Beyond the Shadows Read online

  “Get up,” Cyn urged. “I need to you analyze this.”

  Bug blinked his eye and wobbled off Cyn’s hand. A green light flared out, scanned over the spot, then Bug prattled off the contents of the liquid.

  One ingredient stood out among the others.

  Floran.

  The drug would have knocked the drinker out cold.

  Rubbing his hand over the carpet, he inhaled deeply. The subtle scent of the kiltii extract Yara had used to bathe her wound rose into the air.

  Cyn brought his knuckle to his lips, unable to breathe for a moment. What had they done to her?

  Tuz rubbed his round face against Cyn’s thigh.

  He picked up the cat, put Bug back in his belt, and stormed out of the ship.

  “What happened in there?” Maxen asked. His mechanical hand hadn’t wavered at all, the sono still pointing ominously at the heart of the Bacarilen captain.

  “Yara was on the ship. This is her cat.” Cyn held out Tuz, but the cat refused to be dropped on the ground. Instead he dug his claws into Cyn’s bracer and held on. Cyn pulled him back into his body. “She was drugged with floran.”

  “Where is she?” Maxen demanded of the captain as he took a step forward. Another pirate grabbed the Bacarilen from behind, pinning her arms behind her.

  “You can’t prove anything.” The captain tried to pull out of the grip of the pirate, but he held firm.

  “I can,” the second in command offered.

  The whole crowd turned to her.

  “Melor,” the captain warned. “You’re my sister.”

  The second arched a haughty brow then turned her back on the captain as she faced Maxen.

  “The Azralen tried to book passage on this ship. She was taken to the personal lounge of the captain. The captain then left the ship and met with a Kronalen man on Aggen Street. He came on board and unloaded a shipping container.”

  An angry rumble of male voices permeated the docks. Flesh trading was a prime offense on Gansai.

  The captain tried to pull her hands free again. “That’s a lie. She’s after my ship.”

  Tuz hissed in Cyn’s ear.

  His collar.

  “Maxen, check the recording systems on the cat’s collar. Tuz is trained to spy,” Cyn offered, pulling the collar over Tuz’s thick head.

  Maxen holstered his sono and took the collar. He turned it over and over in his hand before connecting to it through his fingers.

  A disembodied voice rose over the crowd.

  “Another round?” A malicious chuckle rang out. “I think I prefer to negotiate with Palar. She’s been very generous and promised me much more profitable contracts as soon as she ascends the throne of Azra.” The unmistakable voice of the captain projected clearly from the collar. “Did you enjoy your drink? It should make your trip to Krona more comfortable.”

  “Tuz, run.” Yara’s voice sounded weak and panicked. Cyn felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. “Run!”

  Disgust churned through his body while his raw rage clouded his vision. Cyn drew his sono, and it warmed in his hand. He pointed it at the captain. “I’m going to shoot her,” he warned. His voice came out as a low growl.

  He felt Maxen’s natural hand on his shoulder. “That won’t help us find her.”

  He tried to take a deep breath to quell his rage but it flooded his blood like a white-hot fire. The thought of Yara subjected to the cruelty of the Kronalen sickened him. He had to get her out. It was completely irrational. He knew it. But he couldn’t stand the thought of her pierced by slave bands, raped and killed in the betting pits. She had never known darkness or shadows. She’d fight, but they would kill her. Physically and mentally, the slavers would destroy her. He couldn’t think about what it would mean for the revolution. That thought slipped out of his mind like poisonous mercury. She was in danger, and he couldn’t stand it.

  “Where is she?” His voice boomed over the crowd, making the Bacarilen crewmates flinch.

  The second answered. “The Kronalen left on a ship called Ti Kataf. It launched just before you arrived.”

  No. The ship would be in macrospace by now and untraceable.

  How were they going to find her?

  Cyn dropped Tuz to the ground and tried to focus, tried to search his mind for anything that might help him find her.

  “Take this one to the pits,” Maxen ordered, nodding at the captain. “We’ll organize a formal court later.”

  His words were like a low buzzing in Cyn’s ears. There had to be something. He searched the endless blur of knowledge for anything he could grasp. He had never heard of the ship. He needed more information. Where could he find it?

  The pirates hauled the protesting captain to one of the hoverans as the second in command spoke to the crowd. “I’m ashamed of Brill’s despicable behavior. I’ll be sure to tell Azra the unfortunate circumstances of Commander Yara’s loss.”

  What? If the Elite on Azra knew Yara was lost, her rivals would pounce on a chance at the throne and the Elite would be thrown into chaos before the revolution was ready to strike.

  He couldn’t let that happen.

  “No,” he shouted. Maxen looked at him, confused.

  “We don’t know if the second in command was in on this or not. For all we know she drugged Yara to frame the captain so she could assume control of the ship. The cat scratched her. She was there.” Cyn turned his sono on her.

  “He’s right,” another one of the circle chimed in, grabbing the second before she could pull away. “It takes more than two people to unload a shipping container.”

  “This is ridiculous,” she protested.

  Maxen smiled. “I’m afraid for a fair court, we need the testimony of all witnesses. Take her to the pits, too, and lock down the ship.”

  The crowd cheered as the other Bacarilen was hauled back to the holding pits. Maxen grabbed Cyn by the arm and pulled him through the crowds back toward the runner.

  “How are you going to find her?” he asked. “I don’t have anything in stored memory about Ti Kataf.”

  “I don’t either,” Cyn admitted. “We need Xan.”

  8

  “MAXEN, DRIVE,” CYN ORDERED AS HE CLIMBED INTO THE PASSENGER SEAT and strapped himself in. Tuz landed with a heavy thud on his lap. Cyn snatched Maxen’s dog’s worn blanket from the back and shoved it between the cat’s claws and his thighs.

  The engine rumbled to life, and Maxen peeled the runner around in a circle before racing out of the docks. “Do you know where Xan’s ship is?” Cyn shouted as Tuz managed to sink his claws through the blanket and into his jeans.

  “He’s on the northern outskirts of the city. I haven’t seen him around in days.” The wind whipped Maxen’s long bangs away from his silver eye.

  “Keep your eyes on the road!” Cyn grabbed on to Tuz with one hand and the door frame with the other as the runner careened around a broken-down hoveran.

  The crumbling ruins of the northern slums whipped past them as the streets closed in, and more ancient stone and metalwork jutted up from the dirt streets.

  Maxen managed to avoid every obstacle until the buildings finally succumbed to the natural layered rock formations to the north.

  Xan’s large crewship rested on the crest of one of the round-top hills. The shadow of the city stretched toward the ship but couldn’t quite grasp it.

  Maxen pulled the runner to a stop near a roaring bonfire. Roughly a dozen of Xan’s crew sat around rolling thupa stones and drinking.

  A woman stood and lifted her thick mug to them. “Maxen!” she called with a warm smile. Cyn knew better than to let it lull him into a sense of complacency. Even though they were friends, Venet was not a woman to mess with. She was a worthy second in command to Xan and a fierce pirate. “And you,” she gave him a teasing frown. “What are you calling yourself today?”

  “Cyrus,” he answered, before jumping out of the runner and then steadying his balance. “Where’s Xan? It’s urgent.”


  “Camping.” She frowned in earnest this time. “He needs to get back. The men are getting edgy.”

  “How long has he been out there?” Maxen asked, stepping over a rolling thupa stone.

  “Three days. He didn’t take anything with him.” She paused, looked at the dwindling contents of her tankard, then back up at Cyn. “He’s getting worse. The headaches are more frequent.”

  Cyn nodded. His old friend had been withdrawing more and more. The constant battering in his mind from his psychic connection to his people was wearing on him. He could no longer block it out. There was nothing Cyn could do to help. Instead he was here to beg Xan to connect even deeper with his people, an act that would certainly cause him an even greater burden of pain.

  How could he ever repay such a debt?

  He couldn’t think about that now. He had to get Yara back, and this was the only way he could do it.

  “Which way did he go?” Maxen asked, scanning the horizon.

  “Toward Vulture’s Stoop.” She pointed to the northeast. “It’s dark enough. He should be awake by now.”

  “Thanks, Venet.” Cyn climbed back into the runner, nudging Tuz with the toe of his boot. The cat wedged himself underneath the console and growled.

  Maxen steered the runner through the camp and raced at break-neck speed down a rutted trail without the aid of lights. If his driving was bad in the day, it was ten times worse in the descending night.

  “Could you turn the lights on?” Cyn ducked as a low-hanging branch whipped overhead.

  “Blinding Xan as we approach is not the best way to ask him for a favor,” Maxen pointed out. “Don’t worry, I can see fine.”

  His silver eye glowed with an eerie red light.

  Maxen had a point. Xan was full-blooded Hannolen. He was naturally nocturnal and his eyes were oversensitive, even for one of his kind.

  Cyn wondered if it was because he was born with the rikka, streaks of white in his dark irises. They reminded Cyn of lightning and meteors, flashes of brilliance in a sea of shadow. They marked him as a true-born prince of his people. They revealed his ability to mentally connect with anyone with Hannolen blood, anywhere, in any dimension, including macrospace.

  It was the reason Xan was in so much danger, and the reason he’d never agree to help.

  Cyn had to try.

  They turned up a path that led to the rounded peak of Vulture’s Stoop. As the runner crested the top of the trail, Cyn caught sight of Xan standing in the center of the hilltop, staring in silence at the emerging stars. His eye shades hung from the slit in his shirt, while his dark blond hair looked gray in the dim light.

  The rumble of the engine drowned out the delicate noises of the night and threw up a cloud of fine dust that swirled like eerie fog in the waning light. The engine let out a loud whine, then sputtered to a groaning stop.

  Cyn jumped out as steam poured out from beneath four of the runner’s wheels.

  “I’ll get on that,” Maxen commented. “You deal with Xan.”

  Xan looked scruffier than normal, his hair longer, his face rougher. But it was more than that. He looked tired.

  “There are too many clouds here,” he stated without bringing his gaze down to Maxen or Cyn.

  Cyn walked forward with slow, cautious steps.

  “Xan, I need your help.” Cyn was too used to Xan’s eye shades. They made him seem hard and strong. Seeing his friend’s eyes for the first time in at least a year haunted him. It made what he was about to ask that much more difficult. “I need you to contact your people.”

  “I told you to never ask me to do that again.” Xan slowly dropped his gaze from the sky and focused on Cyn. “What mythical planet are you trying to find this time? The Hannolen people are not your personal spy network. Leave me alone.”

  “I’m sorry I asked you to find Byra. I shouldn’t have. But now an innocent woman’s life is in jeopardy. I have no other choice.”

  “Batshit.” Xan turned away from him. Cyn reached out and grabbed his arm. Xan stopped, but his ominous silence spoke volumes.

  “Her name is Yara. I need her. She was taken by a flesh trader in the Blackstock. She’s on a ship called Ti Kataf. It’s a Kronalen vessel. Chances are one of your people is on board. We need to know which slave port they’re going to. A psychic connection is the only thing that can reach them between dimensions.”

  Xan had the power to unite all of the Hannolen, possibly lead a revolt that could single-handedly bring down the power structure of Krona. But he had never once used his gift. The Hannolen wasted away in despair, believing they had no prince, no one to lead them out of slavery. Cyn’s Rebel blood couldn’t understand why Xan didn’t act.

  What would it take to convince him to help? What could Cyn give that would be worth the risk?

  Xan had said something obtuse about a prophecy. But that was the problem with the damn Hannolen. They’d been so caught up in their stars and prophecies, they failed to stand as one and fight when their planet was at stake. The swift and merciless Kronalen war fleets were upon them before they could interpret shit from the all-knowing stars.

  “Yara,” Xan mused. “Isn’t that the Azralen bloodhunter who’s supposed to kill you?”

  Cyn stared his friend down, facing the scrutiny of the only person that knew him well. “She doesn’t know who I am.”

  Xan shook his head. “Does anyone?”

  “You do.”

  They fell silent for a long time. The rolling clouds above cracked open, revealing the velvet black of space sprinkled with endless stars. Cyn felt his frustration like a pounding hammer in his chest. Xan could stare at the stars and ponder his prophecies until he withered and died. They weren’t going to change, damn it.

  “I’m sorry.” Xan looked back at the stars. “I can’t.”

  “You need to act. It’s time to do something. Connect to the river of thought,” Cyn demanded.

  “You know nothing about the river.” Xan’s voice lashed with an edge as sharp as a knife.

  “I know enough.” Cyn knew Xan could hear the river louder than the others. An endless song, it ran through the backs of the minds of all Hannolen, connecting them all together and recording their experiences as a people. Cyn had heard him sing parts in his sleep. If Xan wanted, he could speak out in the song, and anyone with Hannolen blood would hear his voice in their mind. Only those born with the rikka could do it, which is why any child born with the rikka was royal. The prince stood before Cyn, as lost as his people.

  “I’m warning you, Cyn,” Xan looked up, his dark eyes burning with anger. “Leave now.”

  “You know what they’re going to do to her. You hear it over and over in the river. How many times do they cry for help? How many voices have suddenly cut out?” Cyn asked. “And you sit in silence and do nothing.”

  Xan swung, his fist smashing into the side of Cyn’s face. The pain pounded through his head and jaw as he tasted hot blood in his mouth. He bit his lip and stood straighter.

  “Please.” Cyn wished his friend could see into his mind, hear his desperate thoughts. “Please.”

  Xan let out a long breath and shook out his hand. “You’re a bastard.”

  “Help me.” Cyn felt his throbbing flesh begin to swell. He didn’t care.

  “I told you, I can’t. If I act before the will of God, we will be punished and spend another thousand years in slavery.” He crossed his arms. “If I act too soon, the Kronalen will find me, and all hope will be lost.” His tone was less lofty, more grounded in reality. Cyn understood what was at stake, but the Union forces wouldn’t fight the Kronalen forever. At some point, the Hannolen would have to fight for their own survival. “According to the path of Halstos, I must stay hidden.”

  “Damn it, Xan. Will you forget about your high prophecies and stargazing and deal with what’s happening now? Your people are out there. They’re suffering. They need to know you live. It’s time.”

  “You need to let the prophecy shit go,” Maxen comme
nted, wiping grease off his hands with an old rag. Cyn didn’t have time for this. A life was at stake and they were standing around in the dark waiting for some great spirit that controlled the universe to send them a sign.

  “We don’t have enough strength to defeat the Kronalen. You can see it, right there on the path of Halstos.” He swung his hand in an arch, tracing through the patterns of stars above. “Cryais the snake needs to move to Anarya the falcon, and then the balance of power can shift. We will have more strength.” Xan pointed to the sky. “Faeneth has moved into its fourth orbit. The river is so loud, I can’t think anymore. My people are crying out, and I can’t answer them. It’s killing me.”

  Cyn stood shocked. This is the prophecy? Fear pounded in his veins. What if the Hannolen prophecies weren’t about stars at all?

  Cyn unbuckled his bracer and ripped it off. Xan stared at the snakes tattooed around his wrist and forearm. “She’s marked with the falcon.”

  Xan stared at his wrist for what seemed like an eternity. Then he looked back up at the cloudy sky and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “If you’re lying, toying with the hand of God to get what you want . . .”

  “What are the fucking odds, Xan?” Cyn shouted. “Her name is Yara, of the line of Yarini the Just. What is the family symbol? Maxen, look it up.”

  “It’s a falcon,” Maxen confirmed.

  “She’s the falcon.” Cyn rubbed his exposed tattoo. “I’m the snake.” Cyn hated this. He had no part in fate or destiny, and if he did, his certainly wasn’t tied to Yara’s, was it?

  Another chill ran down his back. It wasn’t the first time he’d wondered at the coincidence of her family ties. He didn’t like being bound by some cosmic dictate, but none of it mattered to him deep down. Only one thing really mattered. He had to save Yara. “The revolution on Azra hinges on her. Once the Grand Sister is gone, Azra will be strong again and in the debt of Hanno.”

  Xan gave him a skeptical look, but his skin had paled, and Cyn could read the indecision on his face.

  “Well?” Cyn prodded. If this was a blasted sign, Xan had better listen to it, or Cyn would give him hell to pay.