I opened my mouth to protest: What if she passed out? Was she even in control?
But Qole was ablaze, not just with Shadow, but with a resolve that brooked no disagreement. Besides, she could apparently vaporize people. My blades would do Eton and the ship more good, especially since the guards would be less inclined to blow up the Kaitan with me standing in front of it.
It was nevertheless with a sinking feeling that I nodded. “Understood. Just…come back.” It sounded foolish out loud, but it was all that was repeating in my head.
Please come back.
“I’m going too.” Basra stepped forward, his voice and face carrying the same peculiar quality I had noticed earlier, and it dawned on me that he was angry.
No, it wasn’t anger. Fury. Qole trained her black gaze on him, and he returned it without blinking.
“I’m coming with you to find Arjan,” Basra insisted. “No royal family, no captain, and no friend will stop me.” He walked toward the hatch and slammed the pad that opened it. “And then, after I’ve killed whoever has hurt him, I’m coming back with him.”
I felt the absolute certainty of his words. With a groan, the ramp lowered, and Basra stalked out.
“Okay.” Qole glanced back at us in a flash of darkness, and her hand grazed mine so quickly I almost wondered if I’d imagined it. “Be careful, I didn’t get all of them.”
She followed Basra into the murky gloom of the hangar and was gone.
Eton and I only took a moment to collect ourselves. I checked that both Disruption Blades were ready in their sheaths on my back, then hefted a photon rifle, while he tested the straps of Verta.
“Are you ready for this?” I asked him, turning for the ramp.
“Are you?” Eton bit back.
His eyes flashed from deadly serious to surprised as I held out my hand. “Whatever happens, it has been an honor.”
His grip came just shy of crushing my hand this time—probably only so I could still use it. He smiled, and it was oddly genuine. “Don’t make me regret meeting you more than I already do.”
I shook out my fingers and took up my rifle, and with that, we strode down the ramp.
Qole and Basra were nowhere to be seen in the wrecked expanse of the hangar. It was disorienting to walk across the same floor that I had dashed across with Solara just last night.
Solara. The first time we’d ever worked together on something, and now I might never see her again. Or Marsius. Or my parents.
I scanned the ruined girders that outlined the gaping hole where the entrance to the rest of the palace had once been, like the crooked teeth of some monster. The drone had already redirected itself and flown out of the citadel, so I wondered why none of the starfighters had followed us down—perhaps they had been fooled by Qole’s incredible disappearing act.
“See anything?” I called to Eton, feeling uneasy. Qole had said there were others here, and I disliked not knowing where.
Instead of an answer, the whining spit of one of Eton’s plasma cannons echoed across the hangar. By the time I ducked and spun, the air had filled with the flickering blasts of a firefight.
Our attackers poured into the hangar from a far corner, a full platoon, running in a low crouch and obviously intending to pummel us into submission with overwhelming numbers and force.
I knew that segmented armor, those mirrored visors, the smooth precision of their movements: Bladeguards. But not just Bladeguards. Their blue and silver armor meant that they were the Home Guard, the elite personal entourage of my immediate family. They were the best the Academy had to offer, as skilled with conventional weaponry as they were with a blade. Their presence typically meant one of my family members was here, but I had no time to wonder now that all that firepower was now trained on us.
The blue bursts of photon rifles pitted the floor and the Kaitan as they found their range. Ignoring me, the blast marks began to trek steadily toward Eton. Energy shield or no, that many would overwhelm him soon.
Or they would have, if he hadn’t returned fire with the force of a volcano. His twin cannons spat in alternating bursts, each hit leaving gouges that gleamed with molten edges. The kickback would have leveled a smaller man but, muscles taut, Eton steadily strafed back and forth, disrupting the concentration of their firepower. Stray shots that hit his shield flickered and went out like raindrops on a fire. A maniacal glee entered Eton’s eyes.
“That’s it, you insect sonzabitches,” he taunted. “Not so fun when someone in your weight class picks on you, is it?”
One of his blasts caught two guards, and their body parts tumbled in different directions. Another blast leveled the container two others were attempting to hide behind.
But they were Bladeguards, and instead of scattering, they rolled out of the way into new crouches, bringing their weapons to bear. Another Bladeguard appeared in the doorway, in armor I didn’t recognize. Heavier and thicker, it was a dirty bronze-blue with a cloak attached at the shoulders. A hard rectangular helmet with three long vertical slits glared at us.
Whoever it was, they were an effective leader. The figure made a quick motion, and the Bladeguards reacted as one, even as they split in two. Half of them surged forward, and the rest…turned and ran straight for the wall behind them.
“Eton!” I shouted. “They’re going to use mag-gloves to get above you!”
Sure enough, with the grace and intent of spiders, the Bladeguards scaled up the hangar walls at a shocking pace. That was the beauty of mag-gloves: they not only magnetized the user to whatever surface they wished, they disrupted his gravity as well, making climbing even easier. The Bladeguards fanned out and reached the ceiling in seconds.
“Keep those on your side suppressed with your rifle,” Eton shouted back. “I’m going to take care of everyone else.”
Take care of them he did. With nimble manipulations of the controls in his hands, the arm of one cannon came to life, unhinging from its position and swiveling to point toward the ceiling. The rate and type of fire changed; the plasma blasts became smaller, less powerful. But they left in a furious stream that was almost uninterrupted. The other cannon continued its barrage on the troops on the floor, and somehow, Eton kept both cannons aimed and firing at once. He moved like a dancer, not the walking embodiment of death and terror. Laughter began to escape from deep in his chest.