Dragon's Honor Read online

  Dragon’s Honor

  Natalie Grey

  Contents

  Also by Natalie Grey

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Dragon’s Hope

  Chapter 1

  Also by Natalie Grey

  Original Series

  Bound Sorcery (Shadows of Magic, Book 1)

  Blood Sorcery (Shadows of Magic, Book 2)

  Bright Sorcery (Shadows of Magic, Book 3)

  Set in the Kurtherian Gambit Universe

  Bellatrix

  Challenges

  Risk Be Damned (Trials & Tribulations, Book 1)

  Damned to Hell (Trials & Tribulations, Book 2)

  Vigilante

  Sentinel

  Writing as Moira Katson

  Shadowborn (Light & Shadow, Book 1)

  Daughter of Ashes (Rise of Aiqasal, Book 1)

  Meridian (set in Nick Webb’s Legacy Fleet Universe)

  Mahalia

  For Susan

  1

  India Quince sat at attention. Her back was ramrod straight, her uniform was crisp, and her curly brown hair had been successfully pulled into a tight French braid. She looked—or she hoped she looked—capable and calm. The Warlord liked both of those things. He did not like people who second guessed themselves, or who were too excitable.

  Twenty other officers of the Kell Corporation also sat in the stuffy room, and it did not escape India’s notice that there were 21 of them and 21 districts around the city. They were here to be promoted to District Administrators, they had to be—or something even better, something new.

  It was a chance to prove herself. India’s hand clenched around the hat she held under her arm, and she forced it open before she warped the thing.

  She had been five years old when her family moved here, her father one of the mercenaries on permanent assignment to Ymir, her mother hurriedly taking work in the new bureaucracy, and India had grown up in the neighboring city that housed the soldiers and their families.

  The Warlord called it Kell District, but the soldiers hated that. They weren’t just more of the dirty miners and brutal resistance fighters. They were the backbone of Ymir. Without them, nothing would function.

  And India, now old enough for her own command, was eager to rise beyond Kell District and into the inner circle. Into the city, itself, with the mansions and servants and fresh foods. She was not going to live out her life on canned rations, getting home every day from the same old patrols.

  No. She would do more for herself.

  The screen at the front of the room lit up and the other officers scrambled to get back to their seats, while India sat, already there, with a faint smirk. No one else seemed to be taking this seriously. It should be easy for her to stand out.

  When the Warlord’s face appeared, it was with the familiar mask and nondescript black clothes. He sat in a room India recognized as his personal office in the palace, lined with books and artifacts from Old Earth.

  “Welcome. Thank you for joining me.” His voice was, as it always was, cultured and smooth, and India shivered. This was the sort of life she wanted, far from tumble-down houses with leaking roofs, everyone just trying to get by with no thought of bettering themselves.

  Everyone nodded silently. Unless there was a specific question, you did not speak to the Warlord.

  “You will be wondering why I called you here today.” India could tell that he was smiling. “It is because each one of you has a distinguished record as a patrol officer. Of all officers on Ymir, you have shown yourselves to be efficient, capable, and immune to the emotional manipulation the resistance tries to use against my soldiers.”

  India’s lip curled. She hated the other soldiers who let lawbreakers go. She hated the pleas from the jail cells. They asked her to overlook curfew violations, theft, possession of contraband materials. As if it wasn’t their own damned fault for doing those things in the first place.

  “I am beginning a new initiative,” the Warlord told them, “one designed to eradicate the resistance completely. Too long we have let them scurry around like rats, spreading rebellion wherever they go. They never gained a toehold, but they remained a thorn in our side. The time for that is through. The citizens of Ymir must give up their fruitless insistence on mayhem and violence.”

  There was a pause, and the Warlord smiled.

  “You want to know what the plan is. I can see it in your faces. But I did not choose you all simply because you are efficient and dedicated—I chose you because you are creative. Each of you here today will be given jurisdiction over one district, unlimited resources … and free reign to do whatever it takes to bring the resistance down. I have complete faith in you. Each one of you was given an envelope when you came into the room. Open it, and you will see your assignment.”

  India pulled out the envelope and slid her finger under the flap to break the seal. She drew out a single piece of paper, on which was printed two words:

  IO DISTRICT

  “—and I have complete faith in your abilities.” Aleksander Soras ended the call and looked over to where his aide, Julian, was waiting. The younger man held out his hands to take the mask as Soras took it off with a sigh.

  It was a risk, sending the transmission from here. He had covered the signal in ways that should be unbreakable, and no one should be looking for the transmission … but Soras had learned the hard way, recently, not to rely on luck. Luck could run out.

  Which was why he was determined to harness a power that had never once failed him: human ingenuity. Ingenuity, in Soras’s mind, was not the stuff of scientific breakthroughs and inspiring speeches—it was cowardice, it was backstabbing, and it was self-interest.

  “You think this will work?” Julian asked him.

  Soras felt a surge of annoyance, but he kept a smile on his face as he looked over at the younger man. “I know it will,” he said simply. When he saw the fractional rise of Julian’s brows, he cursed himself. In his need to bounce back from several distressing setbacks, he was beginning to indulge in overconfidence.

  He sighed.

  “Do you know why micromanagement does not work?”

  A flick of Julian’s eyes assessed him, trying to divine the correct answer. Slowly, he shook his head.

  “It is a waste,” Soras explained. “I could spend my time trying to come up with a plan that would account for all 21 districts, all of which have slight differences … or I could deputize 21 officers and hint to them that the one who achieves the objective first will be rewarded beyond their wildest dreams.” He smiled and spread his hands. “And their wildest dreams are very, very small. Draping a backwater family in silks and giving them a mansion is far cheaper than a rebellion.”

  Julian nodded, his eyes faraway as he considered.

  “I chose only officers from families in the initial wave
,” Soras added. “For years, I’ve gone to Kell District every damned year to tell them how important they are, how indispensable they are, and they eat it up. And it’s important to give them that, you see, but not give them everything else that they want. They know life isn’t quite to their liking—leaking roofs, army rations … they know they want more…. And so I tell them how wonderful they are, I give them a reason to reach for more than they have, and I simply put the resistance in their way. Because they will find a way. Human ingenuity is limitless.”

  Julian looked for a moment as if he might object, but in a moment, the look was gone. He gave a respectful nod.

  “Would you like me to connect your call to Ms. Kuznetsova now, sir?”

  Soras’s hand clenched. He did not want to make this next call.

  And so, for now, he would delay. He lifted a finger to hold off the call. “In a few minutes. For now, call Tera. And leave us. I will call you back in when I need you.”

  What Julian thought of Tera, Soras had never determined. His face was entirely blank as he started the call and withdrew, and Soras looked at the screen, waiting until his daughter’s smiling face appeared.

  “Hello, Tera.”

  Tera smiled at her father and folded her hands in her lap. He hadn’t called in days, and, as her only true contact with the outside world, his calls were her lifeline.

  “How have you been?” She noted the faint signs of stress in his posture. “Is everything all right at work?”

  His lips tightened, and he swallowed. “Yes.” He saw her look and sighed. “No. Well, what I mean to say is, there is a problem I’m working to resolve.” He forced a smile. “One should expect such things, yes? This is Alliance Intelligence, not an ice cream shop.”

  Tera gave a little smile. Her father was trying to be good-tempered so as not to worry her. “I see. And, uh … how is … Julian?”

  “Julian?” Her father blinked in surprise. “Well enough. Why do you ask?”

  “I was trying to talk about something other than your work.” Tera gave an embarrassed smile. “I’m not too good at that, though.”

  Her father’s smile was warm, and she saw him relax. “I appreciate it nonetheless. Tell me about you, Tera. Tell me about your vacation.”

  She saw him steel himself for complaint, and resolved not to make one. “I’m well. Of course, I’m well. It’s beautiful here, you know that. You should come. Just for a few days. I know you can’t right now, but maybe soon.”

  He looked almost sad. “I will when I can. I may have one of the other estates readied for you. A change of scenery, but still a vacation, I promise.”

  “Whatever you wish.” When he raised an eyebrow, she smiled. “Your work is stressful right now. I don’t want to argue and make things worse.”

  “Thank you.” His smile was wry, but genuine. “I mean it, Tera—thank you. I have to go now. I will be in touch when I can. I know … this wasn’t a proper conversation. I just wanted to see your face and know that you were well.”

  “I am.” Tera smiled at him. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” He ended the call with a smile.

  Tera waited until the camera was off and stowed away, and then she blew out her breath. She looked around herself at the room, at the scattered papers and maps and books. She had dragged the computer into the corner when she heard him calling, so that he wouldn’t see her work.

  He would only worry if he saw it, and she didn’t want him to worry.

  That was why she was doing this, she told herself. Well, that and the fact that she’d started wondering, recently, what the best use of her talents was. To be an assassin was both to strike in a very limited way, and to know that sometimes one life held the fabric of the world in a knot, and so one death could do a great deal of good.

  Which was why she had decided to stop going after weapons dealers and slavers. Someday, she might return there.

  For the moment, the world had a bigger enemy: the Warlord, himself.

  And when she took him down … her father would see what she was capable of, and, with the Alliance’s greatest enemy defeated, he would no longer be so stressed.

  Tera rubbed at her forehead, stood, and walked wearily back to her main table. It was littered with papers detailing, as best as she could tell, the electrical sources, financial transactions, and defense contracts that kept Ymir afloat as a dictatorship.

  She couldn’t just strike at the Warlord. She had to think bigger. She had to begin to dismantle what he had built, so that the planet could be free once more. She was going to bring him to his knees.

  And then she was going to kill him.

  2

  Samara—I miss you. It’s been a long time since we talked, but Ellian swore this connection would work. If so, give me a time to call you. Aryn.

  “Samara?” A hand came down on her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” Samara wiped at her eyes. “I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

  To her horror, Stefan leaned in to look at the screen, and then, almost without volition, his head turned to look across the room at Nura. Despite herself, Samara followed his gaze.

  Nura and Aryn shared the same delicate bone structure, the same full lips, and the same eyes, so deep a blue that they almost glowed. But Samara could not think of two people more different.

  Neither of them spoke much, but where Aryn’s silence invited confidences, Nura’s seemed to forbid them. Where Aryn wanted to see the good in everyone, Nura seemed to suspect that everyone in the resistance cell was a traitor. And where Aryn had been a terrible soldier, always better suited to tending the wounded and finding ways out of engagement, Nura was the sort of person who only ever came at anything head on—and with a gun in her hand.

  Samara had to admit that Nura’s relentless suspicion had proved useful in the past. Her instincts on who not to trust had proved correct on more than one occasion, especially as Samara’s bolder tactics attracted more attention from the Warlord. With that attention came more genuine recruits … and more potential traitors.

  But it had been Aryn that Samara loved, and Nura unsettled her, looking so much like Aryn and being so very different. And she knew, as Stefan didn’t, that the last thing Nura wanted to know about was how Aryn was doing.

  She was too late. Stefan had already jerked his head at Nura to bring her over.

  “Nura.”

  “What’s going on?” Nura wasn’t one for small talk. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked between Stefan and Samara.

  “Nothing.” Samara hoped her tone was clear enough to Stefan that he wouldn’t speak up. “How was your patrol last night?”

  “If there was anything noteworthy, I would have told you.” One beautiful brow arched.

  And then Nura caught sight of the message. She leaned forward, eyes scanning the text quickly, and she jerked back as if she had been stung. One scathing look at Samara said she remembered just how close Samara and Aryn had been—and she didn’t think well of Samara, if they were still close enough to be speaking.

  On the one hand, Samara couldn’t blame her. When Aryn had left Ymir, it had been to marry Ellian Pallas, the Warlord’s arms master. Ellian was a snake, and Samara would just as soon plunge a knife into his heart as see him happy … but for the fact that he’d been willing to take Aryn away from all of this. He’d arranged for her parents to be housed in the inner part of the Warlord’s sanctum, released from their duties in the mines—where Nura would be as well, if she hadn’t rejected the offer.

  And, most importantly of all, Samara had made sure that Aryn didn’t know who Ellian actually was. It was a lie Ellian had been eager to participate in. As far as Aryn was concerned, Ellian brought food and medical supplies to Ymir.

  Samara took one look at Nura’s face and knew that none of those reasons meant anything to her. Nura was too straightforward. She wouldn’t see why Samara would be happy for Aryn to be with someone else, and she would never have lied t
o Aryn about who Ellian was. To her, Aryn was a traitor.

  She turned and strode away, and Samara gave Stefan a look.

  “…Right.” Stefan shook his head. “Sorry.” He nodded. “You have another message.”

  “She wrote again.” Samara heard the ache in her voice. Everyone on Ymir nominally had the ability to communicate, but the communications were, in reality, heavily controlled by the Warlord. That Aryn’s message had gotten through at all was a testament to Ellian’s influence—and, likely, his encryption systems. He was doing this as a favor to Aryn. Samara sighed as she opened the message.

  At her frown, Stefan leaned down to read the message, and his brows drew together as well.

  Because the message was not from Aryn.

  My name is Talon Rift, and I have received word that the resistance on Ymir is preparing to mobilize. I will arrive soon with weapons and soldiers to aid them. Further communication will be risky, but if it is worth the risk, you can respond to this message. Move carefully, and wait for our arrival.

  “They heard us.” Samara breathed the words. Three weeks ago, she had gotten a message off-world, but the transmission had been intercepted, and there had been no way to know if those who had received it had passed word along.

  But they had. Someone was coming.

  All Samara had to do was keep the resistance alive until they came.