Asrian Skies: Shadows of War, #1

CHAPTER ONE

The world disappeared below Avery faster than she could comprehend, the horizon a bright curve outside her window, and that uncooperative life support light in the corner of her annunciator panel was flashing again.

With a grimace, she reached above her head to flick the twin-engine Dragonfly’s pressurization reset switch for the second time in fifteen minutes. This had to work. If it didn’t . . . she swallowed. Well, technically nothing much would happen. Except she would be forced to return for an early landing, and that would be unbearable, today of all days.

But thirty seconds later, the red light in the corner of her primary display resumed its blinking.

Kusir.

Childhood indoctrination kept her from speaking the Voirian curse—as did the voice recorder installed under her seat. The stars came into view as she climbed higher, a million glowing embers against velvet black, tempting her to ignore the warning and continue. The pressure suit she wore made the problem academic, but the technicians would check each system readout when she returned, and the safety regulations were clear. With two weeks left until graduation and her commissioning, she couldn’t afford to violate such a critical policy.

Pressure suit or not, her breath became shallow and measured as she initialized the suborbital engines. Cursing the engineer who’d designed the switch to be behind her head, she hesitated once more before she made the call. Would anyone ever know if she changed her mind and continued on? She slammed her palm against the transmit button before she could talk herself out of the decision.

Control, Spark 6. At least her training hid the resignation in her words.

Spark 6, Control. The scratchy voice anchored her to the planet below once more. Go ahead.

I’ve got primary and secondary life support failures. Even after five years of flying in space, the ability to hear a voice from a hundred kilometers away sent a smile across her face, even if that voice doomed her flight this time. Negative reset.

Failure confirmed. A momentary pause. Cleared for return.

Cleared for return, she confirmed with a sigh.

With a light finger, she adjusted the thrusters, letting the Dragonfly spiral downward over the mountains that edged the eastern coast of the largest continent of Ventana IV. As unfortunate as the short flight had been, the swirling clouds and glittering seas of the planet below still took her breath away, stealing most of the disappointment along with it—but then, the wilds of Ventana were stunning from any vantage point. How could anyone think otherwise?

The Dragonfly’s shadow appeared below her as she descended, casting a silhouette over the massifs where she liked to disappear for a few days of solitude whenever she earned enough leave. But that long-desired opportunity for solitude would soon be replaced by a berthing area shared with dozens of other pilots for the next three years. She should have dreaded the very idea of such close quarters, but the thought of those crowded bunks made her smile, even while she tracked the radio beacon that led to the academy’s landing site.

That kind of camaraderie was exactly what she’d worked for, wasn’t it? The possibility of serving on a Commonwealth cruiser had saved her from Asria, where she had nothing to look forward to but isolation and routine. Thank goodness she’d escaped her home planet—and along with it, Father and Merritt’s disappointment over her growing doubts and yearning for independence. It had become too difficult to pretend to be someone she didn’t want to be, too hard to pretend to believe something she wasn’t sure she believed anymore. Here, on Ventana IV, far from the obligations and expectations of home, she’d found herself.

She banked the Dragonfly low over the large glass windows of the academy’s library, leaving the flare assist on manual for one last landing on the planet that had become her home. It would make her approach longer, but surely she’d earned the right to extend the flight just a few minutes. The caution and warning light had turned silent once the atmosphere had become thick enough, and when the ship settled onto the pavement, she breathed an Asrian prayer of gratitude—some old rituals were impossible to ignore, much as she wanted to—and pulled the hatch open.

Early spring humidity slammed against her like hot tea as soon as she yanked off her helmet, and beads of sweat dripped down her forehead as the waiting ramp crew towed the Dragonfly off the pad to the parking area. Horrific weather or not, she would miss this place almost as much as she’d miss the mountains. Rows of hangars filled with Dragonflys ran in concentric lines on each side of the five-sided landing site—a side for each of the Commonwealth’s founding planets. She was lucky to spend most of her time here and not stuck in a windowless building most days like the non-flying cadets. Did they know what they were missing?

Rendon!

The shout echoed from somewhere behind a nearby building, but the culprit hadn’t made himself visible yet, so when the Dragonfly came to a stop, she yanked off her gloves and grabbed her communicator from her pocket, shaking as she swiped a finger over the lock. Rumor was that post-graduation assignments would be disseminated today, and if hers hadn’t arrived, if she had to wait longer to learn her fate, subjected all the while to the torture of uncertainty—she wouldn’t be able to bear it.

But her heart stopped at the most recent message, even as the voice called her name again somewhere in the muddled panic that had suddenly become her reality. She scanned the text, official bureaucratic language blurring in her mind and swirling around her, until she found the one word she was looking for.

Dauntless.

Avery gave an ecstatic shriek, then slapped her hand over her mouth and read it three more times, just to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. Dauntless, the gem of the Commonwealth Navy, was the dream of almost every cadet, but less than a handful of pilots from each class were fortunate enough to end up on the ship reputed to engage the Haederan Empire more than any other in the fleet. Second in her class or not, she’d never imagined she’d be one of them.

Something amusing, Cadet Rendon?

Her gaze fell on the lieutenant standing next to the Dragonfly, his arms crossed and a heated expression on his face. Was this level of irritation all because she’d ignored how he’d hollered at her from a distance? He could have used the communicator if he was that bent on talking to her. Or maybe it was something else—it almost looked like he knew she’d considered ignoring the alarm. She crinkled her nose and tried to remember if she’d said something out loud, words the recorder might have heard.

No, sir. She slid the comm back in her pocket and forced a blank expression. Just—

Whatever it is, you’re done, he interrupted. Kohren wants to see you—now. Unless you’re too caught up in your messages, that is.

Avery shook her head as her heart sunk even further. There was so much accusation in his order she forgot about the system failure—and Dauntless. Cadets weren’t called to the commandant’s office unless there had been an egregious disciplinary issue—and those disciplinary issues always meant dismissal. It didn’t make sense, especially after the news of Dauntless.

Sir, I—that can’t be right. Scrambling out of the Dragonfly, she wiped away a strand of dark hair that clung to her forehead while she tried to recall anything she might have done to draw Kohren’s attention. Did he say why?

No idea, Rendon, but you’ve got fifteen minutes. Let’s go.

Her cheeks warmed at his hostility and the haste he’d put her in. Years of sweat and filth from the Dragonfly stuck to her, and no doubt anyone within ten meters could smell her, but fifteen minutes left her no time to change or shower. Disrepute wasn’t the impression she wanted to give the commandant, especially now, but the lieutenant had left her no choice. With a sigh, she shimmied out of her pressure suit, lobbed it and her helmet to a waiting crewman, and followed the furious lieutenant across the landing site.

Her heart pounded as the secretary showed her into the commandant’s inner office, but the warm wood décor settled her heartbeat, even as she stood at attention. Her surroundings were a welcome contrast to the steel and glass of most academy buildings—Admiral Elber Kohren was from Zaetis, a smaller Commonwealth world that usually reminded her too much of Asria. The planet was known for furniture making, thanks to the forests that stretched across the southern hemisphere, and the peikwood desk in front of her with the hand-carved designs had to be centuries old.

The age should have been a reminder of Asrian tradition, too, but somehow it appealed to her in a way she couldn’t explain. Perhaps it was simply the exoticness of it? Yes, she’d have to look into some Zaetian pieces for her home if she ever settled down—somewhere other than Asria, if she had any say in the matter. Maybe she could even do as her elder brother had done and disappear in the middle of the night. She missed Quen more than she ever thought possible, but he’d made the right decision.

Not that it mattered. If the need arose, the Asrian senate would hunt Quen down and bring him home, and his pretense at real life would be over.

Kohren cleared his throat, bringing her back to Ventana and away from a history she’d rather have forgotten. It was becoming easier to ignore the commandant’s crooked nose, a gift from an overzealous cadet during unarmed combat training five years before. Rumor had it he’d refused to have the injury corrected, believing it lent him an aura of . . . well, something. It certainly made the otherwise competent admiral legendary at both the academy and throughout the fleet.

Have a seat, Cadet Rendon. Kohren gestured toward the chair in front of his desk, so she perched on the edge and tried to shrug off her anxiety while he continued, I just finished reading your first-classman thesis— He gave his desktop screen a short glance. "—The Formation of Iron-Nickel Core Dwarf Planets in the Yezru Belt—very impressive."

I’m sorry, sir, she replied and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, silently cursing her lack of a shower once more. You called me here to talk about my thesis?

Not exactly. He slid the screen away and folded his hands on the peikwood desk. There’s no good way to say this, so I’ll be blunt. We just received word your uncle has abdicated.

Abdicated?

Her forehead creased. She must have misheard him. Of all the things Kohren—or anyone—could have told her, this was the last thing she’d expected to hear. More than that, it wasn’t possible.

Sir, there must be a mistake. Avery settled back in the chair, relief washing over her. He can’t do that.

Because Asrian law prohibits it.

She tucked the insubordinate piece of hair behind her ear once more. Kohren’s statement was just that—it wasn’t a question. Everyone knew the history. He had to know it too, which meant this had to be a mistake.

Of course, she replied. It hasn’t happened in five hundred years.

And five hundred years ago, it had touched off a bloody civil war that had resulted in both that prohibition and the abolishment of most of the Asrian nobility. No one, not the senate, not the royal family, and not the citizens, wanted the result of another power vacuum. The law had always enjoyed vigorous support, and although she understood the wish for a normal life more than most, even the idea of breaking it was unconscionable. If she ever ended up ruling Asria, as distasteful as that prospect was, she would follow the law.

But they’d find Quen before she had a chance at becoming queen. No matter what Quen had said, they would bring him home.

Kohren’s entire face tightened. That’s probably why reports show that he fled to Haedera.

Her gut tightened.

Haedera?

But . . . Uncle Victor wasn’t capable of treason. Of course he wasn’t. This was bad intelligence of some sort. Her uncle wouldn’t have gone to Haedera. Not the system which had been responsible for the formation of the Commonwealth itself, years ago. No, if the first news about her uncle was unexpected, this part of it had to be a joke. Did the academy play practical jokes on graduating cadets?

Kohren searched her face, and Avery suddenly knew what a pikan bound for slaughter felt like.

I’m sorry to ask you this so directly, but has he contacted you? he asked. Asked for help? Told you anything? Especially anything about this Haedera business, he was clearly suggesting.

Sir, I haven’t seen or heard from him in over a year. We’re not close anymore. When he lifted a brow at her claim, an even more alarming thought arose. I don’t know how I can prove this, but my loyalty is to Asria. And the Commonwealth, she hastened to add as her eyes landed on the blue and silver starburst on his shoulder, the Commonwealth Navy seal she would be authorized to wear in just a few days. Please don’t dismiss me over this.

Your loyalty isn’t in question. He scratched his head, as though he was hesitant to continue, then sighed. But we have another problem. Because of your change in . . . status, the Asrian senate has revoked your waiver.

Her jaw tightened; the formerly cool office grew hot. The Commonwealth required certain designated candidates—royalty, children of diplomats, and a few other poor fortunate souls—to obtain a waiver from their local government before attending the academy or enlisting in the Commonwealth military. Planetary forces had no such requirement that she knew of, but she’d long desired to leave Asria behind, so the Royal Asrian Defense Forces had never been an option for her. The senate hadn’t let her go without a fight. And now they’d gotten what they always wanted.

They’d revoked her waiver.

No . . . not just the waiver.

Her life.

I—I see, she said, as the room spun around her.

Your father’s coronation was five weeks ago. The courier ship stopped on Metis Station this morning to make the report, he continued, and we’ll know more once they arrive to collect you.

Swearing-in, she wanted to correct him. A common misinterpretation of Asrian law. An Asrian coronation was religious—and celebratory—so while Father might have made his solemn oath in front of the senate as soon as they approved his kingship, he wouldn’t have been coronated. Not yet. Not if her uncle had truly . . . defected? It was an insignificant word for such a betrayal.

Kohren pushed a tablet across his desk toward her, and she struggled to focus on the blurred words before her. Your discharge authorization, he said. I’m sorry, Your Highness, but we have no control over internal planetary matters.

Your Highness.

Avery sat frozen as the words pulled the last of the air from the room.

No longer Cadet Rendon.

Not even Lady Avery.

And never Ensign Rendon now.

Asria—not Dauntless—would be in her future sooner than she liked.

CHAPTER TWO

Asria.

Avery paused on the shuttle’s disembarkment ramp and took a deep breath of clean, unadulterated air, her first in hours. In the shadow of the mountains, a cool morning breeze washed through Cadena, Asria’s capital—though most anything was cooler than the part of Ventana where she’d spent the past few years. A few ramp handlers scurried about, unloading baggage and refueling the shuttle, but otherwise the port was quiet. It only took a brief glance around the empty terminal to assess her situation.

Father was nowhere to be seen. The snub was some relief, though it was no surprise the new king wasn’t waiting for her on the landing pad. She’d had plenty of time over the six-week journey to fret over her situation, and he was the last person she wanted to see right now, even if her forced return wasn’t his fault.

Instead, a grin spread across her face when she spotted Drex. How could anyone see Drex after so long and not smile? Her father’s head of security was still lean, even though he was pushing sixty-five, and tall like most Asrians in the region. He looked more like an athlete half his age than a reluctant bureaucrat, and for the past few years she’d missed him more than she ever thought possible. Drex, forced into retirement from the Defense Forces after a glider accident, would understand how disappointed she was at being called home, never to fly fighters again.

Drex, you don’t know how good it is to see you, she called out over the roar of a departing spacecraft, dashing down her own shuttle’s ramp toward him. Not mentioning the white facial hair that graced his sharp chin—a fashion she never would have predicted on the professional-to-a-fault Drex—she hugged him in full view of the few employees straggling nearby. Since Father hadn’t bothered to welcome her back, who cared what he would think of the emotional demonstration.

And come to think of it, Merritt wasn’t here, either, and that rejection hurt more than her father’s snub. Even though conflict and distance of the planetary variety had always marked their relationship and despite time apart, after ten years together as an official couple, he should have been waiting. They’d had an unspoken agreement, after all, even if he hadn’t replied to her brief communication about returning home. Maybe he hadn’t received it, though someone in the palace must have notified him of her arrival.

On second thought, perhaps that had done it. It would take a miracle for Merritt Parker to be caught anywhere that hinted of even the faintest suggestion of royalty.

She released Drex and looked around. No Father. No Merritt. And not even Mother? Surely she’s been wanting to see me.

The queen isn’t feeling so well this afternoon. Drex shrugged. She’s at the palace.

Her smile fell as the joy she’d first felt at seeing Drex faded away like the engine exhaust above them. His cool tone didn’t hint of the turmoil Carina Rendon had been through in the past year, after the deaths of her parents just weeks apart, but Avery could read what he wasn’t saying. Her mother rarely left her rooms anymore.

Oh. I had hoped she was doing better. I’ll see her first thing when I get home, if she would like. Another, more immediate, worry hit her. But please, Drex, don’t start calling me Your Highness. It’s truly unnecessary.

Request noted, Avery. Drex hesitated, hands in his pockets, as if he wasn’t sure what else to say. In private, at least. In public, things have changed.

Of course they have.

Still, you can smile at me, you know, she replied, forcing one of her own. I’m not angry with you.

Don’t be angry with your father, either. His dark eyes were serious as he gestured her forward. This wasn’t his call, and it’s not his fault. He wants the position as little as you would.

That, she believed. She would blame the senate for this one. Fine. I won’t blame him, but I’m not happy with him, either. He didn’t fight this thing at all, did he? Drex’s silence was answer enough. What do they intend on me doing at home anyway? Sit in on committee meetings and look pretty?

Drex laughed and pointed her at the aeroflyer parked nearby. Against her better judgment, she’d looked forward to the foreign luxury, but there was something strange about the ship with the pearlized-gold finish. That was it . . . unlike when she’d left for Ventana, it wasn’t marked with the twin aster seal of the king.

Avery squinted in uncertainty at the omission. A sign of the new King Lucas’s egalitarianism, extreme even by Asrian standards? No, that would be too much of a break from tradition, even for Father. More likely, the unmarked ship was an additional security measure. Animosity toward the Rendon family had to be running high in the wake of her uncle’s treachery, and perhaps security had decided it was a prudent move. She shot a quick glance at her surroundings, adding that to the list of things she’d never forgive Victor Rendon for. Who was he to tarnish the Rendon name like he had?

You don’t waste any time, do you? Drex asked. Well, yes. I’d imagine they want you to be a liaison to the Commonwealth, too. You’d enjoy that, yes?

I’m not sure I’d be Ventana’s first choice for a liaison after this, she said. They think I’m a quitter. And I’m not sure I want the continuous reminders of what could have been.

This isn’t about you. It’s about serving your planet, your system. You knew this was a possibility, Lady Avery.

Drex’s intentional use of the obsolete title was a sharp reminder that even on Ventana, she’d never been as liberated as she liked to believe. That wasn’t how things worked on Asria. Victor’s wife had died just two years into their marriage, leaving him childless and devastated. Perhaps he’d thought the senate would be happy to elect his younger brother as his successor, but his reasons for never marrying again had never mattered much to her before, except as an academic exercise in Asrian futility—one she was now suffering for.

She climbed inside the transport and settled into the soft seat, marveling at how the programmed computer molded the leather to her body—a costly addition to the standard interior. The entire interior was expensive, just like one would assume from the outside, and she squirmed with unease despite the physical comfort. It had been a long time since she’d flown like this, let alone lived like this. The palace would feel even more uncomfortable after years in the dorms.

You’re wrong, she replied. I didn’t know this would happen. Quen is the one they want, not me. I thought Uncle Victor would get married again, have proper heirs. I never expected him to leave for Haedera. She packed derision into the word. I never thought Father would accept this. It’s unfair to say I knew this would happen.

Drex hopped in across from her, as comfortable in the wealth as he’d always been. Possibly, but you can’t fault the senate for this. You can’t be flying warfighters with Quen gone. Especially in the current political climate.

Warfighters? Avery narrowed her eyes at his comment, obviously intended to tell her something while giving nothing away in public.

He cleared his throat. Well, I suppose you’ve been out of communication reach for a while. You’ll find out.

We’re at peace. I’d have been flying patrols in open space. Not playing games with the Haederan Empire. If Drex didn’t already know Dauntless’s reputation, he didn’t need to. Nowhere near them, in fact, and they haven’t been a threat in forever anyway, even with that situation on Echib last year. It wouldn’t have been dangerous.

Finished with her argument, as much of a lie as it was, she ran a finger across the smooth ivory seat, then jerked her hand back into her lap. Her father’s personal transport couldn’t have been more different from the utilitarian aeroflyers she’d grown used to on Ventana. It was almost as if her palms, used to soaring in grimy twenty-year-old Commonwealth trainers, would stain the expensive material if she touched it.

The odds of anything happening are insignificant, she went on. Virtually zero. There hasn’t been a major accident on a Commonwealth spacecraft in a hundred years. What did they think would happen? If the senate was that worried about it, I’m sure they could have found another position with the Commonwealth for me, something that would keep them happy until Father—something that would keep them happy.

Drex remained silent.

"I don’t want to be here, Drex. They aren’t making Quen—I’m sorry, Prince-Elect Quen—come home, and he’s the one they should worry about." Elect. She wanted to laugh at the superfluous title but pressed her lips together. The senate had never elected a king or queen from outside the Rendon family. Drex knew that.

Because no one can find Quen, Drex said. If they could, they’d recall him just like you. Faster, in fact.

They could find him if they wanted. Avery shook her head as the aeroflyer lifted off into the crowded aero street above Asria’s capital. They just haven’t looked hard enough.

That wasn’t quite true, though. Quen had sent her dozens of messages over the years, and she’d turned them over to her father like the dutiful daughter she’d once pretended to be. It might have been mostly self-serving, since Quen’s presence on Asria negated hers, but each time the senate’s agents reached whatever planet he transmitted from, Quen was gone. Then there was his last message, two years ago now: If they take me back to Asria, it won’t be alive. Quen had always been a little melodramatic, but she’d believed him that time.

The aeroflyer joined a stream of traffic headed north into central Cadena, and despite her irritation, a rush of excitement filled her as the approaching skyline loomed larger and larger in the window. Cadena grew skyward instead of sprawling out, the tallest buildings springing out of the flat, dry plain along the Cadena River to touch the sky. Unusual for Asria, the design was a necessity because of its location between two mountain ranges: the high and just-about-always-snowcapped Gallis Mountains and the lower, still-hidden Pelanco Mountains, where she’d spent half her childhood wandering alone, enjoying her limited freedom.

They’re doing their best, Avery. Drex folded his arms, seemingly oblivious to the mountains. And until they find him, we need you here.

Hmm. She glanced out the window and narrowed her eyes at the view that had become unfamiliar. Quen’s whereabouts weren’t worth arguing about right now. Where are we going? This isn’t the fastest way back to the palace. I’d wanted to see Mother.

Drex closed his eyes in mock pain as the aeroflyer turned again. Senate building. Your father and Prime Minister Baylen are waiting for you. And before you ask, no, you can’t go home first. Sorry. Believe me, I’ve been dreading this visit myself.

Avery gazed down at her traveling clothes, the soft pearl tunic over slim leather pants—commonplace on Ventana IV but less appropriate on fashion-forward Asria. With a sharp glance at Drex, she smoothed her shirt and shook her head.

Is this how it will be? Her fists already ached from clenching them. He’s going to dictate every move I make? You’d think he could at least let me freshen up first after six weeks of traveling if he was going to parade me around in front of the prime minister.

He’s doing his best, and you look just fine. Drex’s cool tone hadn’t changed, but now his jaw tightened. Don’t be so hard on him.

He’s not doing his best if he’s telling me what to do. Even as a cadet, she’d had too much freedom on Ventana IV to accept his unexpected control without a fight. "I suppose he’ll have security following me around