And second, of course, there’s Saedii herself.
I can tell every one of the Warbreed in this room loves her. Hates her. Fears her. Worships her.
Even if she weren’t the daughter of the Unbroken’s greatest Archon, I’ve seen Saedii in battle now—ship to ship, and hand to hand. And I know she didn’t get her seat at the head of this table because she’s Daddy’s little girl. She got it by moving whoever was sitting there before her.
When we walked into the room together, twelve sets of eyes fell on me like I was the appetizer. One word from Saedii, they got down to business. But business, as it turns out, is not good.
Like I said, I don’t speak Syldrathi as well as Scar, but I’m fluent enough to catch every few words. And listening to Saedii’s command staff speak, watching the myriad newscasts glowing on the walls around me, I’m beginning to piece together exactly what happened at the Battle of Terra.
A massive Unbroken fleet, bigger than anything that has been seen since the fall of Syldra, massing outside Terran space.
The Terran navy mustering in response.
The Betraskans stepping in to help defend their Terran allies.
Archon Caersan demanding the return of his daughter.
Now, for two years, Earth had tiptoed around the Unbroken. Our last war with the Syldrathi had lasted two decades, and we’d been so desperate to avoid another, we even turned a blind eye when Caersan destroyed Syldra’s sun.
But TerraGov didn’t even know the GIA had Saedii in custody—the Ra’haam had taken her prisoner to start trouble, after all. So they couldn’t exactly comply with the Starslayer’s request to give her back. Instead, they politely asked him to vacate their doorstep or eat a fleet to the face.
Caersan didn’t like that.
I’m watching footage of the battle now, my heart surging every time I see it—a massive spear of crystal, rainbow-colored, big as an entire city. As the Unbroken, Terran, and Betraskan fleets clash, it cruises through the bloodshed like a shark, pulsing with energy. The newscasts are labeling it an “Unbroken superweapon.” But from what Saedii told me aboard the Kusanagi, I know it’s not a Syldrathi device at all.
It was made eons ago, by the beings who fought the Ra’haam the last time it tried to consume the galaxy. The Ancients, the Eshvaren, who’ve somehow been behind everything that’s happened since I pulled Auri out of that cryopod what seems like a lifetime ago.
My heart aches at the thought of her. I wonder where my sister and the rest of Squad 312 are, praying to the Maker that they’re okay, that they didn’t get caught up in this insanity. But as much as it hurts to push all that aside, truth is, we’ve got bigger problems. Because time and time again, I watch it unfold on the feeds—the Weapon, the Neridaa, the one hope the Eshvaren left for the galaxy to fight the Ra’haam, flaring like a new sun in the middle of the battle, sending out a blast that disables half the ships around it, and then …
Disappearing like it had never been.
Nobody knows what happened. Why it vanished or where it went. But the Starslayer’s disappearance, combined with the burst of force that accompanied his weapon’s departure, put the brakes on the battle.
The Unbroken paused their attack. The decimated Terran and Betraskan fleets fell back into defensive posture. And after a few more hours of tense standoff, the Unbroken bounced back through the FoldGate and right out of the system.
“Retreat,” a graceful woman in black Paladin’s armor says.
“De’sai,” another growls.
That’s the Syldrathi word for shame. I see it reverberate around the room, half the assembly murmuring agreement, the other half uncertain.
For warriors like these to even consider retreat an option … I begin to understand what Caersan means to them. He’s not just a leader. He’s a father. The man who saved them from shameful peace with Earth, from the “weaklings” on the Syldra council. And his disappearance has cut them like a knife to the heart.
Sharpened teeth are bared. Hard words are spoken. I catch unrest and Templars and coup. One of the younger Paladins slams his fist onto the table—for Syldrathi, an outburst like that is unthinkable.
And then Saedii speaks.
Her voice is calm. Hard. Cold. I hear words like honor and vengeance, father and truth. I understand what she’s telling them. Saedii intends to rendezvous with the Unbroken armada, take command, then return to Earth and find out what happened to the Starslayer.
Her voice brings calm to their frayed nerves.
The Unbroken princess, stepping up to the king’s empty chair. But …
“That’s a mistake, Saedii,” I finally sigh.
All eyes turn to me. A Paladin with iron-gray hair glares, hand slipping to the beautiful silvered kaat blades crossed at his back. His Terran is fluent, but marked by a heavy Syldrathi accent.
“You dare speak so to a Templar of the Unbroken, so’vaoti?”
“Aye.” A sharp-eyed female glowers at me, glances to Saedii. “Who is this refuse we dragged from the Void’s belly, Templar?”
I answer before Saedii can speak for me. “My name is Tyler Jones. Son of Jericho Jones.”
I see my name echo around the room.
Before he joined the Senate and fought for peace, my dad fought the Syldrathi to a standstill. Gave them the worst bloody nose of the entire Terran-Syldrathi War.
“And while we’re keeping score,” I continue, “I’m the one who saved your Templar’s life when the Andarael got hit by the Kusanagi. And then broke her out of a holding cell before they tortured her to death. I didn’t see many of you there helping her.”
Erien bares his teeth, canines sharpened to points. “I should cut your tongue out of your head, Terran whelp.”
“Maybe you could leave me half?” I wave at my mouth. “Unless you want to remove the Syldrathi part, too?”
His eyes narrow at that. He glances at Saedii, who inclines her head. The knowledge of my Syldrathi heritage seeps into the room like smoke.
“I mean, that’s presuming you can lay a glove on me at all, big man.” I lean a little closer, dragging Erien’s eyes back to mine. “Or maybe you forgot I’m also the one who killed a drakkan single-handed?”
Okay, so normally I’m not a whip-it-out-and-measure-it kind of guy. Most days, I prefer to let my actions do the talking for me. But I know for a fact that the Unbroken respect strength. Conviction. And above all, courage. So I just stare at Erien, the air boiling between us, until a younger male Templar beside him touches his arm. The touch only lasts a second. They exchange a glance, something passes between them.
“Be’shmai,” the younger male murmurs. “Osh.”
Erien’s gaze flickers, then returns to Saedii.
“Perhaps,” she says, licking at the split in her lip, “you could elucidate the nature of this mistake I am making.”
I flash her half a dimpled smile. “Thought you’d never ask.”
“I am not asking. I am commanding.”
She scowls at me, dark hair tumbling about her cheeks as she lowers her chin. But from the glint in her eye, the faint flicker of her thoughts, I can still sense Saedii is almost … amused.
A Templar of the Unbroken has no use for sycophants, I realize. Good leaders never do. Saedii likes struggle. She likes being pushed, challenged. And from the way her eyes keep drifting to them, she also likes my dimples.
Let’s be honest, who can blame her.
Tyler Jones: 2
Saedii Gilwraeth: 0
Erien glowers as I turn to the myriad of news feeds projected on the walls. Eyes narrowed, I search until I find the one I want and point toward the stream. “The feed from GNN-7. Can you call that up?”