against the sudden glare of my clip light.

Instead of doing as I expected and righting me to my feet, Azo’lah leaned in close and whispered in my ear, “Fret not, ket’li. I will protect you.”

Electricity—from her voice or her powers, I didn’t know—jolted down my spine. I yelped and scrabbled against her hold. “Azo’lah! Azo’lah, let me go!”

She released me, reluctantly, as the lights wobbled feebly back to life.

I fought down my heated flush and straightened my shirt. Now was absolutely not the time for the emotions flurrying in my stomach. Azo’lah’s hand cupped my bicep. “Are you well, ket’li? Did the door closing on you cause injury in some capacity?” 

I shook out of her grasp, unable to bear the heat of her palm through the thin cotton of my shirt. “No, no. I’m fine.” I looked into her wide, navy eyes. “It’s you I’m worried about. We just got separated from Ryan because this freaky, haunted-ass place keeps losing power, and you’re worried about me having minor injuries instead of—instead of what is going on! Not to mention you elected to separate yourself from Fleetwood!”

Azo’lah blinked slowly. “Captain Thorley is capable of caring for themself. I need not worry about them. And Fleetwood has Chester to watch over her. You are the one I worry about.”

“While I appreciate that,” I cleared my throat and tugged at my sweaty collar, “we’re a crew, friends, family. We all worry about each other. Also, you’re Fleetwood’s Myax so like, not leaving her is your job,” I babbled, looking anywhere than at Azo’lah’s face where that fucking fond expression had returned, “which, you know, usually you take very seriously...and seriously stop looking at me like that—”

I was saved by my Ran’dyl. “Captain Thorley to crew. Respond!”

“Oh, thank god. Here,” I answered. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Ryan replied crisply. “But I don’t think we all will be if we hang around much longer. This door won’t open, so we’ll have to meet up going the long way. You and Myax keep looking for Matt, and I’ll grab Chester and Fleetwood. We’ll meet up in the entrance chamber and get out of this demon shack before another one of us is possessed.”

I said, “No one is possessed!”

“Is Azo’lah still looking at you like both Destyrian suns shine out your ass?” they asked. When I didn’t respond, they said, “Then I’m not ruling out anything. Keep me looped in as long when the tech ghosts let us. Thorley out.”

I peered up at Azo’lah, whose attention had never wavered from my face the entire call, despite Ryan’s digs at her behavior. “So, what way do you think we should go to find Matt?”

“Whatever you want, ket’li.” Azo’lah grabbed my wrist and tugged me forward to the door that had forcefully rejected me moments prior.

“Azo’lah, I don’t think…” I trailed off as it slid up. Rude. I glared reproachfully at the doorway as we walked through it. “We need to get off this moon and fast.”

Azo’lah kept an arm around my shoulders as we cut through yet another all-white room. I wasn’t sure if the migraine mounting between my eyes was from the periodically flashing lights or my growing anxiety at Azo’lah’s strange behavior. Azo’lah whispered, “I will get you to safety, ket’li.”

There was that nickname again. Through our technopathic link, I sent her a text. Are you sure you’re okay? You’re acting super weird.

Without looking at me, Azo’lah sent me reply, Why are you using the link when we’re in the same room alone? And you are the one behaving strangely!

We reached the door on the opposite side of the room, which opened to reveal... another identical room. Yippee. I pinched the bridge of my nose as my head throbbed. It was also a possibility the sameness of all of these rooms was slowly driving me insane, and the migraine was a side effect. I said, “This place is a maze, I don’t even know if we’ll—”

“Gret’chen! Azo-zo!” Fleetwood yelled as she leaped out of nowhere. Across the room, I spied another door; she must have rushed through it once she saw us. She wrangled us into a tight embrace. “Why is no one singing in the lane?” She pulled back and indicated her Ran’dyl. 

“Fleetwood, what are you…” I trailed off, knowing it was futile asking her why she hadn’t stayed put. I spied Chester in the corner, scuffing his boots against the floor and staring at a hologram projecting from his Ran’dyl. I asked, “Are you okay?”

“I am well, dearest Gret’chen,” Fleetwood said, clinging to Azo’lah like a barnacle. “But I am afeared that Chester, my Chester, is unwell.”

“I’m fine,” Chester said tonelessly, attention glued to the hologram.

Fleetwood bit her lip as she said, “He has not allowed me to hug him since we were reunited.”

That, more than anything else, confirmed for me that something was wrong. As long as none of our lives were in immediate danger, there wasn’t a single thing that could keep Chester from comforting Fleetwood Mercury.

I crossed to Chester, reaching for his forehead. “Are you sick?”

He smacked my hand away. “No.”

“Did I do something to upset you?” Fleetwood asked. “You have always told me in the past when I—”

“Can everyone shut up so I can concentrate?” Chester spat.

Fleetwood recoiled as though she had been slapped. Sure, Chester sometimes got annoyed with us, but he never raised his voice in anger, least of all at Fleetwood.

I stepped protectively in front of Fleetwood.  “This isn’t right.”

“My readouts are showing nothing of concern,” Chester replied, indicating a hologram projecting from his Ran’dyl. “Oxygen levels are a little below ideal but holding steady. I’m not picking up any purposeful poisons or accidental gas leaks. There are no exterior breaches.”

“Azo’lah,” Fleetwood stage-whispered as she smooshed Azo’lah’s cheeks with her hands. “Is there something wrong with you as there is something wrong with my beloved?”

Azo’lah removed Fleetwood’s hands. She then stepped behind and slightly off my right shoulder, the standard guard position for a Myax. Just guarding the entirely wrong person.   Fleetwood looked equal parts crestfallen and bewildered. “Fulyiti, I am well. And if Chester says he is fine—”

“I am,” Chester said, his hands expanding a new lab readout mid-air.

“—then he is fine,” Azo’lah finished, placing a hand on my shoulder. 

I met Fleetwood’s wide-eyed gaze and knew that she saw what I saw. Something was most assuredly remiss with Chester and Azo’lah. Oh God, what if Ryan was right and they were possessed?

“Chester,” I said, “have you found a blueprint of this place yet? Can you get us back to where we first met Kreshlin? Ryan’s working finding Matt, and we’re all meeting there.”

Chester did not bother responding with words, he merely nodded. His fingers were a blur against his wristband as he pulled up an enlarged 3D floor plan appeared before him. “Here.”

I studied the base’s layout, and it became clear that the monochromatic minimalism of each room wasn’t the only thing that would send me over the edge of sanity. We had incorrectly assumed that the interior layout would correspond with the circular exterior. Architecturally, it made no sense. The rooms and hallways were an illogical directional log-jam—some rooms only accessible through other rooms, and others accessible from multiple hallways. How was this still a functioning base?

Chester highlighted a route. “That’s the most direct path.”

“It appears simple enough,” Azo’lah pressed a firm hand into my spine, urging me to move. “I will take Gretchen directly there in case there is danger. You and the Fulyiti should assist Captain Thorley in their search for Matt.”

“Sounds good,” Chester said.

“What?” I sputtered. “You want us to separate? Again? No!” I dug in my heels. 

“Come, ket’li. It makes the most sense,” Azo’lah countered with a sharp tug. “Whatever is happening in this place makes you uncomfortable. I will take you to our quarters on the ship while the others retrieve Matt.”

“Azo’lah! Stop,” I attempted to dislodge her grip. “Azo’lah, please, let me go.”

“Unhand Gret’chen,” Fleetwood commanded. She was straight-backed, and her eyes, usually full of whimsy, were narrowed. “Azo’lah, cousin, explain yourself.”

Azo’lah’s fingers unclenched from my arm as we reached the open door. “It is my duty to ensure Gretchen’s safety. I only wish to take her to a secure location.” 

“But that isn’t what I want,” I argued, folding my arms across my chest. “I don’t want us to separate!”

Azo’lah frowned, her lips twitching as though prepared to push the argument. She sighed. “Then we shall all go. Fulyiti, Chester, join us.” She stepped through the next doorway and held out her hand for me. “Come, Gretchen.”

I looked at Fleetwood, who was staring at Chester like he was the universe’s most complex Rubix cube. “Beloved, are you prepared to go?” Fleetwood asked.

“Ah, no. You guys go without me,” Chester waved Fleetwood off. “I’ll go look for Matt and Ryan. Plus, there’s a lab in the north wing that I want to take some scans of before we take off.”

Fleetwood clutched at her heart. “You—want me to leave you?”

Azo’lah groaned. “Fulyiti, Gretchen, we do not have time to—”

She was cut off by the door closing in her face, separating her from us. The overhead lights pulsed. I slapped against the door, but the motion detectors did not pick up on the movement. The door stayed firmly shut.

I shouted into my Ran’dyl, “Azo’lah! Ryan! Matt! Anyone! Is anyone there?” But there was no response. Our comms were still being intermittently affected by these random power surges and outages.

The overhead lights stopped blinking. Thankfully, this time, they stayed on.

I waved my arms frantically in front of the door. But it remained firmly shut, keeping us separated from Azo’lah.

I dropped onto the floor into a pile of uncoordinated limbs. “I hate this place.”

Fleetwood collapsed half on top of me, her head landing on my stomach, her legs sprawling wildly. “This is bad news bears.”

“I know.” I turned my head to look at Chester, my cheek resting against the smooth, cold floor. I watched him as he fiddled with his Ran’dyl, still searching for the cause of its malfunctions. He had yet to ask either of us if we were okay—a very un-Chester-like thing to do. It was like our Chester had been body-snatched. I squeezed Fleetwood’s nearest shoulder as I said, “Whatever this is, we’ll get through it. I just wish I knew what it was.”

Was Ryan right, and it was demonic possession? Were we trapped in a time loop that messed with people’s personalities? Was Chester actually body-snatched? Maybe we should reach out to the witches of Huxor to see if there were any rogue magic users this side of the galaxy.

Fleetwood whispered, “What if...what if Chester is no longer my Chester?”

My heart ached at the waver in her voice. “Chester will always be your Chester,” I said. There were few things about life and the universe that I knew for certain since coming to space, but Chester and Fleetwood’s friendship, their soul-deep love for each other—I was certain about. 

“Whatever is happening with Chester and Azo’lah, we’ll figure it out,” I promised. “Now come on.” I shifted into a seated position as Fleetwood popped to her feet. She helped me up. I said, “Let’s get out of this moon-station-hellscape and get some answers.”

We made it through three maddeningly indistinguishable rooms before Fleetwood said, “We’re dancing in circles.”

My directionality was so fried I couldn’t challenge her statement, but I was inclined to agree. “How do the Valik not go insane from all of these rooms being exactly the same?” I asked.

“There are slight variations in the rooms,” Chester replied. He pointed to the ceiling. “Roof slope, door placement, facility usage.”

I stopped dead in the middle of the room. “You know what these rooms are used for? They all look exactly the same. And there’s no equipment!”

“This was a mining site before it was a laboratory,” Chester said slowly as though explaining a simple mathematics problem to a kindergartener. “This facility was used for storage, shipping, and energy experiments before it was repurposed for research.”

I scrubbed at my sweaty forehead. My migraine had settled into a throbbing mass behind my eyes. “Energy experiments? What kind of experiments?”

Chester’s Ran’dyl projected a scrolling hologram of text in a language I couldn’t read. “The usual,” Chester said.

“Heat-seeking missiles would be dope,” Fleetwood said.

“No, they wouldn’t,” Chester replied, “unless you’re trying to blow us all up.”

I wilted at Chester’s response. Of us all, he always understood Fleetwood’s unique way of communicating. To my surprise, instead of displaying her hurt at Chester’s response, Fleetwood drew herself up to her full height and said, “They would search for the heat signatures of the crew, find them faster than we are.”

“Can you do that?” I asked, realizing what Fleetwood really meant. Why hadn’t any of us thought of that before? “Do what you did on Huxor with the necromancers and locate everyone with a thermal infrared scan!”

Chester shook his head. “I can’t. The construction of the building and atmospheric controls basically eradicate heat signatures.”

That sounded like a load of bullshit, but I was the team archaeologist, not an astrophysicist/mechanical engineer with two PhDs. Chester gestured forward. “Let’s keep going. They can’t have gotten too far. This station isn’t that large.”

Wasn’t that large? We had been wandering around this place for hours and had yet to find each other. I didn’t care what Chester’s schematic said, this place was gargantuan. Or possibly powered by ancient Destyrian tech, and it was moving without us realizing it. I shook my head at that disturbing thought. Azo’lah would have said something if she had sensed anything.

Before we reached it, the door flew open. Matt sprinted inside, the tread of his boots squeaking against the ivory floor. “Gretchen! Thank God, I found you.” He skidded to an abrupt halt before me, doubling over to catch his breath with his hands on his knees.

“Matty-Matt, what is wrong?” Fleetwood placed a hand on his neck. He flinched, backing away from her touch.

“Matt, what’s—” I cut myself off as Matt pulled me into a hug.

“We have to get out of here, Gretch,” he whispered in my ear. “Chester and Ryan have sold me out to the Covlax, bloody traitors. Fleetwood and Azo’lah are undoubtedly protecting them. They’ll sell you out too once the Vic gets here. We need to run!” Matt pulled back and, in a booming voice, said, “It’s so good to see you all. I was worried sick!”

He belatedly clapped a hand against Chester and Fleetwood’s shoulders, but the motion was stilted like he had to make himself do it. He widened his already frantic eyes and not-so-discreetly nodded to the door behind him, unsubtly telegraphing our escape route.

The longer we were here, the more I was seriously beginning to consider possession, demonic or otherwise, as an actual possibility. If Ryan was right, we’d never hear the end of it.

As though my thoughts had summoned them, our Captain came strolling into the room via the same door as Matt. Whereas Matt seemed wound tighter than Fleetwood’s space buns, Ryan appeared completely unfettered by our predicament.

“There’s my crew!” they greeted us brightly. They performed a silent headcount. “Well, most of my crew. Where’s Azo’lah?”

“Looking for you, oh, Captain, my Captain,” Fleetwood snapped Ryan a sharp salute.

They joined us at the center of the room. “No problem. I’ll comm her and get her here. Then, with all of us together, we can figure out what’s going on!”

Matt edged into my space, blocking me off from the rest of the group. Out of the side of his mouth, he murmured, “When I give the signal, run. I’ll be right behind you. If we can get to the ship, we’ll get a massive head start.”

“You want to maroon them on a strange moon?” I didn’t bother to keep my voice down. I had well and truly had enough of whatever the hell was going on. “Matt, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Fleetwood reached for him, thought better of it, and placed her hands on her hips. “Matty-Matt, you are worrying me.”

Ryan turned to Matt. “Yeah, Majumdar, what’s the deal?”

All amiable pretense left Matt as he pushed me away from the group. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know what you did!” he shouted, pointing an accusatory finger. “You’ve sold me out to the Covlax, I know it. You never wanted me a part of this crew in the first place! The way you’re all whispering behind my back! Always leaving me out and never appreciating all I do, flying your asses across the universe!” Matt waved his hands violently about as he continued to guide me toward the door at the back of the room. “But I’m onto you! You want to turn me in, get the reward from the Covlax, and hire out a new pilot!”

“Matt, no!” I grabbed at Matt’s shirt and tried to plant my feet. “We’d never!”

“But Matty-Matt, you’re our Matty-Matt,” Fleetwood said, voice slow and deliberate. “Why would we want a different Matty-Matt?”

Shockingly, Ryan chuckled. “This a great joke, man.” They held up their Ran’dyl and directed it at Matt. “You think you’d be willing to do that again for me while I’m recording? This would make a lit TikTok.”

I pushed down their arm. “We said no social media on missions.”

“Your logic isn’t particularly solid,” Chester said. “If we were going to turn you over to the Covlax, it would’ve been more prudent to do so when we were in the presence of Vic Mey-ran aboard J’olpri.”

“Not helping, Chester,” I bit out. I grabbed at Matt’s shoulders and shook him. “Matt! Stop pushing me out of the room! No one is betraying you to the Covlax!”

“Lies! All of it is lies!” Matt spun on me. His usually soft, understanding brown eyes were hard and indignant. He reached into his boot and produced a miniature gun.

“Have you been armed this whole time?” I asked. The overhead lights sputtered and then died. I groaned. “This? Again? Because shit wasn’t chaotic enough already.”

We stood in fraught silence in the sudden darkness, staring at each other in the glow of our blue clip lights. Things had gone from comically weird to dangerously nonsensical. We needed to figure out what was happening, and we needed to do it out now.

“Matt,” I started, only to be cut off by Ryan. Except, their mouth wasn’t moving. Ryan’s voice was coming from our Ran’dyls.

“This is Captain Thorley, calling for a sound off.”

My voice shook with disbelief as I stared at Ryan. “Ry-Ryan?”

The person before me looked as baffled as I felt. The Ryan on the other end of my Ran’dyl said, “Oh, thank God, Gretchen! Are you okay? Where are you? Where is everyone else?”

“We’re in the same room as you, Captain,” I said.

The Ryan in the room lunged for my Ran’dyl. “Turn it off, Gretchen! Don’t tell them anything else!” they commanded. “Whoever that is, that isn’t me!”

The overhead lights turned on. “Gretchen, tell me where you are—” Ryan’s voice from my Ran’dyl cut off as the device died again.

“Double trouble,” Fleetwood muttered darkly, her blue eyes appraising Ryan.

Matt gestured between my Ran’dyl and Ryan. “I knew it!” He flailed as he skittered away from us. “This is a conspiracy to make me think I’ve gone crazy! You’re all in on it!”

“Matt, calm down,” Ryan said, holding out a placating hand. “None of us know what’s going on, but it certainly isn’t a conspiracy against you. Someone is messing with us. We can’t all start turning on one another.”

What they said made sense, but something in the back of my mind itched with the wrongness of everything. Fleetwood grabbed my wrist and squeezed.

I was not alone in this. Even if everyone else was acting strange, Fleetwood, at least, had my back. We would figure this out.

“We need to find Azo’lah,” Fleetwood said.

Ryan nodded. “Agreed. And we need to do it while avoiding whoever,” they pointed at my Ran’dyl, “that is.”

Fleetwood said, “Lead on, Captain.”

“No, you take front,” Ryan corrected. “I’ll cover the rear. Chester, Gretchen, and Matt can take middle.”

Matt, in all of his obvious paranoia, argued this. “Absolutely not. If I even agree to come along, I want you all where I can see you!”

“Fine,” Ryan said, “as long as you agree to come with us, you can cover the rear.” 

Matt studied us all for a long moment. “I’ll come along, but only to keep an eye on you lot. Can’t sneak up on me if I know where you all are.”

As we fell into line and exited the room in search of Azo’lah, I eyed my friends, and I couldn’t help but wonder who else this potential imposter could imitate.

It was very hard to ignore the prickling sensation at the nape of my neck. I desperately wanted to turn around and ask Matt what exactly was so interesting about my back. But I wasn’t even sure he was looking at it because I couldn’t see him. And, apparently, his paranoia was rubbing off on me. 

“Activate internal comms,” I muttered under my breath. “Guys,” I began. Fleetwood glanced at me. 

“Are you talking to yourself?” Chester asked. “It’s kind of distracting, do you have to?” 

I blinked. Chester was suddenly very good at playing dumb, which no one would ever accuse him of, or his internal comms weren’t turned on, or worse, he had no memory of them. Or—

 “That is not our Chester,” Fleetwood’s voice came from inside my head and softly to my left. We turned down a new corridor lined with doors on either side.

“That’s kind of harsh. I just got lost,” Chester said. But Chester's lips didn’t move. I was the only one that knew about Azo’lah’s technopathic powers, which means there was no way she had altered Chester’s implant. And as cool as our internal comms, a freak gift of technology fusion at the Temple of Aluthua, we still had to speak to use them. “Where are you, my beloved?” Fleetwood asked. 

“Fleetwood, are you imitating the ventriloquist scene from Chicago?” Chester asked. It was deeply disconcerting to be looking at someone with their mouth shut but to hear their voice inside your head. “Because I’m with you, and your mouth isn’t moving.” 

“That’s not me, Chester!” Fleetwood murmured, sounding more panicked than I’d ever heard her. 

At the front of our group Ryan stopped and turned to us. “What’s up? Why are you guys whispering?”

“Just… uh, counting our steps like they do in dairy tales!” Fleetwood lied as the overhead lights went out once more. “Keeping track of distance will stop us from getting too lost!”

I bit the inside of my lip, hoping that Fleetwood’s Fleetwood-ness would be enough for everyone to buy that lie.

Ryan stared at us for a long moment, then shrugged. We continued on down the hall, following their blue-tinged silhouette.

“Gretchen?” Azo’lah’s voice was cautious as she joined our internal comms conversation. “Say something, Myaxi.”

My eyes tracked from Ryan to Chester, then darted for a moment to Matt behind me. A chill ran up my spine as I accepted the fact that these people I was with may not actually be the friends I arrived at this facility with earlier.

“I think the four of us need to split up from whoever we think we’re with. We need to find each other,” I murmured. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Fleetwood nod in agreement. 

Azo’lah swore softly over the comms.

“It’s freaky, right?” Chester said, his voice a hollow echo in my skull. “Talking to you and not seeing your mouth move. What’re we thinking? Clones? Androids?”

My stomach jolted precipitously at both suggestions. I hadn’t eaten anything in hours and yet I felt like vomiting.

 “I suppose that helps explain everyone’s behavior,” Azo’lah sighed. “Gretchen’s plan is a good one. Let us try to find each other through the use of these comms. Once we are together, we can figure out Matt and Ryan.” 

“We can do it, me and you!” Fleetwood affirmed quietly. Then more loudly, suddenly alarmed, “What was that?” 

I jumped, even though I didn’t rea,lly see anything in the darkness. 

“What!” Matt cried. 

“Nothing,” Fleetwood said, pressing a hand to her chest as if calming her racing heart. “I just thought I saw a shadow. It looked like one of Mey-ran’s guards but...why would they be here?” 

Instantly, Matt pressed himself to the wall, drawing his tiny gun. “I knew this was a plot.” 

Chester’s lookalike pushed his glasses up his nose, peering at the doorway that Fleetwood had indicated. “I didn’t see anything.” 

“We’ll go check it out,” I said, cottoning on. Fleetwood drew the knife she had hidden in the inside pouch of her spacesuit. Together, we walked through the doorway into yet another dark, phantom-white hallway. I waved my hand as Ryan shouted at us to wait, but the door slammed down, separating us from the other three. I could hear Ryan shouting for us and slamming their fists against the metal, trying to follow us. Fleetwood stowed her knife.

She looked at me, her forehead pinched, navy eyes tight with concern. “I do not think I like this adventure,” she said. My eyebrows shot up. That was a hugely unexpected admission from Fleetwood. 

“Come on, let’s go find Chester and Azo’lah.” I wrapped my hand around her wrist and tugged her down the hallway. The lights erupted into life. A second later, my translator implant sparked, sending a brief jolt of static through me. 

Gretchen! You’re close to me, Azo’lah’s sent through our technopathic link. Our Ran’dyls erupted with Ryan’s voice demanding a crew-wide status update. Suddenly, the static feeling made sense. Azo’lah had been trying to track me by sensing her technopathic signature on my implant. Keep moving in the direction you are! 

I followed Azo’lah’s instructions. Fleetwood and I entered the next room to find Azo’lah...and what the fuck—

A perfect copy of me screamed at the sight of us, tucking herself against Azo’lah’s side. My double clung to Azo’lah like a romance-cover maiden. And okay, it wasn’t the worst picture, but it was strange to see myself rendered dainty by Azo’lah’s height. 

“Shocking and hard-hitting!” Fleetwood said, giggling inappropriately. 

“This isn’t funny!” I protested. “I would never grope Azo’lah like this!” I gestured to where my double’s hand was sitting directly over Azo’lahs breast. 

“Oh, my alien gods! Sorry!” My doppelganger squealed, removing her hand. She didn’t look that sorry to me. “Don’t hate me!” She buried her face in her palms, releasing a strangled puff of air that stirred her bangs. 

Shit, I needed a haircut.

“This is hands down the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me,” I breathed. 

Other Gretchen snapped her head up. “You think? It’s terrible looking at myself. Which one of us is even real?” She frowned deeply. “And god, why did no one tell me my face looks like that when I’m confused. I can never be visibly confused again!” 

I ran a hand through my hair, mussing my ponytail further. “This has to be a dream, right?” I looked from Fleetwood to Azo’lah to my double. I felt my face mirror hers. “Wow, anxious isn’t a good look on me. Too bad that’s my default state of being. Shit.”

My double looked up at Azo’lah and asked, “So what are we going to do with this imposter?”

“I’m not the imposter! You’re the imposter!” I shouted automatically. Then after a moment, asked, “If I am the imposter, would I even know it?”

“Why can’t you tell us apart?” my double demanded, her voice teary with emotion. She moved, beseechingly to Fleetwood. “Fulyiti!” 

Azo’lah’s eyes met mine as Fleetwood patted my double’s head consolingly, her mouth downturned. Clearly, both cousins were thinking the same thing I was...I never called Fleetwood by her royal title, unless we were attending official state functions or in front of visiting dignitaries. To me, she was, first and foremost, my friend Fleetwood and that’s what I called her.

Myaxi, the message flashed across my mind. Out loud, talk about Sebastian. 

“I miss Bash-bash,” I said immediately, thinking of my fur son’s plush fur and comforting kitty purr. I really needed to stop going away so often. 

Azo’lah lunged, grabbed my doppelganger’s wrist, and twisted, spinning my double into her. Azo’lah pinned one of my double’s arms behind her, the other at her side. She struggled fruitlessly against Azo’lah’s strength. 

“I’m mildly confident I could now escape that hold,” I said dumbly. Milyna’s training had focused heavily on escaping and incapacitating opponents larger and stronger than me. Azo’lah smiled at me, strained but genuine.

Fifteen minutes later, I still wasn’t used to staring at my own face as my doppelganger stared back. Azo’lah had used the emergency flexi-rope she kept in her spacesuit pocket and tied my double to a too-small chair plundered from a control room across the hallway. I leaned in a little too close to study the bridge of my double’s nose. Were the Destyrian suns giving me more freckles?

At my encroaching on her space, my doppelganger screamed directly in my face. I immediately returned the favor, bellowing right back. I scuttled away, directly into Azo’lah. She pulled me to the most distant corner of the room.

Over our internal comms, Fleetwood’s voice asked, “Is everything well? I heard all the Gret’chen's shouts of distress!”

Upon neutralizing my double and hearing our story, Azo’lah had retraced our steps and rounded up who I was now calling Paranoid-Matt, Probably-Not-Chester, and Possibly-Ryan. Azo’lah assigned Fleetwood to look after them in an adjacent room while she and I spoke with my double. We had agreed it was best to keep an eye on these three potential imposters instead of letting them wander off and causing further confusion. 

“Everything is fine, Fleetwood,” Azo’la replied. “We will tell you more after we have obtained answers from The Other.”

The Other was what Azo’lah had dubbed my double upon discovering she was not me. I wasn’t a huge fan of the name, but it was easier than calling her Not-Gret’chen, as Fleetwood had suggested.

The Other thrashed in her seat, her eyes turned pleadingly to Azo’lah. “Azo’lah, what’s happening? Why am I tied to this chair? Help me.”

Azo’lah approached her slowly. “Only you can help yourself by telling us who you truly are.”

“I’m Gretchen,” The Other's face contorted with bafflement, once again reminding me why I avoided mirrors most of the time. 

“No, you are not,” Azo’lah replied. “We already checked you and know you are not wearing a perception distorter to make you appear this way. How do you have Gretchen’s face?”

“Because it’s my face!” The Other said. “Azo’lah, do you hear yourself? This is batshit.”

Well, she wasn’t wrong there.

“Enough,” Azo’lah grunted. She began pacing a wide circle around The Other. “Tell us who you are and what you want.”

“You know who I am and what I want!”

“Are you a spy? Who hired you? Were you sent to infiltrate the Royal House of Fuiq? To assassinate Fulyiti Fleetwood or her mother?”

The Other strained against the flexi-rope. “I would never hurt Fleetwood. Why are you doing this, Azo’lah? You know I’m me, and she’s the one,” The Other jutted her chin sharply at me, “who isn’t supposed to be here.”

Azo’lah rounded the back of her chair. “Stop with these lies. Myaxi has proven her own identity.”

“How?” The Other craned her neck, trying to catch Azo’lah’s eye. “How has she tricked you? Ket’li, how can I make you realize your mistake?”

Azo’lah stilled. “What did you call me?”

The Other chuckled low and intimate. “Ket’li, don’t be like that. Untie me, and we can deal with this interloper. Maybe save the flexi-rope for later, though.” The Other winked at Azo’lah, and I burned with embarrassment.

To my surprise, Azo’lah took a step away from The Other and cleared her throat. She tightened her ponytail and flexed her fingers as though she were out of her depth.

Had my double’s borderline sexual harassment actually thrown Azo’lah off her game? I’d have to apologize for my doppelganger’s behavior later.

“Listen,” I sighed, scrubbing at my eyes tiredly. “I just want to get my friends—my actual friends, and not people wearing their faces and acting weird as hell—get off this moon, and go home to snuggle my cat. Could you work with me on making that happen?”

“Your friends? They’re my friends, not yours! I’m the real Gretchen!” The Other cried.

“See, that right there,” I pointed at her, “that confidence is not me. I am me, but looking at you, even makes me not sure I’m me. You feel me?”

The Other shook her head. “Not even a little bit.”

I waved her off. At least she was as sassy as I was. I rested my hands on my hips and asked, “Can you at least tell us what makes you so sure you’re the real Gretchen?”

“What makes you so sure you’re the real Gretchen?” she returned. She turned her eyes to Azo’lah. “Ket’li, please put a stop to this nonsense.”

“I know I’m the real Gretchen because I have never called Azo’lah ket’li in my entire life!” I said.

The Other frowned, her forehead marred with lines. “But that’s what people in a relationship like ours call each other on Destyr!” 

I looked to Azo’lah. “Friends call each other ket’li regularly?” 

Azo’lah glared at The Other. “No, they do not. It is a name exchanged between lovers.”

I made a noise like a cat trapped in a poorly tuned tuba. “Lov-lovers?” Mortification poured off me as I whirled on The Other. “Azo’lah and I are not lovers.”

“Yes, we are,” The Other said, easy as breathing. The burning embarrassment swept down my neck and across my chest in leaping bursts. The Other gazed between me and Azo’lah and our matching looks of bewilderment. The Other’s eyes widened with confusion as she murmured, “But he said…”

“Who is he?” Azo’lah demanded. 

“No one,” The Other squeaked as Azo’lah dropped down into a crouch to look her in the eye.

“No more lies,” Azo’lah said, her voice gentle but unyielding. “Tell us everything.”

The Other’s gaze danced from Azo’lah to me and back again. She looked to the door and toyed with the ropes binding her. I watched her resolve break incrementally as she realized she had no means of escape. “I’m not… sure of everything.”

“Then tell us what you know,” Azo’lah prompted.

“I remember a dark hallway and purple light. It was hot, I was with Chester, and we were sweating like—”

“Like a sinner in church?” I finished for her, deja vu crashing over me. Chester and I following Kreshlin to the fake artifact room, my tingling hands, the near claustrophobia of it all.

“Yes!” The Other leaned toward me like an adventurer lost in the desert straining for an oasis. “We reached the end of the hall and were both feeling dazed. Confused. Couldn’t even remember our own names. There was this little alien there. He called himself Kreshlin and told us we were Gretchen and Chester.” The Other squinted for a long moment. “Told us about ourselves. Then he showed us a video about us and our lives. It brought back all my memories.”

After a long moment of silence, Azo’lah asked, “Do you remember what happened before you and Chester were walking in that dark hall? How we arrived on this moon?”

The Other said, “Didn’t we come from J’olpri?”

“That was… that was months ago,” I said.

The Other gaped at us, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “But that’s the last thing I remember before being here.”

My heart fractured for her. She had been running around all day pretending to be me, putting my friends and me in real danger. But it didn’t seem as though she knew what she was doing. In fact, she seemed to genuinely believe she was the real me.

“Do you remember anything that isn’t based on what Kreshlin said or the movie showed you?” I asked gently.

Another long silence. “I don’t think so,” she whispered.

Azo’lah stood and spun to me. She led me to the farthest corner away from The Other. She did not look at me, instead staring at my shoulder as she said in a hurried, hushed tone, “Fleetwood and I were taken down the same hallway. With the purple lights, the heat, the tingling hands.”

“I don’t think it was a hallway,” I said.

“It wasn’t. If my assumptions are correct, it was a device meant to create a direct facsimile of our DNA,” Azo’lah said. She strode across the hallway to the abandoned control room, keeping The Other in sight. 

“A direct facsimile of our DNA,” I repeated, the words not computing. My brain felt like a car engine that wouldn’t turn over. “Cloning. You’re talking about cloning.”

Azo’lah touched the dormant computer terminal. It illuminated with an audible crackle. Azo’lah activated a translation program for written language on her Ran’dyl. Above the device, a glimmering final report from the station composed itself. Apparently, during the last thirty years Valik had successfully created cloning technology. Due to the physical danger of the process and the boundless ethical quandaries it posed, something called the Galactic Charter had shut them down. Shut them down hard. They forced the scientists to destroy their equipment and their research.

Except, apparently they missed one of the machines.

“Holy shit,” I breathed. “This was a cloning lab.” I turned to The Other and met her eyes. “We’ve been cloned.”

I straightened from my ungainly slouch against the table. “Are you sure about the container’s oxygenation levels?” I asked, inspecting the recovered artifact from a new angle. It was an ancient Valikese korton—a short-handled, studded weapon wielded by long-dead Valik in close quarters combat.

After its discovery, we received a request for assistance in its restoration and preservation from the Valik Parliament. I had spent the last week alongside Valik conservationists working to clean the korton of centuries of below-ground erosion while Chester and a team of engineers built an atmospherically regulated display case.

“Positive,” Chester replied, passing me the lid.

“Because if the oxygen levels reach above .34%, the metal will—”

“Corrode to dust, I know,” Chester finished. He knew how nervous I was completing my first official off-Destyr archaeology job. It had been nice to conduct a mission that dealt with actual archeology, even though it meant Fleetwood and Ryan spent the last few days running around the Valik capital bored out of their minds. 

“Sorry,” I said, accepting the lid. “I trust your engineering capabilities. Plus, the Valik tech for sealing is almost as pristine as the Covlax. I’m just...anxious.”

Chester gave me a small, reassuring smile. “You did a great job, Gretch. It’s ready.”

I nodded, carefully reaching forward and covering the korton. When the lid met the display platform, the case sealed with a soft, pneumatic hiss. I rubbed my clammy palms together and grinned at our handiwork. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’ll look even better outside of the lab,” Chester said, gesturing to the windowless, underground workspace provided to us. Though the lab was a sleek and mind-bendingly advanced workspace, Chester was right. The korton would look magnificent in its rightful display. “Have you seen the full set-up they’re working on at the Museum of Blood and Battle?” The Valik were a species short in stature and temper. Their capital had half a dozen museums dedicated to their war-riddled history.

“Check it out,” Chester tapped the Ran’dyl pinned to his charcoal beanie. A projection of an oblong room lined in silver light appeared between our heads. Between the artful arrays of sharp weapons and macabre paintings of famous battles stood a vacant pillar waiting for the korton.

“Did the lab assistant say when the valets would get here to move it?” I asked, admiring the admittedly impressive space.

Chester tapped my Ran’dyl to check the time. He frowned. “They should’ve been here already.”

“Should we contact Senator Mirshan?” I asked of our Valikese host.

The door to the lab burst open, admitting Fleetwood, who spun in a flourishing circle, her turquoise, sequined skirts swirling about her. A miniature bust of Tyler Batista hovered above her wrist.

“Well, hello, doily!” Fleetwood greeted us.

“Fulyiti!” Azo’lah called, stomping in after her. “You promised not to interrupt Gretchen and Chester again today!”

“Yes, but Tyler did not.” Fleetwood beamed at her cousin as she held up her Ran’dyl.

“What up, what up, what up?” Tyler’s hologram greeted us. His smile was brighter than his backward snapback, which was red today.

“Hey, Tyler,” Chester said as I waved at our favorite frenemy.

“Fleetwood said y’all were working on some serious shit,” Tyler said. “Sounds dope.”

Fleetwood dramatically flopped across one of the recently cleared work tables. “Sounds tedious. There have been no shenanigans this week, and my heart is sad.”

“You and Ryan got politely asked to leave multiple war museums for performing overly-loud re-enactments of the battles,” Chester pointed out. “Not to mention the terrified screaming and running LinManHam stirred up when you took him for a walk yesterday!”

In defense of the Valik, if a giant skeletal familiar that resembled a wonky triceratops came striding down my street, I, too, would go shrieking in the opposite direction.

“And Matt took you on a tour of the southern hemisphere where you saw the Pows’zix Waterfall,” Azo’lah added.

Fleetwood clutched at Chester’s forearm. “But it hasn’t been the same without you and Gretchen, beloved.”

“If you’re looking for an adventure, there’s been some heavy merchandise movement in Omega quadrant,” Tyler suggested. “With a legit archaeologist on your team, you’ll make double the usual rate. I can ask Max to send a comm to our contact if you want.”

Fleetwood leaped off the table excitedly.

“We are not mercenaries!” I reminded her.

“Fulyiti, there is no easy way to explain illegal merchandise trafficking to the Auhtula,” Azo’lah added.

“That’s probably for the best,” Tyler said, sinking back into his seat. “We saw Sadrilla and her crew out here, and she’s definitely still out for your blood.”

Chester and I froze. We hadn’t seen Sadrilla since our disastrous trip to J’olpri when she and her crew absconded with the cloak of the first Auhtula.

Azo’lah craned toward Tyler’s bust. “You crossed paths with Sadrilla?”

“More like avoided paths,” Tyler corrected with an overdramatic grimace. “We saw her with her right-hand, Anders, at a bar on Rucobal. We bounced immediately. Word is she’s moving something big, if you know what I mean.” Tyler’s dark brows climbed so high with implied meaning they disappeared beneath the brim of his cap.

I met Azo’lah’s eyes. The cloak. “We know what you mean,” I said.

“You said you’re in the Omega quadrant?” Azo’lah asked, her voice barely concealing her sudden interest.

“Rucobal?” Fleetwood repeated the foreign planet’s name. Chester was already pulling up potential routes for Matt on his Ran’dyl.

“Not anymore,” Tyler said slowly.

“But that’s where you saw Sadrilla?” Azo’lah asked. “How long ago?”

Tyler coughed, his eyes skirting to the side like a mouse Sebastian had cornered. “Less than a day. But I don’t…”

“You don’t?” Chester prompted.

Tyler cleared his throat. “Max would be pissed if he knew I was telling you this. He doesn’t… Sadrilla is bad news. You guys don’t know what you’re dealing with. Even with Chester’s brain and Azo’lah’s ass-kicking, Sadrilla’s crew are dangerous as fuck. If you go after them and something happens to Gretchen, Max will drive out into deep space and throw me out the airlock.”

Fleetwood and Chester’s matching grins did nothing to soothe my rising blush. “He would, would he? And why would that be?” Fleetwood asked.

“Uh, because…” Tyler stammered. In the worst show of acting in the known universe, he suddenly perked up and said, “Oh, what’s that? We’re under attack, and I have to go so we don’t die a fiery death? Alright, bye, guys!” He blew us kisses before he disconnected the comm, his hologram dissipating.

The four of our gazes met in a moment of perfect, unspoken understanding.

The cloak of the first Auhtula. After all of these months without a single lead, here was a golden opportunity to track it down.

“I’ll call back Matt and Captain Thorley,” Azo’lah volunteered, tapping at her Ran’dyl.

“Yes, yes, yes!” Fleetwood chanted as she pirouetted around the lab, a turquoise disco ball of excitement.

“There are at least three different routes we can take to Rocubal,” Chester said, his eyes dancing across the projections from his Ran’dyl pin. His fingers traced trajectory lines through the stars. “This one is faster, but this one is only half an Earth day longer, which would provide us more time to plan.”

“We’ll need to clear out part of the lab and find a proper container for transport for the cloak,” I ticked off tasks on my fingers. My attention snagged on the immaculately protected korton. I pointed to its case. “Do you think Senator Mirshan would allow us to purchase some of that material? It’d be perfect for safely transporting the cloak back to Destyr.”

As though summoned by my mention of him, Senator Mirshan swept into the lab, violet robes billowing at his back. Mirshan was short enough to make me look like a giant and as slender as a beanpole—I had spent my first-day on-planet wondering how such a thin species kept their multiple organ systems inside their bodies. Like all Valik, the Senator’s chartreuse amphibian skin was devoid of blemishes, and his seven-fingered hands were webbed. “Most honored friends,” Senator Mirshan greeted us, his voice deeper than a bass drum. “I have most exciting news to share with you!”

“Honored Senator,” Fleetwood returned, bowing to our host. 

Senator Mirshan practically vibrated with glee as he turned to me and announced, “There has been another find!”

“Another find?” I repeated. Too caught up in returning the first Auhtula’s to Destyr, I struggled to compute Mirshan’s words.

“Yes, another ancient weapon from our moon wars,” Mirshan’s face fell. The Senator and I had spent the last week reveling in the historical significance of the korton; my current lack of enthusiasm must’ve been a disappointment.

“That’s—that's awesome,” I said, my grin as weak as my voice.

“Yes. Would it be a bother to request your continued help and expertise?” Senator Mirshan asked. “A maintenance worker on our smallest moon, Coswir, made the discovery while updating a monoxide processing system. You have been most generous with your time,” Mirshan turned his burnt orange eyes to Fleetwood, “and I would not wish to impose further, but if you would be willing to go to Coswir and do a preliminary study? I am sure you have more important meetings to attend and allies to help. However, it would take but a few hours.”

My cheeks burned with shame. Mirshan had been nothing but affable since our arrival. He’d provided Chester and me with everything we could need to help conserve the korton, and now my inability to function properly in a social setting was going to sour our relationship with the Valik.

Fleetwood stepped forward and stooped to fold Senator Mirshan’s hands between hers. Their almost three-foot height difference made them look like mother and son, not political allies. “Senator Mirshan, there is nothing more important than helping cherished friends. Of course, we will fly to Coswir.”

“I do not wish to impede your exit,” Mirshan insisted. “I know you were to leave this evening, and you must have a schedule to keep.”

Azo’lah cleared her throat. “It is no bother, honored Senator. If it would not offend the Senatorial Committee, our crew will leave for Coswir immediately and then take-off from the moon. That will allow us to maintain our schedule while also giving Gretchen and Chester time to examine this new piece.”

Mirshan clasped his hands together in thanks, rapidly backing out of the lab. “Oh, it will offend no one. On the contrary, we are honored by your agreement to assist us with another piece of our history. I will inform the Senatorial Committee and send a message to the shipyard to commence fueling your ship for your impending trip to Coswir!”

Senator Mirshan disappeared in a swirl of fabric, the lab door sliding shut behind him.

“I will update Matt and Captain Thorley,” Azo’lah sighed. “Inform them of our change in plans.”

“We should pack up everything,” Chester suggested, striding to the table where my archaeological tools were spread.

“Quick, quick! Adventure awaits!” Fleetwood cheered.

“But after we stop on Coswir,” I reminded her. 

Surprisingly, Fleetwood did not wilt at having to postpone our adventure. “It is the right thing to help friends when they need it.” Fleetwood grabbed my hands, dipped me like a trained dancer, then spun toward Chester’s side. “Let’s get this show to explode!”

The Gold Dust Wo’man had barely cleared Val’s atmosphere when my Ran’dyl rang. I immediately regretted letting Fleetwood customize my ringtones as everyone on the bridge swiveled to look at me, smirking. Even LinManHam, who was situated in his specially crafted safety rigging, seemed to be staring at me in amusement.

“Aren’t you going to answer that, crewman?” Ryan’s look was all too-knowing as the 1980s movie anthem filled the air.

My cheeks and neck burned with embarrassment. I was returning my Ran’dyl’s settings to silent after this, Fleetwood’s joyful ringtone obsession be damned. “I hate you all so much,” I said, very maturely, before accepting the call.

Maximilian Danger Shockley’s stupidly handsome face and glistening, naked torso hovered over my wrist.

“Gretch, babe—” he began.

Ryan blandly remarked, “I guess I see the appeal now.” 

“I’m on the bridge,” I squeaked, swinging my Ran’dyl out of everyone’s sight in an attempt to protect Shockley’s negligible virtue. “Why are you—” I flapped my hand at his delicious chest and arms, which did, in fact, look even better in real life. And that train of thought was not helping. 

Shockley laughed. “I had just finished working out when Tyler let it slip that he told you about Sadrilla.” 

 “And you couldn’t put your shirt back on before you called?” 

“I was worried. Are you really complaining?” 

“We’re not,” Chester and Fleetwood chorused in their eerie, mischievous unison. 

“Awful, every single one of you,” I covered my face with both hands. 

“Come on, babe,” Shockley said, prompting me to lower my wrist to eye level again. “Whatever you and your crew are planning on doing about Sadrilla, don’t do it. Please.” 

“It’s too late! It’s been thought, and we’re gonna do,” Fleetwood belted to what sounded suspiciously like Les Mis. She was currently deeply entrenched in a Musical Theater phase. 

“We’re not going after Sadrilla right now,” I said, completely honest. We weren’t, right now, at least. “We’re going to one of Val’s moons to look at a new find.” 

“And afterward, you’re going to be smart and go to another planet for some nice, safe, actual archaeology or back to Destyr, right?” Shockley looked at me expectantly. 

“Eventually,” I hedged. 

“If your crew doesn’t keep you safe, I’m gonna swipe that cloak myself, just to spite them,” Shockley said dryly. 

“I’d permanently maim you if you tried,” Azo’lah called breezily. “I’m considering it anyway for your insinuation that we don’t take Gretchen’s safety seriously.” 

Shockley’s lips pursed in frustration. “Just…be careful, you idiots.” 

“Go put on a shirt or something and take your own advice,” I said. Shockley’s concern was touching, but he, of all people, should understand why I wanted this find so badly. How important it was. 

Shockley leaned in closer to his comm device and lowered his voice. “Seriously, Gretchen. I’d like to finish what we started at the wedding.” My face was so overheated I probably could’ve boiled the post-mission hot chocolate water for the entire crew on my forehead. Shockley continued, “And I can’t do that if you’re dead. So, reconsider. For me, babe.” He gave a small, sincere smile that almost swayed me. 

“Quit calling me babe, babe,” I snapped and hung up on him. I felt bad, so I hastily sent out the message: I like finishing what I start. When it comes to both you and the cloak ;).

Coswir, similar to Earth’s moon, had no viable atmosphere. The horizon went straight from the pale periwinkle ground to the ink-black expanse of space. 

“Looks like a shitty ripoff of Epcot,” Ryan noted, looking out the porthole closest to the exit ramp. They were already dressed in their navy spacesuit. The golden Destyrian glyph for Captain emblazoned on the back shimmered in the cabin lights, their similarly golden helmet was cradled under one arm. 

I laughed as I joined them. The squat facility was a white geodesic dome. Like someone had taken the theme park's iconic ball, sliced it in half, and left it to rot in the ass-end of the galaxy. 

The short walk to the facility was rather uneventful—except for Chester and Ryan reenacting the 1969 lunar landing with Matt guest-starring as the radio static.

“It’s funny if you’re human,” I promised Azo’lah. “I’ll show you the clip later. Okay, what’s going on? You’ve got your Myax face on.” 

“I am a Myax, and this is my face, therefore I always have a Myax face on,” Azo’lah corrected, but it lacked the spark of her usual teasing jibes. In fact, the tiny indentation between her brows, visible even through the glass of her helmet, was folding farther inwards as we headed up the wide ramp leading to the compound’s door.

“No, really, what is it?” I asked as Azo’lah folded herself closer to Fleetwood. 

“The senator implied that this was an active facility, and yet there’s no…”

“Activity,” I finished for her. 

“I was just wondering about that myself,” Matt said, stepping aside as Ryan pushed their way to the front of the group and pressed the glowing orange button on the door’s intercom display.

“This is Captain Thorley of the Gold Dust Wo’man. Gretchen Borowicz, Royal Archaeologist for the House of Fuiq, is here to examine the artifact at the request of Senator Mirshan,” Ryan said with more authority than I had ever been able to muster as a fully grown adult, let alone as a teenager. 

The metal door slid sideways, with a slight groan, like it was being forced into service after too long and against its will. Behind it, there was nothing but completely opaque darkness.

We entered slowly and carefully. The door squealed closed behind us. Matt let out a heavy sigh through his nose. “This isn’t a particularly auspicious start.” 

“Everyone, we must protect Gret’chen,” Fleetwood whispered. “Statistically, she will be the first victim.” 

“I’ve been training,” I protested feebly. 

“Training matters little.” Fleetwood drew her knife. “Your hair is the closest to the golden tone of all first victims in Earth films where friends enter dark, abandoned structures.” 

Ryan snorted, amused that as the closest blonde in the group, I was destined to die first in this outer space horror movie. 

“Really comforting there, Cap,” I pouted. 

“This is Captain Thorley. If no one makes contact with us in the next seven seconds, we’re turning around and contacting the senator,” Ryan shouted, reaching for their blaster holster.

“Please don’t!” A new, small voice pierced the darkness, followed by a flood of light. We were in a compact, blinding white room, with white walls made out of some sort of insulated fabric. On the other side of the room was a glass wall, behind which was a lone Valik in an unflattering aquamarine jumpsuit. “I’m so sorry. They cleared the facility to ensure no one damaged the artifact once we found it, and they left only me. I usually work maintenance but not in this wing, so it takes me a while to locate the correct controls. Give it another 12 clicks to resume correct atmosphere levels, and then you can take off your helmets.” There was a high-pitched noise, like air leaking out of an innertube or, more accurately, judging from Fleetwood, Matt, and Ryan’s poorly stifled giggles, a badly concealed fart. 

When the noise stopped, the glass wall slid sideways. The Valik stepped away from the controls and gave a little bow. His jumpsuit crinkled like dollar store tissue paper as he straightened back up. “I’m Kreshlin. I’m to show you the artifact and assist you in any way while you do...what you do,” he finished awkwardly. 

“Come on, Dover, show us the bloomin’ artifact!” Fleetwood said sunnily. She removed her helmet and set it on one of the squat benches that lined the room. 

We followed suit. As we followed Kreshlin out of the room, I stripped down the top of my space suit and tied it around my waist so that I could easily access my bandolier of tools. 

“The senator told us what this facility was used for, but I forgot,” Chester remarked a little too casually, eyeing the one-note white hexagonal decor that was somewhere between an insane asylum and being trapped inside a gigantic golf ball. 

“We are experimenting with alternative energy sources derived from solar power. The moon receives a great deal of light when it is in direct line with our sun. They’re trying to make energy sources that can power something for lifetimes.” 

“Don’t the—” Chester began, but Kreshlin had stopped at another arched doorway. 

“It’s in the east wing through this hallway, but ah, no offense, the structure was built to accommodate Valik.” Kreshlin gestured to himself and then Azo’lah and Fleetwood. “You may find it a bit cramped. Perhaps we should go in pairs?” 

“I’ll go,” I said, already thinking of the cloak. The sooner we examined this find, the sooner I could chase Sadrilla down and get a piece of priceless history out of her murderous, uneducated hands. 

“Myaxi,” Azo’lah began, but I had already stepped into the hallway. 

“I’ll go with her,” Chester said. “We can scan the thing and knock out all of the tests quickly.” 

Azo’lah’s mouth crinkled with distaste at the idea, but she nodded. Chester and I stepped forward and followed our Valik guide.

Kreshlin wasn’t kidding about the hallway being narrow. “Could we get some lights?” I asked, remembering Fleetwood’s horror movie-based prediction of my demise.

“It’s a wiring malfunction. Takes two to fix,” Kreshlin said. “We didn’t have time to repair it before we were ordered to clear the base for you.” Maybe the malfunction was also why the hallway was oppressively hot. 

“I am sweating like a sinner in church. Christ,” Chester panted behind me as he pulled down the top half of his spacesuit. He swore as his elbows slammed against the walls of the cramped corridor.

I tried to hurry along as best I could in the near pitch black with just an occasional flare of odd purple light to guide the way. “Can you get so hot your hands fall asleep?” I wondered, wiggling my fingers. “Is that a thing?” 

“I didn’t think so, but maybe,” Chester admitted. “Thank the alien gods,” he sighed as we emerged into a blessedly cooler room that also had functioning overhead lights.

“There is the artifact on the floor,” Kreshlin gestured to where a few lights had been placed in a circle around a large hunk of glittering rock. Otherwise, the stark white room was completely empty. “We haven’t touched it since it was found. I’ll go fetch two more of your companions and return.” 

Kreshlin disappeared back into the hell-hot hallway, the door sliding shut behind him. I wiped my sweaty brow with my bandana and walked over to the circle of lights. “This is an artifact from their moon wars?” I took a brush out of my bandolier and hesitated—searching for any sign that this wasn’t just a hunk of rock more suited to a geologist than an archaeologist. 

“Girl, that’s a rock,” Chester said, already scanning it with his Ran’dyl. We’d been working together on various projects for so long, Chester knew my requests before I even made them.

“I didn’t read much about the moon wars,” I admitted, having been too focused on preserving the korton, which hailed from a later period, “but I didn’t think they were so ancient the weapons were hunks of rock.” 

Chester snorted. “This rock isn’t even ancient. It’s fake. Like replicated silicone-type stuff. I’ve seen prop rocks more convincing than this.” 

I stood, returning my brush to its slot and crossing my arms over my chest. “Do you think someone’s playing a prank?” 

“On us?” Chester picked up the faux rock with surprising ease. 

“On Kreshlin, or someone else.” I tightened the sleeves of my spacesuit around my waist. “I feel bad having to tell him that his big discovery is a big old bust.” 

“Feel bad for us instead,” Chester grinned, deactivating his scanner. “We lost hours on Sadrilla, and we’re gonna have to listen to Fleetwood complain about it.” 

I grinned. “Ten bucks says she tries to take the fake rock with us.”

“Oh, it’ll be named after another slew of musical composers, covered with glitter, and gifted to LinManHam before the night is out,” Chester agreed.

I drummed my fingers against my thighs to stop myself from checking the time on my Ran’dyl again.

“Getting antsy there, Gretch?” Chester asked from where he was sprawled across the white floor, tossing the fake rock over his head and catching it like a basketball. 

I lost the war with myself and checked the time. Kreshlin had only left to retrieve the rest of our crew five minutes ago. But still, those were five minutes we could’ve been using to hurtle across space toward Sadrilla and the cloak.

I pushed off from the wall that I was leaning against. “How long does it take to bring everyone else down a damn hallway?”

The rock slapped against Chester’s palms, and he sat up. “You do realize that we don’t have to wait here for them, right? It isn’t like this thing needs to be kept in an air-tight container or anything.” He stood, tossing the silicone rock at me. 

I squawked and flailed. The fake artifact hit the floor and rolled away. I snatched it up. “Alright, let’s go break the bad news to Kreshlin and then blow this popsicle stand.”

Chester gestured to his Ran’dyl. “I’ll let Fleetwood know we’re coming to them.”

“Good idea,” I said, already exiting back into the dark but significantly less hot hallway. Every second counted in our pursuit of Sadrilla. Before Chester made the call, his Ran’dyl beeped. It seemed that Fleetwood and Chester, as usual, were on the same wavelength. 

“Beloved, where are you?” Fleetwood asked.

“Yo, FleetMerc,” Chester said, “we’re heading back your way. The find’s a bust. A manufactured fake. Probably some asshole playing a prank to get a day off from work or something.”

“Ah, rats,” Fleetwood said, her voice sounding anything but disappointed, “looks like it’s time to head out on the byway, looking for adventure.”

“We’ll see you soon,” Chester promised, ending the call.

We emerged from the hall. However, the entrance room was vacant. I stared at the bench where our six golden helmets glinted beneath the hostile overhead lighting. Through the glass window, we could see that the control room was also empty. “Wait, where are they?”

Chester’s eyebrows arched over his glasses frame as his eyes traced the rounded edges of the room. “I don’t know.”

I gnawed at my thumb nail. “Maybe they went looking for us?”

“After Fleetwood said she would wait for us?”

A chill crept up my spine as doubt wedged itself deep in my stomach. I grit my teeth. I refused to let my hope of getting Sadrilla dwindle. We must have just misunderstood Fleetwood. That’s all. Nothing nefarious.

Chester activated his Ran’dyl. “No worries. I’ll just pull up a GPS schematic, and we’ll be out of here in a—”

The lights flickered, and an odd, electronic wine echoed from Chester’s Ran’dyl.

“What the hell?” Chester tapped at the device as it fell silent.

“What’s wrong?” I shielded my eyes against the strobing lights.

“It’s not working. Why isn’t it working?” Chester grabbed my wrist and prodded at my Ran’dyl. “Is yours?”

When my Ran’dyl failed to activate beneath Chester’s attempts, I dropped the fake rock, which bounced against the hard floor. “What the actual fuck?”

“They really need to get around to those repairs in this place,” Chester said. “I don’t even want to think about how messed up their lab work is getting if there are malfunctions bad enough to interrupt our comms.”

“This is bad,” I breathed as the lights went out completely. “Shit, this is like horror movie bad.”

“It isn’t great,” Chester conceded, pulling his clip lights from his spacesuit pocket. His reassuring face glowed blue as he attached one to his collar and one to my bandolier. “Internal comms on.”

“Internal comms on,” I said, turning on my own. Over the intervening time since our visit to the ancient temple on Vas Roya, we had all gained a certain mastery over the strange communication style. We were able to not only open and close the communication pathway but also direct our internal calls to individuals instead of speaking with everyone. Azo’lah and I were still the only ones able to mind-text each other, though. 

I said, “Fleetwood! Azo’lah! Are you there?”

“Gret’chen, my Chester, where art thou?”

I sighed with relief. Thank god Fleetwod and Azo’lah had thought to activate their own internal comms.

“Myaxi, Chester! Respond immediately.”

“We’re okay,” he replied. “Are your Ran’dyl’s out too?”

“Affirmative,” Azo’lah said. “We have no means of contacting Captain Thorley and Matt.”

Chester’s uncertain face mirrored my own. I said, “I thought you were all still together.”

“Kreshlin escorted Ryan and Matty-Matt down the hall only moments after you,” Fleetwood explained.

“But Kreshlin never brought them to us,” Chester said. “So we backtracked.” 

That niggling feeling returned. Something was happening—something, most likely, bad. I flexed my fingers in an attempt to maintain my composure until we knew how bad that something was.

“We must reunite, find Captain Thorley and Matt. Then, we leave immediately,” Azo’lah said.

Chester nodded sharply. “Agreed, but without our Ran’dyl’s working, we’re like rats in a very weird maze here. Though,” his voice rose contemplatively, “it is a circle. We’re bound to run into each other eventually, right?”

“But what if we end up just missing each other?” I pointed out. 

“Freeze tag!” Fleetwood suggested.

Chester smiled. “FleetMerc always coming through with the genius ideas. So two of us stay put, and the other pair goes searching.”

Azo’lah cleared her throat. “We shall stay put. It will be easier for me to defend the Fulyiti from a stationary position if something dangerous is occurring.”

“We’ll come to you,” Chester and I agreed in unison. None of us wanted to over-react if this was nothing more than a prank followed by a tech/electrical function. But we also weren’t voicing our true concern: that we had been lured here for nefarious reasons, the most likely of which, hurting or kidnapping Fleetwood.

“Hurry to me, my dainty duckies,” Fleetwood said.

“Stay safe,” Azo’lah added unnecessarily. I snorted. Chester and I weren’t the ones who made insane bids at adventure. “And leave your internal comms open.”

I pointed at the hallway we came down. “If they weren’t in the room with us, it stands to reason, we shouldn’t go that way.”

Chester nodded, his blue light bobbing erratically. Chester tightened the sleeves of his spacesuit around his waist. “Go through the control room then.” I followed after him leaving behind the rock facsimile—carrying it around made me feel weirdly responsible for the situation we were now in. If I weren’t an archeologist, then we never would have been called here, and my friends wouldn’t want to kick me off the crew once we left this moon.

As my thoughts spiraled, I grabbed at my spacesuit sleeve and opened one of the hidden pockets. A pair of pills fell into my palm.

Chester groped along his spacesuit. “I think I’ve got a spare drink pouch that Ryan made me pack for an emergency.”

“I’m good,” I said, producing my own emergency drink pouch from my pocket.

“You need a minute?” Chester asked.

“What’s wrong with Myaxi?” Azo’lah’s voice in my head startled me. I had forgotten momentarily that we had left our internal comms open.

“I’m fine,” I promised as I took my anxiety meds. Chester gave me a concerned look, wanting to check in with me without verbalizing it, which no doubt would cause the cousins to worry more.

I resealed the drink pouch and nodded. We shuffled through the control room toward the only other door and exited into a pitch-black hallway. The ceiling in this hallway was even lower than the others. The top of Chester’s beanie brushed it.

“There aren’t even safety lights here,” Chester murmured.

“We’re on the move,” I informed Azo’lah and Fleetwood just as the overhead lights pulsed. I clapped my hand over my eyes as my retinas adjusted to the searing brightness of the hallway. Like every room we had been in, this hallway was completely white.

Chester tapped at his Ran’dyl frantically. “Is yours back up?”

“No,” I replied as I mimicked his actions with my wristband. “Nothing.” 

“Fuck,” he huffed. “The second our Ran’dyls are back online, I’m looking for a schematic of this place.”

I nudged him with my elbow, and we continued down the hall. Upon reaching a fork in the corridor, I pointed to the right where a series of doors lay. “Start here?”

Chester shrugged his agreement. He approached the first door, waving his hand to activate the motion trigger.

Inside the all-white, empty room, Fleetwood and Azo’lah were speaking lowly to one another.

“Well, that was easy,” I said as I checked our surroundings. I wasn’t sure if I was starting to lose it or if truly every single room in this station was a carbon copy of its predecessor. I turned off my internal comms as Chester rushed to Fleetwood. “Chester, my Chester!” She swept him into a hug, lifting him off his feet and spinning him in a wide circle.

I was pulled into my own crushing embrace against Azo’lah. With my face smooshed against her suit, her arms secured around my shoulders and back, I asked, “You alright, Azo’lah?”

“Of course, Myaxi. Are you hurt?” Azo’lah pulled back slightly but did not release me. My cheeks burned. There was something in her gaze—something too soft and vulnerable—that made me look away toward Fleetwood when I responded with, “We’re good. A little freaked but good.”

“No injuries,” Chester said from his place tucked beneath Fleetwood’s arm. 

“Good. That is… good,” Azo’lah removed her arms from around me but remained close. I ignored her slight weirdness as I checked over Fleetwood. 

“This place gives me the willies,” Fleetwood said, patting me on the head.

“Right?” I agreed. “Let’s find Matt and Ryan and get out of here.”

Azo’lah’s arm snaked around my shoulders, pulling me away from Fleetwood. “Yes, excellent plan, Myaxi. You and I will seek out the others while Chester and the Fulyiti stay here.”

“What?” I asked at the same time Chester said, “That’s not the plan.”

“It makes the most sense,” Azo’lah insisted. I stumbled, struggling to keep up with her longer stride as she towed me across the room. “It is safest for Fulyiti Fleetwood to stay in one place while Myaxi and I search for the others. You, her Favored, will remain with her. Come, Gretchen.”

My boots squeaked against the floor as Azo’lah pulled me even closer. I twisted to look at Chester and mouthed, What the fuck?

“Azo’lah, what the hell is happening? You’re acting weird as hell,” Chester narrowed his eyes at Azo’lah’s back.

I grabbed Azo’lah’s elbow and squeezed. “Azo’lah, I really don’t think we should split up!”

Azo’lah waved off his concern as the door opened. “Everything will be fine. Keep the Fulyiti safe, Chester. We will return with the others shortly.” She tugged me into the hall.

The last thing I saw before the door shut was Chester’s hands coming up in the universal signal of What the hell? 

“Azo’lah, um…” I trailed off as Azo’lah’s hand settled on the back of my neck, her thumb sweeping distractingly over the divot beneath my ear. 

“Yes, ket’li?” Azo’lah hummed. And okay, this was getting weirder by the second. Her voice was suffused with the warm fondness which I associated with a relaxed, off-duty Azo’lah. She was certainly not off-duty right now. Not to mention that, while like most Destyrian’s, Azo’lah was fairly tactile, she had a tendency to keep both hands free for Myax ass-kicking when in unfamiliar surroundings. 

“Are you sure you're okay?” 

Azo’lah fixed me with a heretofore unseen look. It was somehow tender, rendered more so by its contrast to the bleak decor. It was also, perhaps, the most devastatingly attractive expression I’d seen on her face. The fact that it was suddenly directed at me was alarming.

Her hand dipped beneath the collar of my button-down. “I am with you, Myaxi. Why wouldn’t I be well, faa’le?” 

“Because you’re with me instead of with Fleetwood while we’re stuck in a malfunctioning moonbase? And you’re calling me space potato and honey, and—”

Azo’lah’s hand grasped my chin, gently forcing my gaze to her. “And this bothers you? I don’t know what a potato is, but that’s not what ket’li means.” 

“Bother is a strong word,” I sidestepped her and tapped at my still dead Ran’dyl. “It’s just unusual for you is all.” When nothing happened, I went to the door at the end of the hallway, ready to find Ryan and Matt and get the hell out of this haunted house. 

The lights flickered on and then off two times. 

Azo’lah’s arm snaked across my chest, holding me to her. I waited for the telltale barely audible schwink of Azo’lah drawing her zali’thir or the hum of her light-weapons activating in the immediate silence. But there was nothing. 

On the third flash of the lights, Matt's voice rang out from our suddenly active Ran’dyls. “Gretchen, where are you?” he panted like he had outrun a Destyrian in the 500m dash. “I just escaped Ryan! I knew they couldn’t be trusted. The Destyrians have colluded with the Vallik to sell me out to the Covlax.” 

I stared at my Ran’dyl, wide-eyed. “What do you mean escaped Ryan? What the hell happened? Also, you’re on the crew-wide channel, everyone can hear you right now.” 

“I—shit—” Matt began but was cut off as my Ran’dyl died along with the overhead lighting. 

With only Chester’s clip light still attached to my bandolier to see by, I realized that we were officially in over our heads. “Fuck, something’s seriously wrong.” It was just an appraisal, I said. A diplomatic favor, I said. It’ll be easy, I said.  “Let’s go,” I hastened toward the door. 

“Wait,” Azo’lah murmured as I moved to activate the door’s motion detector. Her front pressed along my back, hand warm around mine. I shivered. This was not the time. “Let me go first,” she murmured. “It’s my honor to protect you.” Azo’lah moved around me, gently pushing me behind her as she stepped in front of the opening door.

A blue ball of light bobbed toward us and I thought, insanely, that we were about to be lured to our doom by an outer space will-o-the-wisp. 

“Oh, thank fuck.” Ryan’s azure-washed face was slowly discernable from the darkness of the room. The wisp of my imagination was nothing but a light that Ryan had clipped to their jacket to help them navigate the darkness.

“I’ve been looking for you weirdos everywhere. No fun being in a haunted moonbase, alone,” Ryan continued, their eyes gleaming with glee. 

Oh, to be young, I thought mordantly. “I don’t think it’s haunted,” I said, seriously hoping it wasn’t. “Just malfunctioning tech. Right, Azo’lah?” 

Azo’lah tilted her head questioningly, like LinManHam when trying to find out where Fleetwood was calling from. Azo’lah was looking at me like she had no idea what I was insinuating. Like she’d forgotten about her technopathic powers. Come to think of it, we’d been alone for at least five minutes. How come she hadn’t tried to stabilize the base’s power, or at least find out what was disrupting it? 

“Ryan, something’s seriously wrong,” I said.

Ryan's eyes flickered to Azo’lah’s weaponless hands. “I’ll say. Did you hear, Majumdar? What a lame attempt at a prank. Where’s our princess and resident genius?” 

“We left them two rooms back,” I explained. “Azo’lah told them to stay put and wait for us to come back with you and Matt.”

Ryan eyes widened as they took in Azo’lah “You told Fleetwood to stay put and thought she would actually do it? You let her out of your sight?”

“Of course, she is with Chester. She will be fine,” Azo’lah said easily. “I couldn’t leave Gretchen unprotected.” 

“Holy shit,” Ryan said, suddenly delighted. “Either this moonbase is haunted and you and Matt are possessed or there have been exciting developments. Either way, I can’t wait to find Matt. If he wasn’t back there, he must have been further along the way I came and I missed him. Let’s go.” They jerked their head toward the door they had entered from, already striding forward, betraying no doubt that we would fall into step behind them. 

We crossed into the next room and the lights blinked back to life. I squeezed my eyes shut against the photosensitivity. By the time I could see again, Ryan already had their Ran’dyl activated. 

“Crew come in, this is Captain Thorley.” 

“Thank Sondheim!” Fleetwood’s voice came through our comms. “What’s the buzz?” 

“I’ve found our Myax and Myaxi,” Ryan relayed. “Stay where Azo’lah put you. We’re moving ahead to find Matt and bring him back.” 

“Azo’lah has given me no blocking,” Fleetwood’s voiced hissed into the comms, as if she was trying not to let someone else hear. “I haven’t seen her since we went through the sweaty hallway. We got separated. I located Chester but he is not right.”

“That isn’t funny, Fleetwood,” I said, my voice as wobbly as my nerves. “We literally left you two rooms ago. We know exactly where you are.”

“I am not trying for a comedy tonight!” Fleetwood practically wailed. “This is the worst, Burr!” 

“Holy shit,” Ryan said. “Hold your position, FleetMerc. We’ll find Matt and come get you. Don’t move.” 

“The ayes have it,” Fleetwood said. “Please hur—” Her voice cut out with the lights. I groaned against the sudden blue-darkness. 

I met Ryan’s eyes. “Don’t say it. They’re not possessed. There’s no such thing as ghosts.” 

Azo’lah’s hand brushed a strand of frizz behind my ear. “Ket’li?” 

I took a step away from her, ignoring Ryan’s arched eyebrow and knowing look. “Gretch, we literally just came from a planet where there were witches and necromancers. I don’t think demonic possession is out of the question.” 

“You’re not helping, Captain,” I sighed and followed their cheery laugh into the next room. 

“Do no harm is the first tenant of magic,” Everly recited as though answering a question posed by a professor. When Azo’lah didn’t release the weapon, Everly held up her hands. “It’s an inanimate object, Myax. The metal will take the enchantment well, as it comes from nature. That’s why all of our weapons are made from naturally occurring materials.”

Hours previous, just as night fell, we had reached our destination, shrouded beneath the trees at the top of the hill that overlooked the Temple of Delto. Though our trek had been zombie-free, it had not been easy. Huxorian terrain was hilly in the extreme, requiring a great deal of thigh strength to navigate. Though I had spent the last couple hours seated upon a particularly welcoming boulder, my legs still weren’t ready to carry me across the moon-soaked field that laid just past the ridgeline.

Anthea and Everly placed Azo’lah’s zali’thir on a flat rock, linked hands, and, along with the other four witches present, chanted over it. Moonlight filtered down through the leafy canopy and glinted along the keen edges of the zali’thir. Power coalesced in their hands, the same quicksilver light that had transported our ship out of sight upon our arrival. It sank slowly into the blade. The chant died, but the light didn’t. It pulsed softly in a steady rhythm, a magical beating heart.

Anthea returned the magic-infused zali’thir to Azo’lah. She cradled it reverently in her long-fingered hand.

Ryan handed Anthea the crossbow and hip quiver they’d been loaned for the next stage of Azo’lah’s Temple Infiltration Plan. We all watched raptly as Anthea and Everly chanted over them. The same light poured into Ryan’s crossbow and bolts. Their eyes danced with glee as they accepted their enchanted weapons, showing them off to Fleetwood.

Matt’s crisp voice cut through the humid night air. Even with our Ran’dyl’s on the lowest volume setting, in this silence, it sounded like he was screaming. “Ground team, this is the Qu’een. After securing the Gold Dust Wo’man, your distraction duo is in place. Awaiting your signal.”

“I’m still pissed about being banished from the field,” Chester groused. I could imagine him in the co-pilot’s seat, frustrated at being separated from us, most especially Fleetwood, in such a dangerous scenario. “And here’s a more accurate scan of what you’re about to walk into. You’re welcome.”

The rendering generated by Matt and Chester’s covert flyover appeared above our wrists. My pulse jumped. We were really doing this.

“Captain Thorley to Killer Qu’een,” Ryan responded cheerily. I glanced up, searching for the ship through the trees. I hadn’t even heard the engines.

“Outstanding job executing stage one,” Ryan continued. “Chester, your complaint is noted again, but we need you doing what only you can do.” Ryan studied the rendering Chester had sent. The steep hillside leading into the large, flat field the temple sat upon rotated slowly over their Ran’dyl. Matt and Chester had even surveyed the terrain on the opposite side of the temple, a sharp cliff-face above the churning sea. “How many hostiles are we looking at?”

The hologram shifted. A lone figure glowing red as a stoked ember stood inside the temple. Chester said, “Infrared shows one—I’m assuming that’s a necromancer.”

“Just the one?” Azo’lah asked, double-checking the scan for more live bodies.

“One is all the infrared picked up,” Chester said. The image above our wrists expanded to show more of the wild landscape around the temple. Along the fringes of Chester’s scan, a handful of red dots glowed dangerously. “I’ve been scanning the surrounding area and have picked up a few more, but none close enough to make your job harder.”

“Good,” Anthea said, “it would appear as though our sending Zorina and the others to the southern side of Sotu’s Ridge to draw the necromancers away worked.”

I bit my thumbnail. I hoped the witches who were causing a distractionary ruckus twenty miles away stayed safe. Logically, I understood what they were doing was necessary—there was no way our miniature strike force stood a chance against a large number of necromancers. But that didn’t stop me from wishing more people didn’t have to put themselves in danger to help get me to the Temple of Delto.

“What about zombies?” Ryan asked.

“Obviously, no infrared is going to pick them up,” Chester groused, “and the dark didn’t help. But Matt was able to get us close enough for me to take some high-def pictures. I’ve got rough numbers and locations for you. Twenty undead are situated at the top of the hill. They’re staggered along the ridge that drops down into the field, blocking your route. There are another seven guarding the temple.”

“Those numbers aren’t great,” Ryan said, assessing our group of ten, “but we can handle it. We’re waiting for the moon to reach its zenith so the witches can power up. Stay close by.”

Matt signed off, “Roger that, Captain. Killer Qu’een standing by.”

“Fulyiti, I believe you are next,” Anthea said, beckoning Fleetwood to their makeshift altar. Fleetwood eagerly offered up her favorite knife to the witches.

Azo’lah came to stand in front of me. “I’m fine,” I told her before she could ask.

Azo’lah raised one suspicious eyebrow as she sheathed her glowing zali’thir. “That’s why your leg is bouncing? Because you are fine?”

“Well, I am understandably nervous. Running across a field full of zombie guards will do that.”

Azo’lah’s palm settled on my thigh, stilling it. “Do not fear, Myaxi. We will protect you. And the crystal.”

I looked up and blinked, surprised to find her so close. Her gaze was as warm and grounding as the pressure on my leg.

“It’s a good plan,” I said honestly. And it was. Even without the addition of the witches, my contribution in a fight would be laughable. It had been decided that my job was to take the crystal and let the others protect me as I ran to the temple like the fate of the universe depended on it. “I just wish I was, you know, fast.” I gestured at the lower half of her body. “Or long-legged like you and Fleetwood.”

“You’ve been training with Milyna.” Azo’lah’s fingers reached behind my ear, smoothing down some hair that had come free of my ponytail earlier in the day. “Have faith in yourself, Myaxi. As I do.”

I squeezed the hand on my leg in gratitude as all of our Ran’dyl’s beeped in perfect harmony. I peered through the trees at the bulging moon of Huxor as it reached its apex. “Showtime,” I sighed, releasing Azo’lah’s hand and hopping off my boulder.

“God damn it,” Ryan muttered. I glanced at them to see what was wrong, but they just flapped their free hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing.”

Anthea nodded. “It is time.” She whistled, long and low, and a creature with a massive wingspan swept down from a branch. It resembled a leopard the size of a domesticated cat with the hyper-extended wings of a bat. It landed gracefully on Anthea’s shoulder. At our quizzical looks, Anthea said, “My familiar, Woden. He has been scouting the woods, looking for necromancers hidden in the shadowed crannies your ships could not see. He shall be joining us.”

The witches linked hands, forming a circle. They chorused, low and quiet in the ancient, musical language of Huxor. Like Azo’lah’s zali’thir minutes before, the witches began to shine as if they were absorbing the moonlight. It pulsed under their skin—vibrant living weapons against the darkness of unnatural resurrection. I suddenly understood why the witches' jackets were hooded as they pulled them up, obscuring the preternatural radiance of their faces.

Anthea pulled off the leather bag slung across her torso and handed it to me. I accepted it, looping it over my left shoulder so that it crisscrossed my bandolier. The weight of the crystal inside settled against my hip. “This bag has been enchanted against the necromancer’s weapons and their magic,” Anthea explained. “Even if they succeed in taking it from you, they will not be able to open it.”

I sighed, relieved to have another layer of protection standing between the bad guys and the crystal.

“Remember, we will have the advantage of the high ground,” Azo’lah said to the witches. “Fan out along the ridge and clear as many undead up top as possible. Use your long-range attacks from the top of the hill before you head down to the temple. Everly will lead the charge, clearing the way for Gretchen. Fleetwood and I will follow. Our job is to keep Gretchen’s path clear and safe. Anthea,” Azo’lah turned to the Ephemeris, “do you and your sisters require further preparation?”

Anthea shook her head. “We are ready.”

Azo’lah nodded to Ryan. Our captain notched one of the bolts from the quiver attached to their belt before activating their Ran’dyl. “Killer Qu’een, this is Captain Thorley. Comm channels remain open from here on out.”

“Roger that, Captain,” Matt replied crisply.

“Chester here. Does Her Highness have any music requests?”

“Surprise me, my beloved,” Fleetwood said, spinning her dagger in her palm. She grinned at Azo’lah, who mirrored the movement with her own blade. For a moment, I felt bad for feeling excited to watch these zombies bite the dust a second time at their hands.

“Take us away, Killer Qu’een,” Ryan instructed.

“What the—” Everly muttered as the Qu’een momentarily eclipsed the moon. The rest of what she said was lost as Matt and Chester soared over the treeline, blasting music loud enough I imagined it would rival Coachella. Was that Sandstorm? The ship dipped, the multi-colored lights on its sting-ray-shaped wings flashing in tandem with the annoying beat. I wasn’t sure if it was the loud music or the flashing lights that caught their attention, but all of the zombie guards atop the hill turned slowly, just as the Qu’een opened fire.

“Give us a slight head start,” Azo’lah told me.

“One more hit, then we’re heading over to Sotu Ridge to check on Zorina and the others, Captain,” Matt called over the Ran’dyl.

“Stay smart, stay safe, and stay in touch,” Ryan instructed.

“Always,” Matt replied as the music blasting from the Qu’een’s speakers changed. As they spun in the air, the rainbow lights swept across the treetops, flickering at an alarming rate to keep up with the new frantic electric pace.

“Alright, witches.” Ryan brought up their crossbow as they surveyed the landscape, “Move out!”

Woden took off from Anthea’s shoulder as my friends, Everly in the lead, darted out from the treeline. Ryan covered them from behind while our small strike team spread out along the ridge. Overhead, the Qu’een swooped low, knocking over the zombies ringing the hill’s perimeter like bowling pins made of bones. Inexplicably, it didn’t slow them down much. As Everly skirted past the piles of remains, the skeletal warriors were already knitting themselves back together. They got to their feet, a few of them chasing after Everly as she barrelled down the hill, magical flames trailing from her palms, leaving an afterburn in the night air like sparklers.

Unfortunately for the skeleton zombies, Azo’lah, Fleetwood, and the witches caught up to them. Spells and bewitched crystals collided with the zombies, beheading two before our strike team even made it to them. Three of the witches, with Woden covering them from the sky, rushed along the left side of the ridge, cutting off the path of half of the zombies. Anthea and the other witch took the zombies on the right, leaving the central group for Azo’lah and Fleetwood to dispatch.

Azo’lah reached the enemy first.

And...oh. I realized that while I’d seen Azo’lah employ her zali’thir in training, I’d never actually seen her wield it with intent until this very moment. I thought she simply favored her glowing javelin and hybrid vambrace/shield for the amount of damage she could inflict with the pair. But now I realized that damage paled in comparison to what she was capable of with her zali’thir in her hand.

She fought with the brutal grace of a lioness bringing down a wildebeest. I gave myself a couple of seconds to appreciate the view as Fleetwood grabbed an undead witch by the robes, spinning it into Azo’lah’s path. Azo’lah flipped her grip on her zali’thir, skewering the witch right above its empty third eye socket. The zombie sizzled into a plume of golden ashes, like macabre pixie dust. To our left, there was a howl like a wolf then an explosion of violet light. Skeletal limbs went flying, and golden dust showered down. The witches cheered triumphantly. Azo’lah and Fleetwood ignored all this, turning back-to-back to draw more of the zombies to them. “Gretchen,” Ryan yelled as they sent a crossbow bolt into the fray. “Go!”

I started, remembering that I had a part to play. Fleetwood and Azo’lah’s path of destruction had succeeded in its purpose: there was a clear opening for me to catch up with Everly.

I left the safety of the trees, sprinting down the bone-strewn path my friends had created. Bag thumping against my side with every step, I hopped over a severed zombie arm and crested the ridge. The hill’s slope was steeper than I thought, and I lost my footing against the dusty terrain. I skidded down almost ten feet, biting back a scream as I threw out my arms to steady myself.

I spotted Everly in the distance. She was already halfway across the field, luring the seven guards from the temple’s door as she lobbed fireballs at them. The skeletal undead shambled across the field in a V formation, the leader taking the brunt of Everly’s fiery assault.

“They’re distracted. You’ll be safe,” Everly said as I caught up with her. From the pouch on the side of her chair, she launched three hexed crystals into the torso of the left-most zombie; it groaned then began trembling, shriveling into itself until it was nothing but a heap of gold dust. “Go now. We will catch up.”

I inhaled sharply, my lungs stinging with the effort of running. “I can’t just leave you to handle this yourself!”

A crossbow bolt zinged past my right cheek. Ryan landed a shot square in the rotting sternum of the skeletal guard closing in on us. I blinked against the sudden shower of golden dust. “I’ve got her back,” Ryan said, their long legs carrying them to Everly’s side. I turned to see Fleetwood and Azo’lah sprinting down the hill, Anthea and her four witch sisters following in close pursuit. Ryan shoved at my shoulder. “Get to the safety of the temple, Borowicz. Wait for us there.”

The fire dancing across Everly’s fingers extinguished. Sweat dotted her hairline as she refocused her hands and said, “I’ll get the door for you.”

With four zombies bearing down on us, I did not wait for further instruction. I darted for the temple, my legs burning. The monumental stone doors opened, pried apart by the gold-kissed moonlight surging from Everly’s clasped palms.

I ducked under the beam, crouched low and ready to throw myself into the opening the minute it became large enough for me to fit through.

But then, darkness, blacker than a starless night, manifested into a wall that slammed into Everly’s light. It sent her magic dangerously off-course, cutting a trench six feet deep down the middle of the field. I dodged the blast, tucking thoughtlessly into one of the rolls Milyna had me practice relentlessly. I regained my feet. Cold seeped into my bones like all the warmth had been sucked out of the atmosphere. It emanated from the small figure framed perfectly by the mammoth temple doors.

The sole, live necromancer that Chester had noted on his scan had finally made his appearance. And he was a child. Swallowed by the fabric of his flowing robes, he looked to be Orla’s age, if not younger. His face was blank as he gazed at us, no flicker of life across his small, sallow features.

As he met my eyes, the earth trembled. Or, it might’ve been me.

A terrible wave of sound, like a hundred dying, exhales being forced back into unwilling lungs swept up the cliff face, past the temple, and across the field, louder even than the crash of the waves below. My hair came loose from my ponytail, and I stumbled with the force of the gale.

The child-necromancer laughed as darkness seeped from him and spread like water from a leaky hose.

I heard someone behind me shout my name, tell me to retreat. But I was frozen to the dewy grass as the black fog swirled around my legs, spreading as far as I could see.

“W-what’s happening?” I whispered to no one.

I blinked as the mist dissipated to reveal a horrific sight. Bones jutted from the earth, hands reaching past the soil for the moon. Heads and torsos hauled themselves out of the ground. Bodies, long devoid of flesh and soul, returned. An entire army of the dead. And not all were human. I spotted flashes of claws and tails, snouts, and fangs. Skeletons knitted together into fantastical shapes beyond my wildest imaginings and worst nightmares. Huge, four-legged creatures who resembled dinosaurs stood beside horse-octopus hybrids. Witches, some horrifyingly still covered in flesh, joined these creatures as they all moved in perfect synchronization to attack.

A pair of undead witches were closest to me. I shouted as their hollowed eye cavities focused on me.

“Gretchen!” Azo’lah’s voice sounded from inside my head and without. Like a lightning strike, Azo’lah lunged in front of me, Fleetwood following. Their blades ripped through flesh and bone, eviscerating the two witches into gold dust with astounding, efficient ferocity.

The tiny necromancer raised his hand toward Fleetwood. With a growl, Azo’lah dove at him. There was a brilliant flash of light and a cry of pain. I barely heard Ryan’s bellow, Chester’s voice over our comms, or the yelling of the witches battling their way to us. All I heard was my shout as I reached for Azo’lah. Fleetwood tugged on my arm, snaring me in a tight hold.

One of the huge dinosaur-like creatures with a large diamond-shaped bony plate around its head lumbered toward us. It extended its long neck and snapped huge, sharp teeth that were uneroded by its time underground. Fleetwood slashed wildly at it with her dagger, attempting to get it to back off. Unfortunately, the edge of her blade caught on the crystal’s bag at my side. Fleetwood tugged her weapon free, ripping right through the leather. With the force of her yank, the crystal was sent airborne. Fleetwood and I both went for it, momentarily forgetting the massive skeletal creature threatening us. The crystal landed in Fleetwood’s palm, just as the dinosaur-thing’s bony snout connected with her hand.

The crystal flared, moon-bright, and emitted a roiling pulse of power that obliterated the zombies that swarmed us into dust. When it slammed into the child necromancer, he wilted into Azo’lah’s arms, like the life he had re-gifted to the undead had been forcibly drained from him.

Azo’lah threw his unresponsive body at Anthea. She caught his unconscious form in a beam of silver-gold light. Everly bound his prone form in fiery ropes before Anthea forcefully levitated him up to the top of the ridge.

The only enemy that remained was the skeletal creature who stood opposite us. Its previously empty eye sockets were now filled with swirling orbs of dewy mist, like expressive crystal balls. It stepped forward.

Fleetwood shoved the crystal into my hands and pushed me up the temple steps. She sunk into a defensive stance. I tripped into Azo’lah’s waiting arms. She set me on my feet while raising her zali’thir at the creature who was slowly pursuing Fleetwood as she backed up. Its spiny tail lashed happily side to side, scattering fading golden ashes across the upturned earth. The creature didn’t seem perturbed by the enchanted knife Fleetwood wielded. It tilted its head to the side as Anthea, Everly, Ryan, and the rest of the witches rushed to surround it.

Azo’lah, saffron-colored blood dripping down her face from a nasty cut and a concerning charred hole in the front of her spacesuit, pulled her zali’thir back, ready to let it fly.

“Wait!” Anthea threw out her arms. She approached the creature slowly and held out a hand. The creature inclined its head gracefully, its unnatural eyes trained on Anthea. “Welcome back, faithful one,” Anthea breathed as Woden landed on the creature’s shoulder. The creature turned and reared, resting its chin lightly between Fleetwood’s disheveled buns.

“Congratulations, Fulyiti,” Anthea said with a small, bemused smile. “It appears you have acquired a familiar.”

Fleetwood reached up awkwardly and patted the beak-like snout of the creature’s skull.

Ryan lowered their crossbow. “Let’s, uh, put a pin in that, get inside, and lock the doors before the necromancers come back.”

Immediately, Azo’lah’s arm tightened around my waist as she pulled me further into the temple’s safety.

“What is it with us and temples, huh?” I joked lamely, tugging my bandana off to stem the bleeding on her face.

We moved quickly inside. Anthea raised her hands, sealing the doors until the only light to see by was the misty eyes of Fleetwood’s new companion and the Crystal of Cajlire, which shone faintly in my hand.

Ryan dabbed the sweat off their brow, unwittingly smearing dirt on their forehead. They wiped their palm on their pants before activating their Ran’dyl. “Killer Qu’een, status update.”

“All good over here. Zorina and Gideon have everything under control at Sotu’s Ridge. Chester and I headed back your way to track any necromancer movement near the temple,” Matt responded. “How are you all?”

“We’re fine,” Ryan said automatically. I cast a skeptical glance at them, which I doubted they could see. Ryan’s outline was hardly distinguishable from the darkness shrouding the room. Fine had a wide variety of definitions. Alive seemed like a better word choice.

I pushed up on my tiptoes to more easily reach Azo’lah’s face and assess her injuries. The glowing colors of the crystal turned the blood still leaking from the cut on her forehead into a gory watercolor sunset. The back of her suit was shredded, revealing her Myax tattoo.

Light, bright and clear, blossomed in the darkness. It was Anthea conjuring orbs of light from her fingertips. With a sweeping gesture, she dispersed the lights overhead. We were in a small room constructed of stone and marble with a barrel-vaulted ceiling. The walls were clean of any ornamentation or sigil, save for a detailed engraving of the Goddess Delto suspended in the heavens, a heavy moon hanging behind her. I desperately hoped that we got the crystal to its proper resting place soon. I couldn’t bear the thought of this beautiful, storied place being ripped apart, let alone the universe.

“I’m gonna need a more precise definition of fine,” Chester said when Ryan didn’t elaborate after a few long moments. “FleetMerc?”

Fleetwood deftly dodged the path of the giant skeletal creature, which was parading in front of her like an overeager Labradoodle begging for attention. She looked around the room. “Our crew is battered and bruised but otherwise well, dearheart,” she reported, downplaying the bruises already discoloring her neck and arm. “Our six witches are badass bitches and thus fared better than we.” Our witchy escort chuckled at that assessment, already nursing their small injuries and resecuring their tactical gear. Anthea cradled Woden close, whispering to him as she caressed his left-wing tenderly.

Fleetwood’s undead familiar nudged her arm. Charmed, she grinned and stroked his snout. “I have a new friend,” Fleetwood informed Matt and Chester over the comms. “He looks like the supersized version of little Orla’s familiar.”

Anthea came to stand next to Fleetwood, Woden in hand, nuzzling her neck. “Woden says that he is a returned soul, a witch’s familiar long-departed brought back by contact with the crystal and Delto’s will. You should gift him a name,” the Ephemeris said. “He no longer remembers his own. As you are not a witch, it is unlikely that you will be able to communicate with him as we do. Don’t worry,” Anthea added at Fleetwood’s crestfallen look. “Delto’s creatures do not choose lightly in any form. You will find a way.”

Fleetwood ran her hand underneath the creatures’ jaw bone, expression solemn. “I took my name from two legends of Earth rock music. So too, shall you be named but a different genre. I dub thee, LinManHammerSchwartzSondHermStein.”

I had to glance away from Azo’lah because her expression made me want to laugh. “I can’t even say that once, let alone five times fast,” Chester said, not bothering to hide his amusement as Fleetwood crammed the composers of all her favorite broadway musicals into a lengthy, hardly pronounceable portmanteau.

“Maybe we’ll just use LinManHam for comms purposes,” Ryan said as the newly christened LinManHam rubbed itself against Fleetwood.

“Heads up, Cap. We’ve got necromancer movement over by you!” Matt reported. “Damn that magic transportation witches can do. Chester, numbers?”

“We’ve got five life signs and visuals of at least thirty undead,” Chester rattled off. My throat clogged as I suppressed the abrupt need to vomit. Chester shouted, “Guys, brace the door, now.”

Azo’lah pushed my hand away from her face. She turned to Anthea as Woden clambered back onto the Ephemeris’s shoulder. “We need to move. How long will your magic hold?”

Boom. The door to the temple shook, the echo passing by us into the shadowed depths of the temple.

“Not long enough against those numbers,” Everly said grimly. Anthea directed a stream of power at the doors to reinforce them. Everly’s signature fire flared across her palms as she added, “Let’s not forget the possibility of the necromancers using cloaking spells. There could be more of them anywhere.”

“Fucking necromancers,” Ryan spat.

“You stay here,” Anthea directed two of her four witches. “Hold the door as long as you can.” The witches eyed each other before nodding their assent. Anthea cupped their faces in her hands. “May Delto’s light guide your spells, sisters.”

I fought back tears at the bravery of these two young women who had just accepted what was, for all intents and purposes, a suicide mission. Fleetwood moved to me, wrapping her arm across my shoulder. The motion was meant to be comforting, and it was, but the comfort just intensified my desire to cry. And we didn’t have time for that.

Azo’lah moved to my other side. She nudged the crystal and, while her eyes were understanding, her tone was firm as the temple door rattled again. “Gather yourself, Myaxi. We must be quick for our sisters in arms.”

Fleetwood squeezed me tight as her familiar nudged the back of my head. “We won’t tow away our shot.”

“Killer Qu’een, do whatever you can to help at the door. And be ready for potential extraction,” Ryan instructed.

“Roger that,” Matt said. “Chester and I are going bone bowling.”

“Be careful. All of you,” Chester added. The temple shook again, but I wasn’t sure if it was the necromancers or the obnoxious song that was undoubtedly blasting from the Qu’een’s sound system as Matt probably, executed some tricky flying in order to harry those outside.

“We shall take the lead.” Anthea indicated herself and Everly, already moving toward the doorway into the temple. “We do not know what potential traps Daxolos and his followers may have laid for us. It’s best for us witches to go first.” I bit my lip. I hadn’t even thought of potential magical necromancer booby traps. Anthea’s gaze landed on her remaining two warriors. “And cover the rear.”

“Yes, Ephemeris,” they replied.

“Myax, front or back?” Ryan asked.

“Middle.” Azo’lah positioned herself in front of Fleetwood but at my back.

Fleetwood extended up onto her tiptoes and patted her familiar on its beaky snout. “Stay here, LinManHam, and help guard the door.”

The skeleton whined its indignation but obeyed Fleetwood’s instructions.

Ryan hefted their crossbow. “Alright, Ephemeris, lead on.”

I followed behind Ryan as we exited the antechamber, the crystal clutched in both hands. Azo’lah pulled up Chester’s scan of the temple, its holographic form eerie in the semi-gloom of the temple. The temple, with the exception of the square entryway we’d just left, was formed by three concurrent circular chambers. The innermost one was a communal meeting space for rituals to the Goddess Delto, who’s massive likeness presided in the center of the room. The next circular chamber was bisected into two, each half mimicking the stages of the moon they were named for, Waxing and Waning, respectively. The outermost ring, was called the Ascension Chamber and was used solely for the witches’ coming of age ritual. That’s where we were now.

The Ascension Chamber’s walls were etched with the various phases of the moon. On either side of us, the floor inclined downward, disappearing out of sight as it wrapped around the bulging walls of the inner sanctuary.

Like in their mountain safehouse, the inner doors of the temple required a witch’s touch. Anthea laid both of her palms flat against the wall and shut her eyes, reverently. I had a strange, disquieting sense of deja vu that harkened back to my first mission at Temple of Aluthua.

Everly’s hands joined Anthea’s against the wall. Two doorways, shaped like mirrored gibbous moons, appeared.

“Both the Waning and Waxing chambers lead to the entrance for the central chamber, where the statue is,” Anthea explained. “I do not think we should divide our numbers.”

“Agreed,” Azolah said and made to follow Anthea and Everly through the left-hand door.

“Wait!” I latched onto the back of Azo’lah’s jacket, which tore even further under my hand. Whoops. The group turned to me. “The Waxing Chamber is for birth and manifestation. But the Waning Chamber is used for blessings on the sick and last rights for the dying, right? Wouldn’t the necromancers feel more at home there? I think we should take the right, it’s likely to have fewer traps as they probably spend more time in it, worshipping Death or whatever.” I gripped the crystal in my left hand and gnawed on my right thumbnail before realizing how disgusting it probably was. “Never mind, I’m sure—”

“I think they’re both equally full of nasty necromancer magic that’ll try to kill us,” Everly shrugged. “But you make a good argument.”

“To the right then,” Ryan said firmly.

Fleetwood reached around Azo’lah and patted my shoulder in reassurance. “Good thinking, Gret’chen.”

I grimaced as we fell back into formation, Everly, and Anthea at the front, Anthea’s orbs lighting our way. The Waxing Hall was a sharp crescent curve lined with multiple altars, the stone of which was so white it glowed.

“Ugh!” Ryan clapped a hand over their nose and mouth. The odor hit me, triggering my gag reflex. It was sulfurous with an edge of sweetness. Like meat and fruit left out to rot.

The only one of us not clutching her nose, Anthea sent orbs of light to illuminate the nearest altar.

I squinted, craning around Ryan to get a better look. “What is that?”

Azo’lah pulled me back, her hand firm but gentle. Her mouth was set in a grim, determined line.

It took a moment for me to catch her meaning, but when I did, my knees almost gave out. “You don’t mean—” I stared at the glowing altar. “Those aren’t people, are they?”

“It would appear Daxolos’s repugnance knows no bounds,” Anthea replied, heartbreak etched into every line of her face. “To use magic to kill other witches is heresy of the highest order, but to lay them upon the altar of gratitude to our Goddess is beyond anything I could’ve imagined.” Even from my Azo’lah enforced distance, I could tell the body was too small to be an adult.

Horrified nausea knotted my stomach.

“Come,” Anthea said, stroking Woden’s fur as he rubbed his cheek against hers in comfort. “We will properly lay the remains of our brothers and sisters to rest once Daxolos has been dealt with.

We followed Anthea and Everly at a snail’s pace through the room as they used magic to detect possible danger.

As we passed each altar, Fleetwood whispered in Ancient Destyrian at my back. I turned my head minutely in an attempt to catch what she was saying. Azo’lah gripped my neck and forced my attention forward. “It is the Ancient Destyrian prayer,” she whispered. “It asks the seven stars to guide their souls to peace.”

The final altar had only a stack of bones atop it. Fleetwood’s quiet prayer faded into the unnatural stillness.

“I’d say this was feeling too easy, but I’m not going to be that asshole,” Ryan whispered as we inched closer to the crescent’s upper point, where the concealed door into the central chamber was.

“But by saying that, aren’t you in effect saying it?” Everly pointed out. She made a beckoning gesture, summoning Anthea’s lights closer.

“Semantics,” Ryan replied.

At my back, Azo’lah stilled. “What was that?”

“What was—” My question was cut off by a sharp smacking, like a palm hitting a countertop.

“Everly, get them into the central chamber,” Anthea commanded as she strode back toward where we came, the two remaining witches flanking her. “No matter what you may hear or see, you are not to stop, you are not to turn back. You get that door open and return the crystal to the statue.”

“Yes, Ephemeris,” Everly said, refocusing her attention and magic on the wall where our chamber and the neighboring Waning chamber merged into a short, narrow hallway. Anthea turned her gaze to me, and for a moment, I felt every inch of her power. Instead of making me tremble, it strengthened me. “Go, Gretchen. We will cover your backs.”

“Cover our backs from what?” I asked as Ryan grabbed my hand and tugged me forward. Azo’lah maneuvered Fleetwood beside me, guarding the rear.

“Woden, up.” Anthea’s familiar soared into the air, his bat wings black against the orbs, all but one of which returned to circle the Ephemeris. By their light, I could see that the altars were now empty. That explained the earlier sound.

I tugged against Ryan’s hold, my back colliding with Azo’lah’s front. “We can’t just leave them to fight all those raised bodies on their own!” I argued.

Fleetwood said, “We’ve never run from an ass-kicking before!”

“Everly, get the...” Ryan trailed off. Their eyes widened at something at my back. “Cubist Meat Zombie!”

I spun around and screamed. There were not five separate reanimated corpses, but instead, one giant misshapen monster constructed from all their rearranged, misaligned parts. Decomposing arm attached to bone attached to decomposing arm. Thighs welded together stacked atop a hubcap-sized smattering of kneecaps. Feet, attached at the heels, fanned out like flower petals to support it. The torso was a horrific interlocking of rib cages. The five skulls, two with cartilage still attached to the nose, laid across the shoulders like grotesque bobbleheads across a dashboard.

I threw up across the floor of the Waning Hall.

Anthea sprinted for the cubist meat zombie. Half a dozen crystals flew from her waist and cut through its bloated, piecemeal flesh, but it did not slow it down. Instead, it seemed invigorated by the violence. It reached down and plucked one of the witches from the ground. I shut my eyes against the sound of rending bone.

The witch dropped to the floor like a ragdoll.

“Myaxi,” Azo’lah yelled. She pushed me at Ryan, who yelled, “Duck!”

There was a sizzle as something collided with Azo’lah’s vambrace-shield. It dropped to the floor with a sickening clatter, spraying red in its wake. The monster was throwing bones, torn and broken to jagged points from the newly murdered witch’s body. I heaved but had nothing left to throw up.

“Hurry,” Everly hollered, wheeling into the narrow hallway. Fleetwood grabbed my hand, deflecting another bone missile with her knife.

I stumbled as quickly as I could after Everly and Fleetwood. Azo’lah’s playing a sick kind of goalie behind us, covering our retreat. A shriek of pain and terror chased us down the winding hall. Anthea’s familiar growled.

“Don’t look back,” Everly commanded, though she sounded as though she was convincing herself more than us. She brought her chair to a jerking stop, incinerating one of the smaller bone projectiles Azo’lah had missed with a burst of fire. Everly threw her arms wide, palms flat against the stone. Like a moon waxing to fullness, a round door outlined with glowing sigils appeared.

“Fuck!” I shouted as Azo’lah pulled me, Ryan, and Fleetwood close. She hunched over us, her shield expanding over our heads as much as it could. Bones like needles pinged off its pink surface and rained down at our feet.

“Let’s go,” Everly said through gritted teeth. “I can’t hold it for very long.”

We sprinted through the open door, Everly zipping in behind us as it disappeared.

I skidded to a stop and looked up at the Goddess Delto. She was glorious. Rendered in the same white stone of the temple’s altars and towering, she looked down upon us with the understanding of a mother. Her hair fell down her back in finely engraved waves, and her mouth was turned up in a gentle, welcoming smile. Like the witches of Huxor, she had a third eye, except Delto’s was closed.

Her arms were slightly extended, and her palms cupped together. Like a cradle. Above the statue, situated in the domed roof, there was a circular skylight that let the light of the moon filter onto the goddess as it meandered overhead. Rows of curved benches, which I assumed were for worshippers, lined the walls. A deep trench followed the entire periphery of the room, and it was filled with a familiar silver liquid.

Why was the mysterious liquid found in the Temple of Aluthua on Vas Roya in the Temple of Delto?

I leaned over the trench.

“Holy fuckballs, we made it,” Ryan whooped as they galloped around the statue’s base.

“Gretchen, what are you waiting for?” Everly gasped. I tore my attention from the liquid to find the witch doubled-over in her wheelchair, sweat-drenched and panting with exertion. “The crystal now. I’d levitate it up, but I need a moment.” Ryan immediately crossed to Everly, crouching down beside her. I figured there was nothing Ryan could do to help the young witch, she had simply used too much magic too fast, but I didn’t have the heart to break up their tender moment.

“Right, right,” I looked down at the crystal, its glow seemed to strengthen the closer it came to the statue. I glanced up at where Delto’s hands were cupped, well above my head. “Fleetwood, Azo’lah, a hand possibly?”

“Of course, dearest, Gret’chen,” Fleetwood replied. The cousins hoisted me onto their shoulders. Fleetwood used the palm of her hand to push me up higher to make up for the height difference between them. I almost toppled backward, but Azo’lah’s hand clamped around my thigh for stability. We cautiously approached the statue.

I leaned forward and sent my own prayer up to Delto. I released the crystal into her palms. After a long moment of silence, I asked, “Did it work? Everly, do you feel anything… you know, uhm, magically changing?”

“No,” she sighed.

“Are you positive, young witch?” Azo’lah asked. The cousins turned around with me still on their shoulders. “You used up a great deal of your magic in protecting us.”

“Put me down,” I demanded, patting both their heads.

They lowered me as Everly replied, “Doesn’t matter how much magic I’ve used, I would know.” Everly bit her lip. “This wasn’t right. The necromancers still have power.”

“How right you are,” came the voice of a man from the back of the central chamber. A pale, gaunt man in a hooded robe, flanked by two others in hooded robes, materialized through the solid walls. The chamber got darker, colder. A chill stole into my very blood.

Necromancers.

Everly’s palms ignited. “Daxolos.”

The leader of the necromancers grinned, feral and haunted. “Thank you so very much for bringing the crystal to me. It makes destroying it all the easier.”

“Really?” I blurted without thinking.

Daxolos halted his creepy stalk across the floor. The final rasp of his stilling cloak on the stone floor heralded a silence broken only by the trickling of the silver liquid as it circumnavigated its trough.

Ryan looked at me as if I were crazy. And I might be. But my unintentional outburst had one positive outcome. Daxolos was focused on me and not the crystal sitting in the statue’s hands above us. 

Daxolos’s unsettling gaze swept over me. “You’re no witch.”

Fleetwood and Azo’lah pressed in close on either side of me, their weapons brandished defensively.

“Wow. Didn’t need the extra eye to spot that one,” I taunted. I thwapped Azo’lah frantically on the thigh, too distracted by trying to keep Daxolos’s attention to muster the concentration needed to initiate technopathic contact. 

Myaxi? The word cut through my frantic plotting. 

The short necromancer to the left of Daxolos raised his hand. “Let me, my Umbra,” the young man hissed from within the shadow of his hood. A visible miasma of malodorous gas coalesced over his head. It writhed like a swarm of maggots.

Get it while he’s not looking, I sent Azo’lah as best I could while being preoccupied with death by pestilence. Everly, I added, hoping she got what I was going for. 

Daxolos gestured with his slender, knobbed hand, signaling his follower to stand down. “In a moment, dear one. First, this human must divulge why the Ephemeris would send those ungifted by their wayward goddess to do such important work.”

“Pfffffttt.” I gestured at his dark ensemble. “Why would anyone be scared of you? Can you even walk at a normal pace without tripping over your robes?” Azo’lah rocked on her heels at my side. “At this rate, I’m surprised you even have a nose. Harry called, he wants his villain back.” Ryan let out a hysterical little laugh. 

“You have courage, human,” Daxolos’s voice was terribly laborious as if every word had to claw its way through his vocal cords to be heard. “But you are also very stupid. There may only be three of us here, but four more of our brothers are outside the temple. Those they have brought back to this plane are keeping your friends busy. You met their newest project on your way here, I believe. And the rest of my order is about to strike your last mountain safe house.” 

“No,” Everly gasped, thinking, as I was, of Orla and Gideon and the rest of the witches falsely assuming their safety in the mountain. Loathing for this man who looked like a B-list Hollywood villain, who murdered children and desecrated their bodies in the name of power, ripped through me. If I had magic, I would light this asshole up and feel no remorse letting him burn. 

Now, Gretchen!  Azo’lah leaped, reaching for the crystal. “Everly!” she shouted. Azo’lah’s snatched up the crystal, just as Daxalos’s overeager minion launched the necromancer equivalent of a fart bomb at her. She dodged it but lost her grip on the crystal, which fell to the temple floor. The magical pestilence cloud set into Delto’s robes. The stone, which until then had been pristinely white, blackened with decades worth of age and disregard in seconds. 

“Thirty-two, fifty-five hut!” Fleetwood yelled. She dove onto the crystal, cradling it against her belly. Daxolos raised his arms, chanting. The walls of the temple shivered as if fending off a sudden chill. 

Ryan fired a bolt at his head, but it was consumed by a wave of fire that shattered the skylight. Azo’lah hurtled for Fleetwood, shielding her as glass rained down. I scuttled out of range of the falling glass with my arms thrown up to protect my head. In my haste, I tripped over Delto’s big toe and landed ungracefully on my ass. 

Fleetwood popped up to her feet as I turned over on my stomach, trying to push myself off the floor. Through the open skylight, a half-decayed corpse descended in a grotesque approximation of what Everly had done to me earlier in the mountain. Fleetwood turned to face the resurrected witch. 

“An Ephemeris carries the gift of Delto long past her death,” Daxolos said, with a grin that showed off all of his yellowed teeth. Wow, that wasn’t a good look for him. And also, wow, it did not bode well for us that Daxolos had the power to resurrect the bodies of past Ephemerises who could still use magic. 

“Everly, catch!” Fleetwood chucked the crystal over her shoulder like a bride tossing the bouquet before bodily launching herself at the taller of Daxolos’s companions. Azo’lah followed right after her. 

The crystal fell short of Everly’s grasp, but Ryan kicked upwards with the side of their foot. It, miraculously, landed in Everly’s lap. The Undead Ephemeris splayed her rotting hands, releasing a barrage of lighting, turning the spherical temple into an oversized plasma ball. I tucked myself into the side of the statue for cover. 

Ryan ducked behind Everly’s chair. Everly threw up her hand, a huge, round shield of gilded light erupting from it like the young witch had managed to manifest the moon inside the chamber itself. The dead Ephemeris’s lightning crackled against the shield, ricocheting toward—

“Azo’lah, watch out!” I screamed. Azo’lah had already thrown her glowing vambrace- shield over Fleetwood, but the magic pierced right through it, hitting them both. They cried out, rolling in a tangle of smoking limbs before crashing into the closest bench. The sickening smell of burning fabric and hair wafted through the space. 

Everly groaned under the effort of maintaining her shield. 

Ryan popped up on the side of Everly’s chair. They pressed Everly’s hand to the crystal in her lap. “Use it!” Ryan yelled, blue eyes wide. Their short hair was standing straight up like a frozen wave. “It amplifies power, right?” Everly nodded, grabbing the crystal. Her shield expanded, bisecting the room, its light almost blinding.

Fleetwood was on her knees, crawling toward Azo’lah, who had propped herself up on her right forearm. It looked like the necromancer had landed a curse on Azo’lah. The sleeve of her jacket was singed, the skin a network of angry, glowing burns. Her neck was a putrid brown and yellow color, rotted unnaturally by the necromancer’s spell. Under her tattered Wicked shirt, Fleetwood’s back was burned like Azo’lah’s arm—like the magic lightning was still trapped under her skin. 

The necromancer they had tackled reached forward, his arm bleeding with a long gash. Darkness swirled across his hand, red sparks crackling up from it. He drew his hand back, ready to launch the spell. I ran for them but couldn’t get past Everly’s barrier. 

“Drop it!” I screamed. I gestured at where Fleetwood and Azo’lah lay next to each other on the floor, the agony plain on their faces. “They’ll die!” 

But Everly was aflame from within. All three of her eyes were the same incandescent, eerie gold of the shield that the undead Ephemeris, Daxolos, and his remaining minion continued to batter with spells. Ryan was shaking her, trying to prize her hand off the crystal to no avail. 

Warm air swept the chamber as the door appeared. Fleetwood’s familiar, LinManHam, charged full tilt to Fleetwood. He knocked Ryan into Everly’s lap, passing through the shield like it wasn’t there. 

He leaped in front of Fleetwood and Azo’lah, his huge, beak-like mouth open, just as the necromancer let go of the spell. LinManHam swallowed the sparking ball of darkness before regurgitating the spell at the necromancer. 

Rapidly spreading embers dotted the necromancer's skin like millions of tiny, blistering rubies, consuming his flesh. He gasped for breath, choking on the dark, ash-filled cloud that surrounded him. Azo’lah wrapped her good arm around Fleetwood and scrambled away from the necromancer as the smoke coalesced, becoming opaque. 

He exploded outward like a tiny nuclear bomb. LinManHam curled protectively over Fleetwood and Azo’lah forcing them onto their backs. Azo’lah’s injured arm slipped into the trench flowing with silver liquid. 

“Ryan! Clap her out it!” Fleetwood cried, as Daxolos laughing, even in the face of his follower’s gruesome demise, prepared to cast another spell. 

“One by one, death will welcome you all,” Daxalos rasped. “But I will pull you back. You will never know Delto’s embrace.” 

Ryan grabbed Every’s face and kissed her full on the mouth. And, maybe, love really did break the spell because Everly blinked. The golden shield flickered. I sprinted forward, sliding under it, not sure at all what I could do but knowing that Azo’lah was there and—

“Don’t touch the liquid!” It was Everly, panting hard. Her eyes were still glowing as she used the crystal, but she was present, a vessel for the power instead of overwhelmed by it. Without even moving her hands, she lashed out with twin infernos, pressing the undead Ephemeris back into Daxolos. Ryan distracted the small necromancer with a barrage of well-aimed bolts that didn’t do much damage but kept him too busy to aid his master. LinManHam joined them, chomping on any wayward spells, fighting with his own strange, belching brand of magic. 

“Azo’lah,” Fleetwood said, pulling weakly at her cousin. Azo’lah’s arm was still in the silver liquid we’d been warned not to touch. Her usually sharp, navy eyes were distant and glazed. I worried for a moment that she was concussed. I plunged my hand into the silver liquid grasping for her hand.

The world blurred as disjointed images raced by me. Azo’lah seated on the Auhtula’s throne, looking distinctly unhappy. Shockley clean-shaven and in a button-up wearing glasses in front of a classroom. The witches’ mountain safe house under attack, the bridge of a strange ship, the statue of the First Auhtula wearing a cloak in the Temple of Aluthua, Fleetwood in a Myax uniform—

Azo’lah! I thought at her, trying to focus. I just needed to get to her hand... there. My fingers wrapped around hers. Azo’lah, come on!  

The liquid rippled. Electricity zinged up my arm from my fingers. It felt strangely familiar, warm. 

Myaxi. My hand was suddenly free of the liquid. It dripped off my skin but clung to Azo’lah’s, moving against gravity up her arm, wrapping around her wounds. It’s technology. The message flashed across my mind like Azo’lah had sent it without meaning to. And something else. The water climbed up her neck, revealing her arm, the angry brown bruising remained, but it was now free of the deadly rot. 

“Watch out!” Fleetwood called, followed by “GOOD BOY!” as LinManHam stampeded for us. He swallowed and regurgitated an incoming fireball.

“A little help here!” Ryan yelled as their crossbow was knocked from their hand by a nasty-looking spell. 

“Land ho!” Fleetwood cried, swinging up onto the back of her familiar and riding to Ryan’s rescue, even as Azo’lah tugged me to my feet. 

“This liquid —” she started. 

“It’s in the Temple of Aluthua too, in the Tomb of the First Auhtula,” I said hurriedly. “Zombie!” I yelped. The Undead Ephemeris crashed into us, blown backward by one of Everly’s spells. While I flailed, tripping, Azo’lah grabbed the Undead Ephemeris by her exposed vertebrae, slid her zali’thir into the witch’s third eye, and kicked her into the silver liquid. The Undead Ephemeris sunk slowly, the silver liquid bubbling angrily up to engulf her. Once she disappeared, it settled to its regular, steady trickle.  

“Fleetwood!” Azo’lah grabbed my hand and sprinted across the chamber. “Knock him into the liquid. Just don’t touch it yourself!” 

Fleetwood trilled a battle cry and directed LinManHam to ram the necromancer while simultaneously burping a cloud of pestilence in his face. The necromancer stumbled backward, screaming, and hit the wall with a sickening thud. I was too distracted watching him slowly slide into the silver liquid that I didn’t notice the blast of midnight blue fire heading my way until I was blown off my feet.

I had liked my cheekbone the way it was, I thought, splayed on the floor of the temple. I rolled over, tears springing to my eyes as pain seared my wrist. Most likely broken. I stared up at the mockingly serene face of Delto. Her two eyes staring down at me. Her third closed in repose. I wanted to rest, too. Everything hurt, from my face to my feet. The ache in my wrist was overwhelming, and I was so—WAIT. 

Her third eye was closed. But all of the witches’ third eye acted in tandem with their other two. So why would they make their goddess, not in their own image? 

Her gift is present in her sight…

I shot up, my cheek burning from its collision with the floor. It wasn’t a riddle. It was literal. The crystal belonged in Delto’s third eye. 

“We have to get her third eye open!” I yelled. I scrambled toward the statue, repeating, “It’s her eye! It goes in her eye! Everly!” Azo’lah, Fleetwood on her bony steed, and Ryan hurried toward me. 

“I’m busy!” The young witch grit out. She had been holding her own against Daxolos for too long, and she’d used a great deal of magic fighting to reach the temple before that. Even with the crystal’s aid she would run out of power soon.

The door opened. Anthea ran in, bleeding and battered, reeking of rotting meat, but gloriously alive. She took one look at the situation, strode forward, and placed one hand on Everly’s shoulder. Gore dripped from Anthea’s forehead as she said, “Help the others. I have this.” 

“Give me a boost!” I demanded. Azo’lah gripped my hips and lifted me toward Delto’s cupped hands. I bit back pain, pressing down on Delto’s palm with the forearm of my injured hand, struggling for leverage. I managed to jimmy my way to standing, scurrying up the folds of the goddess’ stone robes. My foot slipped, and I screamed, sliding down.

Suddenly, I was airborne, then deposited gently on the goddesses head. I looked down at my friends—which was a mistake. I shut my eyes tight against the vertigo. I took a deep breath and gripped the waves of Delto’s hair with my thighs. I opened my eyes and reached down with my uninjured hand, tugging fruitlessly at the closed eyelid of her third eye. “We need to get her eye open!” 

Everly, slumped in her chair, rallied as best she could. Channeling the power of the crystal, she sent several different spells to the statue, but the eyelid refused to budge. 

I was ready to cry in pain and frustration, I was so sure I was right. Why wouldn’t it open? Was there a hidden button or…

No. That was too insane. Why would witches protect the cradle of their magic with technology? But then, why did they have the silver liquid from the Temple of Aluthua here in the first place? It was worth a shot.

Azo’lah, I sent to her. You try. 

Azo’lah glanced at Everly. “Try again,” Azo’lah instructed. She rounded the statue like she was examining the back of it. Instead, she placed her hand on the stone. After a few moments, Azo’lah reached out with her other hand. A small trail of silver liquid slithered across the floor, like a snake composed of Mercury. It wound up the goddess’ robes, higher and higher. It wrapped around her neck, ever so briefly, before sinking into the stone. There was the loud, grating sound of something shifting that hadn’t been moved in quite some time. Beneath me, the statue beneath me vibrated. I flattened myself against it as Delto’s third eyelid slowly fell open to reveal an empty eye socket.

“Everly! The crystal!” I shouted. Everly groaned, using the last of her stores to levitate the crystal up to me. I caught it with my good hand and placed it carefully in the goddess’ third eyeball. 

The eyelid closed and then opened, again, like the statue was waking up after a millennia-long nap. The light from the crystal intensified, forming a glittering beam that gathered in Delto’s cupped palms. Slowly, the goddess’ palms turned outward like she was proffering the light. A shockwave shook the temple. The witches and Azo’lah cried out, collapsing. In its trench, the silver liquid bubbled before flying upward, a molten, reflective wall. LinManHam tilted his head back to the moon and roared. 

The world stilled and quieted. The air crackled like the night immediately after a summer storm. On the floor, Daxolos curled in on himself, his hands pressed over his third eye, shivering uncontrollably. It was like the crystal’s light had sucked all of the villainy showmanship out of him. He seemed smaller, reduced, and a bit pathetic. 

Fleetwood guided LinManHam over to the fallen necromancer. LinManHam sat, draping one huge bony foot across Daxolos’ chest, pinning him to the floor. Neither seemed all that concerned with Daxolos’ apparent pain. Thinking back to the desiccated bodies we’d seen earlier, I couldn’t find it in myself to care about it either.  

“Are you okay?” Ryan limped toward Everly. “Oh my god, your eye!”

“What’s going on? It worked, right?” I asked, unable to see from my perch on Delto’s head. 

“Her third eye is clear now! It’s really pretty, too.” 

Azo’lah offered Anthea a hand, helping her to her feet. “The Empheris’s third eye is also clear,” she noted. “How do you feel?” 

Anthea smiled. “Centered in a way I never have.” The Ephemeris turned to smile up at me. “Delto’s gift indeed.” 

“I feel amazing,” Everly, stretching her arms overhead. “But also like I could sleep for a week.” 

“Before you do that,” I called. “Could someone help get me down, please?” My friends broke out into slightly hysterical, relieved laughter. Even my anxiety couldn’t convince me that they were laughing at me. Anthea flicked her wrist, and I levitated slowly away from Delto’s sculpted locks, bathed in the warm light of the crystal. 

Azo’lah held out her arms, her smile brighter than any spell. “I have you, Myaxi.” 

“Gretchen!” Matt’s voice echoed into the antechamber. “It’s starting soon!”

The delighted squeals of children followed his pronouncement.

“Sounds like things have already started. I’ll be out in a second,” I shouted back. It was a blatant lie. There was no way I’d be done with my sketch in a second. From my spot, seated on the stone floor, I looked up at Delto engraved in the wall, the full moon framing her smiling face and flowing locks. In the light of the orbs that Anthea had conjured for me, I held my sketch up to compare the images side by side. I was close to capturing the warm welcome in Delto’s eyes, but not quite.

There was a crunch of boots behind me. “Mate, seriously?” Matt asked. He squatted beside me with a mug of something dark that wafted a pleasant cinnamon scent into the air. He tapped my Ran’dyl. “You always do this. You know this thing can take pictures for you, right?”

“Don’t be a prick.” I pushed his shoulder until he toppled onto his ass, laughing. He held his mug high so he wouldn’t spill.

“I took three dozen pictures already,” I said. “But there’s something...magical about her that photos just won’t capture. Maybe with this,” I shook my sketchpad, “I can.”

“Can you capture that magic in the next forty-five seconds? Because they’re about to start, and ancient magical rituals beneath the light of the full moon wait for no archaeologist. Even if she is the planet’s hero.”

I shrugged sheepishly. “I’m not a hero. I just did what anyone with my training would’ve done.”

“Uh-huh, because there are so many real-life archaeologists in history known for stopping a war and the destruction of the universe,” Matt said.

He turned to look out the open doors onto the field that only three days prior had been a battlefield full of the undead. Now, the grass was now thick and lush, and even in the darkness of night, it shone verdant emerald. It was incredible what reconstructive magic could do. I followed his gaze to watch a pack of giggling little witches chase after LinManHam, who was stampeding between roaring bonfires. Adults milled about, passing around mugs and making last-minute preparations.

“Hard to believe I sprinted across that field when it was full of zombies trying to kill me,” I said.

Matt nodded at the pristine field and gestured toward the inner chambers of the Temple of Delto. “These witches work right quick when they set their minds to it. Those repairs to the central chamber took the same amount of time it takes me to run diagnostics on the Gold Dust Wo’man.”

He wasn’t lying. Once Daxolos and the rest of his followers, powerless and defeated, were transferred to a secure holding place, Anthea and her brethren wasted no time in repairing the destruction and desecration the necromancers had caused.

“Speaking of repairs,” Matt cautiously grasped my wrist, “should you even be using your hand this much so soon after healing?”

“Good as new,” I said, rolling my freshly healed wrist in a circle and then flapping it up and down. “The witches’ healing magic is quite powerful. It’s like it was never fractured.”

“Whatever you say, Gretch. He stood, brushed off his pants, and held out his hand to me. “Come on. You can finish that up later.”

“But we leave tomorrow morning,” I argued but tucked my pencil into my bandolier and closed my sketchbook all the same. I accepted his hand up.

He pulled me to my feet. “I promise not to take off until after you’ve finished your sketch.”

“There you two are,” a voice called.

“Jesus, Delto, and all the Covlax saints!” I gasped, spinning to find Azo’lah leaning against the open temple doors. She was dressed in a clean spacesuit, but instead of having her hair pulled back in a low, serviceable ponytail, she wore it half-up, with the rest falling in an icy cascade down her back. The light of the orbs above glinted off the silver strands giving her an ethereal glow.

“You survived multiple attacks from the undead and defeated necromancers,” Azo’lah said with a small smile. “Don’t tell me you’re still caught off guard so easily, Myaxi?”

“It doesn’t matter how many adventures we go on, Azo’lah,” I said, “I’m always going to freak out when you sneak up on me.”

Azo’lah beckoned us outside. With one last yearning look at Delto and another promise from Matt that I’d get the time to finish my sketch the following morning, I exited out into the nighttime air.

Azo’lah led us through the throng of celebrating witches to the bonfire where Ryan and Everly waited. The two had been inseparable since our death run through the Temple of Delto, constantly sneaking off and returning a half-hour later, looking a little dazed, their hair mussed.

“There you are,” Ryan cheered as they spotted me. “We thought you were going to miss it.”

I eyed where their fingers were entwined with Everly’s. “I’m surprised you even noticed I was missing,” I returned with a sly smile.

“This crew really needs to work on not sassing the Captain,” Ryan said, swaying closer to Everly. “Let’s add it to the training roster.”

Matt and I groaned. Everly grinned. “Are you always this strict, Captain Thorley?”

Not wanting that conversation to gain any traction, I asked, overly loud, “Where are Fleetwood and Chester?”

“Where do you think,” Azo’lah said, looking out across the bonfire speckled field to where LinManHam was frolicking. Closer now, I spotted the two shrieking figures sitting astride his back.

“How are they even comfortable like that?” I asked, wincing at the thought of resting on the sharp ridge of bones.

“Chester and Fleetwood fashioned saddles out of cushions we had on-board the Qu’een,” Matt replied.

“Did you get everything situated for him?” Everly asked.

“Ended up refitting a storage room for the flight back for the big guy,” Matt said.

Azo’lah nodded. “Once we are back on Destyr Chester, in tandem with our engineers, will design something for the bridge of the ship to keep LinManHam safe.”

“Yeah, we’re going to need a long-term solution to strap him in if we come under fire on one of our missions,” Ryan said. “For however long he’s with us.”

“He’s a familiar bestowed upon Fleetwood by the Goddess.” Everly smiled up at the burgeoning moon. “He will stay with her and protect her until she has completed her sacred task set before her by Delto.”

This was the fourth time this had been explained to us, and it still sounded ominous. The concept of Delto setting out a sacred task for Fleetwood was nerve-wracking. It wasn’t as though Fleetwood needed a new excuse to go in search of an adventure. But regardless of Delto’s reasons, for the foreseeable future, it appeared we had a giant, alien-dinosaur skeleton joining our crew.

“So cool,” Ryan murmured as LinManHam, under shouted orders from the Fulyiti herself, sauntered over to us.

“Whoa, there, LinManHam,” Fleetwood called as the familiar skidded to a halt scant inches from our bonfire, sending a cloud of grass and dirt into the flames.

“Have fun entertaining the small ones, Fulyiti?” Azo’lah asked as she helped Fleetwood and Chester disembark from LinManHam’s back.

“We had big bunches of fun, didn’t we, Hammy?” Fleetwood crooned, reaching up to cradle the massive creature's skull in her palms. She kissed the bottom of his jaw. LinManHam’s tail swished contentedly in the grass.

“Everly,” a witch called across the field. “It is time.”

“That’s my cue.” Everly kissed Ryan before leaving our group. She joined Anthea, Zorina, and three other witches who had already congregated on the temple’s front steps. At Anthea’s nod, Everly raised her arms, and every fire across the field roared toward the heavens. The gathered witches quieted immediately.

With Woden perched on her shoulder, Anthea placed her palm against her throat and then said, “Welcome, brothers and sisters, to our first Moon Rite since the return of peace.” Though she was not shouting, I heard the Ephemeris as though she was standing right next to me. “We have much to be thankful for and much to mourn. With help from friends, we returned the Crystal of Cajlire to its rightful place and eliminated the threat of the necromancers.” A cheer went up across the field and spells sparked through the air like small fireworks. “The natural balance has been restored. Delto’s has returned our strength to us while taking the magic of those who used her gifts to defy her natural order. For those who use Delto’s gifts out of malice, forfeit their gifts in the eye of the Goddess.”

“Serves them right,” Matt muttered. “Necromancer bastards.”

“Still don’t understand how it works,” Chester said from where he was tucked beneath Fleetwood’s arm. “Scientifically speaking, their abilities shouldn’t—”

Ryan nudged him in the ribs with an elbow. “Not science. Magic.”

“We have lost much. The sacrifices of our brothers and sisters will never be forgotten,” Anthea continued. “Tonight, we honor them beneath the light of the Goddess,” Anthea continued. Many of the witches around us bowed their heads. “We offer our gratitude for all that was given for us to attain peace, and for the unrestrained power of our Goddess to flow back to us and the other gifted species of this Quadrant.”

Around us, the witches, from youngest to oldest, all touched their foreheads, right above their recently opened third eyes. I caught Chester’s skeptical head shake at the mention of magic flourishing, not just amongst the witches but across the species whose ancient languages were engraved on the Crystal of Cajlire. Knowing how rare Azo’lah’s Iz’waij powers were, it was impossible for me to imagine Destyr suddenly abundant with them.

Anthea’s voice strengthened as she said, “The basis of our magic is in nature’s balance and the connections within it. And now we can all see our strongest affinities, our connection to this planet and each other. Gifts from the Goddess beyond our wildest imaginations.”

In demonstration, the flames before us reached ever higher, like fingers grasping for the stars. Upon the opening of her third eye, Everly’s gift with summoning and controlling fire was made even stronger. She no longer needed to say a spell, draw a sigil, or even move her hands to summon the flames—just a thought from the young witch could spark an ember into an inferno.

It was the same for all of the witches we were learning. While they could still perform all forms of magic, everyone had one specific gift from Delto—a gift that was so inherent to each witch, it was like breathing.

“Tonight,” Anthea’s eyes found our bonfire, and she smiled. “We honor our friends, who came to us in our hour of desperation and offered their help. May the Delto’s light shine upon all our nights.”

“May Delto’s light shine upon all our nights,” we all recited back.

“Sisters,” Anthea said, reaching for the hands of the witches upon the steps with her. They formed a circle, linking hands. A silver-glow pulsed from their chests and bled into the Temple of Delto.

For a long moment, we waited with bated breath. Then, a golden beam shot up from the center of the temple into the night sky, creating a direct link between the statue of Delto and the moon. Around us, the witches cheered and danced, shouting gratitude to their Goddess.

“Holy shit,” I breathed as the beam lit the field up like a midnight sun. I turned to see Azo’lah grinning unabashedly up at the sky.

“Alright, fine,” Chester conceded, “you guys are right. Magic is cool.”

The next morning, Matt kept his word. He didn’t even start take-off procedures until after I had returned with my completed sketch. Anthea and Everly came to say goodbye.

“You are welcome on Huxor for the rest of your days,” Anthea offered. “And if there is ever a time we can return your help, you need only ask.”

Fleetwood bowed deeply in gratitude. “You honor us greatly, Ephemeris.”

LinManHam bounded aboard the Gold Dust Wo’man and settled into the converted storage. Like the rest of us, it appeared he was just happy to go where Fleetwood went.

The rest of us boarded the ship to afford Everly and Ryan a private goodbye, but after a third systems check, Azo’lah bit the bullet and went back out to fetch our captain.

Ryan entered the bridge, unnaturally silent. They dropped into their Captain’s chair dejectedly.

“You alright, Cap?” Matt asked, spinning his seat to face them.

Ryan scrubbed their hand through their hair. “Yeah. Just sucks. We decided to just be friends. Living on separate planets doesn’t exactly make dating easy, you know?” They leaned back in their seat and groaned. “Of course, I meet the perfect person, and she lives on a planet on the opposite side of the Quadrant.”

“You gonna be okay, Captain?” Chester asked.

“I’ll be fine. Everly’s great, and I’m lucky to have her as a friend. It just… sucks. But enough about that,” Ryan said with forced cheerfulness. “You ready to conquer the stars, flyboy?”

Matt spun back around and initiated take-off. “Always, Captain.” Less than three minutes later, we were streaking out of Huxor’s atmosphere, settling in for the half-day trip back to Destyr.

Ryan yawned and stretched their arms above their head. 

“Anybody up for some ice cream and some Cosmic Conquerors in the lounge?” I suggested. Even if Ryan had a supremely mature outlook about their situation with Everly, that didn’t mean they didn’t need a little comfort.

“Yes!” Ryan cheered, standing from their seat.

“I’m in. I can keep track of auto-pilot with my Ran’dyl,” Matt announced. 

Fleetwood leaped from her seat. “Chester, will you make hot chocolate?” Her Ran’dyl tinkled a gentle chime. She tapped at her wrist and said, “Ooooh, Zerin just sent me a message.” 

“Is all well back home?” Azo’lah moved to her cousin’s side.

Fleetwood pulled up the message as we all gathered around her. Zerin’s laughing face appeared. He did not waste time on a greeting, instead saying, “Cousin, you will not believe what you are missing! It’s hysterical. The whole planet’s in a right state. Hurry home so we can have a good laugh over this. The unoriginality of these liars makes it all the funnier. Iz’waij? Honestly!” My heart plummeted into my stomach as Zerin rolled his eyes. “I’ve attached a news link for your enjoyment. Give Chester and my sister my love!”

Zerin disappeared, replaced by a Destyrian news article announcing: Healer Confirms Birth of Western Continent’s First Iz’waij in Over 10,000 Binary Cycles.

Iz’waij. The word practically punched me across the face as I read it. 

“This cannot be right,” Azo’lah whispered as she scanned the article.

Anthea’s words from the night before came back to me: For the unrestrained power of our Goddess to flow back to us and the other gifted species of this Quadrant.

Ryan said, “So is anyone ever going to tell me what the hell an Iz’waij is and why everyone keeps talking about them?”

“It means technopaths,” Chester said, ushering Ryan toward the lounge. “But they’re just an old Destyrian myth.” 

As I followed them, half-listening to Fleetwood’s made-up song about hot chocolate, I caught Azo’lah’s eye and smiled. For now, her secret was safe, and so were we. 

We stood under the midday sky at the base of the tallest nearby mountain, behind a jagged outcropping of boulders. The mountain’s monstrous outline had been but a distant impression from the trees and, in a moment of incomprehensible magic, Everly had transported us directly to it.

“Holy shit,” Ryan eloquently expressed my sentiments about our abrupt change in scenery. ”Magic is so dope.”

Their wide-eyed wonder induced a pleased smile that briefly rounded the apples of Everly’s cheeks. She gestured for us to follow as she moved forward, the pebbled ground crunching beneath the wheels of her chair.

None of us dared break the fraught silence that hung between us as we traipsed over the rocky terrain. Instead, we kept our heads ducked low in case anymore Zombie Jesuses—Zombie Jesi?—lurked about.

Everly laid her hand against the mountain. I expected the earth to shake beneath her power. Instead, an archway appeared between two boulders. She whispered, “This way,” and led us into complete darkness.

Azo’lah activated her glowing shield. “Captain, I’ll take the front, yes?”

Like slipping on a favorite jacket, Ryan switched from excited teenager to responsible Captain. They nodded. “Matt and I will take the back. Fleetwood stick close to Azo’lah until we know what’s what.”

“Aye aye,” Fleetwood agreed with a solemn salute. We rearranged ourselves per Ryan’s directive. Chester and I fell into step behind Fleetwood.

Azo’lah plunged forward, the light of her magenta shield almost blinding in the darkness. I pulled a light out of a pocket on my bandolier and attached it to my shirt collar. Matt, Ryan, and Chester followed suit. The tunnel was high enough that even Azo’lah didn’t need to duck. It was also wide enough that Chester could walk next to me, for which I was glad. I already feared a trap—or worse, introductions with strangers.

The walls were smooth save for the intermittent sigils deeply engraved into the stone floor. They varied in size and shape—some were interconnected pictographs smaller than a butterfly, others crisscrossing lines that stretched from floor to ceiling. Without thinking, I grabbed for my notebook to sketch them all out to ask Everly their meaning.

Chester’s hand stilled me. “Maybe later, Gretch,” he said beneath his breath. “Like when we know we’re for real safe.”

Right. Not the time.

“Keep up,” Everly called to us, her voice preternaturally loud after so much stealth and silence.

Chester leaned in close. “What the hell have we gotten ourselves into?”

I shrugged anxiously, adjusting my tool belt across my shoulder. What the hell had I gotten us into? This mission had been my idea, and I had recklessly dragged my friends along because of a tip from Shockley, of all people.

If anything happened to them…

The tunnel came to an abrupt dead-end. Everly spun to face us. She frowned. Lines, incongruous with her youth, deepened around her mouth. “Listen up,” she ordered, “we don’t bring outsiders here. Ever. But your dumbasses landed in the middle of a war, and Zorina said to bring you to Anthea, so that’s what I have to do. While here, you will be under our protection but break our trust...” Flames danced across her palms.

“Understood.” Ryan straightened their shoulders. “Myax, weapons away.”

“Captain?” Azo’lah asked, though her shield dissipated back into the jeweled band on her forearm. 

“Everly won’t let anything happen to the Fulyiti while we’re under her protection,” Ryan met our witchy savior’s haughty gaze with their own. “Isn’t that right?”

“That’s right, Captain.” Everly clapped her hands together, extinguishing her twin flames. “I know it’s jarring, but please, try not to shout.”

At my back, Matt asked, “Why would we shout?”

“You’ll—” Everly’s sentence was swallowed by our screams as the ground beneath us vanished. I clutched at Chester and Matt as we plummeted hard and fast toward an uncertain, but most likely painful, fate. We stopped falling as abruptly as we started, landing gently on the hard-packed soil.

While solid ground beneath my feet was very welcome, I was concerningly queasy. Matt looked a little green as well.

“Is everyone alright?” Azo’lah asked over Everly’s snorting laughter. Our Myax looked equal parts angry and annoyed.

Fleetwood grabbed at us, bouncing excitedly. “What the shit?” she giggled like a child at an amusement park. “Can we do that again?”

Chester clutched at his sides. “It’s like the elevators on Destyr, but so much worse.”

“Delto’s light, your faces,” Everly gasped between sharp cackles. “Please tell me you aren’t going to throw up.”

“Did you not give them any warning, Everly?”

The voice drew my attention from my friends, and I finally took in our surroundings. We were in a cathedral-sized room inside the mountain. Like the tunnel we had just dropped out of, the ceiling and walls were smooth as though carved by a master sculptor—or more likely, a very skilled witch. Orbs of light floated above us, casting the room in sharp shadows. The floor was decorated with more sigils, though these were interwoven together, which I assumed strengthened their magic. Weapons racks loaded with wooden bows, metal blades, and sharpened crystals lined the walls. The room looked like a cross between a forge and a workshop, filled with witches constructing weapons and enchanting glowing ammunition.

A man clad in brown tactical pants and jacket strode to Everly’s side. They had the same nose and chin. Everly smiled up at him. “It’s the simple things in this life, Uncle Gideon.”

“My apologies for my niece’s poor manners,” Gideon said, dipping his head in greeting to us. “You are most welcome and safe here.”

Everly’s brow furrowed. “How’d you—”

“Zorina sent scouts ahead,” Gideon replied. He gestured to us as he stepped back. “Please come. Anthea awaits.”

“Who is this Anthea we’ve heard so much about?” Ryan asked.

“Our Ephemeris,” Everly replied.

Fleetwood stepped forward, placed her right hand over her heart, and bowed deeply. “You honor us with such hospitality, Elder Gideon.”

We followed him and Everly across the cavernous room. As we passed, the witches who were hard at work, honing weapons and performing small, miraculous feats of magic, turned to gawk at us.  

I stared back, enraptured by how human they all looked. Save for their milky third eyes, they all could’ve easily walked down any street on Earth. Even their outfits, much like Gideon’s, would have fit in amongst my home planet’s soldiers. 

Gideon’s light touch against the wall made a doorway appear. He beckoned us into a much smaller room. A fire in the stone-cut hearth lit the walls, every square inch of which were etched with overlapping sigils. Many looked like they had faded due to age and had been re-carved. I desperately wanted to date the symbols, but I knew now wasn’t the time. At the center of the room sat a long wooden table, a sigil of three linked circles carved across its surface. An imposing woman occupied the chair at the head of the table.

This had to be Anthea. The firelight lent her brown skin and dark eyes an ethereal glow, and I understood instantly how she came to be the Ephemeris of these people.

She was dressed the same as the others in leather tactical gear that looked softened from extended use. Her graying black, yellow, and red braids were pulled into a knot atop her head. The crystals embedded into the arch of her high-backed chair glittered like a celestial crown above her. I was reminded strongly, for a moment, of the mosaics of the First Auhtula and her crown of fractal stars in the Temple of Aluthua.

“Delto’s light be upon you, esteemed guests,” Anthea’s voice was warm but deliberate, like someone aware of the weight her words held.

Fleetwood, Azo’lah at her side, stepped forward and bowed deeply. “It is an honor that the seven stars lit our paths as one. I am Fulyiti Kezira of House Fuiq, from the central continent of Destyr. Please call me by my chosen name Fleetwood Mercury. May I share the names of my chosen family?”

Anthea’s face fell. “Fulyiti?” She stood so quickly her chair scraped loudly against the floor. “I was told of a mismatched crew of humans and Destyrians, but nothing of a Fulyiti.”

“Yes, well,” Ryan said, with a sardonic smile, “Fleetwood likes to keep a low profile.”

Anthea gestured to the table. “Please, Fulyiti Fleetwood, sit. You and your chosen family are most welcome to share my table.”

“You are most gracious, Ephemeris Anthea.” Fleetwood nodded her thanks and took the seat opposite Anthea’s. Fleetwood introduced us as we filed into the remaining chairs. Everly took the spot across from Ryan while Gideon excused himself to gather refreshments.

“It is an honor to host you. Even during times such as these.” Anthea returned to her seat. “Though I must ask, what brought your crew to Huxor during a time of war?”

With a sarcastic tilt of her chin, Everly replied, “They came to stop the necromancers from stealing the Crystal of Cajlire.”

Anthea squinted judgmentally, even her third eye seemed to cast aspersions upon us. “What interest could you have in assisting us in stopping the necromancers?”

Ryan patted my shoulder, prompting me to explain.

“The Crystal of Cajlire,” I winced as I butchered the pronunciation, “is an ancient artifact, sacred to your people. I’m an archaeologist. It’s my job to help preserve and protect those kinds of items. The rest of the crew...” I trailed off, gnawing on my lip. I searched the table for help, my eyes finding Azo’lah’s.

“We recently suffered the loss of a cherished piece of Destyrian history,” she picked up where I left off. “It is our hope to aid your people in protecting this piece of your culture so you may not feel such loss. We have been in dangerous situations before and are prepared to aid you in your battle against these necromancers.”

“I mean no disrespect to you or your chosen family, Fulyiti Fleetwood,” Anthea said, folding her elegant, scar-dotted fingers together on the table. “The Order of Necromance has been an indestructible scourge since its founding. Their power is a pestilence that has seeped into the very soil of our planet, poisoning our crops, our animals, and our way of life.”

“We’ve been at war for three sun-sojourns,” Everly explained. “Even if Umbra Daxolos and his followers hadn’t obliterated my village, we would’ve had to leave. The soil yielded nothing for the previous two harvests. The animals were dropping dead without reason.”

Gideon returned, bearing a tray crammed with steaming mugs which he distributed around the table. “Tea,” Gideon explained at my questioning look. I took a tentative sip and was pleasantly surprised to find it tasted much like the Earl Gray blend I preferred back home.

Chester cleared his throat. “Forgive my ignorance, Ephemeris Anthea. But who is Umbra Daxolos, and what exactly is the Order of Necromance?”

“A bunch of imbecilic assholes,” Everly muttered under her breath. Gideon scolded her, but Ryan beamed across the table. 

“The Order of Necromance is an ignorant collective of all-male witches who live by the falsehoods propagated by their Umbra, Daxolos. They have turned their backs on the natural order of the universe in their search for power,” Anthea sighed wearily. “Daxolos has twisted a prophetic warning into a false dogma that states that the necromancers are destined to obtain ultimate power over all witches and the universe. The way they do this is through the destruction of the Crystal of Cajlire.”

“What happens if they destroy the crystal? Does anyone know?” Though Ryan directed the question at Anthea, their eyes kept straying to Everly.

Anthea said, “The exact course of events remains unknown, even to our most advanced Seers. But what we do know is that if the crystal is destroyed, the necromancers will most certainly gain the power they so desperately seek. This will, in turn, tear apart the very fabric of the universe.”

The sip of tea that I had just taken leaked from my mouth as my jaw dropped. I wiped at my chin as I squeaked, “I’m sorry, what?”

Fleetwood held up her hands, her fingers meshed together. “Tear apart the universe?” She pulled her hands apart. 

Anthea nodded.

“A group of men needlessly seeking undeserved power in order to ruin everything?” Azo’lah said. “Why am I not surprised?”

“So freaking cool,” Ryan murmured. At all of our indignant glares, they continued, “I mean, it’s obviously awful, but space magic that can rip the universe in half? That shit is insanely cool.”

Chester shook his head. “It’s impossible. The number of physics principles this violates—”

“They can make flames appear in their hands, mate,” Matt interrupted. “I don’t think they care about physics.”

“I’m just saying,” Chester said, his voice hardening. “What specifically about the necromancers gaining this ultimate power will destroy the universe?”

“The Order of Necromance is an affront to nature,” Gideon said, his tone turning as steely as Chester’s. “To seek to master and reverse death is in direct opposition to the teachings of our goddess, Delto.”

Anthea said, “Currently, when the necromancers perform their heresy, the bodies they raise are just that. Empty vessels. While dangerous to the balance of the natural order, these vessels can only remain reanimated for an hour or two at most. They return to the dirt as the necromancer who brought them back is drained of power.”

“And if they have endless power, those bodies will stay reanimated forever,” I surmised.

“Yes, but more importantly, “Anthea said, “by destroying the Crystal of Cajlire and harnessing its power, the Order of Necromance will be able to reach beyond the veil and return departed souls to those they reanimate. By thwarting true death, they disrupt the balance of life, thus destroying the barrier between this plane and the next. If the barrier falls, so too does our universe.”

Smartly, I had stopped drinking my tea and therefore did not dribble all over myself when my mouth fell this time. These necromancer assholes were attempting to steal power to return souls. What the fuck even was magic?

“Well, that’s some shit.” Ryan scrubbed their hands through their hair. Any enthusiasm they previously had for space magic seemingly evaporated when souls came into play.

Anthea’s head bowed solemnly. “Now you understand the severity of our situation. Only those with magic have any hope of defeating the necromancers and those they raise. Everly will return you to your ship in the morning so you may return to safety and—”

“No,” Fleetwood interrupted. “We aren’t leaving.”

Ryan said, “You’re talking about the legit end of the universe. We aren’t walking away from that.”

“Absolutely,” I said, though my agreement felt unnecessary at that point. I was the reason my crew was here in the first place. If they weren’t leaving, not even the universe’s imminent implosion could drag me away.

God, I was going to kill Shockley the next time I saw him. 

“Could you pass the salad? Mehuxula wants some,” asked a young, pale-haired child, who was seated across from Matt. At our questioning looks, she pointed to the adorable, large-eyed animal that looked like a cross between a frilled lizard and a pint-sized triceratops seated in her lap. The young witch couldn’t be older than ten. Nevertheless, she appeared utterly unperturbed to be seated next to Ryan and Fleetwood. Two unclaimed spaces were open to the child’s right, leaving her practically alone with six adult strangers. Whatever her actual age, she was much too young to be at war.

“Anyone else feel like we’re in dystopian Hogwarts?” Matt murmured as he passed the salad bowl. On either side of him, Chester and I muffled our inappropriate laughter. The assessment wasn’t far off. After we met with Anthea, Gideon led us to the dining hall, where dinner was being served. All around us, witches of all ages sat at long, rough-hewn tables under a soaring glittering, crystal-dotted ceiling.

Are you well, Myaxi? The words, which always appeared with the warmth I associated with Azo’lah, bloomed and faded across my mind. You’ve hardly eaten. Is the food not to your taste? I took a bite of the greens, which burst like autumn across my tongue. 

I’m fine. I just...why couldn’t we see the crystal before dinner? I glanced up to my right, meeting Azo’lah’s amused gaze. She brushed a placating hand down my ponytail, her fingers grazing my upper back. 

“What’s different about you two?” the young witch demanded, pointing between Azo’lah and me. Her small nose was scrunched in consternation. 

“What?” I asked. 

“You’re all connected. I can see it,” she clarified, snagging a roll as a tray came down the table. “Here, these go fast,” she advised, distributing one to Ryan and Matt.

“What do you mean, you can see it?” Ryan asked, shoving half the roll in their mouth. 

“I’m learning to see auras and connections. They’re like, um...glowing threads.” The child waved her roll between Fleetwood and Chester. “Their connection is really strong. It’s like they’re married, but not…”

“Well done, Orla,” Anthea said as she and Everly approached the table. The child, Orla, beamed brighter than the Destyrian suns at the praise. “They share all of what they are with each other. Well, almost,” Anthea amended as she looked between Fleetwood and Chester. She slid elegantly into one of the free spaces beside Orla and began loading up her bowl.  “They are twin souls.” 

“Budge over,” Everly commanded, guiding her wheelchair behind Orla and Ryan. She made a sweeping gesture with her palm and the bench split in two. The space between Orla and Ryan widened as the bench glided sideways, leaving just enough room for Everly to slide her chair in. The display was arresting from this side of the table, where I could only see part of it. From the look on Fleetwood’s face, it was even more impressive with a full view. Matt elbowed me in the ribs, tilting his head toward Ryan, whose face was flushed pink. 

“Show-off.” Orla flicked her fingers at Everly, sparks flying out of them. “I saved you a seat; you didn’t have to halve the bench.” 

Everly grinned unrepentantly at Ryan. “But I wanted to sit next to Captain Thorley.” 

“You will repair the bench after you’re done, Everly,” Anthea instructed mildly, between bites. 

“Ephemeris Anthea, what’s different about their connection?” Orla waved at me and Azo’lah, her small voice practically a whine. “I’m terrible at this. Why do I even have to learn it?”

“Because maintaining the balance in nature is one of the most important rules of magic,” Anthea said, setting down her fork. “If you can’t see the connections, then you can’t recognize the effect your choices are having. If you couldn’t see your connection to Mehuxula, how would you have known he had chosen to be your familiar? Also, did you ask our guests whether you could practice your craft with them? Other peoples are not as open with each other as we are.” 

“Yes, yes,” Orla promised, even though she most definitely had not asked permission to read us like living tarot cards. She fed Mehuxala a handful of salad before pointing at Azo’lah and me again. “Why’re they weird?” 

“There are too many ways to count,” Fleetwood grinned. I fixed my eyes on my plate, wondering if it was impolite to excuse myself. It was bad enough that I had a terrible vibe or whatever, I honestly didn’t expect my aura to be less of a mess than me. But to have somehow lump Azo’lah in with me too—

Myaxi, I do not believe it is as—

“Oh,” Everly breathed. “That is odd. I’ve never seen anything like that.” 

Beside me, Azo’lah stiffened. I glanced up to find the three witches staring at us. I realized, with relief, that I hadn’t tainted Azo’lah but that it must be visible to the witches when we communicated using Azo’lah’s technopathy. 

Anthea was looking between us, her dark eyes more knowing than I wanted. I fought valiantly to keep the panic off my face and resorted to taking an oversized bite of salad.

“The tall one wants something from the short one. She wants her friend to do something because there’s a gap that keeps appearing. A want, or promise unfulfilled,” Orla said slowly, apparently uncaring of the discomfort she caused. 

“Well, it doesn’t take magic to see that,” Ryan quipped, and my friends cracked up. Really, I expected Azo’lah to harp on this subject, but the rest of them knew better than to encourage it.  

“She wants me to become a Myax, and I don’t—” I stopped myself before, ‘I don’t deserve it’ could pop out. I cleared my throat. “I’m quite happy being an archaeologist.” 

“What is an archaeologist?” Everly smiled at me. “I wanted to ask earlier.” 

“Someone who studies the history and culture of people through the recovery and analysis of their material remains,” I recited. After so many years of explaining the differences between archaeology, anthropology, and even geology, to my relatives at holiday gatherings, I had found it best to have easy definitions at the ready. 

“She digs up old ass things to get the dirt on our ancestors,” Fleetwood translated. “On Destyr, we had a ‘let the past be the past’ type attitude, but we’re learning hella much from the exorcism of the Temple of Aluthua.”

“Excavation,” Chester corrected, filling his bowl with another helping of salad. “You should tell them the story, FleetMerc.” And bless her, she was off. 

It didn’t take long before Fleetwood, and her hyperbolic retelling of some of our adventures seemed to have won over our hosts. Her endearingly unique, over-the-top brand of charm, with supporting interjections from Ryan had all three witches gasping with laughter. I was beginning to realize that Ryan and Fleetwood were a non-traditional diplomatic tour-de-force whose secret weapon was that they were actually sincere in their enjoyment of meeting new people. 

At the end of their retelling of our confrontation with the Sarl, Everly said, “We should go to the target range.” She snapped her fingers, producing a small, flickering flame above them. She arched one challenging eyebrow at Ryan, whose grin flared to a full-force sunbeam beneath Everly’s attention. “Magic against mechanics. We can see if your aim is as good as you claim.” 

“Um, actually,” I said, turning to Anthea, “would you mind very much if I looked at the crystal now?” 

“Wow, you lasted longer than I thought,” Chester laughed. He also turned to Anthea and added. “You’d make Gretch’s day if you allowed us the honor.” 

Anthea nodded. “Very well, but guards will, of course, be present.” 

I had a hard time not shouting with glee. “You can go to the target range, Captain,” Azo’lah told Ryan. “Gretchen and Chester will report their findings back, as always.” 

“Great!” Ryan stood, gesturing to Everly. “After you, fair witch.” 

“You won’t be calling me that when I emerge victorious.” Everly grabbed Ryan’s outstretched hand, pulling them toward the exit at the other end of the hall. 

Fleetwood sighed, clasping her hands over her heart as she watched them leave. “Be brave, young lovers.”

“Everly did not repair the bench,” Orla noted sourly, looking up at Anthea as we all stood.

“Good practice for you, then, little one,” Anthea. “If you require help, seek out one of the Elders.” 

Orla muttered something that sounded like “Goddess cursed favoritism” as we followed Anthea out of the hall.

Once, when we were on J’olpri before it all went to shit, I had stumbled upon a vendor who had been selling jewels cursed by the witches of Huxor. I had almost succumbed to their beauty and their power. The Crystal of Cajlire needed no magic to keep me just as spellbound. It was kept in a small, unadorned room which, like the entire base, had been carved out of the mountain with magic. It had one narrow doorway, which required magic to access, and was guarded by two spindly witches who eyed us suspiciously as we entered the crystal’s chamber. 

The crystal, the only object in the room, rested on a braided wooden pedestal. 

“Doesn’t look very magical,” Chester murmured, firing up his Ran’dyl to take scans. 

I didn’t exactly agree. The five-sided crystal was roughly ten inches tall and mimicked a fiery sunset fading into a star-dappled night. It had writing in a different language on each face, small and precise.

“Five sides for five languages,” I said as I walked around the pedestal. When I dove into the Destyrian Royal Archives to research the crystal, there had been frustratingly little about it. In fact, Shockley’s brief call had proved more informative.

“Yes, the ancient languages of the magical peoples of this quadrant: Destyr, Huxor, Yurdyn, Lallar, and the fifth,” Anthea explained, “is unclaimed. All our histories state is that we lost our brethren to the Knife’s Edge Galaxy more than four thousand years ago.”

I stopped, thunderstruck.“There’s Ancient Destyrian engraved on this crystal? No one mentioned that before!” I raced around the crystal in search of the glyphs I knew from the Temple of Aluthua.

“Magical peoples?” Chester asked, brows raised skeptically above his glasses frames as he read the scans his Ran’dyl was already producing. “All of them?”

“Yes. You know of the Iz’waij of Destyr and we, the witches of Huxor,” Anthea explained. I forced my eyes to not stray to Azo’lah. “Then there are the shape-shifters of Yurdyn. A dwindling race who can turn themselves into anyone and anything.” I caught Chester’s eye, and I knew we were both thinking of Jordan, the shape-shifter on Sadrilla’s crew. “And there are the Lallar: they are able to not only sense and manipulate the emotions of others, but to plant the seeds of feelings in your mind.” The Lallar were unfamiliar to me, but their abilities sent a chill down my spine. What would it be like to be that powerful?

“And the fifth lost race?” Matt asked as he leaned over my shoulder to inspect the crystal.

Anthea waved a hand through the air. “Their powers are unknown. What is known is that all five peoples lived in harmony for a great deal of time, and the Crystal of Cajlire was a testament to that. But, as the years passed and the magic amongst all our varied peoples began to dwindle, our shared history was forgotten. As war broke out across the universe, my ancestors removed the crystal from its original location and have kept it hidden ever since.”

“What does it say?” I asked, as I took pictures of the crystal and its etchings from various angles.

“The exact translation has been lost. And, as the languages are ancient and no longer spoken, we only have guesses.”

“You lost the translation?” I asked, horrified.

Anthea’s gaze turned scathing. “We have lost much in the various, needless wars brought to our doorstep. Invaluable pieces of history and culture, most importantly, people.”

I flushed, ashamed of myself. Of course, the loss of the witches was what was most important. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply—”

“No, I am sorry,” Anthea interrupted, with a sharp shake of her head. “My temper is worn thin by the necromancers. Your inquiry did not deserve my scorn. I can provide you with our best guess at a translation.”

I accepted this as the olive branch it was. “Please, but also, a member of our crew reads Ancient Destyrian. I’ve been learning through my work but Fleetwood’s fluent. Fleetwood, want to take a look at this?”

“Of course, Gret’chen, my Gret’chen!” Fleetwood stepped forward, Azo’lah at her side. She stooped forward for a closer inspection. “I thought it would glow with the flow or something,” she whispered mournfully.

“Well, it’s as old as they said it was, but otherwise, I’ve got nothing,” Chester held out the scan of his Ran’dyl.

 Fleetwood said, “I am missing a great deal of context, but it could mean, As the moon lights the shadows...no, sky. No, wait, night. As the moon lights the night, Delto gives birth to the five.”

“What has been passed down is: As the moon lights the night, Delto bestows magic to the five,” Anthea corrected gently.

Fleetwood tilted her head. “Yeah, I can see that.” She squinted at the next two lines. “This is tricky. The hand who carved this may not have been a native speaker. Some of the glyphs look unusual.” Her long finger pointed to a cluster of glyphs. “It is hard to guess the context without knowing the exact glyph they meant.”

Anthea said, “We read it as: Keep her gift in our sight, Protect the vessel and magic survives.”

“That could be possible,” Fleetwood conceded, “but it could also be: The hand of the reune rises, Swim across the bubble for longevity.”

“Great,” Everly said. “What’s a reune?”

“A Destyrian horse,” Matt answered.

Everly grimaced. “What’s a horse? Do they have hands?”

“No,” Chester said.

“Then that’s a shit translation,” Everly huffed.

“But it’s an accurate one,” Fleetwood said.

I stepped forward, holding up my hands. “Ancient Destyrian is a nuanced language. I’ve never come across anything about the Ancients having any type of relationship with the witches of Huxor,” I glanced at Azo’lah and Fleetwood. “Is there anything historical that would have necessitated this?” Fleetwood shook her head. Well, if I wasn’t invested before, I certainly was now. I turned to Anthea. “Do you mind if I take a closer look at this? I think something might have been lost in translation. And if something was lost, there’s a possibility it’s something that could help you now.”

Matt held a fragrant bowl of sauteed veggies beneath my nose. “Come on, Gretchen, time to eat.”

I salivated at the aroma from the bowl, but my attention remained fixed on the Ancient Destyrian engraved on the crystal before me. I shoved the veggies out of my sightline. “Not yet. I’m close.”

Matt groaned and shuffled away. “Someone talk sense to her.”

“You’ve been close for the last five days,” Ryan sighed from their post, leaning against the wall between the door and Everly. For as long as I had been studying the Crystal of Cajlire, Chester had been telling me about how much time our dear Captain was spending with the young witch. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one with an obsession on Huxor. “Take a break, Borowicz. That’s an order.”

“You’ve been at this for the last ten hours,” Chester added quietly from the seat on my right. He had been in and out of the chamber while I conducted my study, helping me search my Ran’dyl for reliable translation texts and providing a sounding board for ideas.

At Chester’s back, Fleetwood—the only one of us who could read, write, and speak Ancient Destyrian—hovered. She had spent most of her time split between helping me translate and assisting Azo’lah in training the witches in new hand-to-hand battle tactics. “Gret’chen, you must take your toffee break before your soul decides to no longer fly!”

I grinned at Fleetwood’s misspoken Broadway lyrics. Though, regardless of her word usage, she had a point. I turned to the crystal, desperate for an answer to jump off its glistening edges and smack me in the face.

Keep her gift in our sight, Protect the vessel and magic survives.

I knew there was a meaning hidden amongst the lettering, if only I had the patience and knowledge to uncover it.

I leaned back in my wooden stool and finally looked around the torch-lit chamber at the faces of my friends and the witches who lined the walls. Everything was blurry. I dug the heels of my palms into my eyes, sending rainbows exploding across the backs of my eyelids.

Maybe it was time for a break.

I pushed back from the pedestal I had spent the last five days hunched over in my endeavor to help the witches of Huxor. There was something there—something useful in the connection between Ancient Destyrians and Huxor. If I could clarify the translation, I knew I could help turn the tide against the rising horror of the necromancers. Just in the time that we had been on Huxor, the necromancers had moved within miles of the mountain, and the reanimated dead became horrifyingly familiar.

During my short bathroom breaks, I had witnessed bloodied witches returning, their bodies battered, and their spirits even more so. I overheard one young witch keening in Gideon’s arms, telling him how she’d been forced to fight the corpse of her recently impaled twin.

I turned my attention to the two witches assigned to oversee my continued inspection of the crystal. Their young faces were lined with the worry and exhaustion I felt down to my bone marrow. I could not fail them. I had to find an answer.

“I’m so close,” I argued.

Fleetwood hummed sagely. “Closeness is a matter of perspective.”

A set of six-fingered hands gripped my shoulders and squeezed. I looked up at Azo’lah. “Rest your mind and your eyes, Myaxi. You must refresh yourself intermittently if you wish to help to your highest potential.”

“You don’t think I’m helping to my highest potential?” I asked, my voice breaking. A spike of hurt pierced through me, and unwanted tears pooled in my eyes. Did Azo’lah really think I wasn’t trying my hardest to help?

“Alright, that’s it!” Everly declared, her chair rolling forward. “Let’s go, stubborn Earth archaeologist! It’s time for food and a nap.”

I turned my watery gaze to the young witch. “I don’t need food or a nap!” I wiped furiously at my face in an attempt to hide my tears.

“You’re burning yourself out,” Everly approached me slowly, as though I were a spooked animal. “If this emotional outburst is anything to go by, you’re going to crash before moonrise, and Goddess knows when we’ll get you back in working order.” She wrapped a gentle hand around my wrist. “Come on, Gretchen.”

“I’m not having an emotional outburst,” I argued as more tears welled. 

Everly was having none of it. “Enough,” she said. “If you won’t come willingly…”

“You’ll what?” I feared the answer.

“Oh, oh, oh, don’t go willingly, Borowicz,” Ryan strode forward. Their eyes were alight with excitement. “I want to see what she can do.”

“She wouldn’t use magic on me,” I said, my eyes widening in terror and wonder at the thought.

Everly tipped her head to the side questioningly. She nodded toward my stool. “I wouldn’t?”

I looked down to see myself no longer planted safely on my stool but hovering in a seated position at least a foot above its sturdy embrace. I shrieked, scrambling to grab ahold of Azo’lah’s hands which still rested on my shoulders. I opened my mouth to demand that Everly put me down immediately, but instead, I said, “You can levitate people? How?”

Ryan rocked on the balls of their feet. “Magic!”

Chester rolled his eyes. “The crystal most likely manipulates the field of gravity for her.”

“Yeah, like I said,” Ryan’s exuberance rolled off them in waves, “magic.”

“If you would not mind returning Myaxi to her seat, Everly, I believe she is ready to come with us willingly,” Azo’lah said. She pushed down on my shoulders, but I stayed stubbornly aloft.

“If you insist.” Everly flicked her wrist.

I dropped into my seat with a soft, “Oof.”

Azo’lah offered me a hand. “Dinner, Myaxi?”

“Alien gods and goddesses, yes,” I agreed. Now that my focus wasn’t solely directed at the crystal, I finally realized how hungry I truly was. I walked over to Matt and held out my arms. “Feed me!”

Matt’s eyes widened with guilt. His cheeks bulged with half-masticated vegetables. The bowl he had brought for me was empty. He swallowed his mouthful. “Sorry, Gretch, I didn’t think we’d actually convince you. Though, there’s more in the hall, along with some delectable meat skewers.”

I gave him a haggard grin as I looped our arms together. “Take me to the food.”

Fleetwood skipped to my other side and cheered, “Feed me, and you’ll see more!”

She and Matt dragged my tired body out of the room, all of us thanking my multiple Huxor-appointed guards as we passed them. “Do you think there’s any more of those maple cakes left?” Chester asked as he and Azo’lah fell into step behind us. 

“There are cakes?” I asked.

“Yeah, mate. With fruit filling and frosting,” Matt said.

My mouth dropped in mock-offense. “Why didn’t you lead with that? I would’ve left that stool ages ago had I known there was cake!”

One bowl of grilled vegetables, two meat skewers, a mug of cider, and two maple cakes later, I was filled to bursting.

I snagged a third frosted cake from the passing platter as it made its way down the long table toward a small platoon of middle-aged witches preparing for their nightly guard duty. Now that I was fed and watered, I could admit that Everly and my friends had been right. I was feeling refreshed. My eyes even ached less.

“So much for not being hungry,” Chester teased me from across the table. He was on his second helping of veggies, his hand steadily shoveling his meal into his mouth as he read a translated book from the Destyrian Royal Archive on the most revered Iz’waij of Golyn’s Golden Era. He intermittently muttered, “Impossible,” into his bowl.

My snarky retort was lost in a spray of cake crumbs across the table. I clapped my hand over my mouth, mortified. Ryan and Everly, who were tucked close together on my right, burst out in uproarious laughter. Spotting their hands twined together on Ryan’s lap did more for my well-being than the delicious meal I had just consumed.

 Azo’lah handed me a rough linen napkin, fighting a smile. I wiped frosting and berry-filling from the corners of my mouth. “Sorry, sorry,” I apologized, “I have manners, I promise. I just didn’t realize how hungry I was until I saw food.”

“Can’t say I’ve ever had that problem,” Matt said, draining his mug of cider.

Across the hall, Fleetwood cried out in faux-agony, “I surrender! I surrender!” 

I spun in my seat to find her on her knees, a tiny witch perched on her shoulder, and two more hanging from her arms like they were monkey bars. I watched as a horde of tiny witches swarmed her. Fleetwood and the kids squealed with delight as they fell into a pile of uncoordinated limbs and tiny, sparking spells.

“These young ones are quite spirited,” Azo’lah commented, a note of fondness in her tone. “Were they to face the darkness, they would certainly make fine Myax. As would you, Myaxi, were you to finally take your oath.”

I almost choked on my final bite cake.

“One meal, guys,” Chester said, his eyes still on his article. “I’m asking for one full meal where you don’t argue about this in some capacity.”

“And your wish is granted because I’m not arguing about it,” I replied, my recent reinvigoration dwindling rapidly. “I’m not taking the Myax oath, and that’s that.”

Azo’lah’s nostrils flared. “But it is your birthright as a—”

“Azo’lah,” Matt cut in, “maybe we could give it a rest for one night?”

“Or possibly put the issue to bed altogether?” Ryan suggested. My body went hot then cold as realization struck me like lightning. Ryan said, “I know you mean well, Azo’lah, but this is Gretchen’s decision, and if she—”

I stood up quickly. The motion sent everyone who was sharing my bench wobbling as it slid backward.

“Gretchen?” Chester asked, finally turning from his article. “Why’re you making that face?”

“Put it to bed!” I crowed joyously. At my friends' confused looks, I expounded, “The crystal! I know how we can defeat the necromancers!”

As I waited for Anthea and her most trusted generals to make it to the crystal’s chamber, my excitement in my breakthrough warped into churning anxiety. As every minute passed by and more skeptical eyes filled the room, doubt took hold. The fate of not only this planet but the entire universe rested on the shoulders of my new, Fleetwood-approved translation. If I was wrong, we would all pay the price.

Anthea strode into the room. The gathered witches straightened, their attention snapping to watch me debrief their Ephemeris. She stopped on the opposite side of the crystal’s pedestal. Even though her third eye was clouded, I could still feel the weight of its gaze directed at me. “I received word that you’ve found something?”

I gulped, summoning all of my bravery in the face of too much attention. Knowing that all of my friends stood at my back, ready to support me, hardened my resolve.

“Yes, I have,” I confirmed.

“And?” Anthea pressed.

I cleared my throat and pointed to the Ancient Destyrian engraved on the Crystal of Cajlire. “I believe I’ve worked out a more accurate translation, one that provides a clue in defeating the necromancers.”

One of Anthea’s generals, a man with waist-length braids, snorted dubiously at the back of the chamber. 

“That seems… highly unlikely,” Anthea said. My heart sank. “But I am listening, Gretchen of Earth.”

“Ch-Chester, you want to start at the beginning?” I prompted.

Chester stepped up to my side. “Not many descendants of those who engraved this crystal still speak or write in the languages inscribed here. The translation that you have all been operating under wasn’t incorrect, per se. It was just one of many possibilities.”

At Anthea’s raised eyebrows, I took over. “Ancient Destyrian glyphs have multiple meanings. The meaning is based on the placement within the sentence, as well as overall context. For example, the second glyph in the second sentence on the crystal,” at my back Chester was using his Ran’dyl to project an enlarged image of the glyph overhead for everyone to see, “can mean home, plateau, sandal, and is also one of the conjugations for the verb to light. Due to its placement and context in this particular circumstance, it reads lights.”

“That is the translation we had written,” Anthea inserted.

“It is,” I conceded. “This was just a demonstration of how complex this language is. The last two sentences were what bothered me.” Chester’s overhead projection changed to show the current, incorrect translation. 

Keep her gift in our sight, Protect the vessel and magic survives.

“The problem with these sentences, at least in Ancient Destyrian, is that the possibility for translation is… almost endless,” I explained. “Fleetwood, could you please?”

“Happily, dearest Gret’chen,” Fleetwood walked up to stand between Chester and me. “This sentence contains the three most common glyphs in Ancient Destyrian.” The aforementioned glyphs pulsed purple in Chester’s projection. “This one alone has over a dozen uses based on sentence structure and modification. If it is at the beginning of a sentence, directly followed by a verb, it means man. But if it appears in the middle of a sentence and is preceded by a verb, it means throne. And those meanings can also be different depending on verb tenses. It is all very confuzzling.”

Zorina, one of the first witches we met and Anthea’s most trusted general, said, “How do you know all of this?”

“As Second Fulyiti of the central continent, it has been my privilege and my duty to learn the language of my ancestors,” Fleetwood replied. “And believe it or not, the human language of English is even more complicated.”

“Fulyiti,” Azo’lah murmured from behind us.

Fleetwood smiled brightly. “All of this is to say, in her astounding brilliance Gret’chen, has jigsawed out a more accurate translation.”

Without prompting, Chester changed his projection to the new, hopefully accurate, translation in modern Destyrian, English, and Huxorian.

“As the moon lights the night, Delto bestows magic to the five. Her gift is present in her sight, return to the cradle and the natural order revive,” Anthea read. Like a breeze through autumn leaves, whispers swept the room. “Are you sure of this?”

Beneath the choking swell of hope, my positivity wavered for a moment. But I trusted my hard work, Chester’s research, and Fleetwood’s years of study. “Positive,” I said. “With this sentence structure, the glyph that had previously been translated into vessel can also mean severed ear, broken cup, or infant’s bed, otherwise known as a cradle.”

“Put it to bed,” Ryan repeated gleefully. Almost an hour later, they were still chuffed that their wording had been what sparked my translation discovery.

“And this one here,” Chester said, illuminating another Destyrian character, “does mean order. But not just any type of order, such as organization. It means natural, as in untampered with.”

“The natural order,” Anthea repeated, the doubt in her eyes replaced by a gleam of possibility.

“Yes, the natural order. The basis of Huxorian magic,” Ryan said.

“We have to return the crystal to the cradle,” I looked around hopefully. “Whatever that means. It should return everything to the way it was intended. Does anyone know what the cradle is?”

“The crystal was originally kept in the Temple of Delto,” Anthea explained. “ The temple stood in what was our first permanent settlement. The birthplace of civilization on Huxor.”

“If the human is correct, by returning the Crystal of Cajlire to the Temple of Delto we could defeat the necromancers with minimal loss of life,” Zorina said. 

“We hope,” Anthea said.

“Where is this temple?” Matt asked.

With a wave of her hand, Anthea produced a rolled parchment out of thin air. “We all know where the temple is,” she said, unrolling the worn map and allowing it to float unfurled in the air before us. “It is our holiest of lands. Located here.” She pointed to an expanse of land that dropped off into the sea. If I was reading the map correctly, it appeared to be no more than twenty miles away from our current location.

“If this map is right, I can fly us there in minutes,” Matt said. 

“It is not that simple,” Anthea sighed. “Two harvests ago, the Temple of Delto fell under necromancer control.”

Of course, once one problem was solved, another, more dangerous one presented itself.

“Myax, take a look at the map,” Ryan ordered. Azo’lah immediately leaned closer. “You think you can come up with a plan of attack? Majumdar can help with entrance and exit strategies.”

“I can certainly draw up plans.” Azo’lah turned to Anthea. “With the help of your warriors, of course.”

“You don’t understand,” Anthea pressed. “The temple is in the heart of their territory.”

“Of course it bloody is,” Matt said.

“That isn’t ideal,” Ryan conceded. “But if this is the way to stop the necromancers…”

“Then go beast lightning,” Fleetwood finished for them.

“We’ll do it,” Ryan said. “Our team will return the crystal to The Temple of Delto.”

“I’m coming with you,” Everly piped up as she moved forward. “You may be good, Captain, but there’s no way you’re doing this without a witch.”

“No, certainly not,” Anthea agreed. “We will defeat this enemy as our ancestors intended.” She nodded to the crystal where the ancient writings of Huxor and Destyr glinted. “Together.”

I patted his shoulder consolingly. Our update meeting with Auhtula Ty’uria and her councillors on our progress at the Temple of Aluthua on Vas Roya had not gone as smoothly as we hoped. For one very specific reason.

“Lija’s a dick,” I lowered my voice as a trio of Destyrians hustled past us into the Council Chamber. I grabbed Chester’s elbow, directing him down the hall, toward the residential wing of the palace. “Everyone knows that.”

“Everyone knows, but they don’t do anything to stop him from being one.” Chester scrubbed at the top of his beanie-less head. He had paired his treasured Air Jordan 1s with a red and black checked button-up that he’d tucked into a pressed pair of khakis, creating not only a dapper but professional look for the meeting.

He had hoped that his research on the technology of the Ancients would be taken more seriously by Lija, the Councilor of Technology. Chester, along with a half dozen Destyrian researchers, had been making astonishing progress in understanding the ancient tech, but also in implementing it—they were already marrying the orb reader recreations with current tech. A fact that Chester had shared with unguarded excitement during our update and Lija had stomped on with dubious contempt.

Thankfully, Lija had kept his opinions to himself during my portion of our presentation, but the severity of his sneer spoke volumes. His distaste for us was returned ten-fold.

“Auhtula Ty’uria seemed super impressed though,” I reminded Chester. We turned right into a sunny corridor filled with bustling bureaucrats going about their business. “She even agreed to expand your budget for testing.”

Chester’s frown twitched upward. A finely dressed representative raced past us, clearly late for her own meeting with the Council. Chester squished against me as her assistants buffeted past us. Chester huffed, “Yeah, but no thanks to that insufferable, douchey—oof!”

“Ahh!” I screeched as I scrambled to catch Chester around the waist to stop him from face planting into a pair of highly polished shoes.

I helped Chester stand and grimaced at who we had run into. Dark, scornful eyes set over an aquiline nose and a small mouth, glared back at me. “Councillor Lija,” I wheezed, “apologies for running into you.”

Lija glared at a nonexistent scuff on his pristine footwear, brushing the front of his taupe tunic. “You humans lack a great deal of grace, don’t you?”

Chester grinned without teeth. “It’s part of our charm.”

Lija barked a humorless laugh. “Charm? Humans? Now I know why Fulyiti Kezira is so taken with you, Chester, her Favored. You are entertaining at the very least, even if your understanding of Destyrian engineering and technology is...severely lacking.”

Chester’s fists clenched at his sides. I snaked a hand around his wrist and tugged him past Lija. Practically sprinting away from Lija, I called over my shoulder, “Again, deepest apologies for the...uh, collision. Okay, bye!”

Once we were out of earshot, Chester asked, “Do you think anyone would be upset if we took Lija with us to Vas Roya and let him get trapped in the Temple of Aluthua?”

Though the Temple’s programming hadn’t been active since Azo’lah’s artifact-aided surge of technopathic power all those months ago, it was a tempting thought.

Chester’s Ran’dyl, which was pinned to his chest, trilled.

“Fleetwood just left me a message.” He tapped the pin. A miniature bust of Fleetwood popped into existence before us. “Most Favored One! We have returned from our sojourn to Earth and—”

“Chester, Gretchen!” Ryan Thorley’s face crowded against Fleetwood’s. We both grinned at their newly dyed ombre hair and various ear piercings. It had only been months, but it looked like our young Captain, now a legal adult by US standards, had aged years. “Get back to Fleetwood’s rooms ASAP,” Ryan said, “and that’s an order. I demand a crew hang immediately!”

“Hurry, hurry!” Fleetwood added, blowing us kisses before ending the message.

“Glad they made it back safely,” I said. “I was worried the pick-up trip for Ryan was going to turn onto some sort of ill-advised—”

If it was possible to do so, I might have swallowed my tongue as the bust of Vic Mey-ran projected from Chester’s Ran’dyl. “Greetings, Chester,” the Covlax Vic greeted. His voice was oddly stilted, though his dark eyes gleamed with excitement. “I hope you have been well since we last spoke and that your scholarly endeavors are—”

Chester cursed loudly and slapped his Ran’dyl. Mey-ran dissipated. “Just ignore that.”

“Just ignore that?” I gripped Chester’s arm tightly. “You didn’t tell us Mey-ran’s been sending you messages. What does he mean since you last spoke?”

We took a right and entered the residential wing. Chester fidgeted with his shirt cuffs. “Sometimes Mey-ran will comm me, and we talk. It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal!” I screeched, apparently unable to say anything that wasn’t a repetition of Chester’s previous statement. “Chester, he maneuvered Auhtula Ty’uria into promising you to him in a political marriage. If you’re talking to him, that’s a huge deal. Is he pressuring you to set a wedding date?”

“No, no,” Chester assured me. “He’s actually totally fine with me wanting a long engagement. He says he wants to get to know me. He calls, and if I’m free, I’ll answer sometimes. We talk, that’s all. Like I said, no big deal.”

My insatiable curiosity collided with my protective streak. I wanted to know more about Chester’s interactions with the Covlax Vic as much as I wanted to stop this outrageous betrothal triggered by our collective stupidity. We knew our actions on J’olpri and our search for Zerin would have consequences. We just didn’t know those consequences would be Chester, a member of House Fuiq due to his status as Fleetwood’s Favored, being forced into a marriage of political alliance.

“What do you talk about?” I didn’t want to pry, but by the slight smile Chester was fighting, I thought he might want to talk about what was happening between him and Mey-ran.

He shrugged sheepishly. “You know, stuff.”

“Enlightening.”

“He asks about my experiments, my life back on Earth. Typical getting to know you stuff.”

“Except this isn’t a typical getting to know you experience,” I pointed out.

“He’s not a bad guy.” Chester’s eyes darted around the corridor, assessing for eavesdroppers. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s weird as hell and doesn’t really get human social cues. And I’m not a huge fan of being forced to marry him in order to avoid war with his terrifying mother, but… he’s not a bad guy.”

I nudged our elbows together. “He’s also stupid hot.”

“So stupid hot,” Chester agreed vehemently.

“As long as he’s behaving himself, I guess it wouldn’t hurt for you to get along until we find a way to get you out of this marriage,” I said.

“While also avoiding war with Vicerenne Tov-ri,” Chester added. “Not a tall order at all.”

I linked our arms together. “Hey, we’ve pulled off some pretty impossible stuff before, right? Don’t underestimate the power of our crew on a mission.”

We entered Fleetwood’s chambers cautiously, prepared for a whirlwind of Destyrian princess and over-enthusiastic teenage Captain. Instead, we found an empty foyer and silence.

“Why does this complete lack of activity scare me?” I asked. It was genuinely disturbing not to hear a Broadway musical soundtrack pouring from a distant room while Fleetwood clung to us in greeting like a manic koala.

Chester sighed, “Because you know FleetMerc.” We crossed the foyer into the dining area, where we found a pristinely set table for six but no friends. We looked at each other, uncertain of our current situation.

“At what point do we consider kidnapping?” I asked as Chester led the way into Fleetwood’s lounge. The room was cavernous with its rainbow-painted ceiling, sprawling mosaic floor, and multiple window seats, cushioned in clashing designs of plaids, florals, and geometric kaleidoscopes. The multiple velvet sofas and chairs were devoid of anything but perfectly fluffed pillows. I couldn’t even spy Sebastian, whose favorite past-time was sunning himself on one of the window seats.

I spun in a slow circle. “Where are—AHH!” Chester and I were wedged together in a violent embrace. Ryan and Fleetwood hollered their glee as they collided into us from either side. Matt silently braced us all, his strong, steady arms at our backs.

“Where the hell did you come from?” My question was muffled against Ryan’s shoulder.

“Missed you!” Fleetwood cheered.

“Saw us this morning at breakfast,” Chester reminded her but snuggled into her anyway.

“Missed this!” Fleetwood corrected as she gestured at all of us (sans Azo’lah) together.

Ryan, still plastered against my side in a tight embrace that I wasn’t prepared to release, turned their face to the ceiling and sang loudly, “Reunited and it feels so —”

“Food!” Fleetwood finished for them.  We laughed as we extricated ourselves from the hug, though we stayed close together. 

“Did you get taller?” I held Ryan at arm’s length and studied them. They were clad in sneakers, jeans, and a Cosmic Conquerors t-shirt, and my hands, which rested on their shoulders, definitely sat higher than they had last time I had hugged our Captain.

Ryan shrugged. “Probably.” They roped Chester and me into another hug.

“How was graduation?” Chester asked.

“The longest four hours of my life,” they groaned. “Then Mom and Dad wanted to take about a million pictures of me in my cap and gown. I almost missed the meet-up with Matt and Fleetwood.”

“We also demanded pictures,” Matt said, beaming. He held up his Ran’dyl, a hologram of himself, Fleetwood, and Ryan, still bedecked in their forest-green cap and gown, smiled cheesily at me. I immediately tapped my Ran’dyl against his; I needed that picture in my archives immediately.

“Delete that,” Ryan demanded, flopping onto one of the sofas. “I look like a tool.”

Fleetwood dropped down beside them and patting their head. “You looked splendiferous as hell in your regalia, Captain.”

“Ah, Captain, I’ve missed that!” Ryan watched Chester, Matt, and I find seats and said, “No one can make me go back to Earth. I’m eighteen, and officially a high school graduate now,” they pulled a folded piece of paper from their back pocket, “and I got the receipts to prove it.”

From his high-backed chair, Chester winced in horror as Ryan unfolded the paper and proudly brandished it. “You folded your diploma?”

Sebastian wriggled out from his hiding spot under Chester’s chair and joined Matt and me on our sofa. “No one’s sending you back unless you want to go back,” I promised Ryan. They had met all of our previous stipulations, even going so far as to find an early admissions program at UCLA as their cover story for needing to leave directly after their graduation ceremony. “How was the rest of your senior year?”

“Who cares?” Ryan sat up and trained their excited eyes on us. “Tell me everything I’ve missed.” They knocked their knee against Fleetwood’s. “This one wouldn’t spill any tea on the ride back here.”

I asked, “Do we even have enough time before dinner starts?”

“Worry not, Gret’chen,” Fleetwood said, waving her hand through the air. “We cannot have food, glorious food until Azo’lah has been more chill with her Soul Healer.”

I nodded at the reminder. Azo’lah had been doing much better since we returned to Destyr with Zerin four binary cycles ago. She had increased her visits to her Soul Healer and had been much more open with us when she was struggling with her darkness. It was a work in progress, but we were all more than happy to be there for Azo’lah in any way she needed.

“Aw hell. I’ll start,” Chester offered, sagging into the plush cushions of his chair.

Twenty minutes later, Matt had provided us all with drinks, and the recap was winding down. 

Ryan gaped, wide-eyed, at Chester. “You’re engaged,” they said slowly, “to the Covlax Vic in a move for political alliance?”

Chester drained his glass. “That’s the long and short of it.”

“Why you?” Ryan crowed indignantly.

“Two reasons,” Fleetwood answered in Chester’s stead. “Mother was not willing to offer up any member of my family who could potentially sit the throne.” At Ryan’s nod, Fleetwood continued. “And second, whenever Mother suggested a different family member, Mey-ran always demanded Chester instead.” In a mock-whisper, she added, “He wants the dick.”

“FLEETWOOD,” Chester hollered, sinking deeply into his chair with mortification.

“I don’t like this.” Ryan popped up to their feet and began pacing. “How do we get you out of it?”

“That’s what we’ve been trying to figure out,” Matt replied.

I said, “We haven’t come up with an answer quite yet.”

“It isn’t urgent.” Chester set his empty glass on a side table. “ Mey-ran isn’t demanding a wedding tomorrow. This whole...betrothal is an exercise in curiosity. He’s never met a human before, and he wants to know what we’re like. I’ll just wait him out. He’ll get bored eventually.”

Ryan snorted. “For a genius, that’s an incredibly stupid outlook.” They gestured to all of us. “What the hell, guys? I was only gone for three months. And all of this nonsense happens—Azo’lah has an identity crisis, Chester gets engaged, and Gretchen almost fucks Shockley.” They pointed at me. “Yeah, I’m not letting that go.”

I took a bracing sip of my drink. “It isn’t an ongoing thing,” I said, defensively. And, if I happened to check my comms for missed messages from a certain mercenary every now and again, no one but me needed to know that.

“You all are a hot mess. None of you are allowed to make decisions without my approval,” Ryan declared.

“Does that include the decision to start dinner?” Azo’lah asked from the doorway.

“Azo’lah!” Ryan cheered as they took a running leap across the lounge.

Azo’lah caught them off the floor in an easy embrace. “Captain,” Azo’lah set Ryan down. “It’s good to see you. I trust your return trip was satisfactory.”

“Damn right it was.”

Azo’lah turned her gaze to her cousin. “Fulyiti, dinner has been served.”

Fleetwood bounced to her feet, reaching for me and Matt with both hands. “Let us feast! And then, a surprise in the gardens!”

“A surprise?” I queried. Fleetwood’s surprises were either spectacular fun or incredibly dangerous. Usually both.

Ryan linked their arm with Chester’s and led us toward the dining room. “Our dearest Fulyiti has set up a Cosmic Conquerors screening for us! Finally, I get to educate you plebes on what good television is.”

I laughed as we settled around the table, our little family feeling a little more complete than it had this morning.

Ryan’s eyes blazed brighter than the enemy's incoming firepower. They pointed up at Azo’lah, who was manning the weapons module on the balcony of The Gold Dust Wo’man’s bridge. “Fire on the left!”

“Yes, Captain,” Azo’lah sighed, triggering the simulation’s missiles.

“Captain!” Fleetwood rushed forward, panting. She held up her Ran’dyl, which displayed a fleet of ships and missiles flanking us. “We’re about to be cornered!”

Matt leaned back in the pilot’s seat and kicked his boots up on the flight console. “Captain, a meteor field is fast approaching.”

Ryan stepped forward and ecstatically scanned our fake viewport. “Excellent spot, Majumdar. Take us through, flyboy.”

“Aye, aye,” Matt said with a mocking salute.

Ryan smacked him across the back of his head. “It wouldn’t kill you to take this as seriously as Fleetwood, you know!”

They turned their scorching gaze on me in my chair and to Chester at the back of the bridge, who was lackadaisically monitoring the life support systems. I squirmed uncomfortably at the chastisement. In our defense, we had taken the first star-cycle of training drills very seriously. Not only was Chester getting infinitely better at flying The Gold Dust Wo’man, but  Fleetwood and I had also received training in running the emergency backup and weapons systems. Chester had taken Matt under his wing, teaching him more nuanced mechanical fixes to our operating systems, and Azo’lah had given us all an in-depth class on emergency first aid for Destyrians, while Ryan and Matt taught us about humans.

All of those classes felt necessary and practical. But these increasingly outlandish emergency sims that Ryan had us run the last few days were starting to feel a little silly. 

“Apologies, Captain,” Matt said, not bothering to cover his yawning mouth, “but maybe we could take a lunch break.”

The warning alarms blared around us, signaling a new swarm of imaginary enemies.

Ryan gestured widely, their blue eyes glinted with indignation. “A lunch break? We’re surrounded on all sides, and you want a lunch break?”

“Captain, all due respect,” Azo’lah called, leaning against the balcony’s railing, “we are a diplomatic crew who, admittedly, get into more than our share of trouble. But the likelihood of us being engulfed by an insurmountable army of enemies while navigating a meteor shower is almost nonexistent.”

“Don’t invite that evil into this house!” Ryan yelled. At my incredulous stare, they said, “Saying we’ll never encounter something is as good as setting us up for it in the future.”

The warning sirens cut off abruptly, and the simulation disappeared from the screen. “A break is probably a good idea,” Chester said as his fingers delicately tapped the screen at his station, shutting everything down. “Rest and full stomachs will be helpful for total concentration in this afternoon’s simulation.”

Fleetwood thrust her fists into the air. “Total domination!”

“Fine,” Ryan acquiesced, “we can do lunch. But only if you all promise to take this afternoon’s training seriously!”

“Promise,” I cried, leaping from my seat. Matt dove from his chair toward the door.

“Pinky promise,” Fleetwood announced, holding out the aforementioned digit.

Ryan and Fleetwood linked little fingers just as my Ran’dyl blasted an annoyingly familiar 80s rock anthem. The song brought Matt and Chester to a stand-still at the door. They, along with the rest of the crew, turned to stare at me.

Fuck.

I smacked at my wrist to make it stop and accidentally answered the incoming call.

“Hey, babe, how’ve you been?”

The holographic bust of Maximillian Danger Shockley, sweaty, smiling, and framed by the sharp, geometric wings of a high-backed chair, hovered before me.

My cheeks burned cherry red beneath the gleeful, teasing glances of my friends. 

“Don’t call me babe,” I said by way of greeting.

Shockley ran his hand through his dark, wavy hair. “Listen, I don’t have much time to talk—” In the background, I heard an explosion. Shockley winced but continued. “I got a call from a contact. Long story short: Someone on Huxor wanted to hire me to come in and snatch something up for them, but I'm a little busy at the moment.”

“I fail to see why that warrants you calling me,” I said, my tone of irritation in direct opposition to the way I hungrily scanned his face. It had been too long since I had seen him in the flesh.

Shockley’s smile widened, throwing into sharp relief the darkening bruise along his jaw. “Maybe I just wanted an excuse to see you.”

“I thought you didn’t have time to talk?”

“I’m always willing to make time for you, babe.”

“MAX!” Tyler shouted from somewhere behind Shockley. “I’m not trying to harsh your flow, but focus up, bro!”

Shockley shook himself. “Right. Like I was saying: the necromancers. Things on Huxor have been strained for a while now, but the necromancers are planning on taking things to the next level.”

“When you say the necromancers,” Ryan said, striding to my side and waving at Shockley, “do you mean a group of baddies who call themselves ‘the necromancers’ or do you mean honest to God—”

“Witches with the power to raise the dead,” Shockley finished for them.

Ryan tipped their head back and whispered to the ceiling, “So awesome.”

“Not so awesome for the rest of Huxor,” Shockley continued over Tyler’s indistinguishable shouting. “The necromancers are planning on stealing the Crystal of Cajlire and destroying it in some ritual to boost their powers. Son of a bitch!” His face tightened as his floating bust barrel-rolled before righting itself—something I assumed his ship had just done. “Figured I’d throw this one your way, Name Police. Considering.”

“Considering?”

“The Crystal of Cajlire is majorly of yore,” Fleetwood said.

A brilliant glare of green light pulsed behind Shockley. “Over 6,000 years old.”

“It’s rumored to be imbued with ‘magic,’” Chester accompanied the last word with air quotes. “But most importantly, the Crystal is this quadrant’s version of the Rosetta stone. It is the key translation tool between five ancient inter-planetary languages.”

“And these necromancers want to destroy it for power?” I asked, my voice an octave too high as I shook with rage.

Shockley grinned as his bust tilted sideways. “There she is.” 

“Max!” Tyler bellowed in the background. “They’re closing in.”

“Fuck.” Shockley gave me a mocking wave, like a chivalrous knight going off to war. “Gotta run, babe. Have fun on Huxor. Give Fleetwood Tyler’s love. Give Azo’lah Nyc’arra’s hate.”

“Fuck you, Shockley,” Azo’lah shouted.

With a laugh and a wink, he disappeared.

I scanned the faces of my friends, biting my lip. I knew nothing of Huxor and its witches or alleged necromancers. But I did know I could not stand by and let such a priceless historical treasure be destroyed so callously.

I cleared my throat. “Guys, I won’t ask you to come with me, but I have to go to Huxor.”

Fleetwood flapped her arms and shrilled like a bird. Matt crossed to his seat and pulled up a schematic. Lines and ships appeared across the viewport as he tapped against his board. “The Gold Dust Wo’man can get us there in less than half an Earth day, Captain.”

“I’ll definitely need my testing kits,” Chester said to no one in particular, “possibly the electromagnetic probe and telemetry scope.”

Ryan looked up to Azo’lah. “Myax?” 

Azo’lah tapped away at her Ran’dyl. “I’ll have to take weapons inventory, but we should be fully stocked. I assume we want to take the Qu’een as well?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll load her in below and make sure she’s fueled up,” Matt volunteered.

“Alright, then let’s be ready for an early take-off tomorrow morning,” Ryan clapped their hands together. “Training is canceled for the rest of the day. Everyone pack up, we’re headed to Huxor.”

Fleetwood released another warcry, this one more piercing than the last.

“You guys don’t have to come with me,” I said.

“Don’t be stupid, Borowicz,” Ryan patted my shoulder as Fleetwood spun Chester around in their signature ‘we’re going on an adventure’ dance. “We go where you go. We’re a crew. Plus: space witches. I’m so there.” 

“Are you positive I can’t post this on Instagram?” Ryan asked, barely out of breath from our hike up from the valley. They were already scaling a mossy boulder that skirted the emerald field we had summited to get a better view of our surroundings. “Cuz that’s a gram-worthy landscape if I ever saw one.”

Ryan wasn’t wrong. Huxor was unquestionably stunning. In the nearby distance, forest-skirted mountains rose imperiously above the shoulders of rolling hills. Behind us, the cerulean splashed horizon dropped off to wild cliff-ringed beaches. It was like every magical, wild place in Celtic lore had converged on this planet. 

“No outer space social media posts.” I grinned, wading through the waist-high, flaxen grass to meet them. With much less grace, I climbed up the boulder to stand beside them.

Ryan snorted. “What’re they gonna do? Send the stupid Space Force after us?” 

“Don’t get me started on Space Force!” Chester huffed as he came into view over the rise of the steep incline. Matt had parked the Gold Dust Wo’man at the flat bottom of a valley, sheltering it as much as possible, just to be cautious. From what, I didn’t know. There didn’t seem to be any settlements or any people around, let alone necromancers.

“Why did you impersonate a mountain goat instead of taking the stairs?” Ryan gestured to the wide, worn flat stones that had been embedded into the side of the valley ten yards to the right. 

“Now you tell me,” Chester wheezed, clutching at the stitch in his side. He leaned his back against our perch and glared at the rudimentary stone steps. “Why are there stairs, doesn’t look like anything is around—”

He was interrupted by screeching. “Slow-jokes!” Fleetwood flew over the rise like a pole-vaulter, just as Azo’lah snatched her around the waist. Azo’lah dumped Fleetwood behind her, jumping forward. But Matt, sneaking up behind them, dove the last few feet. 

“I win!” he crowed, spitting grass out of his mouth. 

“Cheater, cheater, orange squash eater!” Fleetwood chanted, hopping onto Azo’lah’s back. Azo’lah accepted Fleetwood’s weight easily, her arms securely supporting her cousin as Fleetwood locked her legs around Azo’lah’s waist. “The victory should have been mine!” 

“It’s pumpkin eater,” Chester grinned at the cousins, breathless with exertion and laughter. Azo’lah looked up at me, her navy eyes glittering, smile brighter than the slivers of pure gold sunshine that pierced the rolling clouds, which were, I noted with alarm, getting incredibly dark, incredibly fast. 

I knew the moment Azo’lah noticed what I had--her grin fell into a frown. She tapped Fleetwood’s knees to get her to hop down.

“Get down,” Azo’lah ordered, already reaching for me. Her body heat as she helped me off the boulder was searing in contrast to the sudden, bone-deep cold of the air. There was a blinding flash, a terrible, rattling gasp, and then a flood of uncomfortable heat. I blinked rapidly, trying to clear my vision. The ground rumbled, throwing Ryan off balance. Matt caught them, setting them safely down onto the grass. 

Earth erupted at Ryan’s feet. Bomb, I thought, as Ryan screamed for us to find cover. Chunks of ground, rocks, and shattered pieces of trees rained down. My field of vision tinged magenta as Azo’lah powered up the jeweled band on her bicep, activating her glowing shield, covering us from the debris, even as she rushed toward Fleetwood to protect her. When the dirt stopped flying, I realized with horror why it had. Something was rising, no, resurrecting. A skeleton floated from the upturned ground, draped in disintegrating robes of cornflower blue. 

“Zombie Jesus!” Ryan hollered, wide-eyed. It was an apt description, but they didn’t need to sound so excited about it. I wasn’t sure if their hand was reaching for their holstered weapon or to activate their Ran’dyl to take a picture.

 After the initial shock, I realized that Zombie Jesus had a strange, empty socket in the center of its skull. It turned toward the valley, bony arms rising. 

Skeletons, all wearing robes in varying states of degradation, burst out of the sides of the valley, floating horizontally as if literally dragged from their eternal slumber in what was clearly a tiered, ancient burial site built into the hillside. 

“The stairs make sense now,” I said dumbly. 

“Not the time, Gretch,” Chester said. 

Ryan gaped at the rising bodies. “These necromancers really aren’t fucking around, are—”

“My ship!” Matt howled, drawing all of our attention as he reached futilely for the valley floor. Clods of dirt tumbled in a landslide toward the Gold Dust Wo’man, even as the dislodged dead floated upwards to join Zombie Jesus. 

Suddenly, the ship disappeared in a blinding flash of gold-washed silver. When I blinked, the Gold Dust Wo’man was imprinted on the back of my eyelids in a golden luster.

“My ship!” Matt screamed again. “Where is my ship?”

“Safe,” a disembodied voice behind us announced. “You, however, are not!” The air rippled, and a young woman, probably about Ryan’s age, with long black and turquoise braids woven with silver thread, miraculously emerged. She had a third, milky-white eyeball in the center of her forehead, which contrasted starkly with her dark skin. She sped down the closest hill toward us in a wheelchair. It was a high-backed and cushioned cottage-core steampunk dream that had been altered to handle the planet’s terrain. “Behind you!” 

Azo’lah whirled, but Fleetwood had already fired her gun at Zombie Jesus. The bolt sliced right through his aged sternum but otherwise did little to slow it down. 

“Your weapons won’t work on the dead!” The young woman pulled a sliver of wood out of her bag. She lobbed it with one arm toward Zombie Jesus, while her free hand made a complicated hand gesture that was impressive for its speed and grace. The piece of wood burst into a suddenly raging bonfire that swallowed Zombie Jesus. The acrid smell of burning bone and fabric made me gag as it wafted down into the valley on the wind. Behind the curtain of curling black smoke, the other newly raised skeletons crested the ridge.

“Everly!” 

I shrieked as the air rippled, and a new woman emerged from out of nowhere. “Everly! Why did you break cover?” the newcomer demanded. Her tawny and mauve braids whipped through the air as she turned her fiery gaze on us. She, too, had a milky eye at the center of her forehead. “Who are they?”
“I don’t know, Zorina,” Everly said. She threw another piece of sparked wood at the approaching skeletons. “They came in a ship. I banished it to the closest safe zone.” 

“We came to help,” I inserted hopefully.

Ignoring me, Zorina surveyed our rescuer through narrowed eyes. Even her blind third eye seemed to glower at Everly in disapproval. “Moving that on your own used too much power. You know better.” 

Now that she mentioned it, I could see sweat beading on Everly’s brow, her breathing turning ragged. Everly shrugged it off the confidence of youth. “I couldn’t risk it getting buried.”

The air by Zorina rippled, and a small piece of paper fluttered into her palm. “Aurelia’s found the Necromancer. He’s hiding, cloaked on the mountain.”

Everly’s chair spun at a sharp angle, churning up more dirt. “That’s close. Let’s apprehend him.”

Zorina grabbed her by the arm. “No. Our sisters and I will handle this. Take the new arrivals to Anthea.” Even as she spoke, more witches were arriving on the scene, grouping together in threes and beginning to ward off the encroaching, decomposing horde. 

Everly shot one longing glance at what were clearly her fellow Space Witches of Huxor before she jerked her head at us. “Follow me and hurry!”  She begrudgingly led us over the hill she had first appeared on, her wheelchair easily navigating the steep slope. Azo’lah ignored Fleetwood’s protestations and positioned her in the middle of our group for better protection. 

“So, not to state the obvious, but something is going on here,” Ryan said. They were walking on Everly’s right side as closely as they could without getting in the way of her chair wheels. “This is not at all what we were expecting.”

“And what were you expecting, whoever you are?” Everly trailed off without moving her eyes from where she was going. 

“Ryan Thorley, Captain of The Gold Dust Wo’man,” Ryan supplied, running a bit to catch up as Everly’s chair glided downhill. 

“Do you often joyride to planets in the midst of war, Captain?” Everly glanced up at them. 

“Our contact failed to mention how much things had escalated,” Ryan admitted. 

Everly turned left at the bottom of the large hill, moving beneath a copse of trees. Once we entered the cover of them, she faced us, silver-gold fire erupting in her hands. Bathed in the glow of her power, she looked like a Goddess of Rage and Power. “Who sent you?” 

“Woah,” I threw up my hands in a placating gesture. “My name’s Gretchen Borowicz. I’m an archaeologist, and my...friend got a tip that the necromancers were looking for someone to try and steal your crystal. I just wanted to help that not happen. And my crew came with me.” 

“Give me your hand,” Everly commanded. I obeyed immediately because I didn’t want to be barbequed by witchy moonfire or whatever it was. Azo’lah reached for her hidden zali’thir, clearly ready to intervene if Everly did anything. But all she did was touch me. “You’re telling the truth. Fuck,” she groaned. “Grab hands. I’m low on power, but this can’t wait. It’s time for evac. Now.” 

“No, we really don’t.” I leaned over, swiping my fingers against his wristband, attempting to initiate the ignore feature. Matt jerked his wrist out of my grip, glaring at me. 

“He was bound to figure out we’re gone. Do not climb the pilot while flying.” 

“I’m not climbing you,” I protested, rising from my seat and bodily reaching over him. “What’s with the ring tone?” 

Matt jerked the ship sideways, tipping me back into my seat. “Look what you made me do. And Tyler changed all my ringtones.” 

I pulled myself up into a more dignified position. “You did that on purpose! Wait, did you say Tyler?” 

Matt thumbed his Ran’dyl, silencing the dulcet tones of Thomas Dolby. “We were drunk. And yes, Tyler.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but it’s Chester.” The aforementioned looked less than amused as his bust hovered above Matt’s wrist. “Where are you guys?” 

“Out for a joyride around Renmig on the Qu’een,” Matt said easily. It was good that one of us was a decent liar. I was certain I would crack the moment Chester turned his gaze on me. “The family drama gave me a headache and,” Matt lowered his voice, “Gretchen needed some space.” 

I punched his arm out of the Ran’dyl’s view. “Don’t use my mental health as a scapegoat.”

“I can hear you, Gretch,” Chester said. “I don’t blame you for wanting a break. I want one. Have either of you seen Fleetwood?” 

Matt and I glanced at each other. “Not recently,” I said. The words came out at a normal pitch and volume only because they weren’t exactly a lie. Fleetwood had disappeared into the ship’s shag-carpeted armory to work on something for the mission almost ten minutes ago. So I hadn’t, technically, seen her recently. 

“You need anything?” Matt adjusted his arm so that Chester would better be able to see us both. 

“Nah.” Chester shook his head. “I just wanted to let her know that I told the Vic I would need to send a ship ahead of my arrival containing my luggage and some time-sensitive experiments I can’t leave unattended. If someone was on that ship who happened to be able to get in, get Zerin, and get out before my time on the planet is up...well.” He shrugged, his nonchalant grin slipping into something unmistakably devious. “Mey-ran’s already sent the clearance codes and coordinates for his private docking station.” 

“Sugar boos,” Fleetwood’s voice carried into the cockpit as the door dematerialized. She strode in, holding a perception distorter in each hand. “My beloved showed me how to program these, and I thought I remembered, but I am missing a stair. What are we to do?”

“You could just ask him?” I joked (more like choked) into the immediate and awkward silence. 

Fleetwood froze, staring at the miniature, disapproving Chester glaring at her in stunning 6D, or whatever, from Matt’s Ran’dyl. The lights of the disco-style floor highlighted the panic dancing across her face. “Chester, dearheart, I can explain.” 

“You snuck away and left me with Azo’lah as bargaining collateral in case your half-assed extraction of Zerin goes south,” Chester surmised darkly, his face a tempest of resentment and hurt. I traded an edgy look with Matt. If Azo’lah and Fleetwood fighting was hard on us, Fleetwood and Chester at odds would shoot the team directly in its brilliant, sparkly heart. 

Chester’s shoulders dropped. He removed his glasses and pushed his beanie up to massage his forehead. For a moment, he was the picture of a man carrying the universe on his back, and my stomach churned with shame. He returned his glasses to his nose and gestured abortively. “I’m going to temporarily forget that we didn’t plan this as a team until you’re back with Zerin. Matt, I’ll send you Mey-ran’s clearance codes as soon as I’m done talking to Her Royal Highness. And when this is over, we’re all going to have a nice sit down as a team and discuss the importance of honesty, trust, and communication.” 

Matt held out his wrist to Fleetwood, who tapped her Ran’dyl to Matt’s as if it were a live bomb. Immediately the hologram of Chester transferred. Fleetwood left the cockpit, heading toward the common area. Even her twin buns seemed to droop in contrition. 

“God, I hope they make up.” I slumped in my seat, staring at the bleakness outside the cockpit. The space around Renmig was a dull, dusty black as if the planet could no longer contain the damage done to it, and it was slowly leaking into the universe. 

“If those two can’t forgive each other, there’s no hope for anyone.” Matt adjusted the controls. His deft fingers flitted along the panel as though searching for something to do to keep him busy.  “Let’s just hope it’s quick because we’ll be entering Covlax atmo within the hour, and we’ll be blasted into smithereens without those codes.” 

“I think I’d rather be a smithereen than deal with all this conflict,” I sighed. “Smithereens don’t have to deal with anything. Except how dumb their name is.” 

Beside me, Matt snorted lightly and kept course toward Covlax. 

“Atmospheric Entrance Patrol, this is the Killer Qu’een requesting permission to land at Station 2,” Matt broadcast over the ship’s comms. Even though I expected it, I still started when the deep voice of a Covlax air-traffic—space traffic?—controller sounded with alarming clarity in the cockpit. Fleetwood, who was standing behind me, leaned her chin on the headrest of my seat and placed her hands on my shoulders. Neither of us dared to breathe. 

“Repeat your destination,” the controller requested. 

Matt obliged. “Station 2.” 

“Is Vic Mey-ran with you?”

“Negative.” 

The controller laughed. “Then you’ve got the wrong station number. No one has ever been given clearance to the Vic’s private docking station since he came of age.” 

Well, then. Chester was the first person the Vic had invited unaccompanied to his private residence. And wasn’t that something. 

“Someone has now,” Matt retorted. “Sending clearance codes.”  

With the way Fleetwood was digging her chin into my head, I was beginning to think her mandible was pointy enough to be used as a weapon in an emergency. I imagined her and Mey-ran chin battling for Chester’s hand and had to stifle a giggle. 

Like a toddler finding a room full of toys on Christmas morning, the Covlax controller squealed in disbelief. “Your mother’s left-most venom sack—”

“What?” I whispered.

Matt explained, “Covlax swear.”

“This is Vic Mey-ran’s personal code. It’s not even a guest code. Who are you again?” the controller asked.

Somehow, I had a sinking feeling that whatever we said would be all over the control base in minutes and known to the whole planet by the time we landed. “We’re just couriers,” Matt answered. “We’re dropping off some supplies for the Vic’s diplomatic guest before his arrival. We’ll take that as permission to land. Killer Qu’een out.” 

 “Heaven in a handbasket,” Fleetwood exhaled, pressing her forehead to my shoulder. I didn’t bother to correct her. The sentiment still stood. 

“I’ve got nothing against the Qu’een,” Matt said as we broke through the atmosphere and into the lilac sky of Covlax, “but maybe we ought to look at getting something a little subtler. We always seem to end up sneaking around, and stealth is not our crew’s strong suit.” 

“Apologize to her,” Fleetwood demanded, pointing at the dashboard. “She’s as much a part of this crew as I am. You’ve busted her mojo and harshed her groove.” 

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist because I’m right.” Matt, unable to see Fleetwood’s expression, grinned. 

“If one more person assumes their judgment is superior to mine today, I can assure you my reaction will lack all the subtlety you say I do. I’m not stupid,” she said, making for the door.

“Fleetwood!” I stood, starting to go after her. 

“I’ll be in the armory,” she called over her shoulder. “I require a cold second.” 

“Fuck,” I hissed the moment the door rematerialized. 

“I didn’t realize she was serious,” Matt said. “I mean, she rarely is.” 

“I think she may be serious more often than we realize, and Chester is the only one who knows the difference.” I tucked my legs up onto the chair and folded into myself, burrowing my forehead into my thigh. Like if I pressed hard enough, I could move us back in time to when our crew was not falling apart. “God, I’m a shitty friend.” 

“Don’t beat yourself up, Gretch.” Matt patted the top of my head then tugged on my ponytail. “We’ll work it out once we’ve rescued the royal hostage from this James Bond-level lair.” 

I sat up and craned forward to get a better look. The Vic’s sprawling personal estate seemed to favor chic minimalism in its hexagonal design. It was a black and glass structure with clean lines and sharp edges. Improbably, it appeared to work organically with the natural landscape of ruby-red foliage. It was elegant in the way that only houses in movies with expensive budgets seemed able to pull off. 

“Where are all of the people?” I asked. “This can’t be the seat of the government.” 

“It’s not,” Matt explained, guiding us toward the empty docking station. “It’s his private residence. The government’s located in the capital on the other side of the planet.” 

Matt pulled off another one of his signature landings: so smooth, I wouldn’t have known we had parked if not for the gradual silence as the engine powered down. We made our way back toward the armory, where a nondescript Destyrian man stood, wearing the colors of House Fuiq. Fleetwood had already activated her perception distorter. A hover cart was beside her, with two woven, lavishly decorated boxes. I recognized the ancient glyphs for safe travel. Chester’s fake luggage then. 

Initially, we’d planned to program the perception distorter to look like Covlax guards but had altered the plans after Chester’s brilliant ploy to send a ship ahead. Three Destyrian couriers with permission to be there would draw far less suspicion than three Covlax guards no one at the compound had seen before. 

“Here,” Fleetwood said, handing us each a bundle of silver and navy clothing and our own perception distorter. She turned to face the door. “Change quickly.” 

“Are these mine? Where did you find clothes to fit me?” I asked, ducking into the armory for privacy, while Matt proceeded to strip off his jacket and shirt right there. “Am I being disguised as a child?” 

“It’s the only thing that makes sense. You are too short to be a Destyrian adult,” Fleetwood explained, stepping out of the armory. The door rematerialized.

Great. I didn’t even get to be something cool for this extraction.

When I emerged, Matt was disguised as a plain-looking, Destyrian teenager. Probably to compensate for the fact that he was about five inches too short to be fully grown by Destyrian standards. It made me feel marginally better. 

What made me feel worse, however, was the stilted way Fleetwood held herself, completely apart. She didn’t bestow her customary pre-mission embrace on either of us. Instead, she murmured a very unenthusiastic, “Let’s red light this operation.” 

The ship’s gangplank lowered. I recoiled into Matt’s shoulder. As we had gotten ready, four large female guards had surrounded the ship’s entrance, their five tails poised in deadly arcs directed at us. 

“Identify yourselves,” one barked as Fleetwood stepped out into the ruddy glow of the Covlax sunlight filtering through the trees. 

Fleetwood gave a short bow. “Greetings,” she said, her voice taking on the vaguely British accent my implant translator provided. I assumed she was speaking in Destyrian to maintain our ruse. “I am Tol’fip, Chief Courier for the royal House of Fuiq on the Central continent of Destyr. I have the luggage of Fulyiti Kezira’s Favored, Chester Leon. We were instructed to deliver it ahead of his arrival, upon request of the honored Vic.” 

Fleetwood directed the hovercart down the gangplank. “You are welcome to inspect the cargo. I am able to transfer our diplomatic identifications. Of course, we are unarmed, but we will submit ourselves to inspection if deemed necessary.” 

One of the guards snorted at that last part, lifting the lid of the box, while the one I assumed was her superior offered her forearm to receive our information. Fleetwood tapped her Ran’dyl against a slight protrusion beneath the guard’s skin—the implant the Covlax used for communication and translation. Fake identification information, along with 3D renderings of our programmed disguises, appeared above the guard’s arm. 

The boxes were full of clothes raided from Chester’s room on the Qu’een. I really hoped Fleetwood had permission to include those pairs of sneakers because if Chester lost part of his beloved collection on top of everything else, I might consider just staying on Covlax myself. 

“What is this?” one of the guards asked. She pointed into the box with one of her stingered tails.

“Laboratory equipment,” Fleetwood replied. I caught a glimpse of Earthen kitchenware, three pairs of drumsticks, a hover stool, and other miscellaneous items hurriedly snatched from the Qu’een. Laboratory equipment, indeed. “Chester, her Favored, requested we bring the necessary tools for his time-sensitive scientific endeavors.”

After another moment of inspecting the drumsticks, the guards nodded to each other. “Very well. We’ll have this sent to his rooms.” 

“If I may accompany you? The scientific experiments in progress, as detailed on the included cargo manifest, are quite fragile. We have been instructed to make sure that they are unpacked and ready for her Favored’s arrival. We were told the Vic had given his permission to do so.” 

The three guards looked to their commander, whose jaw twitched with irritation. “Very well, I will escort you to where the Vic’s guest will be staying. Tell me,” said the guard as we fell into step behind her, the luggage hovering behind us, “since when do the Destyrians employ children as diplomatic couriers?” 

“Gar’vyn is older than he looks,” Fleetwood laughed, indicating Matt. He is apprenticing with me for the subsequent three binary cycles to see if this line of work suits him. Lac’nir here is his little brother. I had given permission for him to do his school work at our office today since his parents were occupied with pressing matters. We were not expecting to be dispatched.” Fleetwood lowered her voice conspiratorially as she continued. “He was very excited at the prospect of seeing your renowned warriors in person. He practically stowed away on the shuttle.” 

If the guard had not cracked a small, pleased smile at this, I might have rolled my eyes. Instead, I plastered on my best awestruck expression when she glanced at me. We entered the estate through the same type of self-sealing glass door as Renmig. I was already wondering exactly how we were going to get out. There were no visible operating controls. 

The Vic’s two-story residence was sleek, sharp, and spartan, in a stylish sort of way. As we passed through the different rooms, it looked like each one had been designed to fulfill only one purpose. We passed by a library, a weapons room, and a training room. Each of these opened onto a central courtyard where a large, natural pool rested. Beckoning fingers of steam rose from it, promising comforting warmth. And there, sprawled in the water, his head resting on a silver cushion, was Zerin. 

I activated my internal comms quietly. “Zerin, three o’clock,” I whispered as loud as I dared. If overheard, I figured the number would have no meaning to those unfamiliar with Earth since I hadn’t encountered any other species using analog clocks. Fleetwood’s eyes darted to where the inner glass wall had been partially retracted to welcome the heavy, humid air. Matt, who met us after our mind-communication-endowing trip to Vas Roya, did not receive the message. 

“Lac’nir, your shoes have come undone again,” Fleetwood sighed as pair of house staff hustled by. “Gar’vyn, help your brother. Why must you insist on wearing those ridiculous human boots?” 

I glanced down to the so-called ridiculous human boots that Fleetwood had specially commissioned for me, which were certainly not untied. “I can do it myself,” I pouted, kneeling and hastily undoing the knot on one. 

“If you do it, it’ll take the next 456 binary cycles,” Matt argued, crouching in front of me. Fleetwood turned toward the guard and began apologizing for her charges in the long-suffering way of caregivers. 

“Zerin is in the courtyard hot spring,” I muttered to Matt as he re-tied my shoes. 

“Come again?” His eyes snapped out the window and spotted our quarry lounging in the warm water. He shook his head. “Time to wander off, kiddo. If you get caught, pretend you’re lost. Get Zerin back to the ship. Fleetwood and I will keep the guard distracted and follow once we’ve unloaded Chester’s luggage.” 

As Matt moved to stand, I grabbed him. “Do not let Fleetwood leave the sneakers.”

Matt grinned. “Next time, just wear normal shoes, okay?” he added at a heightened volume. 

I kicked childishly at his shin. “I hate normal shoes.”

“Enough. We must set up her Favored’s equipment before the charge on the environmental controls on the experiment expires.” Fleetwood gestured to our guard who looked the closest to amused I’d ever seen a Covlax look. “After you.” 

As they continued on, I lagged behind further and further until they disappeared into the bowels of the massive house. I backtracked to the room where I’d first spotted Zerin. I jogged through the open wall and into the courtyard, beelining past the incredibly detailed topiaries for the spring. I slipped on the slick paving stones, my arms cartwheeling comically. I landed next to Zerin like a spastic baby deer losing its footing. That was going to leave a bruise. 

Somehow, Zerin slept through my spectacularly clumsy entrance.

“Zerin,” I said, prodding him. Was he snoring? “Zerin!” I shook his shoulder. 

“Mey-ran?” he blinked, turning around. His navy eyes widened when they landed on me. “Who in the seven stars are you?” 

“I’m Gretchen. I’m here with Fleetwood. Come on,” I said, rising to my knees. I decided to table the fact that this was by far the most luxurious imprisonment I’d ever seen, and he was, apparently, on first name terms with his captor in favor of getting us the hell out of there.

“Is Azo’lah here?” Zerin finally obeyed my insistent tugs and rose out of the water. “Why did Fleetwood bring a child?” A better question, in my opinion, was why Zerin was butt-ass naked. 

“I’m not a child, I’m human.” I deactivated my perception distorter, forcing myself to keep my eyes only on his face and not indulge my natural curiosity about Destyrian anatomy. “And no, Azo’lah isn’t here.”

Zerin brushed my bangs aside, revealing my translator implant. “Ah, so you are the one from the Temple of Aluthua, yes?” 

“Yes. Now would you hurry up before the Vic comes back. And maybe put on some clothes.” 

As if summoned by the mention of his name, a frighteningly familiar voice shouted, “Zerin, my friend, I did it! He is coming here for an entire earth week. I must impress Chester. How does one seduce a human?” Mey-ran twirled his way onto the terrace, his arms held wide as though he was seconds away from bursting into song. Instinctively, I backed up—right into the pool. 

I surfaced, spluttering.

“Gretchen?” Mey-ran’s beaming smile fell as he stared down at me. “What are you doing here?” 

I pushed my sopping hair out of my eyes. “I—uh—I came with the couriers to deliver Chester’s experiments. A couple of them are for my archeology research. So I wanted to, you know, make sure they got here safely and didn’t set us back. Gotta keep that funding from the Auhtula coming.” 

“That means Chester will arrive shortly, then?” Mey-ran’s returning smile could’ve powered the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree. “You’ll be leaving with the couriers before, though? I truly want Chester all to myself. You get him all the time, so I’m not being unreasonable.”

“Are you actually crushing on Chester?” I gaped. We had been teasing Chester for days about the idea, more so because the idea was funny, but Fleetwood’s comment didn’t seem far-fetched at all from where I was sitting. Or, rather, floating. 

“The Vic doesn’t want to hurt your friend,” Zerin said, from where he stood beside Mey-ran, totally unconcerned with his nakedness.  “Far from wanting to crush him, he wants to court him.” 

“Sorry, in English, we use that term to mean you’re interested in someone romantically.” I waded to the side of the pool and hauled myself out. I winced at the gross, squishy feeling of soaked socks in waterlogged boots. 

“Oh, yes, I am interested in pursuing Chester romantically. Very much so. Thank you,” Mey-ran accepted a bundle from a member of his house staff. He handed me a large towel and bestowed a flowy caftan on Zerin. 

I peeled off my sodden button-up as Zerin pulled on his caftan. It looked black in a particular light, silver when he moved. I was just grateful that he was clothed. And maybe a little jealous that he could pull it off. I tried my best to wring out my tank top while it was still on me and then used the towel to collect as much water as I could. Mey-ran stared expectantly at me the whole time. 

“Well?” he demanded when I failed to figure out what he wanted me to say. “When should I expect Chester to arrive?” 

“Soon. Within the next hour or so. I’d best see if the couriers got everything unpacked and hit the road so you can have your big erm...date week.” I edged toward Zerin. “Hey, do you mind if I borrow some dry clothes for the ride home?” I grabbed Zerin’s arm, squeezing painfully. 

“Oh, of course,” Zerin said, overly-gracious. He finally seemed to have cottoned on. “I should also change into something for dinner. It may take me a while to find something suitable for you since you’re so short.”

“Wait,” Mey-ran barked. I turned over my shoulder to see that he was looking at a message hovering over his forearm where his comm device was implanted. “Chester just said he was leaving in the morning. But you said he was arriving in an hour. Why would you...unless,” Mey-ran looked at us, his golden eyes heartbroken, “he’s not truly coming.” 

“I, um, I’m gonna go, change, really quickly.” I tugged Zerin toward the nearest open exit, breaking into a run. 

“Is there a plan?” Zerin asked, jogging beside me as we entered what appeared to be a music room based on the drums in the corner and the slupna hanging on the wall.

“There was. As usual, it didn’t go the way we thought.” As we ran through the room, I picked up a flute of some kind which resembled a hammer to use as a makeshift weapon. 

“And now?” Zerin didn’t even sound winded, the asshole. We rounded the first corner, entering a new room, only to find our path blocked by Mey-ran, tail raised. 

“Now the plan is to get to the ship and not get stung,” I shouted, pivoting the other way so quickly my water-logged boots squealed against the shiny floors. We ran back through the music room, turning another corner, to find our path blocked again by Mey-ran, who had just crossed through the courtyard. 

“Wait!” he bellowed. In what was becoming my signature escape move, I threw the strange hammer-shaped instrument at Mey-ran as hard as I could. As he ducked to evade it, we darted past him through the courtyard center, heading for the exit.

“Fleetwood, Matt!” I yelled into my Ran’dyl. “I’ve got Zerin! Also, the Vic’s here, and he knows, and he’s unhappy!” 

“Where are you?” Matt’s voice demanded. 

“Courtyard. Gah!” I screamed as Mey-ran, who was fast, emerged from the room in front of us. 

How the hell was he navigating this god damned maze of a house so freaking quickly?

Mey-ran lunged forward, his arm extended. “Please, I just want—” 

“GOOSE!” Fleetwood shouted over comms. An audible whum was followed by a hair's breadth of silence in which I realized what Fleetwood meant. I threw myself at Zerin as all of the windows in the house crumbled instantly into dust. 

Fleetwood, Matt cradled in her arms, came swooping down, balancing on a familiar gold platform of light like a futuristic BMX skateboarder. “Is that my hoverstool?” I gawked, scrambling to my feet. 

“It’s the OG!” Fleetwood said. “Let’s go!” 

“Uh,” I hesitated, unsure how two more of us were going to fit on the alleged prototype of my hoverstool. “How did you even shatter the glass?”

“A device Chester’s been tinkering with,” Fleetwood explained. “It was meant for dissolving doors in case we got trapped in a temple again! It’s never been tested before. Guess the glass isn’t as impenetrable as we thought. Now, let’s boogie!”

“Hop on!” Zerin knelt smoothly, offering me his back. I practically vaulted onto him, folding my legs around his waist. He leapt up next to Fleetwood, wrapping his arms tightly around her. 

“Cousin, you look different. Have you done something new with your hair?” Zerin grinned as Fleetwood tilted forward, guiding the hoverstool through the doorway, navigating around the guards that were flooding the courtyard. Some were giving chase, but others were, surprisingly, falling back as Mey-ran, shimmering with ultra-fine glass particles like rave glitter, shouted something into his implant.

“This may be a pimpled hide!” Fleetwood whooped as we streaked through the shattered estate door and toward the Qu’een’s gangplank. As soon as we cleared the Qu’een’s door, Fleetwood pressed all our weight backward, which stopped the hoverboard and resulted in us falling onto the deck in an ungainly heap. 

“Get us out of here, Matt!” I shouted, extracting myself from Zerin, whose caftan robe had flipped up over his head. I tugged it down for him on my way to the gangway control as Matt’s pounding footfalls disappeared toward the cockpit. 

I ran to follow him, leaping over the pile of exhilarated, laughing cousins. I was beginning to see why Fleetwood and Zerin got along so well. They were both adventure junkies. “Some things never change,” I heard Zerin say. 

God, how I wished that were true. 

“Chester, put the Gold Dust on temporary autopilot and stand by to finish docking procedures for the Qu’een,” Matt instructed over comms. “I’m making a run for the bridge to get us the hell out of here.” 

“Aw, I can’t drive the getaway car?” I could hear the relief in Chester’s voice despite the joke. The docking bay door on The Gold Dust Wo’man retracted almost immediately. Chester had clearly anticipated Matt’s directives. 

“Not from the Covlax, mate,” Matt grinned as he directed the Qu’een into the bay. “Hold this until he gets here.” Matt placed my hands where his had been, jumping out of the pilot’s seat. Chester arrived, scant seconds later, panting. 

“Hey, Gretch.” He eased the Qu’een into her docking clamps and powered down the engines. He glanced up to where the glass residue still dusted my hair and clothes. “You look like you just robbed a glitter factory.” 

“Without you?” I forced a smile. 

“On a scale of one to peeing, how peeing is she?” Fleetwood asked, voicing my own dread, as Chester and I emerged from the cockpit. 

“Fucking pissed,” Chester corrected gently, wrapping his arms around Fleetwood. She crushed Chester to her, nudging his beanie up with her nose to press a kiss to his forehead. 

“I’ll go first,” Zerin said, hitting the gangplank control. “Seeing me may help. Let’s hope she’s not armed.” 

I stayed at the back of our hodge-podge line as we descended, not at all looking forward to the ensuing confrontation. From my elevated position on the ramp, I could see Azo’lah, framed by the doorway that led to the interior of the Gold Dust Wo’man, somehow imposing even from this distance. 

“Sister!” Zerin spread his arms wide, caftan rippling in his self-created breeze as he walked across the barren deck toward her. Azo’lah’s face softened, and at first, I thought we might be in the clear as she bent to press her head to her brothers.

“It is good to see you safe, brother.” She pulled back. “I will speak with you later. Go clean up before you comm our mothers.”

“Fine,” Zerin turned, glittering glass dust falling from his hair with the movement. He mouthed something at us over his shoulder, but it was in Destyrian. I assumed it was something like Sorry or, more likely, Good luck. 

“Assbutt,” Fleetwood murmured fondly.  

Neither Chester nor I bothered to correct her, for Azo’lah had already started in on us. “Of all the reckless, stupid things you could have done Kezira of Fuiq! How dare you sneak off without your Myax. After J’olpri, after what happened at the wedding, I thought you would have learned, but that has never been your strong suit, has it?” 

Fleetwood bristled, her voice changing as my implant recognized she’d reverted to Destyrian. “While you were incapable of taking sound action, I devised a plan. It may not have been perfect, but Zerin is safe, and it stopped you from starting a war by killing the sole Covlax heir. Do not be angry at me for doing what you failed to do yourself.” 

“What I failed to do? You failed to keep your word to me! Does your promise mean nothing anymore?” Azo’lah screamed. 

“It meant everything until you broke yours first!” Fleetwood fired back, navy eyes brimming with furious tears. She looked poised to either run or punch Azo’lah. I wasn’t sure which one she would have done if Chester hadn’t wrapped his arm around her front, steadying her. 

“You are being a selfish child!” Azo’lah continued. “Endangering your friends, putting Destyr at risk, putting your life at risk. You cannot unilaterally choose the paths of others—” 

“But you can?” 

It wasn’t until Azo’lah turned to me, her face almost humorous in its surprise, that I realized the harsh, bitter voice had been mine. Her towering rage, a hurricane only moments before, diminished as she said, “What?” 

“You’ve been making unilateral decisions for the crew since J’olpri,” I clarified. “Which is fucking annoying, honestly, because, guess what, I’m not your charge. I’m a full-grown adult, and if I want to go running off into danger, then it’s my choice to do so. Same with Matt and Chester.” 

“Chester is a member of our house. And you could’ve died—” 

“I’m only a partial member of the house,” Chester interjected. 

I ignored him. I was tired and annoyed, and I was still soggy from my unplanned dip in Mey-ran’s hot spring. I was done with this bullshit. “And you would’ve been crushed under the Temple of Aluthua if I hadn’t gotten you down before the whole thing collapsed, Azo’lah. I didn’t realize we were keeping score,” I retorted. “Yes, you're much better at the kickass, life-saving shit than most of us. But not everything is your responsibility. At this rate, you’ll start beating yourself up because you can’t stop planets from orbiting their suns.” 

Azo’lah said, “I am trying to protect the Fulyiti’s life!” 

“At what fucking cost, Azo’lah?” I stepped forward, uncaring that I had to crane my neck to look her in the face, nor that I probably looked far from intimidating. I pointed at Fleetwood. “Because it seems to me that all you're doing is making her miserable. Not to mention the rest of us. And the more unhappy she gets, the more freedom you take away, the more likely she is to do something actually stupid. And even if you lock her in some ivory space tower to keep her safe from the world, she might as well be dead because you’ll have taken away everything that makes life worth living.” 

“You don’t get to speak to me like this,” Azo’lah fumed. 

“Well, someone fucking has to,” I replied. “And since your Myax sisters don’t seem to be willing to tell you, I will. You do not get to take your own struggles with your darkness out on us. Get your shit together, Azo’lah, because all you’ve been doing lately is making choices at the expense of our mental health. Do you want your cousin to experience the darkness like we have? Keep going like this, and she will.” 

I shoved my way past Azo’lah, fleeing for the safety of my quarters. The tears had started to roll in earnest now, snaking past the hand I used to try and wipe them away. I couldn’t stop thinking that I’d just had my first and probably last fight with my friends. 

I shuffled down the silent corridor, the hem of my overlong sleep pants dragging against the floor. I should have been in bed. I was bone-weary, not just physically but emotionally. Not only had I survived another adventure that defied the odds, I had potentially fractured our already tenuously held-together crew beyond repair. Once showered and burrowed into my soft bed, I should’ve been unconscious—yet sleep never came.

Instead, I gave myself a stomach ache as I tossed and turned with indecision, regret, and anxiety.

Indecision about what to do next. Regret about how harsh I had been. Anxious that I had lost the most important people in my life. That forgiveness was already too far out of reach for our small, improbable family. Abandoning sleep, I found myself pacing the corridor that housed all of our sleeping quarters. I passed Azo’lah’s and Fleetwood’s rooms, Chester’s, then Matt’s. I spun on my bare heel and did it in reverse. 

“Just… just do it,” I told myself in a lame attempt at a pep talk. “Pick a door. Any door and apologize.”

I continued pacing, gnawing on my thumb nail for another few minutes until the door on the far right disappeared as I passed by it.

I shrieked as a disheveled Matt stepped into the corridor. “Can’t sleep either, eh?” he asked, tightening the tie at the waist of his amethyst robe.

Instead of answering his question, I gestured to his feet. “Nice slippers.”

The fluffy maroon spaceships bobbed as Matt wiggled his toes. “A gift from Fleetwood.”

“Me too.” I pointed at my shirt. It displayed a shovel and stated Archaeologists Like It Dirty in swirling script.

Matt ran a hand through his curls and sighed, “Best just face this head-on so we can get some proper sleep. Can’t get a wink thinking any of you are angry with me.”

My shoulders sagged beneath the weight of his admission. Just knowing someone else felt the way I did chipped away at the stone that had settled in my stomach. 

“Chester first?” I suggested.

We walked the ten paces to Chester’s door. I tapped my Ran’dyl against the scanner beside it, letting him know I was standing outside. A long moment passed. My heart sank at the thought that Chester was too mad even to see me.

The door dematerialized. Chester’s voice floated out. “You are so lucky I’m not in my lab right now,” he said from his desk, his back to the door. His attention was on a hologram projected on the wall showing a series of graphs and tables all labeled in Destyrian.

“We would’ve checked there next,” Matt said as we tentatively entered Chester’s room.

“We?” Chester said, spinning in his seat.

“The Majumdar-Borowicz Apology Tour is in town for the night,” Matt said.

Chester folded his arms across his I Make Horrible Science Puns Periodically tie-dyed hoodie. The green of the hoodie perfectly matched his Nikes. “I’m listening.”

“We’re sorry,” I said, my voice wavering as my eyes burned. “We didn’t mean to leave you out of the loop. We just didn’t want you to end up stuck on Covlax in Zerin’s place—” My breath caught in my throat on a sob.

“Oh, shit, Gretch, don’t cry.” Chester stood from his chair. He pulled me into a tight hug, stooping to tuck his chin against my shoulder. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” I said, my tears soaking into his hoodie. “Don’t let me off easy just because I’m crying.”

Chester pulled back and looked me directly in the eye. “It isn’t about letting you off easy, it’s about letting you know that I’m not going anywhere.” Chester reached out and clapped Matt on the shoulder. “We aren’t going anywhere. You guys did a shitty thing, and I’m mad. We’re gonna talk it out, but we’re still us. Right?”

“Right,” I agreed, wiping at my nose with the sleeve of my shirt.

“Of course,” Matt said.

“Chester, we’re so sorry,” I said on a heavy exhale, triggering a new wave of tears.

“I can tell,” Chester said.

“It wasn’t like we consciously wanted to leave you behind without telling you the plan, mate,” Matt said, scratching at the back of his neck. “Fleetwood said she had an idea to get Zerin back and keep you safe, and we just kind of—”

“Got swept up in it,” Chester finished, bobbing his head. “Yeah, I’ve been there. But still...” Chester backed away from me until the back of his legs hit his tidily made bed. He sat, bringing his elbows to his knees. “I appreciate that your hearts were in a place of wanting to keep me safe. I get it, I do. But I’m a grown-ass man, and I can make my own decisions about my safety. More importantly, we’re a team. That means we communicate with each other and we make plans together. You can’t just sneak off with a half-baked plan to a warrior prince’s compound on a dangerous, foreign planet without even telling Azo’lah and me where you are.”

A wave of shame engulfed me. We had acted without fully thinking through the consequences of our actions—not only what would happen to us at the Vic’s compound, but also how it would make Chester feel. So preoccupied with trying to keep our friend safe, we had stomped all over the trust he had put in us.  We had treated him exactly the way Azo’lah had been treating us these past months. My hypocrisy curdled my stomach.

“I’m so-so-sorry,” I choked out as Matt looped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me into his side.

“Really sorry, Chester,” Matt said. “We won’t just take off or do anything without everyone on the team agreeing.”

Chester nodded solemnly. “Good. Because fucking-up barely formulated plans is a group activity for us.” Chester’s face broke into a broad smile, “and I refuse to be left out.”

I laughed and sniffled overloud, my emotions clogging my throat.

“Thank God that’s over,” Chester announced as he stood. “Want me to come with you to the next stop on your apology tour? We can make hot cocoa in the galley afterward.”

“There’s hot cocoa on-board?” I asked, wide-eyed.

“Hot cocoa-ish,” Chester amended, grabbing me a towel from his bathroom to wipe my teary face. “Trust me, you’ll love it. But first, I believe there is a certain Myax that you need to cry all over.”

“Do you think she’ll even want to see us?” Matt asked.

“Does it matter?” Chester returned.

I patted my blotchy cheeks with the towel. “What about Fleetwood? Have you had a chance to work it out with her, Chester?”

“Pssshhh,” Chester whistled between his teeth. “We’re Chester and Fleetwood, of course, we’ve worked it out. It wasn’t a fun conversation. But we got through it. There were hugs, proclamations of life-long love and friendship, as well as a dance break.”

“Why am I not surprised?” I asked, tossing the towel into Chester’s clothes bin.

Chester led the way out of his room. “She’s Fleetwood Mercury. If there isn’t a dance break at some point, has she even been involved?”

We reached the door to Azo’lah’s quarters quickly. Matt did the honors of tapping his Ran’dyl to the scanner. A lilting voice announced, “The crew member you wish to visit is not in their quarters. Would you like to leave a comm for them?”

“Do you think she’s down in the training room?” I asked.

“Let me check,” Chester said, tapping away at his Ran’dyl. A 3D hologram of The Gold Dust Wo’man pulled up with our miniscule Chester-selected avatars inside. I spotted my crossed brush and hammer, sitting between a stylized lion face and a tiny fighter jet.

Chester spun the hologram and zoomed in upon where a Myax glyph stood beside a chibi-style Fleetwood. “They’re in the galley.”

“Enjoying hot cocoa and definitely not fighting?” I asked, mock-hopeful.

We quickly made our way to the galley. As we approached, the lack of yelling buoyed my heart. “This is a good sign, right?” I whispered.

“Fleetwood’s quiet moments terrify me more,” Matt admitted.

Chester pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Let’s check things out before we go barging in there?”

Matt and I nodded our assent. We approached quietly, Chester and Matt practically walking on their tiptoes. Chester reached the entryway first, ducking his head around to peer inside. He held up a hand to still Matt and me.

Chester tapped his ear and gestured for us to crowd close. In our hurry to follow his instructions as silently as possible, I collided with Matt’s back sending him careening forward. His spaceship slippers provided minimal grip against the floor. In full view of Azo’lah and Fleetwood, he fell onto his chest, his hands slapping against the ground to prevent a painful faceplant. I clapped a hand over my mouth to stop myself from groaning at my inconvenient clumsiness.

“Matty-Matt,” Fleetwood greeted him, her bright, cheery voice dimmed to a more serious tone.

“Are you well?” Azo’lah asked.

“Fine, sorry,” Matt replied, popping up to his feet, “didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You are not interrupting,” Fleetwood said, “you should join us.”

“Yes, you should,” Azo’lah said, “as should Chester and Gretchen if they are done hiding and eavesdropping.”

Chester squawked indignantly. “We weren’t hiding. We were trying not to interrupt.”

“You're not contesting the eavesdropping?” Azo’lah queried as we rounded the entryway. She and Fleetwood sat across from one another at the table. They were both wearing their usual sleepwear but, like the rest of us, appeared as though they hadn’t gotten a moment of actual sleep in days.

“What’d be the point?” Chester returned as he swung around the table and dropped into the chair beside Fleetwood.

Matt and I took our usual places at the table, on Azo’lah’s left and right, respectively. It felt equally comforting and disconcerting to be this close to her after our fight earlier. I brought my thumb nail to my teeth and began gnawing on it as Fleetwood said, “It is good you all came. It has been bad news bears between us for too long. Azo-Zo and I were clearing the despair.”

“Clearing the air,” Matt corrected, then tilted his head thoughtfully. “Actually, you know what? Clearing the despair is right here.”

“How’s it going?” Chester prodded gently, leaning his head against Fleetwood’s shoulder. She laid her head atop his, her hand squeezing his arm for a moment. I scrubbed at my eyes as a new round of tears—this time of relief—threatened to fall.

“I was just apologizing to Fleetwood for taking out my darkness on her,” Azo’lah explained, her voice smaller than I had ever heard it. I fought the urge to reach out and take her hand. “I should extend that apology to all of you. I have been treating you all poorly. I have been rash and short-tempered and making decisions when they were not mine to make. I apologize deeply if I made you feel…” she trailed off, her jaw clenching. “If I made you feel as though your thoughts and feelings were of no concern.”

“Cousin, your apology is appreciated,” Fleetwood said, “and you must know we love you no matter how sour you are.”

“Course we do,” Matt said. “You’re our Azo-Zo.”

Despite the morose cast to Azo’lah’s elegant features, the terrible nickname earned a slight upward tick of her lips.

“You just have to talk to us about what’s going on with you,” Chester said. “Not like everything, we don’t want to invade your privacy. But if your darkness is making you feel some type of way, we need to know so we can help and not just give you space.”

Azo’lah nodded. “I know. I, myself, did not realize how deeply my darkness was affecting me until I had gone too far. Ever since J’olpri, I have felt...unsure of myself and my abilities. The incident at the wedding only made things worse. My uncertainty fueled my disagreements with Fleetwood. Then Zerin went missing, and everything felt uncontrollable.”

Fleetwood mimicked the motion of a bomb exploding with her hands. “KA-BOOM.”

“I am sorry that I broke my promise, cousin,” Azo’lah said quietly.

“You didn’t,” Fleetwood said, “though you came quite close.”

“Your promise?” I prompted. “What promise?”

“When we were wee sprites, my eldest sister, Bel’andra, abdicated her claim to the throne,” Fleetwood explained. “Bel’andra’s choice made my other sister, Xi’para, my mother’s heir. It also made me second in line to the throne and Azo’lah third. This is much closer than either of us wanted, but…” Fleetwood shrugged.

I looked to Azo’lah, remembering our conversation when she first explained her Iz’waij powers to me and how much she did not want to be Auhtula. I can only imagine how fearful a young Azo’lah was at finding herself edging closer to ruling the Central continent.

“We made a promise to each other that day,” Fleetwood continued. “Azo’lah, to be my Myax. Not only to protect me but to protect my freedom. And I, to never abdicate.”

“And to never go on an adventure too dangerous,” Azo’lah added.

Chester chuckled. “Really? FleetMerc made that promise?”

“I was a child,” Fleetwood said, “I didn’t know any better.”

The last few months suddenly made much more sense. Fleetwood’s mockingly cavalier attitude and bouts of frustration. The betrayal at thinking that Azo’lah had gone back on a sacred childhood promise strained their relationship to almost breaking.

It made me wish we had had this conversation immediately after J’olpri before these feelings took root and festered.

“I’m sorry, too, Azo’lah,” I told the tabletop, “not about what I said because it needed to be said. But about how I said it. I shouldn’t have been so mean and yelled.”

Azo’lah cleared her throat. “That’s you mean?”

It took me a moment to realize she was teasing me. I smiled, the last vestiges of awkwardness that had clung to us falling away. “I can get meaner,” I promised.

“I am sure,” Azo’lah said.

“So where do we go from here?” Chester asked. “What’s the next step?”

“I am due to speak with my Soul Healer upon our return to Destyr,” Azo’lah said. “Now that I better understand the origin of my feelings, my sessions with her will be more effective.” She tucked a stray strand of brilliant hair behind her ear. “I hope I have not damaged our friendship beyond repair.” Azo’lah turned to me and said, “You all mean a great deal to me.”

My heart slammed against my ribs. “You mean a great deal to me—us, too.”

“So, we’re all good?” Matt asked, standing and making his way to the cupboard that housed the vy’tal mugs. “Because I was promised hot cocoa at the end of this Apology Tour.”

“Hot Cocoa?” Fleetwood repeated, her entire body spasming with delight.

“Yes, we’re good,” Chester answered Matt’s question as he stood. “And you,” he directed his words at Fleetwood, “stay in that chair. Last time you helped with the hot cocoa, the floor ended up slathered in chocolate powder.”

“Fine. but I will supply you with sweet tunes as you work, my love.” Fleetwood tapped at her Ran’dyl, opening an upbeat playlist, a familiar but surprising song beginning to play.

“Fleetwood, is that—is that the opening to Hamilton?” I asked, flabbergasted by the music choice. She had played nothing but classic rock since I came to Destyr all that time ago.

“Oh, you know it?” Fleetwood asked cheerfully. “Isn’t it wonderful? Matty-Matt showed me a video on the shoe-cube—”

“YouTube,” Matt and Chester corrected in tandem.

“—of them singing and dancing. I did not know musicals existed,” Fleetwood’s eyes glistened with awe. “The performers are wonderful!” Fleetwood turned to Azo’lah and asked, “Do you like the song, cousin?”

For the first time in what felt like forever, Azo’lah smiled, bright and true. “Yes, cousin, I like the song. Very much. Play me another?”

It felt like a different crew that stumbled down the gangplank of the Gold Dust Wo’man. Laughing, arms around each other, jubilant, if still a bit tentative with the newness of our reconciliation. 

“Home again, home again!” Fleetwood whooped. “Tonight, we party to welcome cousin Zerin home! I shall have them break out the quapir wine!” 

“You shouldn’t reinforce his abysmal behavior with more partying,” Azo’lah chastised, but her eyes, clear and sparkling, showed she didn’t mind. Fleetwood whirled so that she was walking backward, facing us. 

“Live a little, sister,” Zerin proclaimed loudly. He wrapped an arm around Azo’lah’s shoulders, flashing a devil-may-care grin. I had a feeling Zerin had learned very little from this experience. 

The brilliant light of the setting suns caught the dove-grey glass of the palace, making it look like fire had somehow been trapped in ice. I admired it for a brief moment as we crossed the courtyard to where Azo’lah’s mothers waited. 

“You could stand to live a little less, son.” Fionrin had never borne more resemblance to her daughter than she did right now, her stern expression a replica of Azo’lah’s patented pissed-off face. I braced for an argument but, Fionrin’s face cracked into a brilliant smile, mirrored by her wife at her side. They threw out their arms. 

“Mothers!” Zerin rushed into their embrace. 

“I will condemn your behavior tomorrow,” Do’naya pressed a kiss to the crown of Zerin’s head. “But for tonight, I am too relieved to see you home.” It was hard not to smile as Azo’lah’s mothers pulled Azo’lah in, wrapping their arms around their adult children who were grousing about being squished together, which only made their mothers laugh and squeeze them harder. 

“Is anyone else starving?” Matt asked. “We could go to that Xxoli dumpling place in the city.” 

“That sounds amazing,” Chester agreed. “I’ll comm them and make a reservation for—” 

Fleetwoods Ran’dyl began blaring the ominous overture to The Phantom of the Opera. 

Matt chuckled. “Who’s new ringtone is that?” 

“My mother,” Fleetwood grimaced. She silenced the comm. “She probably just wants to debrief us.” She gestured airily. “I’ll send her a message.” 

Fleetwood skipped over the tiled courtyard path toward her family. Chester swung his arm around me, and I leaned against him, presumably thinking the same thing. That the heart of our little band was happy, and because of it, we were too. 

“FULYITI KEZIRA!” The unfamiliar voice was too loud and too panicked in this proximity to the palace. Azo’lah, like quicksilver, placed herself in front of Fleetwood, hand outstretched protectively to hold her back. On my left side, Matt slid into a wider stance, bracing for a fight. The only weapon we had was Azo’lah’s zali’thir, the rest were stored in the Gold Dust Wo’man’s armory…

And then I realized what the strange, anxious voice had actually said. One of the Auhtula’s assistants sprinted toward us, the trailing sleeves of his navy tunic flapping behind him, giving the impression of a rather uncoordinated bird. I felt bad for him and for me. I probably looked like this when I ran, too. 

“Fulyiti Kezira,” the assistant panted. He dropped into a short bow. “The Auhtula requires you in the throne room.” 

Azo’lah dropped her arm, moving into a more relaxed stance. Fleetwood stepped forward. “What’s good?” she asked, pressing her forehead briefly to the assistant’s, who looked a bit dazed. “You can tell my mother that we’ve got dinner rezzies in the city with both blood and found fam. She’s welcome to join. I’ll give her the lowdown in the a.m. Ta-ta, cherie!” Fleetwood linked her arms with Azo’lah’s. “I hope they still have the seasonal special. That was lit like—” 

“It was not a request, Fulyiti,” the assistant practically shouted. “Your crew is required in the throne room immediately. It’s an urgent matter of state. If not, the Auhtula is ready to send her Myax to fetch you.” 

Fleetwood and Azo’lah exchanged a look. It was simultaneously comforting because I recognized it and alarming because I recognized it. It was their “shit’s about to go down” look. 

Azo’lah glanced toward her immediate family. “Do not worry, faa’le,” Do’naya said, nodding toward Fleetwood. “We can look after ourselves. But do let us know if you can meet us for breakfast tomorrow before our shuttle back home.” 

“Of course, Mothers,” Azo’lah smiled, though it looked strained.

“I’ll send you a message when we’re free, Zerin,” Fleetwood said, pointing finger guns at him. “Exit, stage left, Lafayette.” 

We followed the messenger, the unease growing as we made our way toward the throne room. Generally, Auhtula Ty’uria met us when we landed to welcome her daughter home from our unorthodox diplomatic archaeology missions. If she was otherwise occupied, we “debriefed” the following morning over vy’tal. This was unusual and, therefore, at least for me, nerve-wracking. 

When the doors to the palace’s throne room disappeared, I suddenly understood exactly why this was unusual. For there, outlined in the floor-to-ceiling windows, was a disturbingly familiar silhouette. 

“Kezira,” Auhtula Ty’uria greeted coldly. “We have an unexpected guest.” 

The guest tilted his head regally in acknowledgment. Vic Mey-ran stood across from us, looking more intimidating than usual framed in the pink glow of the sunset, two guards on either side of him. He was not dressed in his usual all-black warrior ensemble but instead the gray and blue finery of a someday king. The onyx coronet that perched across his forehead was somehow more threatening than his usual collection of guards and weapons.

“The Vic is here,” Auhtula Ty’uria inhaled a deep, bracing breath I recognized from my own mother, “on behalf of his government, who is seeking reparations from our kingdom because allegedly you violated the sovereignty of his planet by breaking into his private—”

“He had Zerin captive!” Fleetwood retorted hotly. Silence rang as loudly as the confession Fleetwood had unwittingly given. 

“My mother is willing to overlook these...trespasses,” Mey-ran turned to face us. “That is if you are amenable to a more peaceful negotiation.”

“She is?” Ty’uria looked almost as confused as we were. Clearly, the Vic had been holding something back for however long they had been speaking. 

“An allyship between our two kingdoms is preferable over war. And we all know the strongest way for foreign powers to show their commitment to peace with one another.” Mey-ran looked Destyr’s Queen in the eye before relocating his gaze to my right. To Chester. “Marriage.”

But Renmig was nothing like Vas Roya. Mostly because there was nothing there.

The lukewarm sun cast a sickly green pallor across the barren, ash-gray landscape. A few stubborn yellow weeds poking up through cracks in jagged stone were the only show of native life remaining on the planet. A hundred yards from us was the lethal outline of the Covlax ship, and, at the apex of the triangle formed by our positions, the glass and metal negotiation compound rose incongruously from the rocky terrain. 

 “Holy shit, you weren’t kidding about the ruined part,” I said, taking my first step onto the foreign planet. I coughed on my first inhalation of the acrid air.

Wait to speak until we are inside the compound. The air is breathable, but inhaling too many dust particles is dangerous, Azo’lah’s message flashed across my mind. She reached around Fleetwood and yanked my bandana up my throat to cover my nose and mouth.

“Here come the Covlax,” Matt said, voice muffled by the scarf obscuring his face.

Across the field, a single, gleaming banner fluttered. Its jet-black background was stark against the charred landscape. It was carried by one of the five female guards that accompanied the Covlax Vic. Clouds of dust rose from their boots as they made their way toward us.

Fleetwood nodded. The amber gems on the circlet she wore only for official diplomatic business winked in the frail light. She strode forward, her split front skirt, as bubble gum pink as the lenses of her aviator sunglasses, trailing along the dry earth. We fell into step behind her, our three Myax guards positioning themselves at our backs. Milyna was the only member of our party not present—she had elected to stay up in orbit with The Gold Dust Wo’man in case negotiations went sideways and we needed to make a hasty escape.

It seemed to take an inordinate amount of time to meet Vic Mey-ran and his contingent in the middle. Perhaps it was because it was hard to demarcate distance when there was no scenery to guide you.

Fleetwood stopped ten feet from Mey-ran. In unison, like one of those weird mirroring exercises I’d been forced to endure in high school theater, they raised their arms to shoulder height, their palms open. They turned them backward and forward to demonstrate they held no weapons. Then, slowly, Mey-ran reached for the dagger sheathed on his forearm and withdrew it. With the same agonizing deliberation, Fleetwood pulled her customary dagger from its sheath on her thigh. Both held them at arm's length and, with an air of great ceremony, threw them point down where they embedded themselves in the craggy earth. Slowly, Matt and Azo’lah followed the same sequence, first showing their hands, then removing their weapons and tossing them down. Chester and I, who apparently missed the ‘bring your weapons to the negotiation’ memo, only displayed our hands. 

Fleetwood and Mey-ran turned and, shoulder to shoulder led us toward the entrance to the gleaming negotiation compound. The Vic’s guards and our Myax escort, both of which had retained their weapons, remained behind. 

As soon as we passed through the compound’s glass door, it sealed seamlessly behind us.

“It’s made from the same material the Covlax use for the viewports on their ships,” Chester murmured to me. “It’s one of the toughest materials in the known galaxy. The clearer the glass, the more impenetrable it is.” 

He pushed against the door as though testing the veracity of his own statement. 

“Indeed, Chester.” Mey-ran sounded far too delighted for being trapped in an impenetrable box with five strangers. Mey-ran gestured inside. “Make yourselves comfortable.” 

The room was huge, with thick glass walls on either side. A low table surrounded by cushions sat on a plush rug. There was an opaque door directly across from the entrance, which I assumed led to a kitchen, bathrooms, and a sleeping hall. In the little information I could find about Covlax negotiations, I learned they sometimes lasted months. No one was allowed to leave the compound until terms were agreed upon or the negotiations were considered forfeit. 

Fleetwood settled onto one of the overstuffed cushions gracefully, her skirt a perfect, pink crescent around her. As Azo’lah took her spot beside her, Fleetwood removed her sunglasses, folded them neatly, and set them on the table in front of her.

Looking at the cousins’ matching stern faces, waiting for us to join them, I couldn’t help but remember my teenage years and coming home late to my parents sitting at the kitchen table, ready to scold me.

“I myself am parched,” Mey-ran announced, “if it’s alright, I shall fetch refreshment. Your Myax may come with me if you are concerned I may try something untoward.”

“It would be a discredit toward your reputation to do so, therefore I know you will not,” Fleetwood returned.

Mey-ran inclined his head gratefully before disappearing through the doorway and reappearing a moment later with a decanter and a tray of five glasses. “I regret that I did not anticipate so many attendees and am inadequately prepared.” Mey-ran distributed the filled glasses to us. “We are one glass short. Chester, perhaps you would like to sit next to me, and we could share?” 

I shot Chester a look. We had both recently learned that sharing drinks on Destyr was a loaded practice. I wasn’t quite sure what all it signified besides the forging of a political alliance, but I was getting the impression that the Vic knew precisely what he was suggesting.

Chester hesitated, clearly torn between not wanting to offend Mey-ran and wanting to stay as close to Fleetwood as possible. In the end, he sat on Mey-ran’s side of the table, across from Fleetwood. “Thanks,” Chester said, reaching for Fleetwood’s glass, “but I’ll share with FleetMerc.” 

Mey-ran looked crestfallen. Clearly, his opening gambit hadn’t played out the way he wanted. Though what he wanted exactly was still a mystery. 

As Matt and I sat, Azo’lah put her undrunk cup down on the table with intentional force. At the sound, Mey-ran turned his gaze to Fleetwood and seemed to remember the purpose of our meeting. “Let us not waste valuable time. We each have something the other needs. A simple exchange of persons would render our problems solved.”

“Hold the phonograph.” Fleetwood held up a hand. “Forgive me, honored Vic, but the Central continent has never detained a Covlax citizen, so I am unaware of whom you speak.” 

“You wish the return of Zerin of House Fuiq,” Mey-ran elaborated, “and owe a debt of honor to us for your attempted theft on J’olpri. I will give you the former and forgive the latter. All I ask is a life for a life. Zerin, and the restored honor of your house, in exchange for Chester.” 

“Fuck no,” I blurted at top volume. Matt’s hand wrapped around my wrist with bruising strength. 

Mey-ran regarded me coolly. “I am not negotiating with you, little thief.”  

“Gretchen is not a thief, honored Vic. Cease referring to her as such.” It was the first time Azo’lah had spoken since we disembarked the ship. Mey-ran’s single, lethal tail quivered, shifting from where it had hovered inches above Chester’s shoulders, like a phantom arm, to point directly at Azo’lah. Perhaps an instinctive reaction to the quiet danger in her tone. 

“She attempted to steal an item under my protection,” he said, “that makes her a thief.” 

“And you agreed to guard an item that you knew was previously stolen!” I gripped the side of the table so hard my knuckles drained of all color. “In my book, that’s dishonorable.” 

“We do not ask where the items come from,” Mey-ran responded.

“Perhaps you should, Your Highness,” I snapped. “The cloak is a precious Destyrian antiquity. It has priceless historical value to the people of Destyr and was wrongfully taken from a sacred temple by a descrator looking to turn a fucking profit. I was trying to return it to where it belongs. Not let it fall into the hands of a black market lowlife who has no idea how to conserve it. I am an archaeologist, not a thief.” 

A ringing silence fell. I stared into Mey-ran’s calculating, golden eyes, unwilling to blink. 

“I will admit, Gretchen,” Mey-ran said after a moment, “that your idea has merit. Perhaps my people should be more discerning when it comes to what we are willing to guard. I know how devastated our scholars would be were we to lose an artifact of such worth. I will take it under consideration and bring it before the Vicerenne.” 

I blinked slowly, taken aback by his agreement. “Uh, good. See that you do.” 

Damn girl, Chester mouthed at me from across the table. 

Mey-ran said, “In light of Gretchen’s sound reasoning, I hereby dismiss your debt of honor from the J’olpri incident. For the remaining matter, are my terms acceptable?” 

“To quote Gretchen’s other salient point,” Fleetwood said, “fuck no. Chester is not a bargaining pringle. The royal family is prepared to provide compensation for Zerin’s poor judgment in the form of sweet-ass cash money and trade agreements.” 

Mey-ran’s tail swished irritatedly across the ground. “I am uninterested in that form of compensation. I can assure you, Chester would lack for nothing and would, as he does on Destyr, enjoy all of the benefits being a member of my family provides.” 

“Chester would like to be addressed concerning decisions for his future,” the topic of discussion said archly, taking a sip of his shared drink with Fleetwood while gazing at Mey-ran over the top of his glasses. “Let’s be real. I’m a minor player on the Destyrian scene and can’t offer you anything. So I want to know whose idea this trade was and why you’re pressing it so hard.” 

“It was mine,” Mey-ran declared baldly. “And I believe we have much to offer each other, Chester Leon. Our first encounter showed you to be impressively intelligent. A scholar of your standing would be esteemed on Covlax and an asset to my household. You have already left behind your home planet for a different one, I do not foresee you having any difficulty making yourself similarly comfortable with me.” Mey-ran lifted Chester’s hand from the tabletop with both of his. The Covlax Vic reverently brought Chester’s captured hand to his teal cheek. 

“Oookay.” Chester pulled his hand away, looking as creeped out as I felt. The second-hand discomfort I felt at the thought of a stranger doing that to me had me itching to disappear behind the safety wall of Matt and Azo’lah. If Mey-ran kept it up, I would have to take my anxiety meds on Chester’s behalf. 

“I’m sure Covlax is lovely,” Chester said, discreetly tucking his hands in the pockets of his jacket out of Mey-ran’s reach, “but I chose to stay on Destyr. My friends are there. My work is there. Destyr is my home. I don’t want to leave it. Besides, I’m sort of bound to the Central continent’s princess.”

Mey-ran shot Fleetwood a look that any sane person would have shriveled up and died under. Fleetwood was maybe crazier than even I thought because she positively preened. “Yes, by an ancient and, to most civilized worlds, barbaric law that everyone thought had faded into history,” Mey-ran spat, “until the Fulyiti revived it. And I am beginning to expect she did so without explaining what you were agreeing to.”

Mey-ran’s tail quivered. Chester’s eyes narrowed. It felt like the final countdown before a round of Mortal Kombat. 

“What exactly are you implying, Your Highness?” Chester asked slowly. His eyes widened as Mey-ran turned bodily to him and cradled his face in both of his massive hands. “Ummm…” Chester stammered.

Now kiss, my traitorous brain thought hysterically, taking in the admittedly pretty picture of the incredibly handsome Covlax Vic holding Chester like he was something precious. 

“The Fulyiti is smarter than most give her credit for,” Mey-ran said, eyes pleading. 

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know,” Chester’s words were slightly squished by Mey-ran’s hands. 

“She is more than capable of manipulating an unwitting human into a position he had no intention of taking. Even if you have yet to fulfill the expectations of your position, you have no protection or recourse should she change her mind—” 

“Oh, bad move, mate,” Matt hissed quietly to my left. 

Chester slapped Mey-ran’s hands away from his face, then shoved the Vic’s chest roughly, knocking him backward.

Caught off-guard, Mey-ran sprawled off his cushion and onto the floor. He blinked up at Chester, just as shocked as the rest of us that Chester had gotten the drop on him. Clearly, all of Chester’s training with Fleetwood was paying off. He pointed a threatening finger at Mey-ran. “You say one more word about my best friend, and I swear to God they’re going to have to Windex the walls of this place for weeks to get rid of the mess I’ll make of you.” 

For a second, I thought someone had turned a spotlight on Mey-ran, but then I realized it wasn’t an external light source. Mey-ran’s eyes were blown wide, and a soft glow was emanating from beneath his teal skin like fireflies had decided to colonize his cheekbones. 

“Oh, you can light yourself up like a gay bar glowstick, but I’m not gonna let my curiosity at your apparent bioluminescence get in the way of my righteous anger,” Chester snarled as he hopped to his feet. “Once we got past the mix-up regarding my initial beam up, Fleetwood has always been honest with me. I knew exactly what I was getting myself into by becoming her Favored. I’m not exactly sure what you’re up to, but I will figure it out. And in the meantime, you can send an armada after me, and I’ll still choose Fleetwood every time, even if it means I’ll spend the rest of my life running from your teal-tailed ass.” He stalked toward where the glass barrier had dissolved when we had entered. “Unless you have something real to bring to the table, I think we are done here.”

In an impressive show of team synergy, the rest of us rose and followed. Fleetwood looked simultaneously smug and teary-eyed.

Mey-ran, still sprawled across the floor, said quietly, “I still have Zerin. I will retain him until you seriously consider my offer, perhaps indefinitely.” 

Beside me, Azo’lah stiffened, but Chester was already turning. “I’ve never seen your planet. How am I supposed to seriously consider an offer to uproot my life to a place I’ve never been?” If I hadn’t been standing so close, I would have missed Fleetwood’s short, sharp inhalation. 

“What do you propose?” Mey-ran asked, scrambling to his feet. He looked almost as thrown by Chester’s abrupt change of mood as I was. 

“I propose that you open this door. Then, we both go to our ships and start making the necessary arrangements.” 

“Do you mean?” Mey-ran’s tail quirked like a sentient question mark over his back. 

Chester toyed with the zipper on his jacket as he said, “You have one Earth week to show off your planet. The science better be as sexy as the people, or so help me God. You have a day to send me the itinerary so I can choose my sneakers accordingly. I also like good food and good music.” Although Mey-ran was no longer actually glowing, he might as well have been from the radiant joy on his face. Chester raised both eyebrows. “Well, are you going to open this door or what? I have to make sure my experiments are properly monitored while I’m away, or I’m not coming.” 

“Oh, you’ll be coming,” Mey-ran breathed. I had to stifle a very mature snort behind my hand, fairly certain the Vic hadn’t meant the double entendre. He looked between Fleetwood and Chester as he said, “I agree to your terms. We will postpone further negotiations until Chester has had the opportunity to experience the riches Covlax has to offer.” 

“Agreed,” Fleetwood said.

At Mey-ran’s command, the door slid open to admit ash-soaked air. As I tugged my bandana up over my nose, Fleetwood wrapped one arm around Chester’s shoulders and ducked close to him, murmuring, “Masterfully done, my love, just what we needed.” 

The quick return flight from Renmig to The Gold Dust Wo’man was tense and quiet. Anytime I opened my mouth to speak, something in Azo’lah’s eyes had me thinking better of it. While I didn’t completely understand Fleetwood’s enthusiasm at having Chester spend a week with Mey-ran, I trusted her assessment of the situation and Chester’s safety. I also trusted Chester’s boundless intelligence—even if going to Covlax sounded borderline insane to me, I knew he had considered it from all angles.

Matt landed smoothly in the landing bay of The Gold Dust Wo’man, and the massive bay doors closed to the tune of the guitar riff Fleetwood was humming. Azo’lah stomped off the Killer Qu’een, Fleetwood skipping out the door after her. Distracted by what he was reading on his Ran’dyl, Chester tripped into our Myax guards’ backs upon his exit.

Matt and I were the last to leave the aircraft. He met my eyes and tilted his head meaningfully.

“It’ll be fine,” I offered even though we both knew that it probably wouldn’t be. 

“Welcome back,” Milyna greeted from the entrance to the landing bay as our Myax guard swiftly passed by her and disappeared into the bowels of the ship. She peered from face to face, her eyes narrowing as she tried to figure out what happened from our expressions alone. “How did it go?”

“Greetings, sister,” Azo’lah said curtly. “Will you please join our Myax sisters in preparation for entrance into hostile territory. We make way for Covlax.”

Milyna’s back straightened. “Covlax? We’re going to Covlax?”

“We aren’t going to Covlax,” Chester replied. “I am going to Covlax.”

Azo’lah pressed, “Please, Milyna.”

After a long beat, Milyna nodded and left us in the same tense, silence as before. I hated this return to awkwardness with my friends. I had grown so used to their easy acceptance and familial ribbing that I had almost forgotten how truly uncomfortable I could be socially.

Finally, Azo’lah cleared her throat and said, “I had hoped it could be avoided, but after today’s disastrous negotiations, it is clear I am left with no choice. I will challenge Vic Mey-ran to single-combat. Whoever survives gets to keep Zerin.”

Matt let out a low whistle. “Here we go.”

“I’m sorry, but what?” I spluttered, panicking. I turned to Fleetwood and Chester. “Whoever survives. Are you suggesting combat to the death? That’s a thing up here in space?”

“Certainly,” Fleetwood replied. “But it is unnecessary, Azo’lah. Chester’s genius not only got us off of Renmig alive, it has also bought us time.”

“Got us off alive?” I echoed. “There was a chance we weren’t going to leave alive?”

Fleetwood continued. “While Chester distracts the Vic—”

“If we send him to the Vic, we will never see Chester or Zerin again,” Azo’lah spat.

“Yes, you will,” Chester said, “because I’m not just some pawn in this alien chess match. I’m going under Mey-ran’s protection. I’ll gather more intel on the Covlax and possibly where Zerin is being hidden. Once I’m back, we’ll formulate a plan.”

Azo’lah shook her head sadly. “Chester, you are quite intelligent. You must know that if you go, Mey-ran will never send you back willingly.”

“He won’t take me hostage,” Chester argued. “I’m Fulyiti Fleetwood’s Favored and a member of the House of Fuiq.”

“As is Zerin, and that did not stop Vic Mey-ran from taking him,” Azo’lah pointed out.

“I don’t like the idea of Chester going to Covlax unprotected any more than you do, Azo’lah,” Matt said. “But you challenging the crown heir to Vicerenne Tov-ri in single-combat to the death could trigger a war between Destyr and Covlax.”

“Single-combat is an honorable death,” Azo’lah replied. “The Covlax will not go to war if their Vic dies with dignity.”

“Azo’lah.” Fleetwood’s voice was as unyielding as steel. “Do you hear yourself? This is  nonsense.”

“No, Fulyiti, I am the only one who is speaking sense,” Azo’lah said, her eyes wide and wild. “You all want to take unnecessary risks. No, I will protect Chester. I will protect you all. Challenging the Vic is the safest way to get Zerin back. None of you will change my mind.”

Azo’lah stalked out of the landing bay, leaving us in astonished silence.

I gaped at where she stood only moments prior. “This is batshit.”

“There’s no way this ends well,” Matt said. “The Covlax honor single-combat results, but they will absolutely attack Destyr if Azo’lah kills their only Vic. And if Mey-ran were to win—”

“I would obliterate Covlax myself,” Fleetwood finished for him.

“I don’t understand why she doesn’t trust my plan,” Chester said, scratching at his ear. I detected a note of hurt in his tone. “She usually trusts me.”

Fleetwood enfolded him in her arms, her pink skirts swirling around his legs. “It is not a reflection on you or your brilliance, beloved. It is Azo’lah’s darkness. She is in a place where she believes she must protect all of us at whatever cost, otherwise she will have let us down.”

Chester sagged against Fleetwood. “I love her, but goddamn, that is stupid.”

“We aren’t going to let her do it, right?” I asked, looking to all of my friends for confirmation.

Matt snorted. “Of course not.”

“I should go look up the rules and regulations of intergalactic duels.” Chester pulled away from Fleetwood. He straightened his glasses as he said, “Maybe there’s a precedent for a less deadly outcome?”

“Good luck,” I said. He rushed away, his attention already on his Ran’dyl.

Once he had disappeared, Fleetwood looked at us and said, “Matty-Matt, dearest Gret’chen, I have an idea.”

“I’m in,” Matt said with a sharp smile. 

“It’s dangerous,” Fleetwood continued, pulling her sunglasses from where she had folded them against the collar of her shirt. Her pink aviators reflected the amber lights of the landing bay as she put them on. “It is also possibly crazy-banana-pants. The others would not approve.”

“I already said I’m in,” Matt said. He turned to me. “What about you, Gretch?”

I looked at them both, Fleetwood in her outrageous outfit and Matt in his spacesuit. I thought of Chester already rigorously researching. I thought of Azo’lah. Azo’lah and her darkness, and her protective streak a mile wide, and her sarcastic smile.

Dangerous and possibly crazy-banana-pants?

I met Matt’s smile with one of my own. “Hell yeah, I’m in.”

“How? How could any of us have seen this coming?” My voice echoed against the common room’s smooth gray walls. I missed the Killer Qu’een’s smaller but cozier lounge. Usually, it was no trouble at all for our crew’s usual ruckus and laughter to fill the larger living spaces aboard The Gold Dust Wo’man, but today it felt like work.

Across from us, Fleetwood was stretched artfully across the chaise lounge like a fainting maiden in a period drama, palm-to-forehead and all. Matt reclined in one of the plush arm chairs, systematically draining a glass tumbler of something amber-brown and viscous. Azo’lah paced between us, a pinball of tightly controlled frustration with nowhere to direct her aggression.

“It’s us, Gretch,” Chester wearily wiped the lenses of his glasses with the hem of his red and blue plaid overshirt. “Of course, we commit one tiny offense, and the Covlax Vic can’t let it go.”

Matt snorted into his glass. “One tiny offense. That’s cute.”

“We bungled things quite spectacularly, beloved,” Fleetwood told the ceiling, “and now the wickets are coming home to roost.”

“Chickens,” Matt, Chester, and I all corrected.

“It is useless complaining about our past mistakes. It does nothing for us now,” Azo’lah inserted as she walked behind Matt. From the decanter on the table to his left, Matt filled a new glass and held it high overhead, offering it to her. I tilted my head in concern as she accepted it and downed the alcohol in one go. On one hand, it was good to hear her say that. Hopefully, continued sessions with her Soul Healer would help her move on from the J’olpri disaster. On the other hand, Azo’lah rarely drank and never while on a mission. She wasn’t technically on duty, but it still worried me.

I caught Fleetwood’s gaze across the room. A slight head shake was all I needed to know that she shared my anxieties about her cousin’s headspace.

Azo’lah pressed the empty glass into Matt’s waiting fingers and said, “We need a way to find out where Vic Mey-ran has taken Zerin.”

“Then devise a way to extract him,” Fleetwood pushed herself onto her elbows. She had caught the scent of potential adventure in the air and was prepared to chase after it.

“The Vic might be reasoned with,” Chester suggested.

I snorted. “Seemed real reasonable while chasing Ryan and me through J’olpri pointing very sharp weapons and paralytic stingers at us.”

“Even if the Vic could be reasoned with,” Matt said, “it isn’t as though we have the first idea as to how to reach him. There’s not exactly a public comm line to the Covlax palace.”

“You don’t have contacts who might know how?” Azo’lah asked, her brow scrunching.

“Burned every bridge on that side of the galaxy when I broke Ovlas off a Covlax ship,” Matt replied.

Azo’lah turned toward our couch. “Chester?”

“I’ll see what I can dredge up.” Chester tapped his Ran’dyl, which was pinned to the edge of his gray beanie. A holographic cube of binary code projected into the space before his eyes. “This could take a while.”

I leaned close, inspecting the numbers. “What the hell is that?”

“Intergalactic dark web,” he replied. I was too afraid to ask if he was joking or not.

“I will converse with my Myax sisters,” Azo’lah said. “Ascertain their level of knowledge of the Covlax. Fulyiti, perhaps you can comm the Auhtula, leverage—”

“I’m not comming Mother,” Fleetwood said. At Azo’lah’s frown, she held up her Ran’dyl and added, “She is already contacting me.”

Fleetwood pulled herself into a fully upright position before answering the call with a tap of her finger. A miniature holographic bust of Auhtula Ty’uria, resplendent as always, burst to life above her wrist. “Greetings, Mother.”

“Kezira,” the Auhtula sighed her daughter’s name, “what in the name of the seven stars have you gotten yourself into?”

“Nothing,” Fleetwood replied too quickly for it to be anything but an automatic reaction. Though I couldn’t see the Auhtula’s face from my position, her head tilt was that of disbelieving mothers the universe over. “Truly,” Fleetwood added. “We are searching for Zerin, as promised. Azo’lah hasn’t even allowed me to leave the ship since leaving Destyr.”

“And no one else in your crew has gotten into trouble?” Auhtula Ty’uria pressed.

Azo’lah stepped behind Fleetwood and into her aunt’s sightline. “Your Majesty, we have done nothing remiss since we left Thal.”

“Then why exactly is the Covlax Vic requesting a secure communication line to your ship?”

All five of our spines straightened at the mention of Vic Mey-ran.

Auhtula Ty’uria’s sharp eyes did not miss the change in her daughter’s and niece’s posture. “Ah, so there has been trouble.”

“No, no trouble, Your Majesty,” Chester intervened, traversing the room in three long strides. He sat beside Fleetwood and waved politely. “Vic Mey-ran is...a friend.”

“The Covlax do not have friends who are not Covlax,” said Auhtula Ty’uria.

“She’s not wrong,” Matt whispered into his half-empty glass.

“Well, Vic Mey-ran is our friend.” Fleetwood lied overly-bright. “We met him on our last outing before the wedding.” 

“Kezira, Azo’lah, please, whatever this is with Vic Mey-ran,” Auhtula Ty’uria brought her hand up and waved it in a very human gesture of exasperation, “handle it. Then ascertain Zerin’s whereabouts, pick him up, and return home.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Azo’lah replied with a crisp nod.

“Yes, Mother,” Fleetwood whined. 

“I will put the Vic through now,” Authula Ty’uria said. She disappeared to be replaced by the fiercely handsome holographic replica of Vic Mey-ran.

“Fulyiti Kezira,” he greeted cordially, and with obvious delight and no small enthusiasm, added, “Chester! It is lovely to see you once more.” I rose from the sofa and joined those clustered around Fleetwood’s Ran’dyl. Upon spotting me, Mey-ran said, “Why, hello again, little thief.” 

I fought to keep my expression neutral. I was a grown-ass woman of average human height. It wasn’t my fault everyone else on my crew was taller than me. 

“Vic Mey-ran, what can we do for you?” Azo’lah said solicitously with just a hint of judgment. It came across decidedly more regal than Mey-ran’s casual tone. Sometimes I forgot that Azo’lah had probably received a great deal of diplomatic training before she decided to join the Myax. 

“I believe it is more of a case of what we can do for each other, Myax,” the Covlax Vic returned, easily matching Azo’lah’s more formal manner. “It would appear as though the House of Fuiq has misplaced something important.”

“Zerin wasn’t misplaced, you absconded with him,” Fleetwood retorted, clearly opting for the direct approach.

“What must we do to get him back?” Azo’lah asked.

Mey-ran chuckled. “The Covlax are not so crude as to negotiate over communication devices. We shall do so face-to-face, as honor dictates.”

“The honor to stinger us in the back if we get too close,” I said.

“Never.” The sharp curve of Mey-ran’s smirk was in direct opposition to his words. “Fulyiti Kezira and Azo’lah Myax, both of House Fuiq, I, Vic Mey-ran, direct successor to Vicerenne Tov-ri, invite you to formal negotiations on Renmig.” Matt’s eyebrows rose upwards, impressed at the mention of this place, while Azo’lah’s dipped dangerously low in aggravation. Mey-ran continued. “I shall relay the coordinates immediately to this communications device. Kindly note that I will be open to returning Zerin of House Fuiq, only if Chester of Earth is present.”

“Wait, what? That makes zero sense!” Chester's eyes crinkled in confusion behind his glasses.

But Vic Mey-ran had already cut the communication. Chester stared bewildered into the nothingness the hologram of the Vic once inhabited. “No, seriously,” Chester said, twisting his neck to meet my gaze, “what the fuck?”

Unable to stop myself after all of the teasing I received at the wedding, I said, “It looks like Vic Mey-ran has a crush.”

“Of course he does,” Fleetwood said, kissing Chester soundly on the cheek. “Who wouldn’t? My Favored is the most handsome on the Central continent.”

Matt drained the dregs of his glass and stood. “I’ll set course for Renmig, shall I?”

“And I will inform my Myax sisters of these new developments,” Azo’lah said.

Matt clapped Azo’lah on the shoulder as they exited into the hallway together. I asked, “What’s Renmig?”

Fleetwood clapped her hands gleefully, performing a strange, half-seated pirouette off the chaise. “It is a ruined planet!”

“Weird thing to feel this much joy about, but okay,” I said.

“It was the final location of one of the last intergalactic wars,” Chester explained. “It was a few hundred years ago. Dozens of planets were involved. Renmig got absolutely ravaged and is to this day completely uninhabitable. But it’s where the Inter-Quadrant Peace Treaty was signed, so it’s pretty historically significant. A lot of planets use it as a negotiation site for symbolic reasons.”

“And Mey-ran wants to meet there?” I asked. “But we aren’t at war! We just want Zerin back!”

Chester gave me a tight smile as Fleetwood pulled him to his feet. She grabbed us both by the hand. “We must check my wardrobe. I hope I packed the proper ensemble for hostile negotiations.”

Chester nudged my shoulder with his socked foot. He was folded into Fleetwood’s furry, lime green papasan chair. “Why do you think Vic Mey-ran wants me there?” he asked in a whisper. Out of earshot, Fleetwood swung a many-layered overskirt about her hips. It was the ninth outfit she had tried on since our arrival to her quarters. Every successive outfit got more outrageous yet still somehow suited her perfectly. 

From my sprawled position across her ridiculously soft bed sheets, my head hanging upside down off the foot of the mattress, I shrugged.

“What does that even mean?” Chester snarled as he imitated my shrug.

I rolled onto my belly and propped my head in my hand. “This uncertainty is bringing out a lovely side of you.”

Chester frowned and rubbed at his forehead beneath his beanie. “I didn’t mean to snap. I just...don’t like when things don’t make sense. And Mey-ran requesting me specifically doesn’t make sense.”

“Yes, it does, Favored One,” Fleetwood sang as she studied herself in the floor-length mirror. Though her quarters lacked the personal details found in her room aboard the Killer Qu’een, she had smuggled the papasan and a retina-searing blend of plaid pillows, paisley comforter, and chevron sheets to cover her bed. I found the combination oddly soothing to look at. Fleetwood pointed finger guns at Chester via the mirror. “Vic Mey-ran is hot for your bod—”

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Chester buried his face in his hands.

“—and if it gets us Zerin back, all the better,” Fleetwood spun before the mirror, her skirts fanning about her. “It is rad, but I’m not sure about this one.”

“You want something you can make a fast getaway in,” Matt suggested from the doorway. His carefully tousled curls were more chaotic than usual, as though he had been thoughtlessly running his hands through them. He leaned against the doorjamb.

“Right you are, Matty-Matt,” Fleetwood agreed, throwing a wild punch at an imaginary attacker. “I must be prepared for any action that may crop up.”

“You do not need to be prepared,” Azo’lah pushed past Matt, entering the room. Her hands were folded at her back as she came to a stop before Fleetwood, her feet shoulder-width apart.

I sat up, clamping my thumb nail between my teeth. I sensed an argument brewing. Confrontation always made me uncomfortable but watching two people I cared so deeply about be at odds with one another consistently was becoming much too much for me.

Fleetwood discarded the fancy overskirt in her overflowing closet, and though her voice remained cheerful, her keen gaze sharpened. “Of course, I must be prepared for action, Azo’lah. The Covlax are hardly known for their submissive nature.”

Glaring out the viewport over Fleetwood’s shoulder, Azo’lah said, “You will not be attending the negotiations. It is too dangerous.”

“I will not be attending,” Fleetwood repeated. My spine itched at the danger laced through her deadpan tone.

“I will carry out the negotiations, not as Myax, but in my official capacity as By’sett of House of Fuiq,” Azo’lah continued. “The Vic will speak with me. He knows of our closeness. Chester and Matt will accompany me to Renmig while you and Gretchen remain aboard the ship.”

I jumped to my feet, Chester rising to stand at my side. “Azo’lah, come on,” Chester said.

“Hold up a minute,” I huffed. “Why do I have to stay back?”

“As the Fulyiti stated, the Covlax are not known for their meekness, and your last meeting with Vic Mey-ran was less than ideal,” Azo’lah refused to meet my gaze.

What the hell was going on with her?

“I would attend by myself with Milyna as back-up, but Mey-ran demanded Chester’s presence,” Azo’lah continued. “Matt has proven himself knowledgeable and useful against the Covlax. He will provide protection and a get away for Chester if needed.”

“Isn’t he wanted by the Covlax?” I turned to Matt. “Aren’t you wanted by the Covlax?”

“Yeah,” Matt said. “It’s fine. I’ll go and watch Chester’s back.”

“No, you won’t,” Fleetwood said, her voice lower and harsher than I had ever heard it. “No offense meant, Matty-Matt—”

Matt held up his hands. “None taken.”

“Chester is my Favored, my chosen family. I protect him.” Fleetwood raised her chin, abruptly imperious and commanding. Terror clenched my heart at the small gesture because in that moment, Azo’lah seemed the smaller of the two. I feared what would happen if Fleetwood ever decided to unleash all of her power on the universe. “You do not get to take that from me, Azo’lah,” she continued. “You may be my Myax, but I am still the second Fulyiti of the Central Continent. I will not only be participating in the negotiations, I will be leading them. As the daughter of Auhtula Ty’uria, I shall speak on her behalf. Understood?”

Azo’lah’s fists clenched at her back as her mouth worked soundlessly—the physical embodiment of her need to protect Fleetwood and get her brother back at war with her diligent respect to her sworn duty.

“Yes, Fulyiti,” Azo’lah finally responded. Without another word, she gave Fleetwood a stilted bow and strode from the room without acknowledging the rest of us.

“Well, that was rough,” Matt said, wearily.

Fleetwood sagged to the bed like a rapidly deflating balloon. “It was...unfortunate, but necessary.”

Chester went to her, kneeling at her feet. He laced their fingers together. “You good, FleetMerc?”

Fleetwood brought their clasped hands to her mouth and kissed the back of Chester’s hand. “I will be fine, Chester, my Chester.” Her face crumpled, and her eyes went glassy, tears threatening to fall. Matt and I rushed to her side, book-ending her at the foot of the bed.

“Fleetwood,” I started, without having any idea as to what to say next. Matt, clearly more skilled at comforting people, wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“It is difficult to navigate being not only Azo’lah’s family but her charge and also her Fulyiti when her darkness…” Fleetwood trailed off as she struggled for composure. “I wish only to help and support her. But I refuse to allow her to put herself or any of you in danger because she is struggling.”

“We understand,” I promised. Fleetwood loved Azo’lah the way family members were supposed to: unequivocal devotion and understanding paired with not taking your bullshit. “I guess we’d all been hoping that Azo’lah’s sessions with her Soul Healer were helping enough that we wouldn’t need to talk to her about what’s been going on.”

“Is she still considering ducking out on us because of J’olpri then?” Matt asked.

I craned around Fleetwood, wide-eyed. “How do you know about that?”

“We all know,” Chester said from the floor, his thumb ceaselessly rubbing soothing circles across the back of Fleetwood’s palm. “No one needed to say anything. She’s too hard on herself, even when things are good, but after J’olpri…”

Matt said, “She hasn’t forgiven herself for whatever bullocks reason she thinks that clusterfuck was her fault.”

I cleared my throat as I said, “Yeah, whatever bullocks reason.” I hated lying to them, but Azo’lah’s technopathy was not my secret to tell.

“We must have a confederation with her,” Fleetwood said.

Chester gave her a small grin. “Conversation. And yes. But it can wait until we have Zerin back.”

“What will we say?” I asked, already apprehensive about a conversation that wasn’t happening for days.

“That we love her, and that we want her to stick around, but that we also want her to have the help, time, and space she needs,” Chester said.

The corners of my eyes itched. I shut them before anyone else could see the tears that threatened to spill over. Chester was right. If she needed not to be part of our crew for her own mental health, then we would absolutely support her in that choice. But the idea of not seeing Azo’lah everyday, of not making her scowl with my ineptitude, or laugh because of it, sank my heart like a stone.

“Come, beloveds,” Fleetwood said, standing. “Let us fill our stomachs and our hearts!”

Matt lumbered to his feet and offered Fleetwood his arm. “To the galley, my lady?”

Fleetwood’s eyes lit up like the Destyrian suns. She clasped his arm tight. “Why, yes, my lord, indubitably.”

“My lady?” Chester proffered his arm to me, and, impossibly, it drew a chuckle from me.

“There better be some zlatah in the kitchen,” I said.

Chester snorted, “Girl, from your lips to the alien-god’s ears.”

The icy white numbers of my Ran’dyl glared at me through the darkness. My wake-up time approached at an unforgiving rate.

I rolled to my back, squishing my navy comforter and over-fluffed pillows in a futile attempt at a comfortable sleeping position.

A stressful day behind me plus a stressful day ahead of me meant an equally stressful night of trying and failing to sleep. No amount of soft comforters and piled pillows would change that. Muscle memory had me reaching for the empty spot beside me in search of Sebastian. My fingers flexed around cool sheets.

God, I missed my cat.

I threaded the soft fabric through my fingers before giving up the endeavor of sleep altogether. I sat up and groaned. The beginnings of a tension migraine behind my eyes flared to my temples.

Spectacular.

I showered and dressed quickly, strapping my Ran’dyl to my wrist with the 3D schematic of The Gold Dust Wo’man already pulled up. I knew the layout of the floors I used the most: where our sleeping quarters laid, the common room and galley, and how to get to the bridge. The rest of the massive ship’s layout remained a mystery. I had a  general idea of how to get to the medbay, having spent a good deal of time at Ryan’s bedside after the J’olpri disaster, but in my brain’s current state of wired weariness, I didn’t trust it to guide me there.

The squeak of my boots echoed down the empty, pristine hallways as I made my way to the amber light elevator that carried me down to the medbay. With everyone asleep, except for the lone Myax sentry selected by Matt and Azo’lah to oversee the ship’s autopilot and security, the ship was eerily silent.

Just thinking Azo’lah’s name ratcheted my migraine up. Reliable, reasonable Azo’lah was behaving in a way I did not recognize. In a way that felt like she was purposely pushing us away. Even as someone with her own mental health issues, I struggled with the best way to communicate to my friend that I—that we didn’t want to lose her. That our team wouldn’t be the same without her. Not just her skills as a Myax, but her. Her dry wit and snarky smirk and unflinching loyalty.

I found the medbay with minimal trouble and, after digging through a few cabinets, obtained what I needed. I applied a pain-relieving salve to my forehead that provided immediate relief. As I closed the cabinet, the door dematerialized at my back.

“Gretchen Myaxi, what a pleasant surprise,” Milyna said as she strode into the medbay. She was dressed in her formal duty uniform, her gray hair neatly plaited down her back. She spied the cabinet I stood before, and her kind eyes widened with concern. “Are you well? Do you require assistance with what ails you?”

“No, no,” I replied quickly, pointing to my head, “just a migraine. Wanted to cut it off before it could get too bad. Big day and all.”

Milyna nodded as she crossed to the other side of the medbay and ruffled through a drawer. “A big day indeed,” she agreed, the hiss of a fridge opening overpowering her words. She withdrew a small vial which she shoved a syringe into, and then stuck into her thigh. 

“Are you—are you okay?” I stuttered, embarrassed, hoping that she understood that my question was one of concern and not prying curiosity.

She smiled at me. “I am quite well, Gretchen Myaxi.” She disposed of the vial and syringe, her smile dipping into a fretful line. “But Azo’lah is not. You worry for her as I do, yes?”

“We all do,” I assured her, my hands gesturing upwards to where my friends were slumbering in their rooms many floors above us. “We just aren’t sure the best way to talk to her about it.”

As we exited the medbay, Milyna said, “She is speaking regularly with her Soul Healer, but her darkness persists. She only speaks of it with us, her Myax sisters, when asked of it. It is strange to feel as though she is hiding something from us, those who know her suffering as intimately as our own.”

My heart thudded against my ribs like a fist. Another person who loved Azo’lah and had no idea about her technopathic secret. 

Milyna took my arm gently and turned toward a side passage. Repeated thuds and angry shouts were audible from a chamber at the end. “She cares for you greatly, Gretchen Myaxi. I understand she does not always show it in the ways usual to your kind, but she does.”

I swallowed around the sudden lump in my throat. “I know.”

We came to a stop at the end of the hallway, the door dematerializing to reveal a cavernous training hall. Its gray walls and mat-lined floors were lit by soft blue and amber lights. Various weapons lined the walls. Abandoned weights sat in a corner. Opposite the forlorn stack, multiple targets were being pierced by knives thrown with deadly precision.

Azo’lah, dressed in her training tunic and dripping with sweat, launched another assault on the targets with a new handful of blades. Azo’lah could go several rounds in actual combat without beginning to glisten. She must have been down here for hours.  

I met Milyna’s knowing gaze and nodded. I entered the room alone, the door rematerializing at my back. Azo’lah ignored my presence.

I approached her slowly, not out of fear but respect. Respect for her space, her pain, her doubt. Upon reaching the mat closest to where she stood, I said quietly, “Azo’lah?”

Her only response was to launch a dagger at the left-most target. It missed the center by a few inches, the only indication that I’d broken her concentration.

“Okay,” I dropped to the mat, crossing my ankles before me. I reclined back on my hands, watching her work. “I’ll be here when you're ready.”

Azo’lah’s next throw went wide, missing the target completely. She exhaled sharply, her stance tightening. I barely heard her as she asked, “And if I’m never ready?”

I shrugged. “I’ll still be here. Even if you don’t want to talk. Sometimes it helps just knowing someone is there, well, here with you in the silence.”

Azo’lah’s navy eyes met mine, the tangle of emotions in them unbearably raw. After a long, silent moment, she resumed her practice. Far fewer frustrated yells punctuated the dull thuds of her blades finding the mark.

Azo’lah raced off-board, one hand linked with her cousin’s. Fleetwood matched her skips to Azo’lah’s hurried pace, flowing skirt billowing around her legs. Since receiving the news that Azo’lah’s brother, Zerin, was missing, neither had strayed far from the other.

“Azo’lah, Fleetwood,” I called, chasing after them. My feet slipped on the dew-slick grass, slowing me down. “Wait up.”

Milyna easily overtook my shorter-legged strides. Noting the concern in my voice, she said, “Fret not, Gretchen. I will watch over them.”

“I—uh—thanks?” I said as Azo’lah and Fleetwood disappeared beyond the treeline, Mylina a shadow’s length behind them. 

 “You alright, Gretchen?” Matt knocked my elbow companionably as he and Chester caught up with me. Matt did something on his Ran’dyl and the Qu’een’s gangway rose, sealing off the ship. The remaining Myax fanned out at our backs. Although we were back on the Central continent, they were taking Azo’lah’s orders to keep an eye on us very seriously.

“I’m fine.” I shrugged my taut shoulders. “I just don’t know how to help.”

Chester looped his arm through mine as we entered the forest. A pleasant fruity-floral scent enveloped us. “We don’t have all of the information yet. Once we know more about the situation with Zerin, we’ll be able to help find him. Until then, all we can do is be there for Azo’lah and Fleetwood.”

“That’s not—” I began, cutting off with a yelp as I tripped over a fallen branch. Matt’s quick reflexes saved me from completely wiping out. We traversed the rest of the forest in silence, picking our way quickly and carefully across the root-infested and sometimes rocky terrain.

I was thankful for the excuse to stay quiet and work through my thoughts. Because yes, of course, I wanted to help Azo’lah find her brother as well as provide whatever emotional support I could throughout the process. But that wasn’t the only thing I was worried about. I had yet to confide in Matt and Chester that Azo’lah was considering no longer being Fleetwood’s—and by proximity our—Myax. They didn’t know her technopathic secret, nor the part she played in the fall of J’olpri Market. They didn’t know how close we were to losing her. 

The secrets were really starting to pile up.

My stomach twisted in on itself as I thought that on top of all of that, not to mention the political conspiring we had just survived on the Eastern continent, that a missing brother would pull Azo’lah even further away from us. Possibly, irretrievably so.

We emerged from the shadows of the forest. Before us was a fenced-in field awash in the magenta hue of the setting suns. We trudged through the open gate, and I grinned as we passed flourishing vegetable patches. Yellow stalks bent beneath the weight of burgeoning pletsoc, whose taste reminded me of zucchini. Nearby, oblong aw’ter sprouted from the ground. In a gated paddock snow-white, six-legged animals grazed. They resembled tail-less horses.

I rushed to the gate to get a better look at them. “What are they?”

“Reunes.” Matt grinned wistfully at the animals. “Gorgeous.”

“Azo’lah’s Mom is what we would call a conservationist,” Chester leaned on the fence beside me. “Part of her work is rehabilitating injured or abandoned animals until they can be released back into the wild. Come on.” Chester gestured to the far corner of the field where a quaint, cranberry wood house sat. As was typical of historic Destyrian homes, it bore colorful, gemmed windows. At the front door, Azo’lah and Fleetwood were embracing two older women.

Azo’lah’s mothers.

Fresh nervousness gripped me. I hated meeting new people. It rarely went well for me. The fact that they were my friend’s parents, whom I desperately wanted to make a good impression on, did not help my anxiety.

Sensing my unease, Chester squeezed my elbow. “Don’t worry, Gretch. Aunties Do’naya and Fionrin are the coolest. I met them at my first Fertility Festival right after Fleetwood brought me up. They’re the least intimidating Destyrian royals of all time.”

I mustered a smile, hoping it wasn’t as shaky as I felt.

As we approached, Azo’lah’s mothers released Azo’lah and Fleetwood. They both had kind faces, and though they were clad for a day working in a forest, they carried themselves with the same quiet nobility as Azo’lah.

“You’re sure your eating, faa’le?” asked the taller of the two women, her emerald eyes narrowed in motherly concern. She gently cupped Azo’lah’s cheek.

“Mother,” Azo’lah complained, removing the hand from her face. She turned beseechingly to her other mother.

“Do’naya, leave her be. Azo’lah knows the importance of caring for oneself,” Fionrin said as she reeled Fleetwood in close again. The family resemblance was undeniable with their pointed chins and matching navy hair in such close proximity. Fionrin was surprisingly even shorter in stature than Fleetwood. “And don’t forget, Fleetwood would never let her skip a meal.”

“True that, double true,” Fleetwood agreed, leaning her head onto her aunt’s shoulder. “Eating is an important activity to our whole crew!”

At the mention of the crew, Azo’lah’s mothers’ eyes landed on Matt, Chester, and me. Their smiles widened. “Chester!” they both cried, reaching for him.

“Hey, Aunties,” he chuckled as he willingly entered a smothering, two-sided hug with Azo’lah’s mothers. They rapidly pressed their foreheads to Chester’s and released him. I was roped in next.

“And you must be Gretchen,” Do’naya stooped to touch my forehead with her own. Her excessive height was only eclipsed by Azo’lah’s. “It is an honor that the seven stars—”

Azo’lah’s hand shot out, grabbing Do’naya’s shoulder. “Mother! Humans do not greet each other in this way. They do not appreciate new beings so close to their faces upon first meeting.”

“Ah, yes,” Do’naya said, retracting from my personal bubble. She tucked the stray silver strands that had escaped from her braid behind her ear. I felt my heart sink a little as she held out her hand to me. “Apologies, Gretchen. I hope I did not offend you. I am Do’naya.”

“Do’naya. It is an honor that the seven stars lit our paths as one,” I replied. She beamed at me as I clasped her much larger palm. I pushed myself up onto my toes as she leaned down. Our foreheads met with a light touch. When I pulled back, Azo’lah was watching her mother, her gaze soft.

Pulling back from greeting Matt, Fionrin turned her navy eyes on me. Azo’lah’s eyes. I had thought the resemblance to Fleetwood had been obvious, but now, as I took in Fionrin’s keen gaze and the elegant lines of her face, it was like looking at Azo’lah thirty years from now. Except several inches shorter. I could only hope the passing years would be as kind to me. But I doubted it.

Fionrin stepped forward and pressed our foreheads together. “Gretchen of Earth. It is an honor that the seven stars lit our paths as one.”

I repeated the Destyrian greeting back to her quietly.

Fionrin tugged me forward, reaching for Azo’lah with her free arm. “Come inside, all of you. We have laid out food. You can eat while we talk.”

She led us into the surprisingly spacious home. The numerous multi-colored windows allowed the final dregs of sunset to cast a prismatic glow throughout the living space. The Destyrian equivalent of a wood-burning stove sat at the center of the room, providing warmth to the quickly chilling evening. There was a large rectangular dining table in one corner and a serviceable kitchen in another. Three closed doors along the back wall led to what I assumed were bedrooms and a washroom. But my eyes were drawn to what appeared to be an artist's studio. It was littered with half-finished pieces of wood, metal, and stone that took up half of the room.

A smile twisted my lips. One of Azo’lah’s mothers was an artist.

“May I?” I asked, intrigued by the sculpture closest to me. It was a tall but thin stone piece with rounded edges and intricate details adorning its center.

Fionrin gestured to the piece. “Of course. Do’naya loves when others interact with her work. She says art is meant to be experienced, not just looked at.” She rolled her eyes as though exasperated by the sentiment, but her voice overflowed with fondness.

Matt stepped up to my side. His fingers skated along the smooth edges of the sculpture while I inspected the central details—ancient Destyrian glyphs, which I recognized from my work in the Temple of Aluthua. “This is amazing,” Matt said.

“Well, thank you, faa’le,” Do’naya said as she ushered the rest of our party into the house.

I turned my creased brow to Chester. He shrugged. “There’s no direct translation, but it’s an endearment. Like the Destyrian version of dear or honey.”

“Mother,” Azo’lah’s voice was tight with frustration. “Are you not going to tell me about Zerin?”

“Yes, come,” Fionrin said as Do’naya crossed to her side. Their hands found each other immediately. Fionrin gestured to the spread of meats, vegetables, and drink pitchers laid out across the massive table. “Everyone, please. Help yourselves.”

Milyna and our other Myax guards filled their plates with militaristic speed and precision. They retreated to the walls, leaving the high-backed seats at the table open for Azo’lah’s mothers and our crew. Azo’lah sat at the foot of the table, Fleetwood on her left and me on her right. 

Matt and Chester indiscriminately started filling plates and distributed them to us before sitting down. Though the food looked delicious, the disquiet churning my gut wouldn’t allow me to eat.

Azo’lah propped her elbows on the gem-lined edge of the table, rubbing her temples. “Mother. Zerin.”

Fionrin’s brow creased with exhaustion and worry as she slumped into the seat at the head of the table. “Two star-cycles ago, he went on holiday to Vown to visit Augus, his pen pal from his youth. You remember?”

Azo’lah nodded. “He never shut up about having a friend forty galaxies away. How could I forget?”

“You know Zerin,” Do’naya stood at her wife’s back, her hands settling on Fionrin’s tense shoulders. “As fiercely independent as you, though not quite as responsible–” Azo’lah snorted loudly. “We were not concerned that we had not heard from him while he was visiting Augus. He is an adult now, after all.”

I watched Azo’lah as her mothers spoke, the tension bleeding from her rigid spine with every word. Whatever awful thing she had anticipated hearing about Zerin’s disappearance, it was not this. 

Fionrin said, “He was to return to Thal three days ago. He did not. He has not messaged us. And every time we attempt to communicate with his Ran’dyl, we are ignored. That is unusual for him.”

“How do you know he didn’t return to Thal and has been sleeping the last three days?” Azo’lah asked, pushing her untouched plate away. Matt snatched it up and began shoveling the food into his mouth. “That wouldn’t be unusual for Zerin.”

Do’naya shook her head. “When we hadn’t heard from him, we called the transportation company. They checked the ship’s manifest, he never boarded.”

Azo’lah hung her head back with a groan. “He probably just missed his ship.”

“Aunts, are you sure Zerin is not screening your attempts at communication?” Fleetwood inquired.

Fionrin’s frown deepened severely, a mien I had seen on Azo’lah’s face whenever Fleetwood used Earth slang. “Screening? What is screening?”

“Fleetwood’s asking if you’re sure that Zerin isn’t purposely ignoring your calls,” Chester translated.

Azo’lah sighed heavily and held up her Ran’dyl. “I will comm him.”

Fleetwood pushed Azo’lah’s wrist down. “Let me. Zerin screens your comms as well.”

Chester choked on a laugh as Azo’lah rolled her eyes. She asked, “How would you know that?”

“He told me,” Fleetwood replied, already pulling up Zerin’s contact information on her Ran’dyl. We waited for a long moment. He did not answer. Fleetwood frowned. “That is strange. Zerin always answers my communications. I’m his favorite cousin.”

“Have you been able to make contact with Zerin’s penpal? Augus?” I interjected.

“We have tried, “ Fionrin said, “but we have not received a reply.”

“Mothers,” Azo’lah said, rubbing at her temples again, “it sounds like Zerin isn’t missing. Most likely, he got sidetracked on Vown, missed his ship home, and is now avoiding returning to his limited responsibilities back home.”

“Sidetracked by what?” Fionrin asked. 

Azo’lah said, “It is Zerin, so the possibilities are innumerable, all of them immature but ultimately harmless.”

Do’naya shook her head. “I have a bad feeling, faa’le.”

“I know you do, which is why you called me and made me think something terrible had happened to Zerin.” Azo’lah stood. She walked to her mothers and placed a hand on each of their shoulders.

“Something terrible has happened to Zerin,” Do’naya argued. “He is missing.”

“Your call had me thinking he had been kidnapped for a misplaced debt or that he had stuck his nose in business that wasn’t his.” Azo’lah pressed her forehead to Do’naya’s. “He’s probably inebriated on one of Vown’s many beaches and misplaced his Ran’dyl.” Fionrin opened her mouth to argue, but Azo’lah pressed on. “Regardless, I will go and find him.”

Fleetwood pushed back from the table, her eyes sparking with new-found purpose and adventure. “We will go find him!”

To my surprise, Azo’lah pulled back from her mothers. “No!” she barked. Then, more calmly, “I will go on my own.”

I jerked in my seat as though slapped. Chester stared up at Azo’lah, his mouth a thin line of disbelief. Matt had stopped eating, his attention now zeroed in on our Myax.

The tension, which had eased with Azo’lah’s reaction to her mothers’ tale, was back, like a bad movie sequel, bigger and more oppressive than before. 

On her own? As in without us?

Fleetwood’s face, usually gently creased with congenial smile lines, hardened with frustration. “He is my cousin! I will assist in finding him!”

“Fulyiti,” Azo’lah moved away from her mothers, squaring her shoulders in a sickeningly familiar way. She was bracing for a fight. “I am going to retrieve my brother. I cannot do that and protect you at the same time.”

“I do not need you to protect me. I can protect myself,” Fleetwood asserted as she stood to meet Azo’lah. “I am coming to help you.”

I curved my fingers into fists as a new wave of discomfort flooded me. I had never seen Fleetwood and Azo’lah actually argue before–good-natured bickering and minor disagreements, certainly—but this was something entirely different.

Azo’lah’s nostrils flared. She folded her arms across her chest. “No. Not when I cannot guarantee any of your safety. You will all stay here.”

“You cannot stop us from coming,” Fleetwood pointed out.

“I can’t stop you, but the Auhtula can,” Azo’lah threatened.

Matt took a wide-eyed drink from his glass. Chester’s mouth fell open briefly before he murmured, “Oh, shit.”

Fleetwood squared her shoulders. “Zerin is the Auhtula’s only nephew. She will want him safely returned, which means she will want more people than just you looking for him. She’ll let us go. She’ll let me go. Especially if I am with my Myax.”

Azo’lah shut her eyes tightly as though fighting for control. There was a crackle of electricity through the air followed by the cacophony of all of our Ran’dyls ringing. I winced, then slapped my Ran’dyl to turn it off as everyone situated around the table did the same.

I furtively looked at Azo’ah and sent a message of text through our technopathic link. Azo’lah!

I have it under control, she sent back to me. She met my gaze for a brief moment before exaggeratedly studying her Ran’dyl.

“Hmm, how strange,” Fionrin said, her narrowed eyes tracking between Azo’lah and me. Shit, had she figured out that I knew Azo’lah’s secret? “A lightning storm must be approaching. These types of malfunctions are common during storm season.”

“I thought the lightning storm season didn’t start for another few star-cycles,” Chester said.

Do’naya said, “We get a few strong ones early.”

“Regardless,” Azo’lah grit out, redirecting the conversation back into even more uncomfortable territory, “as I have already told you, Fulyiti, I cannot be your Myax if I am focused on my brother.”

“Yes, you can!” Fleetwood said, a note of steel threaded through her voice.

“No, I can’t!” Azo’lah shouted. “I can’t! And you shouldn’t manipulate the Auhtula to—” She paused as her eyes landed on Milyna and her other Myax sisters. Her lips thinned into a devilish smirk. She changed course faster than Matt in the pilot’s seat of the Killer Qu’een. “Milyna, will you and the others accompany us in our mission to retrieve Zerin?”

Milyna refused to meet anyone’s eye as she replied, a little too evenly to be comfortable, “Of course, Azo’lah Myax. Protecting the royal House of Fuiq is one of our sacred duties. We would be honored to join you.”

Fleetwood’s eyes widened with horror. If more Myax accompanied us, her freedom as we searched for Zerin would be severely limited, if nonexistent. “No,” she said, her voice wavering at Azo’lah’s betrayal. Chester scrambled from his seat and folded himself against her side, his arms wrapping around her waist. “If they come, I’ll —my mother—”

“As you said,” Azo’lah interrupted, “Zerin is the Auhtula’s sole nephew. She will want more of us to look for him and return him safely. Who better than my Myax sisters.”

The cousins glared at each other for a long moment, their anger mounting. Fleetwood cleared her throat and said, “Fine, we will all go.” She turned to the Myax standing against the wall. “You are all most welcome to our crew.”

“Thank you, Fulyiti,” they replied stoically.

Azo’lah’s eyes flitted between the Myax and Fleetwood, clearly unsure why or how Fleetwood had capitulated relatively easily.

“So… we’re all going?” I clarified, my voice low and nervous. I didn’t want to agitate the tenuous truce. “To Vown. Wherever the hell that is?”

Matt threw his arm out far to the right. “Out there. Exceptionally out there. We’ll need to stop in Thal, swap out our bags, grab more clothes, and get the Gold Dust Wo’man. It’s too long of a trip for just the Qu’een.”

“And you will keep us updated?” Fionrin asked, eyeing Azo’lah.

“Of course, Mother,” Azo’lah promised.

“Good,” Do’naya said. She pointed to Azo’lah’s vacated chair. “Now, sit, faa’le. You hardly touched your meal, and you must have dessert before you go.”

I missed my cat, I thought, as the minutes continued to march by, and sleep remained ever elusive. The low vibrating hum of the Gold Dust Wo’man’s engines was comforting, but paled in comparison to Sebastian’s warm, fluffy, purring presence. There was too much to think about and all of it refused to be set aside for rest. Our crew was in conflict and, based on Fleetwood and Azo’lah’s argument earlier, it seemed the conflict had deeper roots than I had realized. I felt like I was missing part of the story...but what? 

The tension between Fleetwood and Azo’lah was currently thicker than the latter’s arms and had made the flight distinctly uncomfortable for everyone involved since we left for Vown that morning. So far, everyone had stuck to their own quarters and corners of the ship. I missed our easy camaraderie as much as I missed Sebastian.

I threw off the covers, resigned to my anxiety-induced insomnia. I’d go to the galley, get something to drink, and sketch. Maybe work on translating some new passages from Vas Roya. I threw on a sweatshirt and padded through the gray hallways, nodding awkwardly at the Myax standing sentry outside Fleetwood’s room. The galley, when I arrived, was, surprisingly, occupied. 

Azo’lah was sitting at the table dressed in loose-fitting linen pants and a very human-looking pullover sweatshirt bedazzled with the slogan Myax Do It With Weapons. She started when I entered. “Myaxi, why are you awake?” 

For a long moment, I considered lying. “Anxiety spiral,” I admitted. I pressed my hand onto a small section of the wall. It slid out with a sound like a sigh, presenting two thin strips of metal humming in a charging field. It all felt a bit much to me, building a custom, hidden charging port in the wall for a hover stool that only one crew member used. But I hadn’t had the heart to tell Chester I could’ve just stood on a crate after he spent all the time secretly building and programming it for me. I pulled the stool out of its port and set it down. It automatically powered up as it connected to my Ran’dyl, producing a platform of the same mysterious amber light that Destyrians used for elevators and transportation systems. I stepped up on it, leaning forward slightly so that the stool moved closer to the cabinets. 

 The door on the cabinet dematerialized as I reached for a cup. “Can I get you something?” Azo’lah didn’t say anything as I selected a large glass and filled it with cool, filtered water from the dispenser. I turned back to find her gazing intently at me. “Nice shirt,” I said. 

Azo’lah plucked at her sweatshirt and smiled ruefully. “It was a gift from the Fulyiti, as I assume, yours is.” 

“Yeah,” I said. The back of my hoodie was emblazoned with My Career Is In Ruins in Destyrian. 

I returned my hover stool to it’s port and situated myself in the chair across from Azo’lah. I took a long drink. The water from Destyr always tasted faintly like berries and was all the more refreshing for it. “So, why are you up so late?” I pushed the glass toward her, a silent offer. 

She smiled ruefully but did not accept it. I had another one of those moments where I felt like I was missing something. “I was trying to contact my brother.” 

“Still no answer?” I swirled my fingers in a nonsensical pattern on my glass. 

She looked around the kitchen, checking to confirm we were alone. “I was attempting to use unconventional methods.” 

I nodded, realizing that Azo’lah had been using her technopathy to try and locate Zerin.  “Oh. Still no luck?” 

Azo’lah’s eyes lowered to the ancient glyphs etched into the table’s surface.  “I haven’t been able to focus long enough to succeed.” 

The Azo’lah sitting before me in oversized pajamas, rumpled hair, and a somber expression was so very different from the pulled together, regal badass always armed with a wicked weapon and equally sharp-tipped joke. I realized that, even though she was right in front of me, I missed her. It was a hollowing thought. 

“Azo’lah,” I said before I could convince myself not to, “what’s going on with you? Is this because of Zerin? J’olpri? Something else?” 

“I am well, Myaxi.” 

“You don’t seem like it,” I forced myself to continue against the warning klaxons in my head. “You’re acting really...not like yourself. I thought things were getting better at the wedding. But then the break-in happened, and suddenly you’re withdrawn, making decisions without us, trying to go off on your own, fighting with Fleetwood.” 

Azo’lah was silent for an eternal moment before she reached across the table, palm extended. I placed my hand in hers. She squeezed mine, looking into my eyes. “I am...at a crossroads. There are choices laid out before me, choices that need to be made, but I don’t know what the right choice is. I just need time. Time in which I don’t have to worry about the Fulyiti’s safety to make that choice. But first, I must locate Zerin before the time I need can be found.” 

I looked at our joined hands, entwined lilac and freckle-spattered cream. My fingers flexed against hers. “Okay. Just don’t push us away in the meantime. Please.” 

“I will try not to,” Azo’lah acquiesced.  

With my free hand, I grabbed my glass and gulped more water, the kitchen suddenly warm. Maybe I should take off my sweatshirt. Azo’lah took the glass from me when I set it down. Possibly the ship’s environmental controls were malfunctioning. I asked, “Is there anything I can do to help you with your search?” 

Azo’lah’s eyes flicked to my forehead. “Yes, actually.” 

I blinked, not expecting Azo’lah to answer in the affirmative. “Okay. Anything.”

Azo’lah’s brow arched, a teasing smile splitting her face. “You should be more careful with your words, Myaxi." 

“Don’t be a troll. I was serious!” I leaned across the table to playfully smack her shoulder with my free hand, she blocked it easily. 

“I know you were. Come here.” She tugged our still joined hands. I allowed her to guide me around the table until I was standing before her, looking down into her upturned face. It was hard not to smile when Azo’lah was already doing so. Especially when her smiles had been brief and infrequent since J’olpri—nonexistent since my room was ransacked at the wedding. 

Azo’lah ducked her head, suddenly self-conscious in a way I’d never seen her. Was it because we were still holding hands? I doubted it since it was a typical behavior on Destyr, one that didn’t carry a romantic connotation like it did on Earth. 

“When I use my powers as an Iz’waij,” she began, using the ancient Destyrian word for technopath, “it leaves behind a unique signature on the item.”

“Like a maker’s mark used by a craftsman?” I clarified.

She nodded. “Exactly. When I alter a piece of technology for a friend or family member, I purposefully leave an additional, low-grade signal. Should something happen to the user, I can more easily track the object and hopefully locate them.” 

I stepped back, shocked. “Azo’lah, are you telling me you have specialized tracking beacons on all members of the crew?” 

She shook her head, her gaze flicking to mine. “Your Ran’dyls already have a tracking feature installed, which anyone could use to look for the unit. My unique signal is always broadcasting, but I never actively look for the items. I only do it as a failsafe, a last resort, should someone close to me be in danger or missing.” 

“Alright. So, this signal is what you’ve been searching for? What can I do?” 

“It’s easier for me to locate it immediately after being in contact with an item I have altered that bears the same signal.”

“Like a bloodhound,” I surmised. Azo’lah face twisted in confusion. “Earth animal that’s good at tracking things by scent,” I explained, tapping my nose. I held up my left arm, offering my Ran’dyl for Azo’lah’s inspection. “It’s all yours.” 

“If you do not mind,” Azo’lah said, her long fingers reaching for my face, “your translation implant was more heavily altered. If my brief interactions with it are correct, its functions were heightened by the interference of the Ancients’ technology at the temple. My signature and added signal were likewise heightened. It would be easier for me if I could…” 

I bent down into an awkward half squat to offer her my forehead, at the same time, she pulled me closer. I lost my balance and tipped face-forward. 

“Shit, sorry!” I scrambled to brace against Azo’lah’s shoulder so that I wouldn’t accidentally head-butt her. She laughed, did some fancy trick to kick my foot out from under me. I found myself suddenly burning red with mortification and sitting across Azo’lah’s lap. 

“Perhaps it will be easier if you’re seated.” She patted the arm I had wrapped around her neck, the action as patronizing as her grin. 

“You don’t have to be so smug that you’re so graceful, and I’m clumsiness personified,” I groused in the direction of the far wall, unable to look at her. 

“You think I’m graceful?” Her breath fanned over my cheek and neck. I shivered. Christ. This had to be a side effect of having my first sexual encounter in months cockblocked by a break-in. 

I grabbed her wrist, bringing a hand up to my temple. “Just do the thing already.” 

Azo’lah’s long fingers swept aside the flyaway hairs on my forehead, coming to rest on the tiny, jeweled implant embedded there. Azo’lah closed her eyes, her lashes crescent moons against the twilight sky of her cheeks. There was a flashing spark at my temple, and then, I felt nothing. I didn’t know if I should move, but I was too scared to break Azo’lah’s concentration. 

“Too strong...wait,” she murmured to herself. “There.” 

Azo’lah opened her eyes as her Ran’dyl illuminated with a projection of an unfamiliar star system—not that I knew many by sight—a flashing beacon. Coordinates appeared alongside the beacon. Azo’lah hit the coordinates, an annoyed frown already replacing her serene concentration. 

“Where’s Cassian?” I asked as the Ran’dyl zoomed into a space station, its name glowing in cheery, inviting gold across the hologram’s surface. 

“Several galaxies in the opposite direction. That little zult’er,” Azo’lah stood, effortlessly lifting me with her and depositing me on my feet. “Come, we must wake Matt and ask him to change course.”

I followed Azo’lah out of the galley and toward the crew quarters corridor, very glad that I was not in Azo’lah’s brother’s shoes at the moment.

Fleetwood slammed her gold glittery boot against the floor of The Gold Dust Wo’man’s galley. “This is horseshit.”

I clapped my hand over my mouth to stop myself from spitting out my half-chewed energy bar. Matt met my gaze over the lip of his vy’tal mug, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

But as I swiveled toward Chester, any light-heartedness I found at the moment evaporated. He stood at Fleetwood’s side, his fingers entwined with hers, and though it appeared as though he were attempting to comfort her, his mouth was downturned in something akin to fury.

I couldn’t think of a single time since I first came to space when I had seen that emotion play across his face.

“I don’t care if you think it’s horseshit,” Azo’lah replied from where she stood on the other side of the table. Outfitted in a sleek all-black one-piece and boots, she looked like an incredibly sexy and dangerous space burglar. “You will stay aboard the ship where it is safe.”

Milyna and the other Myax, who were seated at the table with Matt and me, refused to even look up from where they shoveled their breakfast into their mouths. If it were not for their visible winces, every time Fleetwood’s voice rose, I would’ve thought they didn’t even know a fight was happening around them.

“But it’s Cassian!” Fleetwood near-shouted as she gestured in the general direction of Cassian’s dock, which we had pulled into an hour previous. “You can’t hold me sausage—”

“Hostage,” Chester corrected quietly.

“You are not a hostage. You are our Fulyiti,” Azo’lah said calmly. Her neutral tone of voice made the argument all the worse, as though she were not even a true participant. “Your safety is—”

“I will be safe,” Fleetwood cried. “I will be with you!”

Azo’lah pinched the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger, releasing a deep sigh.

“Fulyiti,” Milyna intervened. She stood from the table and continued. “I apologize, but as the lead Myax on this mission, I have analyzed the variables of Cassian and deemed the situation too dangerous to ensure your safety. I deeply regret upsetting you, but even with four Myax—”

“Five Myax,” I interrupted, my voice harder than intended.

“Even with four Myax, plus Azo’lah,” Milyna amended, “Cassian is too much of a risk. The place is volatile on the best of days.”

“It’s a boring day on Cassian if there isn’t at least one death,” Matt added.

My grip on my energy bar fumbled. “I’m sorry, what?”

Matt shrugged as though potential death were nothing more irritating than a mosquito buzzing overhead. “Cassian is like if the party scenes of Las Vegas, Ibiza, and Berlin had a space baby.”

“That sounds insane,” I said.

“Now you see why I want to go!” Fleetwood declared.

Azo’lah shook her head. “Your Myax said no, Fulyiti.”

“I am sorry, Fulyiti,” Milyna said, “but my decision is final.”

Fleetwood’s jaw tightened. “I understand the reason for your decision, Milyna Myax, and appreciate your concern for my safety.” Fleetwood turned to Azo’lah, her eyes blazing. “Horseshit,” she seethed before storming from the galley.

Chester groaned into the tense silence Fleetwood left in her wake. “Alright,” he said, pushing up his beanie to scratch at his forehead. “I’ll stay back with FleetMerc, try and calm her down. Gretch, keep me updated on intel and progress, yeah?”

“Of course,” I replied.

“Thanks.” He tugged down his beanie and walked toward the hall. He stopped and turned to look Azo’lah directly in the eye. “You’re going to need to fix this,” he said sternly and disappeared after Fleetwood.

Azo’lah inhaled sharply, contrition etched into every line of her momentarily crestfallen face.

Milyna clapped her hand on Azo’lah’s shoulder. “Worry not, sister. Though stubborn, the Fulyiti understands you act only from love. We will protect her while you are off the ship.” Milyna and the other three Myax trooped out to their duty stations.

Matt raised his eyebrows as he nudged his chin toward the half-empty bowls left behind by the Myax. A fastidious group by nature, the Myax never left their used dishes lying about. As inconspicuously as possible, I nodded toward Azo’lah. Her sisters-in-arms were clearly trying to give Azo’lah some space.

Matt shrugged, and I wondered for a moment when we had become so familiar with one another that we could communicate silently and yet with complete understanding.

He stood, reaching for the abandoned bowls to clear the table. “So, just the three of us, eh?”

Azo’lah shook her head, clearly bringing herself out of a deep reverie. “No. I will go alone.”

Matt snorted indignantly in the back of his throat. “Nice try, but you can’t stop us from coming with you.”

“I could,” she threatened, “but I won’t.”

“Good,” I ground out angrily, “because Matt and I are fully functioning adults who can make our own decisions about where we go.”

Azo’lah rubbed at her temples as though warding off an impending migraine. “Fine. Yes. Come. Are you both prepared?”

I downed the rest of my drink and added my breakfast dishes to Matt’s pile. “I think so.” I pat down my pants pockets as I stood. “We don’t need anything special for this, do we? We’re just going to pop in, grab Zerin, and head home. Do we need weapons?” I eyed Azo’lah’s boot where her zali’thir was holstered and Matt’s bulky jacket where I knew at least two Destyrian issued guns hid. “Strike that: do we need any more weapons?”

“Want to bring your gun?” Matt asked.

“Hell no,” I replied. “I still don’t know how the damn thing works.”

Matt laughed uproariously. “Don’t worry about it. We should be fine.”

“Let’s go,” Azo’lah said, consulting the hologram hovering over her Ran’dyl. It was a 3D projection of Cassian that hovered over her wrist.  “The faster we get to Zerin, the faster we can head back home.”

Cassian was not what I had been expecting after Matt’s description of the dangerous party palace. Instead, I was pleasantly surprised by its clean, sleek, and quiet atmosphere. Monochromatic crimson decor greeted us from our first step off The Gold Dust Wo’man. Red ceilings, floors, walls, and lighting fixtures covered every corridor, room, and even the glass-encased corkscrew escalators. We passed obviously intoxicated aliens of all shapes and sizes but encountered no outright debauchery or revelry. In fact, by the time we reached the tenth floor, I was disappointed by the tasteful gold lighting fixtures and utter lack of indecency I had witnessed thus far.

For an alleged space station den of sin, Cassian was seriously lacking.

“Tenth floor?” Matt whistled high and long as we stepped off the escalator onto the top floor of Cassian’s spherical build. “I didn’t realize your brother had such posh taste, Azo’lah.”

Azo’lah stopped in front of a set of etched double doors. A burgundy sign in a language I did not recognize was affixed above the entrance. The sign was framed by two crescents that looked suspiciously like pincers. “He doesn’t,” Azo’lah replied, glaring at the sign.

She pushed the door open into a magnificent quadruple-leveled space. My eyes were drawn upward. Like a wedding cake, each white-washed tier was smaller than the last and culminated in a spectacular chandelier twice the size of my room back aboard The Gold Dust Wo’man. The chandelier caught the light, casting rainbow prisms that flitted from one sumptuously set table to the next. Finely dressed aliens were seated around the tables, many of them staring at us. I felt embarrassingly underdressed. 

I tugged at the hem of my button-down, trying to straighten it. “Wow. Uh...” 

“Absolutely mad,” Matt agreed as Azo’lah strode toward the gold hostess stand that blocked our path into the restaurant. The hostess—a tall, orange alien with seven arms and three legs—blinked her eye at us. Her rigid eyelashes clapped together and apart like a clamshell. “How can I help you this evening?” she asked. Her smile was polite, but her tinny voice was condescending.

“I got this,” Matter muttered, approaching her. He leaned against the podium and winked at her. “Table for three, love.”

Another slow blink from her solitary eye. “The name for your reservation, sir?”

“I don’t think a reservation is necessary, do you?”

Azo’lah’s face scrunched in disbelief as our eyes met. I pressed my lips together tight to keep my chuckle at bay.

“A reservation is most certainly necessary, sir,” the hostess replied, bringing all of her hands to the podium and tapping her dozens of fingers rhythmically against it.

Matt slumped. He turned to Azo’lah. “Worth a shot.”

Azo’lah stooped, reaching for her boot where her zali’thir was stowed.

“Wait!” I grabbed her wrist. “Are we sure Zerin’s here?”

Azo’lah held up her Ran’dyl, displaying the hologram from before. She pointed to a swirl bisected by a J. “That’s the output from the tracker I put in Zerin’s Ran’dyl when we were kids,” she said. “It’s coming from the third floor of this restaurant.”

I released her. “Fine. Just don’t hurt her.”

Azo’lah unsheathed her weapon and spun it smoothly in her palm. “Who said anything about hurting her?” She stepped up to the podium. “Most respected hostess,” Azo’lah greeted the judgy orange alien. She craned her neck so her lone eye could meet Azo’lah’s gaze. “I am Azo’lah Myax, in service of Fulyiti Kezira of House Fuiq of Destyr. My deepest apologies for bothering you with such a trivial matter, but my younger brother went on a holiday weeks ago and has not returned our comms nor come home. My mothers are worried. I have great reason to believe he is inside your restaurant. I only wish to enter with my companions in order to retrieve him.” Azo’lah laid her zali’thir upon the podium. “I present to you my zali’thir in solemn promise to not cause trouble while within your establishment. I offer you this most sacred weapon of my sworn duty for safe-keeping until we have vacated the premises without incident.”

“Shit,” Matt murmured.

“Azo’lah,” I gasped, “that’s—”

The hostess giggled. “Brothers are the same no matter what the species.” She stowed the zali’thir in a hidden compartment on her podium. “You go in, grab him, and then you leave. You disturb any of my customers that you shouldn’t, and I keep the pretty knife.”

Azo’lah bowed her head. “You are most generous.” She stepped past the podium beckoning Matt and me to follow.

“Azo’lah,” I hissed upon catching up with her. “Really? Your zali’thir?”

Azo’lah waved a hand as though she could physically brush away my very valid concerns. “It will be fine. We will get Zerin and be back at that podium reclaiming my weapon in a few moments.”

The soles of our boots squealed against the polished floors. The aliens seated around the tables glared at us and our noisy shoes before returning their judgment to the abundance of food that filled their serving dishes. 

“What the hell is that?” I asked as we bypassed a table of a dozen avian aliens who were pecking at what looked like neon purple lobsters with spiked shells.

“Urpa,” Matt replied, “a delicacy from the Gamma Quadrant. Never had it. I’ve heard it tastes like pork but has the consistency of jello once you break through the outer layer.”

We reached a spiral staircase. Azo’lah took the steps three at a time. “Keep up.”

Matt rolled his eyes at Azo’lah’s sharp tone.

“She’s just worried about her brother,” I whispered as we scurried to obey.

“No, it’s more than that.” Matt shook his head as we ascended to the third level. “She’s been like this since before we found out about Zerin.”

I winced at how observant he was. “Maybe,” I conceded.

“What do you know that I don’t?” he asked.

“A lot about archaeology,” I panted as we finally reached our destination floor. Azo’lah was already fifteen yards ahead of us, her silver-white braid lashing behind her like a whip as she surveyed the diners in search of Zerin.

Matt’s deep brown eyes narrowed as he studied me. I opened my mouth to head off a further inquisition, but instead, he said, “Come on, let’s catch up with our beloved Azo-zo before she rips her brother’s head off for scaring their moms.”

I inhaled sharply with relief. With any luck, Matt would forget about this exchange and never mention Azo’lah’s strange behavior ever again. Then again, when had I ever been lucky?

“You see him?” I stopped at Azo’lah’s side, searching the diners for a Destyrian man. I saw none.

“No,” Azo’lah lifted her Ran’dyl display to double-check the coordinates. “However, the tracker in his Ran’dyl says he’s at that table.” She pointed to a group of gaudily dressed aliens who were louder than the rest of the restaurant combined.

Matt said, “That’s the problem, isn’t it?”“The problem? Explain,” Azo’lah demanded.

“You tracked Zerin’s Ran’dyl,” Matt explained slowly. “Not Zerin himself.”

Realization hit me the same time it did Azo’lah. Her expression hardened, and she beelined for the table.

“Shit,” I whispered. I knew that look; it usually preceded someone getting punched in the face. Matt and I circumnavigated the tables and servers, skidding to a halt as Azo’lah was saying, “—looking for my brother, Zerin. Any assistance you can render would be most appreciated.”

All those seated at the table turned their beady eyes to the alien Azo’lah was speaking with. Like everyone at the table, he was waif-thin with sharp-edged limbs, his sky-blue skin punctuated with a smattering of green dots, like freckles. His small, black eyes sat above three noses and a mouth filled with piranha-like teeth.

The alien looked at his brethren then began laughing uproariously. The entire table joined him in his exaggerated mirth.

“Assist you,” the alien guffawed between gasps for air. He dabbed at his eyes with a gold-lined cloth napkin. “Thank you for that. I needed the laugh.”

“You are so bad, Kelmit,” one of the table members told him. 

Kelmit winked at her. “You know it.” 

“I did not realize I said anything amusing,” Azo’lah’s tone was low and even. Too much so. I shot Matt a warning look. 

“Of course not, Myax,” Kelmit raised his glass in a mocking toast. “Such a boring order, the Myax of Destyr,” he informed his tablemates. “Always intimidating everyone with their stature and their weapons and,” his thin lips drooped into a melodramatic frown, “their serious dispositions.” I imagined I could hear Azo’lah grinding her teeth together. Kelmit raised an arm, beckoning a server with skeletal fingers. “Another round of urpa for the table.” His sleeve slipped to reveal a staggeringly familiar black band around his wrist.

I wasn’t the only one who noticed.

“Bingo,” Matt said.

Azo’lah’s eyes took on a more dangerous gleam. “Where did you get that Ran’dyl?”

Instead of answering her, Kelmit drank deeply from his glass and asked the man beside him, “You own a home on Paltro, yes? I’ve been looking into buying a holiday property there as well. I hear the days there are deliciously frigid—”

“Excuse me,” Azo’lah repeated, voice raised, “but I asked where—”

Kelmit’s guests glared at Azo’lah, but Kelmit himself merely talked over her, “I’ve been told maintaining a household staff costs next to—”

Azo’lah took a threatening step forward. I did not like Kelmit’s chances of living long enough to purchase his vacation home if Azo’lah reached his end of the table.

Matt and I grabbed her elbows, dragging her back.

“Azo’lah,” I said, both of my hands squeezing her forearm, “not here.”

“Let me get this one,” Matt suggested.

“This is my—” Azo’lah began to argue.

“I’ve dealt with this type of knobhead before,” Matt interrupted smoothly. “New money type. All bluster and flash trying to impress his posh old money friends by buying them everything on Cassian. I know just how to communicate with this type.”

Azo’lah met Matt’s gaze, her navy eyes boring into his. After a tense moment, she nodded. Matt grinned, “Back in a jiff.”

He rounded the table, stooping to whisper in Kelmit’s ear. Kelmit sneered. He turned, opening his mouth to tell Matt off, but before Kelmit could get a word out, he was flying forward, his forehead slamming against the tabletop. Plates and silverware rattled, emptied pieces of urpa shell jumped, and sauce splattered everywhere. The aliens seated around the table yelped in surprise. The hand Matt was using to grip the back of Kelmit’s neck yanked him upright.

The rest of the diners, so used to this kind of behavior aboard Cassian, paid us no mind.

Kelmit’s sky-blue skin, now covered in green sauce, paled to the color of ice as Matt, once again, whispered in his ear.

“What do you think he’s saying to him?” I whispered to Azo’lah.

“That he’s lucky that I’m not the one over there,” Azo’lah replied, her smile a dangerous flash of teeth.

“I bought it at a place called Maximo’s. On—on the eighth floor,” Kelmit stammered, all trace of his previous bravado gone.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” Matt released Kelmit’s neck and grabbed his wrist, removing Zerin’s Ran’dyl. “And I’ll be taking this.” He held it up and waved it at Azo’lah and me. “Ladies, we’re done here.”

Azo’lah growled at Kelmit one last time before leading us back to the stairs. Matt silently passed over Zerin’s Ran’dyl. After a long moment, she said, “Thank you. For what you did back there. I don’t know if I could’ve maintained control when dealing with that--”

“Of course. What’s crew for anyway?” he replied quickly.

When we reached the bottom of the steps, I asked, “So Maximo’s on the eighth floor?”

Matt nodded. “To find out how they got in possession of Zerin’s Ran’dyl in the first place.”

The hostess held Azo’lah’s zali’thir high as we passed the podium. Azo’lah grabbed it and said, “Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” said the hostess, her mouth curling into a feral smile. “Next time, feel free to slam his face harder.”

Maximo’s Pawn Shop was a hole in the wall. Literally. The shop was only accessible through a man-hole-sized opening in a latticed, neon green security field that was almost as blinding as the giant holographic sign waving in front of it. The sign depicted a reedy, mustachioed alien with twin mouths sporting sleazy grins that put Earth car salespeople to shame. Once we jimmed through the fence, we came face to face with a rusty metal door. Azo’lah pressed the buzzer, and the door clanked upwards, like the world’s loudest, most secure garage. Aged stickers that my implant translated as “DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT” flashed past us in fifteen different languages. 

I blinked against the glare. A large, semicircular counter took up the interior of the shop. It was made of thick but startlingly clear glass that showcased a variety of everyday objects and a whole bunch of oddities I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the use of, all lit from within by neon lights that continually changed colors like a ravers’ fever dream. 

I looked up, expecting to find the smarmy, two-mouthed eponymous shop owner from the hologram. Instead, a rather bored-looking alien resembled a four and half-foot tall porcupine whose face had been forcibly flattened. He stared up at us with dark eyes that barely cleared the counter as we approached. “Welcome to Maximo’s. What are you in the market for today?” he drawled. His apathetic tone gave me the impression that he was teenaged, but I wasn’t about to ask him to confirm it. 

Azo’lah placed the Ran’dyl we’d commandeered from Kelmit onto the counter. “It is my understanding that this piece was purchased from this shop.” 

“If you’re trying to recover information, we scrub ‘em clean before they get put out for sale.” The porcu-person flicked at the device with a claw. “So I can’t help you there.” 

“We’re looking for the Destyrian who sold it to you,” I explained. 

Matt pulled up a detailed three-dimensional hologram of Zerin wearing a dark metal circlet on his brow. Zerin’s most recent royal portrait. 

Excitement replaced all traces of boredom on the alien’s flat furry features, his quills bristling. “You after him, too?” 

“What do you mean?” Azo’lah frowned. “Who else was after him?” 

The alien huffed dramatically. “Who’s asking?” 

Azo’lah leaned in close. “His Myax sister.” 

“Sex me upside down,” the alien breathed, looking at Azo’lah. I assumed this was a swear in his native language that was being translated, quite literally, by my implant. Considering the way his eyes scanned Azo’lah, it may not have been. I couldn’t blame him. If Azo’lah came into the store where I worked as a teen, I probably would’ve said something equally stupid. 

Matt rapped his knuckles on the counter, drawing the alien’s attention to the conversation. “Well?” 

“Yeah, he came here on my last shift, caused a big kerfluffle.” The alien absentmindedly stroked a quill, staring intently at Azo’lah’s reactions. “Can you really kill someone in two hundred and nineteen different ways?” 

I resisted the urge to plant my face against the countertop. “Two hundred and twenty-five,” I sighed, wondering if it was true. “But then again, I’ve never seen her kill someone of your species.” 

The alien blinked, looking torn between awed, terrified, and turned on, which, honestly was fair. “He wanted to sell the Ran’dyl to pay off a debt. He looked kinda cagey. Like the people he owed might be following him, which isn’t unusual here. I thought the piece looked relatively new and in order, so why not? Until who he owed came nito the shop.” All the alien’s quills trembled as he paused dramatically. “It was...the Covlax,” he said into the expectant silence. 

Matt, Azo’lah, and I looked at each other. “And then what happened?” Matt asked. It sounded like he maybe didn’t want to know the answer. 

“He tried to pay off the debt with the money I gave him, but the lead guard said it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t just about the money. Someone in his family had insulted the honor of the Covlax Vic. Like, who would be that stupid?” 

We could, apparently. And it might have just cost Azo’lah her brother. 

“Do you know where they took him? Are they still on station?” Azo’lah asked stiffly. 

The porcupine alien blinked at her. “I wasn’t going to ask where they were taking him. I’m not dumb enough to interfere with the Covlax.” Okay, really, this kid could stop rubbing it in. “Though I’m guessing he’s en route to their planet by now for interrogation and shit.” 

I cringed. And shit, indeed.

He laughed, his stubble scratching against my cheek. His hands left my hips to gesture to the floor of his room where his retina-searing robe lay. Beside it, the golden rope from the reception glistened atop my discarded sash. “I think we like each other just fine.”

I grabbed his hands and returned them to my body. “You know what I mean,” I argued into a new kiss.

“Just because we’ve been on opposite sides of a fight doesn’t mean we don’t like each other,” Shockley said. I tugged upward on the hem of his shirt. He helpfully raised his arms.

“But that’s—” I lost my admittedly loose grasp on the point I was trying to make as Shockley’s shirt joined our clothing pile. It was one thing to know Shockley was broad-shouldered and well-muscled, to distantly know that he was in shape and physically capable. It was another to see it. I stepped back and stared at the taut lines of his abdomen, the broad plane of his chest, the inviting curves of his biceps. We hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights and the city lights streaming through the window framed every outrageously defined inch of him.

“You alright, Borowicz?” he teased, running a hand through his disheveled curls. His hair was, annoyingly, as soft as it looked. His entire upper body flexed with the lifting of his arm.

“Oh, fuck you,” I shot back.

Shockley held up his pointer and middle finger and entwined them. “I mean, fingers crossed, right?”

God, I hated him. But also, I was coming to realize, I really, really didn’t. And my liking him had very little to do with how he looked without a shirt on. “You know what I mean!” I motioned at his bare torso. “You call yourself an archaeologist, and you look like that! No archaeologist looks like this in real life!”

Shockley pulled me close, his mouth going to my neck. He nudged the collar of my dress out of his way with his chin. “I thought you said I wasn’t an archaeologist.”

“You’re not,” I said. “But you—”

Shockley cut me off with his mouth. “Gretchen, you know it’s okay if you like me, right? I promise, your secret is safe with me.”

I kissed him hard, pressing up onto my toes to bury my hands in his hair again. Through the thin fabric of my gown, his hands burned hot on the small of my back. His fingers deftly undid the buttons of my gown and eased it from my shoulders. In my attempt to remove the well-fitted sleeves, my hands got caught. We parted, both of us laughing as I fought against the dress; my arms flailed, trapped.

Of course, something this mortifying would happen to me.

Shockley stilled my elbows. “Only you, Gretchen,” he whispered, shaking his head. He gently removed each of my hands from my fabric prison.

“This Destyrian formal wear is a nightmare. I’m usually not this much of a disaster undressing myself,” I promised as the dress slipped to my hips.

“Somehow, I doubt that.” Shockley’s grinning face shone in the moonlight. God, he had a spectacular smile.

His hand, calloused but gentle, cupped my cheek. He dipped down, touching our foreheads together. The air around us wound tight with a sudden tension, the congenial, laughing atmosphere of a moment ago swept away by something much more serious.

Pressed against Shockley, breathing in tandem with him, I was struck by how comfortable I was. How safe to be myself, I felt. “Max, I—”

A beep from my wrist interrupted me. I glared at my Ran’dyl for its rudeness.

I tried again. “Max—”

The damn thing beeped again. Shockley raised his eyebrow as I ran my thumb across my Ran’dyl to silence it. “Better?” he asked.

I rolled my eyes and tried to smile. “Yeah,” I said.

Gretchen Myaxi, where are you? screamed through my head like a freight train.

“Azo’lah?” I asked out loud.

Shackley’s jaw dropped, his eyes pinching together in question.

I backed up a step, bringing my palms to my temples. “Oh, shit, no. That’s not—”

Gretchen! Where are you? Tell me now, Azo’lah demanded across our technopathic link. Her voice was filled with concern and anger.

I was sure there was nothing wrong with Fleetwood, Chester, or Matt for, if their safety were in jeopardy, Azo’lah wouldn’t have wasted time in telling me. I couldn’t imagine why she was demanding my current location.

Not wanting to give away our secret to Shockley, I sent back a text through our minds. I’m fine, I’m back at the guest quarters of the palace. What’s wrong?

What’s wrong is that you are lying! Azo’lah thundered. You are not in your rooms! Where. Are. You?

Shit, shit, shit.

I took another small step back from Shockley, ignoring the way my stomach filled with leaden disappointment at the loss of his touch.

“Gretchen?” he asked, his voice soft as the rug beneath my feet.

“Sorry, sorry,” I said out loud, holding up my wrist with my Ran’dyl. “I just remembered that I promised to check in with Azo’lah before I went to sleep. She won’t—she won’t stop unless I call her.”

Shockley’s brow contracted dubiously for a moment before he nodded. “Of course, check-in. I can wait.”

GRETCHEN! I could feel Azo’lah’s rage pour down our connection. It only stoked my frustration at being interrupted further.

I activated the comms on my Ran’dyl. “Azo’lah, what?”

“Gretchen, where are you?” She sounded as ragged over the Ran’dyl as she did in our internal comms. “Are you alright? Where are—”

“Azo’lah,” I cut in, “I’m fine. Calm down. I’m at the guest quarters in the palace like I said.”

“No, you are not! I am in our room at this very moment, and you are not present!”

Shockley’s eyes widened as he folded his impressive arms across his even more impressive chest. His mouth twisted into a teasing smirk.

Surveying Shockley and my mutual half-nakedness, I said, “I’m, uh, in a friend’s room?”

Shockley stifled his barking laughter with his knuckles.

“A friend? What friend? You don’t have friends here outside of the crew!”

Shockley’s hand fell, his mirth bursting forth unencumbered.

I smacked his muscled stomach playfully. “Cut it out.”

“Is that—” Azo’lah’s concern and anger were replaced with quiet disbelief as she asked, “Is that Shockley? Are you with Shockley?”

My cheeks burned hot. “Ye-yeah. But why does it matter? Azo’lah, what is going on?”

“You’re in Shockley’s guest quarters? He’s with the Western contingent, yes? They’re the floor below ours.” Azo’lah did not wait for my confirmation before continuing. “I’ll be right there.”

“Azo’lah, that’s not necessary…” I was met with uncaring silence. She had already cut-off our comms. Reaching out to her using our telepathic bond would be useless at this point. She was coming looking for Shockley’s room no matter what I said.

My heart settled in my stomach like an anchor on the ocean floor.

Shockley crossed to the light panel, bringing his room into blinding relief. I blinked against the sharp light as he asked, “Why do I feel the way I did when my parents caught me with someone in the backseat of my car in high school?”

“Backseat of your car? Classy,” I snarked as I shoved my arms into the flimsy sleeves of my dress.

Shockley shrugged, unashamed. “Hey, I used the few resources afforded to me.”

“I’m sure you did.” I wrestled with the buttons at the back of my dress. After a long, unsuccessful moment, I glared at Shockley. “A little help, please?”

“Seems counterintuitive,” Shockley said as he moved to help me. I held my hair out of his way. “Do you think—”

Shockley’s question was cut off by Azo’lah’s screams of, “Gretchen! Gretchen!” echoing in the hall outside his room.

“How the hell did she get here so fast?” Shockley asked as the door dematerialized without either of us activating it. The lines of amusement that had creased his face moments before were replaced with divots of confusion as Azo’lah, still in her wedding finery, strode into his room, uninvited. “How the hell did you get in here? That door was locked.”

Azo’lah’s gaze landed on me. Her navy eyes widened fractionally—whether because of my proximity to Shockley, or our state of undress, or possibly because of the bird’s nest that Shockley’s hands had turned my hair into. Her nostrils flared, and the line of her mouth hardened. Exasperation flared molten hot in my chest at her evident judgment of me.

She turned her gaze on Shockley.“Myax override,” she lied easily.

Shockley wasn’t buying it. “Myax override in a palace that isn’t your Auhtula’s?”

Azo’lah ignored him. “Gretchen, you must come with me to the Killer Qu’een at once.”

“Why?” I returned her glare full-force. “Are Fleetwood, Chester, and Matt alright?”

“They are fine. There has been a security breach in the palace. Someone has broken into our rooms and ransacked your quarters.”

A buzzing filled my ears, along with a gaping chasm of disconnect in my brain, which widened as I processed the phrases security breach and ransacked your quarters. “Why would someone break into my room?”

“We do not yet know. To steal your work, to hurt you.” Her glower softened as she said, “It is possible they were attempting to break into the Fulyiti’s quarters and got the wrong room.”

“Where’s Fleetwood now?” Shockley asked, the man of moments ago replaced by the mercenary captain. “Is she safe?”

Azo’lah’s voice was colder than the vacuum of space as she replied, “Fulyiti Fleetwood’s safety is none of your concern.”

Shockley stooped to retrieve his shirt. “Whatever happened at the temple on Vas Roya, I like Fleetwood. I don’t want anything bad to happen to her.”

Azo’lah ignored him, a muscle in her jaw twitching. “Gretchen, come, please. Milyna and my Myax sisters are with the Fulyiti and the others—”

“I’m coming, too,” Shockley said as he grabbed a black canvas jacket from a chair and pulled it on.

“No, you are not,” Azo’lah returned. “This does not concern you.”

“Tyler was with Matt on your ship tonight,” Shockley argued as he held out his arm, offering something to lean against as I put on my shoes. “That’s where you’re going right now, right? Which means, if this is what we both think this is, then a member of my crew may be in danger. That makes this my business.” Shockley helped haul me back to my full height. “Regardless, you’re in enemy territory. I don’t think you have the luxury of turning down help.”

Azo’lah stepped forward and grabbed my hand, wrenching me from Shockley’s grasp. “I do not have time to argue this. I will not stop you from coming with us,” she conceded as she pulled me toward the hall. Shockley followed us quickly. “But if you do anything—”

“I won’t,” Shockley promised as his door materialized at our backs. Our footsteps echoed against the cavernous ceiling of the empty hallway.

Azo’lah’s strides elongated as she growled, “Then keep up.”

“Is this really necessary?” I asked as we were stopped by two Myax—one from our own escort and one from the Auhtul Cal’ton’s—at the base of the Killer Qu’een. I was surprised that Shockley silently submitted to being scanned.

“This one’s translation implant is registered as belonging to a mercenary wanted on the Central continent.” Cal’ton’s Myax’s lip twitched in either amusement or disgust. “Such interesting company your house keeps Azo’lah Myax. This one cannot enter. Would you like me to arrest him instead?”

“Do as you wish.” Azo’lah waved a dismissive hand and hauled me up the ramp. I pried my arm out of her grip. “No, don’t! Azo’lah will vouch for him.” Azo’lah glared at me over her shoulder.

I shrugged and moved in front of Shockley. “Fine, I’m going back to my room.”

Azo’lah inhaled bracingly. “Yes, alright. I vouch for him on my honor as a Myax,” Azo’lah glanced at Shockley. “We both know the consequences if it is broken?”

“Don’t worry Azo’lah, I won’t get you into trouble,” Shockley said, winking disarmingly.

“I did not give you my name,” Azo’lah pivoted, stalking into the ship. The ramp was immediately retracted behind us, sealing off the outside world. The scene inside the Killer Qu’een’s common room was like someone had started out writing a movie about a frat house that strangely veered into a political thriller. A keg of beer dominated the kitschy, sculpted banana coffee table on top of the glittery faux tiger skin rug. Glasses in various states of fullness were scattered about the space, along with what looked like half the contents of Fleetwood’s closet. A familiar 70s disco anthem blared from the rainbow-lit jukebox in the corner. Solemn-faced Myax lined either side of the room like white and navy chess pieces waiting to be put into play.

Matt cat-called us as we entered. From his spot on the floor, he held up his glass and drunkenly cheers-ed the air in my direction.

“Ohh! You owe me a sample of fur’tol, your Majesty,” Chester crowed victoriously. Cross-legged, he was perched upon Tyler’s back as he, rather impressively, continued to execute push-ups.

Auhtul Cal’ton looked up from where he was sprawled next to Fleetwood on the plush lip-shaped sofa. He stood, stepping over Matt’s sprawling legs. Cal’ton circled me, tugging curiously at the mismatched buttons of my hastily redonned dress.

I stepped back, accidentally tripping over Azo’lah. “Sorry,” I said as Shockley helped steady me.

“And that’s ten,” Tyler panted. Fleetwood lifted Chester off of Tyler’s back. He flopped to the beer-slicked floor, rolled to his back, and glanced up at us upside down. “Oh yeah, you totally owe Chester a sample, Cal’ton. That is some sex hair on Gretchen.”

“Please don’t, your Majesty,” I said, craning backward when Cal’ton’s hand reached for my deepening blush again.

“My apologies if I offended you,” the Auhtul said, bowing slightly. The sloppy motion spilled more beer onto the floor. “I know very little about your manners and customs.”

I shook my head, not wanting to cause a political incident. “No apology is necessary.”

“Most humans prefer to be touched by close friends and relatives only, except when seeking sexual gratification,” Fleetwood explained patiently, patting Cal’ton’s vacated seat for him to return.

The Auhtul sighed as he wedged himself between Fleetwood and Chester. “I shall have your sample sent to the palace in Thal next week, Chester, her Favored. You do know your friends well.”

“Some of us do,” Fleetwood said, just this side of too sweetly, with a pointed look at Azo’lah. “I told you where Gretchen probably was, and I was right. There was no need to overreact and halt the party train.”

“I was not overreacting.” Azo’lah strode over to the jukebox and deactivated it. She snatched Matt’s glass out of his hand, ignoring his protest. “When I got to our suite, Gretchen’s quarters had been broken into. Her things had clearly been searched.” She shot me a fierce look. “And I will always prioritize Gretchen’s safety over her pleasure, which she should also.”

“Can we stop talking about me like I’m not here?” I stalked over to one of the red upholstered egg chairs catty-corner to the sofa and dropped into it.

“Woah,” Tyler breathed, twisting himself, so his back was propped up against the sofa seat, his legs crisscrossing with Matt’s. “You must have been having a great time if you didn’t notice that going on.”

Shockley snorted. “We were in my room, dumbass.” He folded himself onto a non-sticky patch of floor in front of me, draping an arm over my knees. I ignored Chester’s pointed smirk, desperately wishing the chair was a real egg that would hide me from everyone’s scrutiny.

Fleetwood raised a hand in an elegantly imperious gesture. Silence fell immediately. The moments in which Fleetwood exercised her royal birthright were few and far between, and therefore, all the more powerful. “Azo’lah Myax, do you know if anything was taken from Gret’chen’s room?”

“I’m not sure,” Azo’lah replied, sliding just as easily into the role of unaffected warrior. She stood across the table from her cousin, straight-backed and with her hands folded across the small of her back, Matt’s beer still clenched in her fingers. “My first goal was to ensure your safety, locate Gretchen as the only missing member of your party, and secure her. I did not have much time to search beyond that.”

Matt hoisted himself to his knees and clumsily reached around Azo’lah to steal his beer back. “Was anyone else’s room searched?”

Azo’lah shook her head. “They appeared undisturbed.”

“We were all in one suite. Why didn’t they raid all of our rooms?” Chester asked. “Gretchen, did you have any of your work with you? Anything valuable?”

“No. It's not like I carry the artifacts with me wherever I go,” I said. “I had my modified tablet that I brought for working on some sphere translations during downtime, but unless someone’s specifically interested in the Ancient’s royal records, then no. Everything else is clothes.”

“Maybe they cased the wrong joint,” Fleetwood murmured.

“Azo’lah did mention your room is beside Gretchen’s, Fleetwood,” Shockley said.

“Yes, but the Auhtul is our next-door neighbor,” Fleetwood tapped her fingers against her knees.

The young Auhtul blinked owlishly. “You think they were looking for something of mine?”

“Or trying to intimidate you,” Milyna said from her post along the wall. “Perhaps someone saw you leaving the reception with Fulyiti Kezira.”

“I wouldn’t put it past Pola to try and frighten someone into submission and likely not do the dirty work herself,” Matt mused. “She seems like that kinda Queen.”

“Oh, she is,” Shockley concurred, resting his chin on his arm. His eyes crinkled at the edges when he caught me looking at him. I had to physically restrain myself from running my hand through his hair in front of everyone.

Even in his inebriated state, the young Auhtul appeared shaken by the implications of our discussion. Cal’ton turned to Fleetwood. “You think another Auhtula would seek to intimidate a rightful ruler?”

Fleetwood met his gaze with large, sorrowful eyes. “The whole reason we went to the Temple of Aluthua was that she was trying to remove my mother with claims of illegitimacy. We had to obtain the artifacts to prove she had the bloodline of the first Auhtula.”

“And Pola hired us to get them first,” Tyler added, his head lolling back onto the sofa seat. He smiled lazily at Matt, reaching for his beer. Matt held it away from him, grinning. More beer splattered across the floor.

I dropped my head against the back of my chair. Why couldn’t the would-be thieves wait until the crew was sober?

“If that is what Pola wanted, she failed,” Cal’ton announced, linking his arm through Fleetwood’s. She ducked her head quickly to hide her triumphant smile. “I will choose to associate and ally with whomever I wish.”

“It may not even be Pola,” Shockley said, directing his eyes to Azo’lah. “Your merry band blew up J’olpri.”

“And pissed off Sadrilla,” Tyler added cheerfully. He held up his hand, which Matt promptly met in an exceptionally uncoordinated high-five.

“Maybe you are responsible and are attempting to misdirect us,” Azo’lah interjected.

“Can’t be,” Matt argued. “They’re the only members of their crew here. Tyler’s been with me all day, there are multiple witnesses in the city, not to mention the security feed on the ship. Shockley was at the reception and left with Gretchen. Besides, with all of the security for the wedding, it’s unlikely the intruder wasn’t Destyrian. Think about it. There are only three humans invited to this wedding, and you’re all pretty distinctive. Anyone who wasn’t Destyrian would’ve been too obvious.”

“Unless you can shape shift,” Chester muttered. I looked at Azo’lah as I thought of Jordan, Sadrilla’s shape-shifting henchman.

Azo’lah said, “With all members of the party verified safe, we need to secure the room and perform a proper search. As well as see if we can get access to any of the security footage.” She turned to the white-clad Myax, who was stationed closest to the Auhtul. She must be the Auhtul’s First Myax. “With your permission, I believe it is safer for the Auhtul to remain with the Fulyiti aboard the ship until this has been done.”

The Auhtul’s First Myax nodded. “I agree. I will also send two of our number to make sure the Auhtul’s rooms were undisturbed and to expedite the work.”

“Milyna and I will accompany you,” Azo’lah replied, directing the remaining Myax in their duties while she was away. She looked torn at leaving Fleetwood out of her sight, but I knew she was itching to use her powers on the security system. She pressed her forehead to Fleetwood’s, Chester’s, and Matt’s much longer than she did mine before she departed.

When Azo’lah’s retreating back had vanished down the orange, racing striped corridor, Fleetwood flopped onto Chester with a piteous groan. “I hope she finds something, or my freedom will be castrated. Why did this have to happen after J’olpri?”

Chester smoothed Fleetwood’s glittering waves over his lap, smiling sympathetically.

“So, does this mean the party is over?” Auhtul Cal’ton asked morosely. “I have not had such fun in countless binary cycles.”

Shockley caught my eye. “Me neither, your Majesty. Me neither.”

Once Azo’lah, Milyna, and Auhtul Cal’ton’s Myax completed their searches of our quarters —nothing was missing, nor was there evidence of foul play—we were allowed to return to the palace for the rest of the night, lest our collective absence raise suspicion. Shockley and I parted ways beneath the watchful eyes of the Myax. I barely slept as all the possible reasons for the break-in churned in my head.

Breakfast in our suite was a silent affair. Fleetwood, fresh-faced but groggy, blinked at her food instead of eating it, while Chester mainlined as much vyt’al as he could. Azo’lah shoveled fruit into her mouth, participating in a one-sided staring contest with the wall.

Milyna and our three other Myax stood sentry at the door, as though whoever broke in the night prior was lying in wait to swipe our breakfast.

“So are we just...not going to talk about what happened last night?” I asked my plate, pushing my food around. For some reason, I wasn’t hungry.

Chester grinned at me over the lip of his cup. “By all means, Gretch, if you want to give us a play-by-play of how you and Shockley ended up—”

“That’s not what I meant,” I groaned.

Still refusing to make eye contact, Azo’lah pushed out from her seat and told the table, “The wedding festivities reconvene in the city center shortly. Be prepared to leave in an hour. I will go retrieve Matt from the ship.” She turned to her Myax sisters. “No one leaves or enters until I return.” Our Myax sentinels parted for Azo’lah to pass, their wall of protection reforming upon her exit.

Fleetwood speared a piece of melon with her fork. “What a dumpster inferno.”

Chester did not bother correcting her. Instead, he nodded and said, “A dumpster inferno indeed.”

I left my untouched breakfast, retreating to the solitary safety of a scalding shower. Under the hot stream, I alternated between contemplating potential culprits of last night’s break-in and their possible motivations and wondering if Shockley would seek me out at today’s celebrations.

Once cleaned and dressed in my prescribed outfit—a thankfully simple tunic and pants in the silver and navy of the House of Fuiq—I returned to our common area to find Matt and Azo’lah already returned. 

“Morning, hot stuff,” Matt said. Though he wasn’t an official attendant to the wedding, Fleetwood had a matching aviator’s jacket commissioned specially for him for today so that he would fit in with our group. Beneath his perfectly tousled curls, he was as clear-eyed as usual, which was staggering considering how inebriated he was the night before.

I held up my middle finger in greeting, even as my chest twinged with fondness. While I wished that my escapade with Shockley was not the topic of conversation, there was something comforting about Matt’s gently teasing tone. It felt like family.

Chester whistled loudly as he and Fleetwood exited their rooms, dressed similarly to me. “Well, don’t we clean up nicely?”

“Duh,” Fleetwood said as she linked arms with her Favored. “Our groups’ general attractiveness is one of our top three best assets.”

“What are the other two?” I already regretted asking the question.

Fleetwood straightened. “Our exceptional taste in music that slaps and our ability to strike fear in the souls of men.”

Matt tilted his head consideringly and hummed. 

“Are we prepared to leave?” Azo’lah interjected, her voice as rigid as her spine.

“Where are we going exactly?” I asked.

“Destyrian weddings are days-long affairs,” Chester replied. I nodded—from the research I had done prior to our trip, I had read about weddings that lasted whole binary cycles. “Today is when the newly joined couple walks through the town center to receive blessings and felicitations from those who could not attend the ceremony. It’s basically a super dignified parade followed by a lot of undignified eating, drinking, and dancing.”

“We must attend,” Azo’lah said, “and we must look as though nothing is amiss. We do not know who invaded Gretchen’s space, nor what they sought. Until we have answers, we remain unbothered by outsiders.” Her judgemental gaze burned a hole in my cheek.

“Fortified we stand,” Fleetwood agreed, skipping over to her cousin and linking arms. She wrapped her other arm around Milyna’s waist and drew the two Myax toward the exit. “Come along, beloved cousin and friend, you shall be my escorts on this most joyous of days. Most Favored, Chester, you, Gretchen, and Matt should keep your heads down, stick to the guidelines—”

“Sidelines,” Chester corrected with a gentle grin. “Roger that.” He grabbed my hand and nudged me toward Matt. With my free arm, I mimicked Fleetwood and wound it through Matt’s.

Fleetwood sighed dreamily as she, Azo’lah, and Milyna led our group out of our chambers and down the hall. “Cousin, do you think there will be more jli’nah? It is my favorite!”

I shot Chester a questioning frown as we fell into step behind them, and the rest of our Myax guard, behind us. “We need to stay close together and look united not only for the sake of appearances but for protection,” he explained, “but we also need to make it look like we aren’t staying close together for protection.”

“And, if the humans stick together and to the back a little bit, “ Matt added with a shrug, “the better to figure out there’s a motive if someone makes a move today.”

“So we’re trying to draw someone out?” I asked, flabbergasted that Azo’lah would agree to a plan that put Fleetwood into such immediate danger.

Matt shook his head, his rich brown eyes sharpening. “No, we’re issuing a challenge.”

Chester’s hand in mine squeezed. My heart warmed at my friend’s unspoken promise to continue to stay at my side in the face of potential danger. 

We exited the palace and walked the winding, cobbled path into the city center, where the parading couple was already receiving gifts and blessings from their citizens. The sky was cloudless and bright, the twin suns shone merrily overhead as though they, too, had been invited to the day’s celebration. The Destyrians of Virat, though a bit subdued compared to the night of our arrival, were no less sincere and joyful for their princess’s wedded bliss. Flower crowns were donned, and multi-colored streamers danced on the gentle breeze. Cheers for the new couple rose from the crowds every few minutes, and music followed us down every street. The energy was infectious. As we joined the crowd of spectators, it was almost easy to forget that someone had broken into my room with a potentially nefarious purpose the night before.

“So,” Matt said, “care to explain what happened with you and a certain mercenary last night?”

“Ugh, no, not you too,” I groaned.

Chester poked me in the ribs. “Come on, you know you want to tell us.”

“Hey,” I feebly swatted his hand away, “aren’t we in the middle of some sort of dangerous political intrigue? Is now really the time to talk about this?”

Matt stopped in front of a tent selling zlatah and fruit stuffed pastries. “Pretty sure acting like nothing is afoot and talking about this is all part of the political intrigue.”

“Yes, yes, that,” Chester agreed, emphatically pointing at Matt while leaning into my shoulder. He lowered his voice, “So in the name of Fleetwood’s safety, tell us whether or not you saw Shockley in all of his—”

I snorted. “Absolutely not.”

“I haven’t been on a date since that cute landscaper a couple months back, and that didn’t go anywhere,” Chester pleaded. “Give me something!”

“Yeah, tell us.” Matt nudged me with his hip as we moved towards the front of the line.

I raised a skeptical eyebrow at Matt. The most reserved of our crew, I wasn’t sure why he would care about something like this. “You want to hear about this?”

“Absolutely,” Matt said. “I hate drama in my own life, but when it’s happening to other people, I love to hear about it. And what happened last night between you, Shockley, and Azo’lah—”

“Hot mess express,” Chester finished gleefully.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spied Azo’lah, Fleetwood, and Milyna, arms still linked as Fleetwood chattered amiably with a fellow Destyrian royal dressed in orange. As though she felt my gaze, Azo’lah turned to me, her eyebrows lifting in question. My cheeks flared with embarrassment from the night before as I shook my head to ward off her concern. “I hate you both,” I whispered to Matt and Chester as we reached the front of our line.

“No, you don’t,” Chester replied as Matt ordered us each a drink and a pastry. Unlinking ourselves, we accepted our food and found a small outcropping of tables beside the fountain where Fleetwood, Azo’lah, and Milyna sat watching children dancing with streamers. We claimed a table directly in Azo’lah’s sightline, our Myax guard staying close but maintaining an inconspicuous distance.

“You don’t have to tell us anything,” Chester said before taking an over-sized bite of pastry.

Still not hungry but wanting to keep my hands busy, I ripped my pastry into small pieces. “I know. It’s not that I don’t want to tell you, it’s that there’s not much to tell.”

“Really?” Matt asked, swirling his glass of zlatah. “Why am I weirdly disappointed in Shockley for not having as much game as I thought he did?”

“No, he definitely has game,” I corrected. Even though it felt nice and normal to be talking about something as silly and trivial as this with friends, I could feel my flush from my ears down to my chest. “We were interrupted before follow through on said game could happen.”

Chester winced in sympathy. “That sucks.”

“It’s fine,” I said, distracting myself from how much it wasn’t fine by downing half my drink. I subtly scanned the crowd for Shockley and Tyler. But Matt, Chester, and I were still the only humans present. “It was a weird thing to even happen. The fact that it was interrupted by Azo’lah for an even weirder reason honestly shouldn’t surprise me at this point.”

Matt held up his glass. “Life in outer space, am I right?”

“Hell yeah.” Chester and I clinked our glasses against his.

“Do you guys have theories about,” Chester wiggled his fingers for emphasis, “you know?”

“No theories,” Matt said darkly. “A few thousand questions.”

A few thousand questions sounded about right. Though at this point, regardless of who broke into my room and their motivations for doing so, I had the distinct feeling that if we ever found the culprit, we weren’t going to like their answers.

“Greetings, fellow royals!” Fleetwood strode into the palace’s cathedral-sized banquet hall, arms spread wide. Her elaborately embroidered split front gown over pants reflected the amber light, bouncing fractal reflections off of the shocked Destyrian faces like a living Disco ball. I did my best to hide behind Azo’lah as the eyes of the two dozen Destyrians present turned to us. Tonight’s matrimonial event, the second to last of the whole ordeal, was a nobility (and guests) only banquet.

I had survived the anxiety of the wedding just to find myself once again surrounded by important Destyrians in close quarters.

Azo’lah, regal in her formal Myax uniform, turned to the head of the long rectangular table, carved with centuries worth of blessings in ancient glyphs and laiden beneath a feast that would put American Thanksgiving to shame. “Apologies for our tardiness. We had urgent matters to address,” Azo’lah said, bowing to our host, Eastern Auhtula Kero.

Chester and I hurriedly imitated her, bending at the ‘waist. It did not go unnoticed by those assembled that Fleetwood did not bow. Whispers chased us as we traversed the beautifully tiled floor. What asshole put us at the far end of the room, giving us the longest, most embarrassingly visible walk from the door? 

“So urgent that you are not only late but apparently are on duty, Azo’lah Myax?” Auhtula Xia’rali of the Western continent asked.  

“Indeed. I regret that my duty to my station must come before my enjoyment as a guest. Events have necessitated it,” Azo’lah said, keeping her eyes trained on Fleetwood, even as she answered our hostess. 

“Hello again, Auhtul Cal’ton!” Fleetwood paused by his chair, raising a fist. Cal’ton grinned, ignoring the scandalized stares, and bumped it, complete with ridiculous explosion noises. 

“What’s good, your Majesty?” Chester asked, accepting his own fist bump from the young ruler. I just waved awkwardly, practically tripping the last few feet to one of the empty seats at the end of the table, just across from the teenage Auhtul. I guessed the seating chart was somehow another snub to both our parties, which wasn’t having the intended effect. 

“What events could you possibly mean, Azo’lah Myax?” Auhtula Pola’s envoy lounged in her masterfully wrought chair, trying too hard to look imperious and miserably failing. Pola was young, and with no spouse and no offspring, had sent her younger sister, Fulyiti Li’al. The Fulyiti was even younger than Cal’ton though one could hardly tell from her face’s severe lines and intimidating stare.

“Oh, pish,” Fleetwood fell in her high-backed seat, “This traditional royal dinner only exists so we can vibe with each other and share how stoked we are for the couple.” 

Azo’lah smoothly maneuvered behind me, offering me the seat to the left of Chester and Fleetwood, and therefore furthest from the proverbial royal wolves. Azo’lah did not take her seat. She remained standing at Fleetwood’s shoulder, unlike any of the other Myax present, who were stationed on the outer walls of the room. 

“Oh, do sit down, Azo-zo,” Fleetwood said. Her eyes were pleading and wide, a childish moue on her silver-painted lips. “Everything’s going to be as fine as the royal couple over here. Sit, cousin. That’s an order.” 

Azo’lah reluctantly took the final empty seat to my left. 

“Do you mind speaking Destyrian, Fulyiti Kezira?” the newly wedded Eastern Fulyiti asked. “My wife does not have a translator implant.” 

“Of course,” Fleetwood’s voice took on the same vaguely British, filtered quality from our first night here, “I will also be able to translate whatever my companions say.” She smiled guilelessly at the rest of the assembly. “Apologies for those who will have to hear things twice.” 

I immediately resolved not to say anything for the duration of dinner. Murmurs of conversation began to spark at the table. If a stranger walked in, one might’ve thought we were the guests of honor with all the looks we were getting. 

“That’s an unusual hairstyle, Fuyiti Fleetwood,” Auhtul Cal’ton said brightly. “It suits you.” 

Fleetwood patted her signature twin buns like she forgot she’d—deliberately, I now expected—rejected the fashionable Destyrian hairstyles that adorned every other head around the table.

“Thank you, they’re called Space Buns on earth. They’re quite stylish and smart, like my Favored.” She giggled girlishly and booped Chester on the nose. He frowned. Clearly, I wasn’t the only one finding this behavior a bit much in public, even for Fleetwood. 

“And your other companion? She is not of your house,” Fulyiti Li’al sneered from Auhtula Kero’s right. 

Fleetwood paused with her fork halfway to her lips. “That’s Gretchen,” she said as if my first name was self-explanatory. A wind of whispers swept the table. “She's our royal archaeologist. But of course, you already know that otherwise, your sister wouldn’t have forced Auhtula Kero to request her presence at the wedding, nor would you have come to our empty quarters, looking for her last night.”

My chest tightened at how easily Fleetwood lobbed those accusations like water balloons down the table. 

I glanced at Chester. His mouth was a stiff, neutral line, his eyes slightly narrowed. Beneath the table, I watched as he reached for Fleetwood’s hand and squeezed.

Fulyiti Li’al jutted her chin in the air, her dark eyes blazing with indignation. “I did no such thing!”

“Oh. Well, someone did,” Fleetwood called. “Judging by the state of the room, I thought they were just attempting the Earth custom of trying to leave a note but weren’t sure whether or not you were supposed to hide it and just gave up. Regardless, it took quite a while to clean up the mess after the parade, which is why we’re so late.” 

At the head of the table, Auhtula Kero stood, staring at Fleetwood in shock. “Fulyiti Kezira, What exactly are you saying?” 

“She’s saying that someone broke into our chambers last night and ransacked the rooms of our Royal Archaeologist,” Azo’lah leveled her with a frigid glare, “who I might add is under the protection of our House.” 

“Azo’lah!” Fleetwood reached across Chester and I and shoved Azo’lah lightly, as though they were playfully gossiping and not both openly accusing rulers of subterfuge. “I told you to let me handle this. It wasn’t that big of a deal. It’s not like someone was trying to assassinate other members of the royal house during a sacred event.” 

Murmurs erupted like the soft thunder that heralded the beginning of a storm. 

“Gretchen’s room is right next to Fulyiti Kezira’s,” Azo’lah informed our host over the din. “And Auhtul Cal’ton’s chambers are next to ours. Perhaps, someone was looking to take out the representative of one of the continents neutral to Auhtula Pola’s policies.” 

“If you are implying that our delegation had anything to do with this,” Fulyiti Li’al said, sitting forward in her chair, “you have my word, on the honor of Auhtula Pola, that I had no knowledge of this.” 

“I am beginning to think that neither is worth much,” Auhtul Cal’ton said lightly. “Fulyiti Fleetwood Mercury, would you like some croq’a?” Auhtul Cal’ton offered Fleetwood his cup. The room was suddenly so quiet you could hear a pin drop. I had no idea what was going on, but it was definitely big. 

“The seven stars honor me, as you honor me, Auhtul,” Fleetwood Mercury said, accepting the cup and taking a small sip. Conversation broke out again as Fleetwood proffered her cup to Cal’ton in turn. 

“What just happened?” I murmured to Azo’lah. 

“Fleetwood just secured the alliance,” Azo’lah murmured. I looked down the table to where Fulyiti Li’al and Auhtula Xi’rali looked mutinous and faint, respectively. 

I turned toward where a beaming Auhtul Cal’ton raised his glass. “To bromance!”

I scraped my fork against my plate. “I can’t eat anymore.”

“You haven’t eaten anything,” Fleetwood pointed out, most unhelpfully.

Chester took my plate and dumped my food onto his. “I got you, Gretch.”

From my right, Azo’lah silently snatched my plate from Chester and refilled it with assorted fruit. “Eat something, Myaxi.”

“I don’t think I can.” I rubbed at my temples, the tension from last night’s royal dinner still arcing across my skull and down my spine. I had never had a migraine last this long before, and I could not wait to go back to Thal, where prying eyes didn’t follow me everywhere I went. “While I appreciate a multi-day festival that features more meals than I can count—”

“It’ll be good to get outta here?” Chester guessed.

I nodded. “And eat normal portions again.”

“Normal’s overrated,” Fleetwood said as she ravenously scooped food into her mouth, her cheeks bulging. The Destyrians situated at the tables closest to us were staring. I wasn’t sure if it was because they had heard rumors about last night’s dinner or because of Fleetwood’s unrefined manner of eating during the final wedding activity, a farewell breakfast. Sat beneath a shimmering tent of gold in the gardens, all of the attendees of note were gathered around tiny tables, consuming a sumptuous meal while staring conspicuously at our cohort.

“You got that right, Fulyiti,” Shockley said as he grabbed the chair on Fleetwood’s right, spun it around, and sat on it backward. The whispers that surrounded us intensified. Shockley grinned across the circular table at me. “Morning, Name Police. You’re looking particularly annoyed this fine day.”

“Where is Tyler?” Fleetwood asked, her eyes skating around the tent in search of the man himself and his neon snapback.

“Getting the ship ready,” Shockley said. “We’re about to head out.”

“Then do so, Shockley,” Azo’lah spun her fork like it was a deadly weapon. Then again, in her hands, it probably was. 

“Don’t worry, Myax, I’ll be out of your lustrous hair in a moment,” Shockley said, his eyes never leaving mine. “I just came to say goodbye to everyone’s favorite neighborhood archaeologist.”

“Well, you’ve said it,” Azo’lah growled. “Now, leave.”

I smacked the back of my palm against her side. “Azo’lah, quit.” I pushed back from my seat. “I’ll be right back. I’m gonna say goodbye.”

Chester’s eyebrows danced suggestively. “Sure you are.”

Shockley sprung from his seat. “Chester, until next time. Myax, I assume you’d prefer if I never spoke to you again.” Shockley stooped down and pressed a noisy kiss to Fleetwood’s cheek. “Fulyiti, a pleasure, as always.”

I stomped down on the sharp flare of jealousy in the pit of my stomach as Fleetwood smiled up at Shockley. “Tell Tyler I’ll miss him big bunches.”

“Of course,” Shockley promised, as he held out a hand gesturing me out of the tent.

“Milyna, go with them,” Azo’lah directed.

I opened my mouth to argue when I felt Shockley’s palm on the small of my back. “Don’t fight it,” he whispered in my ear. “You don’t want more eyes on Fleetwood than necessary, right?”

I exhaled sharply at his astute observation as Milyna fell in step behind us. Shockley led me to a small alcove at the edge of the garden, a wall of neatly trimmed bushes that reached well past our heads, blocking us from view on three sides. Milyna winked at me before she positioned herself, with her back to us, on the fourth.

“So, uh,” I cleared my throat and stared at one of the bushes, overwhelmingly bashful, “you and Tyler are leaving?”

Shockley gently grabbed my chin, directing my gaze to meet his smiling eyes. “Yeah. Time to pick up Nyc’arra and the new guy and go towards our next payday.”

“Well, if you have people waiting for you, don’t let me keep you,” I said, even though I hoped that he would stay just a moment longer.

With his palm now cupping my jaw, he drew me closer. “If I didn’t know you better, Borowicz, I’d think you were trying to get rid of me.”

“Me? Trying to get rid of you? You’re the one with the schedule to—”

He interrupted me with a rather thorough kiss.

When I finally came up for air, there was a distant buzzing sound—either insects or Milyna’s laughter, I couldn’t tell.

Shockley grinned and released me from his hold. “It was good seeing you, Name Police.”

“You too,” I admitted, tucking a stray hair behind my ear.

“Well,” Shockley ducked forward and kissed me one last time, “until next time, babe.”

I stood there dumbfounded. “Babe?” I called indignantly after his retreating back. I thought about going after him to tell him off about the stupid pet name, but  Azo’lah, Fleetwood, and Chester were striding toward me.

Azo’lah’s face was set in a frown, even more profound than usual. “If you are done with your goodbye,” she said, “then it is time for us to meet Matt at the ship.”

“Shouldn’t we say goodbye to Auhtula Kero? Or at least the newlyweds?” I asked, taken aback by Azo’lah’s sudden need to depart. I certainly was ready to leave the Eastern Continent, but Azo’lah’s eschewing of tradition didn’t sit well with me.

“Fleetwood has already bid farewell to the Crown Fulyiti and her new bride,” Azo’lah said, directing our group out of the garden. 

“Oh, well, then,” I fell into step beside Chester. Beneath my breath, I whispered, “What’s going on?”

Things had been tense since last night’s dinner debacle, but Azo’lah’s spine was now so taut it looked liable to snap.

“Azo’lah’s Ran’dyl has been going off non-stop all morning,” Chester replied as we left the palace grounds and wended our way toward where Matt and the Killer Qu’een awaited us. I hadn’t noticed her accepting incoming messages throughout breakfast. Seemingly reading my mind, Chester continued. “She had silenced it, but the incoming comms stacked up. They’re all from her mothers.”

My eyes widened.

“I’m sure it's nothing.” Chester sounded like he was pretty sure it was something. “I think we’re all just on edge a little bit extra after this whole wedding crisis.”

Right on cue, Azo’lah looked down at her wrist and taped it, ignoring another incoming comm. 

As the Qu’een came into view, the gangplank lowered, Matt and our three other Myax guards waiting for us in the doorway. Fleetwood took off at a run. “Matty Matt!”

Matt opened his arms as Fleetwood barreled into him. He laughed as she lifted him off his feet. Once returned to the ground, he turned to face the rest of us, and his smile fell. “Jeez, who died?”

“No one,” I said.

“Yet,” Azo’lah added as she stomped up the gangplank, Fleetwood wedged securely between her and Milyna.

“That’s not ominous,” Matt said, turning his wide eyes to Chester and me.

“Let’s get out of here,” Chester said, leading the way inside the ship. The Myax followed us in and raised the gangplank as Matt made his way to the cockpit.

Chester and I joined Fleetwood and Azo’lah in the common room. I dropped into the red egg chair. I stared at the floor and forced myself not to miss Shockley.

The engine rumbled to life, and a moment later, we were airborne, streaking back toward Thal.

“Homeward bound,” Fleetwood hummed happily as she leaned against Azo’lah on the lip-shaped couch. Securely in the air, Azo’lah seemed to unclench, if only a little bit.

From his spot on the floor, Chester said, “Maybe after we debrief with Auhtula Ty’uria, we can do a movie night? We could—”

Fleetwood’s Ran’dyl cut off Chester with a guitar riff and a wailing woman. Azo’lah glared at Fleetwood’s wrist.

Fleetwood tapped her Ran’dyl. She smiled as busts of two Destyrian women popped up before her. “Aunts!” she greeted them.

Azo’lah’s mothers. These were Azo’lah’s mothers. I straightened awkwardly in the egg chair. I could only see the backs of their heads—one with long silver hair, the other with blue.

“Mothers,” Azo’lah greeted them, her voice weighed down with fatigue. “We are on our way home from the wedding. Whatever you need must wait until after—”

“It’s Zerin,” one of Azo’lah’s mother’s said.

Fleetwood’s grin widened. “Excellent.”

“Of course, it is,” Azo’lah snorted. “What’s he done now?”

One of Azo’lah’s mothers said, “He’s missing.”

Azo’lah’s face froze in a horrifying grimace.

“Please, Azo’lah,” her mother pleaded. “We need your help finding your brother.”

There was a long moment as my brain scrambled to keep up with the conversation.

“I—” Azo’lah’s eyes darted to Fleetwood. Fleetwood nodded and Azo’lah inhaled sharply. “We’ll have our pilot change course. We can be there before the end of the day.”

Chester leaped from the floor. “I’ll give Matt the new coordinates.”

With another promise of our imminent arrival, Fleetwood hung up on her aunts.

Azo’lah scrubbed at her forehead and sighed. “I cannot believe this.”

“I can,” Fleetwood said. “Zerin always had the best timing, even when we were growing up.”

Azo’lah shook her head and stood. “I shall inform my Myax sisters of our change of plans.”

“Yeah, you should tell them,” I said watching her leave the room, wondering if her brother looked anything like her. I jerked in my seat as my brain finally caught up with the situation. I rocketed from my seat and took off after her. “Holy shit, Azo’lah! You have a brother?”