Mercy laughed. She had to. For a few precious moments, she clung to denial. Her grandmother had been a cold-hearted bitch capable of murdering her own grandchild. Mercy also suspected Lilith was responsible for her father’s death, though her mother had never explicitly said the words. Not to mention, there were aspects of this that truly were unbelievable.

“Let me get this right. The two of you think I can control people with Talent? You couldn’t be more wrong.” She never would have been trapped on that space station if that were true.

“That’s not quite how it works,” said Cannon.

Reaper gave him flat look. “I told you showing her would be more effective.”

“Fine.” Cannon spread his hands. “By all means, if you think you can do better.”

Reaper stood up. “Come with me.”

“That’s it?” She looked from him to Cannon. “No more explanations, just go with Reaper?” She had a strong urge to refuse.

“Oh, yes.” Cannon shot Reaper an amused smile. “You’ve already won her over, clearly.”

Reaper ignored him.

I’m told, he said to Mercy mentally, that you’ve chosen me to retrain you in using your Talent. Is this true?

Get out of my head, she sent back, irritated.

Make me.

She stared at him. Was he serious?

Your shields are pathetic. A child could breach them. Until you rebuild them, they present a very real danger to you. Anyone could attack you mentally. I could kill you right now.

She glared at him. She’d given him a certain amount of trust, and he repaid that by threatening her?

I’m not threatening you. I’m telling you the truth. If you want to work with someone who will hold your hand and tell you pretty lies, pick someone else.

Cannon, evidently reading her expression, stood up and leaned over the table toward her. “This would be why everyone was shocked when you picked Reaper,” he told her. “Let me know if you decide to retract that.” Shaking his head, he left the galley.

Mercy watched him go, then took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She needed to fix her shields. She needed someone who could make sure people like Willem Frain would never be able to use her again. She didn’t much care if that process was pleasant.

She looked at Reaper. “Can you fix my shields?”

“Yes.”

“So that even you can’t breach them?”

He thought about it, seeming to weigh his answer. “Probably. My telepathy is strong, but so is yours.”

“Okay then. I don’t need someone to hold my hand. I need someone who can teach me as quickly as possible.”

He nodded. Then let’s go.

Mercy suppressed a sigh. “You’re going to keep doing that until I can keep you out, aren’t you?”

At least you learn quickly, he said to her, and she could feel the thread of amusement that accompanied the words.

“That’s just great,” she muttered, and pushed to her feet. “Where are we going?”

First, to your new quarters. He looked her up and down, and she was suddenly conscious of the plain, infirmary issue tunic and pants she wore. Thin, synth-cotton, and completely unflattering. I thought you might want to change. Then, I’m going to show you the arena. He paused. It relates to what Cannon tried to explain.

“This queen stuff.” She wanted to see the arena anyway, after witnessing Max’s altercation with Kator.

Mercy followed Reaper without further attempts at conversation. She might not like the idea that she, like her grandmother, was a queen, but she didn’t entirely disbelieve it. Clearly, Willem Frain and his group had taken her for a reason. Frain had been sure there was something unique about Mercy and her Talent. Something that let her take a null like Atrea, and make her Talented. Mercy hadn’t believed him initially, either, but in the end he’d been proven right. Mercy’s disbelief was fueled by fear. Fear that they were right, fear at what would be expected of her if she really was like Lilith. Fear at what she could do, and who she would become in this place.

Mercy walked with Reaper down multiple corridors, lost in her own brooding thoughts. She should have been paying attention to where they were going, but a Monarch-class ship was as big as a small city, and it came equipped with maps and directions accessible at every wall. Finding her way was the least of her worries at this point.

If Reaper was in her head, eavesdropping, he didn’t comment. She couldn’t feel him, but that didn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t there, hovering just on the periphery of her mind.

“Why do they call you that?” she asked finally, curious, as she followed him into a lift, and Reaper selected a deck.

Call me what? Now his presence was there, distinct. Reaper’s mind had a particular feel. Like everyone Talented, his mind was strangely familiar to her. But where most people radiated a soft, golden warmth that was tinged with their unique personality, Reaper’s was like a cold flame. The light was there, the familiarity, but there was nothing warm to it. It was actually kind of refreshing. The press of so many Talented minds around her felt claustrophobic.

“Reaper. Or are you going to tell me that’s actually your name, like Mercy or Cannon?”

He considered her for a long moment. “My name is Nikolos. But most people call me Reaper. That’s been my…common name for years. Since I was a child.”

She could understand someone, especially in this place, earning a nickname like that as an adult, but as child? It didn’t fit. “Why?”

Reaper held her gaze for a long moment before replying. Like he was measuring her.

I am part of a unique subset of Talented. His words were back inside her mind, intimate in a way she still wasn’t used to. Yes, I have telepathy and even some telekinesis, but my primary Talent is…different. I look at someone, and see all of the ways in which to kill them. For example, your shields are so poor that a mental assault could stop brain function in 1.3 seconds. However, your body is also not in peak shape. You are malnourished and weaker, physically, that you should be. You wear no armor. I am taller, I outweigh you significantly, and I am trained. I could snap your neck in 2.6 seconds. Those are only the two most efficient methods. His voice was casual throughout the explanation. He looked completely relaxed, as if discussing how he would kill her was as normal to him as discussing what to eat for breakfast.

Mercy stared at him. The lift suddenly felt claustrophobic, and small spaces didn’t typically bother her. She realized she’d backed away from him while he was talking, and now stood pressed against the wall as far from him as she could get. There was literally nowhere to go, trapped inside this small box. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. He was already inside her mind. That coldness to his presence was no longer something soothing.

Yes. I could kill you instantly, more or less. But as we previously discussed, I have no reason to.

The lift stopped, the door opened, and he walked out. Mercy stayed where she was, remembering how to breathe. Unbidden, a memory surfaced from the space station, when Reaper’s team had assaulted it. They have a Killer, someone had said. The words had sparked a near frenzy of fear in the young girl with Willem Frain, and had spurred him to teleport out, abandoning his plan to kill Mercy.

This was why.

She forced herself to step out of the lift and into the corridor with him. It was like that time she and Atrea had gone zero-g jumping together. It was one of the attractions at Windfall, a vertical shaft through the center of one of the station modules that ran the entire length of the station, approximately eight kilometers. People stood on a tiny ledge looking down a hole so deep you couldn’t see where it ended, and jumped off. Somewhere in the middle of that adrenaline-inducing fall, an operator turned off the gravity generators, and bam, you were weightless, floating. You got to play around for about twenty minutes before they fished you out, and then it was someone else’s turn. But there was that fear, right at the beginning. If something went wrong, you’d hit the bottom.

Mercy felt the same sense of fear now, stepping out of that lift to stand beside Reaper. Taking that step felt exactly like that jump. Free-fall.

He studied her face.

Are you rethinking your choice? There are others on this ship who could teach you. People who are not like me.

She probably should have stopped to seriously consider his words, but Mercy found herself smiling wryly. Now that she’d made the jump, her fear faded.

“They’re pirates. Are you telling me these people aren’t violent? That they have never killed anyone?”

No. He looked at her. But it is different for them.

“Maybe. Maybe not.” She lengthened her stride to keep up with him as they walked. “Look, nothing has changed. Out of everyone on this ship, you’ve had ample opportunity to kill me, if that’s what you wanted to do. You haven’t, so I believe that makes you the safest person for me to be around right now.” She paused, then shrugged. “Safer than family, anyway.”

He gave her an odd look, and stopped beside a door.

“What?” she asked.

No one has ever called me “safe” before.

Mercy met his gaze for a long moment before answering. “I’ve spent my entire life running from things. When I was four, I had nightmares about my grandmother trying to kill me. I used to look at every stranger as a potential threat. When you live like that, you learn pretty quickly not to let fear control you. I can be hyper-aware of danger without giving in to being afraid.” She switched to speaking telepathically. What you are is frightening, but I’m used to viewing everyone that way. You have control of it. That control makes you safe.

Reaper smiled, and Mercy caught her breath. He was a striking man, with hard, masculine features and pale blue eyes that seemed to hit her with adrenaline every time he looked at her. But the smile softened his face and added a hint of warmth that made him suddenly approachable. It took striking features and made them compelling. She had the sudden, irrational urge to lean into him, to reach out and touch him. Watching his mouth, she found herself wondering what it would be like to kiss him. His smile widened as he watched her, and Mercy remembered that he could hear every thought.

Don’t let it go to your head, she told him, ignoring the way her face heated. I just spent weeks thinking I was a dead woman. It’s natural to think of sex after coming back from the brink of death.

Were you thinking of sex? Reaper shocked her by reaching out and taking her hand. The second his fingers brushed her skin, her stomach tightened, and warmth bloomed down the back of her hand, seeming to spread over her entire body in an instant. He pressed her fingers to the door panel. I thought it was just a kiss.

He dropped her hand as the door slid open, and Mercy cradled it against her like it was burned. She glared at him.

“Don’t look so smug. It isn’t attractive.”

He laughed softly, and it was a startling sound coming from someone who usually showed very little emotion.

“Liar,” he told her out loud, watching her with amusement as he leaned against the door jam. It was odd, the way his eyes didn’t quite reflect the laughter, but she could still see his mood in his posture, in his expression, and hear it in his voice. He was actually teasing her, and she wondered briefly if Cannon or Vashti would be shocked to know it. She had the impression that people didn’t often see things like that from Reaper.

She grinned, her own amusement eclipsing whatever embarrassment she felt.

“Let me have my illusions,” she told him.

As you wish.

Still smiling, he gestured through the doorway.

“Your new quarters,” he told her. “Already keyed to your biometrics, obviously.”

Mercy moved past him into the room. She’d been expecting the same kind of standard closet common for most shipboard bunks. Space enough for a bed, maybe a private head if you were lucky, enough room to stand and change clothes, with a couple of drawers in the wall to store your belongings.

This was nothing like that.

The door opened into a spacious living area with actual furniture. Two chairs and a table, all bolted to the floor. They weren’t even utilitarian, as one would expect from a military vessel. The chairs were plush, with high end, self-cleaning fabric manufactured in a comfortable micro-velvet. Along one wall was a length of counter with an attached cold unit for refrigeration, a nano-replicator, a sonic cleaner and an entire bay of storage drawers.

And that was just the first room. Off to the left was a doorway, and when Mercy stepped through it she found a bedroom, with an actual, full sized bed. Bunks on board most ships were narrow affairs affixed to the wall, barely large enough to accommodate a single person. This was in an alcove in the wall, much like her old bunk on Captain Hades’ Dauntless. But there the similarity ended. The alcove could comfortably sleep two, and it was long enough to fit someone much taller than her, and she wasn’t exactly short. The mattress fit inside the alcove, with nano-graph coming up from the floor to shape around it, holding it securely in place. The bedding that lay on it looked like real linen, and when she ran her fingers over it, the fabric was smooth and soft, with none of the stiffness that came from synth-cotton.

Drawers lined the adjacent wall, and on the opposite side of the room a doorway led into a bathroom, complete with a sonic shower that could be, Mercy noted with interest, switched to water when it was available. Not many ships wasted water for bathing, but it was a luxury many people enjoyed when they could. It wouldn’t have been standard on a military ship, so this was another alteration to Nemesis made by the pirates.

“You’ll find the drawers are already stocked with clothing,” Reaper said from the doorway. “I’ll wait outside.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask how that was possible, when the door shut. Then Mercy remembered she didn’t need to speak the words aloud. Irritated with herself, she reached out to him mentally. It was going to take time for her to get accustomed to using Talent as a matter of course; she’d spent too much of her life avoiding it.

How are they already stocked with clothes? I just got here.

You were kept in a medically-induced coma for three days while Doc assessed and treated you, Reaper told her. More than enough time to provide you with anything you might need.

Mercy opened a drawer and found it stuffed with multiple shirts, everything from simple cotton undershirts, to fully lined armored clothing. She ran her fingers over the armored clothing. It was the expensive stuff, too, made from nano-graph, like the ship’s walls and hull, but smaller, more flexible honeycombs that produced a supple, cloth-like finish. It wouldn’t stop an armor piercing round, but it would take the impact from a disrupter, or turn aside a knife blade. It was nearly as light and flexible as normal fabric, which is what made it so damn expensive. Mercy had noticed Cannon and others wearing it, but she had to wonder how something that cost so much could be so commonplace to them. The pirates seemed to have a penchant for expensive things.

Physical weapons were perhaps the least dangerous thing Mercy faced on this ship, but she pulled the armored shirt from the drawer anyway, knowing it would make her feel more secure. She found armored pants in the drawer below, as well as a variety of underthings. Everything, she noted, looked and felt new. It also fit her, for the most part. She did have to cinch the waist of the pants tighter, and she wondered if that was intentional. She knew she’d lost weight during her captivity.

Touching one of the panels on the far wall, she selected the option for a flat, mirrored surface. It was the first time she’d really looked at herself closely since before she and Atrea were kidnapped. Taking stock of everything done to her body was one thing. Seeing it reflected starkly back at her in one whole picture had her inhaling sharply in shock.

She hadn’t lost just a little weight. Body shaping and toning had never been an issue for her. She wasn’t someone who needed a body regulator implant to maintain her ideal health. Her life required the ability to pick up and run at a moment’s notice, and she’d kept herself in reasonable shape to accomplish that. But her face had a hollow look now, the cheekbones sharp slashes, the skin around her eyes almost bruised looking. Her arms were too thin, the muscle tone achieved from hauling crates across the galaxy all but gone. Her bronze skin did not have a healthy glow, but an ashen undertone. Her newly-grown hair hung in a messy cap, the dark strands bedraggled and uneven. It hung down to her eyebrows and barely brushed the tops of her ears on the side, looking like she’d chopped it off with a dull blade. The armored clothing she’d chosen was a dark burgundy, with a decorative scroll in gold down each sleeve and at the throat, a color that would normally have showcased her complexion. Now, it only served to look oddly bold and out of place, like a child playing dress up.

She had a sudden, inexplicable urge to cry, and choked it back ruthlessly. She was not a vain person, and normally didn’t care much for her appearance beyond whether or not she looked basically presentable. She’d spent so many years trying to be invisible to everyone, she just didn’t bother with enhancements and cosmetics. But looking at herself now, she didn’t see how Cannon, Vashti, Reaper…how any of them could look at her and think she was something special. She looked nothing like the vibrant, striking woman her mother had been, or the intimidating presence she vaguely recalled of Lilith.

She looked weak.

Mercy?

Reaper’s voice in her head was like a slap in the face. Mercy flinched.

Can I have one damn moment of peace? Is that too much to fucking ask? She thought the words at him viciously, suddenly so tired of it all. She just wanted him, all of them, to stay out of her head and leave her the hell alone. Turning away from the mirror, Mercy swiped a hand to change it back to an unreflective wall. She didn’t want to look at herself anymore. She sank onto the bed, not even bothering to fight the hot rush of angry tears now. Maybe Reaper realized she needed a minute without being pushed, because she couldn’t feel him in her head anymore. She curled up on her new bed and buried her head in her arms, trying to shut out the world. It was a lot harder than it used to be.

Mercy lay there for a long time. It was easier than trying to face everything. The silence of her room, the black emptiness of space, cold and free of all those Talented minds, pressed against the outer wall of her room, just on the other side of the bulkheads that protected her from a hull breach. She’d never found that comforting before, but she did now. She wanted to stay like that forever, but that proved impossible.

It could have been minutes, or hours, before her own thoughts proved too much, crowding her illusion of peace until she had no choice but to deal with them. She would give anything to have Atrea here. Someone who couldn’t read her mind, who would pull her into a hug, and shake her two seconds later, telling her to stop being an idiot. But Atrea was in stasis, maybe dying. Because of me. That was the crux of it. Mercy had been weak, and it was Atrea who would pay the price.

Not that she would blame Mercy for it. Atrea wasn’t like that, had never been like that. Mercy, on the other hand, could blame herself without any help from her best friend.

“I’d trade places with you, if I could,” Mercy said to the empty room. She tried to imagine what Atrea would say in response, and almost laughed, despite everything.

Get over yourself, Kincaid. That’s what Atrea would say. Mercy could practically hear it. It was a bad situation. One we never would have been in, if I hadn’t walked us into that dive on Yuan-Ki. So stop crying and figure out how to fix me.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Mercy wiped at her face with a sleeve. The armored clothing was, among other things, self-cleaning and self-mending. It absorbed the moisture instantly. With an effort, she stopped her tears. She didn’t have time for self-pity. She had to figure out everything she possibly could about her Talent, everything she’d never known, if she was going to help Atrea.

When she left her new quarters a few moments later, she was carefully composed, all trace of tears gone. Reaper waited for her, leaning against the wall in the corridor like he had all of the time in the universe. He straightened when she stepped outside the door, but she didn’t meet his eyes.

“You’re still here.”

He considered her carefully. Mercy was pretty sure her efforts to erase the evidence of her tears had not been good enough to escape his notice, but he said nothing.

Where else would I be?

She decided the safest thing was to ignore that. The last thing she wanted to think about was Reaper’s whole day revolving around her for the foreseeable future.

“This Queen thing,” she said. “Is it the reason I was able to…make Atrea Talented?”

From the corner of her eye, she saw him visibly react to her words, going absolutely still. “Is that what you did?” he asked, his voice without inflection. She noticed that he spoke out loud, instead of in her mind. She nodded.

“Yes. What Frain did…it might kill her. But what I did could kill her, too. Her mother was Talented, but Atrea was born a null. Somehow, I found that potential inside of her, and I…I made it real.” Mercy looked down at her hands, realized she was holding them clenched together, so hard it hurt. She forced them to relax, holding them loosely at her sides.

“Yes,” said Reaper. “Lilith used to make certain Talents stronger when she found it useful. It is something unique to being a Queen. The ability to sense Talent in someone, and manipulate it.”

Mercy nodded, almost to herself.

“So, if I learn how to use it, maybe I could change what I did.”

Reaper didn’t answer right away. Mercy had the impression he was weighing his words. She suddenly wished she could be inside his head, listening to his thoughts. She wanted the truth, however stark or unforgiving it might be.

“Don’t lie to me,” she told him, looking directly at him for the first time. She met his eyes without flinching. “Don’t ever lie to me. Not to make me feel better, or protect me, or for any reason.” She took a breath. “Can I fix Atrea?”

“I don’t know.”

“But maybe.” If he wasn’t sure, that didn’t mean it couldn’t be done.

Reaper watched her carefully. “It’s possible.”

“Okay, then.” Dry eyed, and more determined than she’d ever felt in her life, Mercy lifted her chin. “I want to get started. Show me this arena.”