you like hounds.”
“And what would your government name you?” I reply. “I mean, if you hadn’t murdered them all for daring to make peace with Earth?”
“ ‘Peace’ is the way a cur cries ‘Surrender,’ ” Saedii replies, studying her fingernails. “Mercy is the province of cowards. The Inner Council of Syldra was in league with our enemies. They were traitors to the Syldrathi people.”
“So you destroyed them along with your own homeworld?” I demand, anger creeping into my voice. “Along with ten billion of those innocent Syldrathi people?”
“The Syldrathi people accepted the treaty with Terra, boy. They had lost their honor. They deserved no pity, and Archon Caersan showed them none.”
I bristle again at the name. Caersan. The Starslayer. The man who destroyed his own world and led the assault on Orion—the attack where we lost our dad.
“You know, it’s funny,” I reply. “You Unbroken always talk about honor. But last time I checked, attacking during a peace negotiation is just as cowardly as stabbing someone in the back. Seems to me your beloved Starslayer is about as honorable as your garden-variety cockroach.”
Saedii’s eyes flash at that.
“I will warn you once, little Terran. Where the Starslayer is concerned, watch your tongue. Or watch me hand it to you.”
“He’s a madman,” I spit. “And he—”
I don’t really see her move, I just feel the strike—the heel of her palm into the bridge of my nose. I feel a crunch, see black stars, taste blood in the back of my throat. I tumble backward off the chair but quickly to my feet, my ribs still aching from the battle with the drakkan. The world is blurred with tears, and I only catch a glimpse of a dark shape before two hands clap down on my shoulders—
Oh Maker, not again …
—and a knee crashes into my groin. The black stars in my eyes burn through to white, and for a moment I’m nothing but the pain, dropping to my knees, crumpling to the floor, curling up into a ball of agony and misery. It’s all I can do to remember to breathe, and I’m waiting for those silver-tipped boots to start dancing on my throat when a voice cuts through the burning haze.
“Templar. Forgive my interruption.”
The boots never land. I recognize the voice—it’s Saedii’s second-in-command, his voice distorted slightly by the comms system.
Through the tears, I look up and see Saedii touch the transmitter on the breast of her uniform. Her voice is cool, and she tosses one black braid off her shoulder as she smiles down at me, completely unruffled.
“What is it, Erien?” she asks.
“We have detected several vessels on intercept course with Andarael,” the lieutenant reports. “Approaching us from multiple headings.”
“Who are they?”
“Terran capital ships. Four destroyers. Two carriers.”
Maker’s breath. That’s not just “several vessels.” That’s an assault fleet… .
“Ignore them,” Saedii replies. “The Terrans would not dare risk violating neutrality by accosting an Unbroken vessel. Maintain course for the Neridaa.”
“They are moving at assault speed, Templar. And they are hailing us.”
That gives Saedii a moment’s pause. What she said is true—ever since the Syldrathi civil war broke out, Earth has been bending over backward to avoid getting involved with Syldrathi affairs. It’s hard to blame them, really—the Starslayer not only destroyed his own homeworld but somehow caused the Syldrathi sun to collapse upon itself. The subsequent black hole wiped out the entire Syldra system and several uninhabited systems nearby.
Nobody wants to get on the wrong side of a man with that kind of power.
But now there’s a Terran fleet on intercept course with us?
Andarael is a massive capital ship herself—Drakkanclass, the biggest in the Unbroken armada—but that doesn’t mean her oh-so-cool commander wouldn’t be at least a little worried at tackling a Terran attack force that size.
“Transmission onscreen,” Saedii says.
I blink away my tears, the screaming pain in my groin receding to a mumbling ache as one wall flickers into life. For a moment, there’s only white light, burning on the back of my eyeballs. Then the white coalesces into a familiar shape, and as I force myself up into sitting position, I feel my stomach flip.
I see the winged crest of the Terran Defense Force. The ship ident KUSA NAGI emblazoned beneath it.
I see a Global Intelligence Agency uniform, spotless and white.
A smooth, featureless mirrormask.
“SALUTATIONS FROM THE GLOBAL INTELLIGENCE AGENCY, TEMPLAR. YOU MAY REFER TO ME AS PRINCEPS.” Its voice is sexless. Metallic. Giving no hint of who might be behind that mask. But I know the man, the