Free of the gestalt, Jonnah fed all his boosted energy into Diamond. He bent down low and urged her into a run that would get them home long before everyone else.

Diamond loved to run, and boosted like this, she could go on forever. She was one of the finest horses out of Jenshen and had been the last gift his mother had given him before she sent him away.

Jonnah had always known Yinicof would do what she could to get to his mother, but for the King of Kardenel to hand Miyelle over, just one more chip on the bargaining table—that was too much for his mind to process at the end of two grueling months on the road.

King Darius had seemed a better man than that, but then, what loyalty did he owe Miyelle ian Jenshen? Miyelle who came from Aravene. Miyelle who had once been betrothed to Aravene’s King. After Yinicof had disrupted her marriage plans, after Miyelle’s treasonous assassination attempt on the new queen, his mother had sold herself and her lands to Kardenel. And then, when old King Marrik’s protections hadn’t proved enough, Miyelle made her current deal with the Aravene crown, buying a ceasefire with two studs, a dozen mares, and her firstborn son as a hostage toward her good behavior.

The ground that would take the escort column over four hours to travel, Jonnah covered in one. He raced around the final bend in the mountain rode and pulled Diamond back to a reasonable canter as they passed down into the wide green valley that held the Royal Palace. The soldiers at the outer checkpoint waved to him as Jonnah rode through the gate that led him between two of the mile-long spokes that spread out from the central palace spire. He slowed Diamond further as they made their way up to the main gate.

Jonnah had been eight when he’d first come to the Aravene palace, and Yinicof had drawn him into her family, where she could keep an eye on him. He’d fit right in with the royal children: two years younger than crown prince Lorrel, four years older than the twin princesses. That tranquil repose had lasted only until his mother’s continued political maneuverings stoked Yinicof’s paranoia.

Yinicof had banished him from the tower, demanded he cease all contact with her children, and had, to his face, told him exactly what she thought of Miyelle and any child that bore her blood. Which meant he had lost the second woman he’d come to think of as a mother.

It had been a stupid move on the Queen’s part. Jonnah had felt nothing but affection for her until she’d turned on him. There he’d been, a lost and resentful twelve-year-old, with a new, growing sense of the politics into which he’d been born. Plenty of factions in the Aravene court hated Yinicof. Some even still believed Miyelle was the rightful queen. He would have been a perfect tool in those hands—Miyelle’s angry son who was still a beloved friend of the royal children. The royal children who didn’t understand—or abide by—Yinicof’s strange new rules about keeping their distance from him. Yinicof had any number of enemies. If a single one of them had been faster on their feet…

Instead, Anison had found Jonnah and Anison had taken Jonnah in.

Jonnah took Diamond to the stables and started to strip her tack, but a cluster of stablehands descended on him and shooed him away. They were all at loose ends; everything was overstaffed today in anticipation of the arriving escort. They royal grooms adored Diamond. Confident of the pampering she’d receive, Jonnah left her in their capable hands and went inside to deal with his own grooming.

The cool inside air was a shock after nine weeks in the heat. Jonnah tried not to cough as he made his way through the central rotunda, ignored the lifts, and took the path that led to the military wing.

Jonnah could have lived in the tower. High, high, above, close to the very top, the Jenshen family suites sat empty. Yinicof had offered them to Jonnah a few years ago, on one of those rare days she’d felt generous, but he’d declined—as politely as he could manage. He liked his small apartment in the military wing. It was space he’d earned. The same sort of space Anison chose to live in. Close to his friends; far away from the treacherous nobility who either hated him on principle or sought to use him as leverage towards his mother’s favor.

Jonnah hadn’t seen his mother for twenty years. And now, if the treaty went through, he might never see her again. Jonnah had never once questioned Anison’s guidance—not since The General first took an interest in that angry and scared twelve-year-old boy—but the idea of standing quietly by while his mother’s life was auctioned off for political gain—could he do that?

To so many in Aravene, Miyelle was a specter of fear, an embodiment of evil. The terrifying demon who had torn through the palace on a vengeful killing spree, leaving a wake of bodies that included dozens of soldiers, a handful of civilians, and half of the King’s Red Guard. But Jonnah’s memories were of strong hands lifting him up into a saddle. A soft voice singing him to sleep at night. And after years of resentment that she’d sent him away, he’d finally gained enough perspective to realize that doing so had been as much about his safety as her own.

The gleaming silvery archway over the entrance to the military wing was marked by a four-pointed star in polished obsidian. All the wings had similar ornaments, placed there by the builders. Thirteen wings. Thirteen symbols. Whatever meaning they held was long forgotten, the whys of the ancient technology as lost as the hows.

With the rotunda behind him, Jonnah pulled the booster off his head, and rubbed at his raw skin. Without the circlet jabbing its energy into his brain, the world lost a great deal of focus and he staggered as the full weight of his exhaustion settled over him.

He made it to his rooms, managed enough clarity for the lock to read his mental signature, and decided that no matter how attractive a nap seemed, he needed a shower before he touched a single piece of furniture. He stripped as he went, leaving a trail of clothes through his living room.

Some days, hot water arrived the minute he requested it. Today was not one of those days. But this was one of the more harmless signs of the palace’s decay. Jonnah stood outside the half-open shower door, letting splashes of cold water plink against his skin while he waited for it to warm. At least it was waking him up.

Behind him, someone cleared their throat. Jonnah spun around, saw Chandra standing there. “Jumpy,” was how she greeted him.

Jonnah’s answer was equally casual. “I’ve been boosted for the last two months. It happens.” After a pause, he added, “Captain.”

Her slight nod was the only acknowledgement of the fact that when he’d left, she’d been at the end of precarious, intense training, and now she stood before him a full-fledged Captain of her own Red Guard.

She wore it well. Chandra had always been confident, but now she seemed—what? Settled, that was it. Lacking a restlessness Jonnah only recognized in its absence. Her guard had entered the mindshare; their last hurdle passed. Chandra had shepherded the thirteen of them through the grueling and dangerous training and led them whole out the other side.

“You look good,” he said, his tone casual. She looked more than good. Her bright red hair was braided tight against her head. Her black and crimson uniform showed not a single wrinkle or speck of dust. Her sword hung at a perfect angle and not a fingerprint marred the finish of the pistol at her thigh. The very picture of military perfection, that was Chandra.

After months on the road, on duty, boosted and celibate, Jonnah wanted nothing more than to grab her and feel that more-than-good pressed against him. Exhaustion be hanged. But that sort of eagerness—that wasn’t how they played this game.

Chandra’s eyes slid up and down his naked body. “You look filthy.” Her voice was dry, but a smile danced in her green eyes. “How is it you’re back before anyone else?”

“Anison sent me ahead. Figured they could ride the last few hours without me. We’ve got a while yet before the real chaos starts.”

“Well then, I suppose I have some time to kill.” Chandra stepped forward and pushed him back against the shower door. The stiff fabric of her uniform dragged rough across his skin as she leaned into a forceful kiss.

Yeah, a nap could wait. Congratulations, by the way, he sent as his hand found the back of her head.

Thanks. Chandra pulled back an inch, just enough to break contact. “You stink.”

“I was working on that.” Jonnah stuck out a hand, found the water had heated while they’d been talking. “Care to join me?”

There came the wicked smile he adored. Jonnah stepped in and ducked his head under the water. He let the heat soak into him, surprisingly pleasant considering how much he’d been cursing the heat outside. When Chandra’s hands touched his back, he turned around, and this time he was the one pushing her against the wall.

Then it was all slick hands and heated skin. Her breath a shiver against his throat. Her nipples stiff against his chest. Her legs wrapped tight around his waist. An escape—he knew what this was for both of them. A physical indulgence to push away a mountain of worries. Neither had ever pretended what existed between them was love, but Chandra was one of Jonnah’s closest friends and over the years, they had become experts at giving each other exactly what they needed.

As Jonnah slid into her body, her mind pressed against his. He was too weary to shield all the thoughts whirling around at the front of his consciousness. She pulled suddenly back, knocking her head against the shower tiles. “The treaty—what?”

No. Not now. Jonnah dredged up his last remaining energy and sent it through her body like a flare. She gasped. Her nails dug into his shoulders as he thrust against her. With his gift, he stroked her nerve endings until they sang, while his body provided the counterpoint.

They arched against each other in release. For that one blissful moment, nothing else mattered. As the euphoria faded, Jonnah closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against Chandra’s shoulder. It’s been quite the day.

She stroked his hair. He still felt her hovering at the edge of his mind, but her own thoughts were guarded. “Anison’s right, you know. You should keep out of it. There’s nothing you can do to change things. You can only make it worse for yourself.”

Jonnah set Chandra on her feet, then backed into the water spray, re-soaking his hair. “She’s my mother.”

Chandra reached for the soap and started running it over Jonnah. Companionable, now, rather than suggestive. “Yinicof will be watching, waiting for you to take some incriminating action.”

“What do you think I’m going to do?” Chandra shrugged and Jonnah caught her hand, forced her to look at him. Seriously, what do you think I’m going to do?

Chandra twisted her arm, broke free of his grip with ease. “Politics aren’t my job. What Yinicof thinks isn’t my job. I’d love to stand here and trust you because you’re my friend, but that isn’t my job either.”

She stepped in close again, rinsing herself off. “I know she’s your mother, but she’s also the woman who came this close to assassinating Yinicof and she’s got a track record involving a lot of dead people who wore the same uniform as mine. You and I have never lied to each other, and I’m not going to start now by pretending I’m not in favor of this new provision.”

Her words chilled Jonnah, despite the steamy heat of the shower. “I appreciate the honesty, but you probably should go now.”

“Yeah. I’ve got work to do.” Chandra put a hand on his shoulder. Squeezed it. “I’m sorry.”

He nodded. He understood she wasn’t apologizing for what she’d said, merely expressing sympathy for his situation. “It’s been a long trip. I need some sleep before I’ll be able to think about anything like a rational person.”

She stroked her hand once more down his arm, then left him.