Page 13 of Ashes & Aether

It makes my eye twitch.

A guard sets a glass of water in front of him, and Orien lifts it, inspecting the liquid against the harsh bunker lighting. He takes a sip.

Then he smacks his lips. Loudly. Theatrically.

I see what he’s trying to do. I’ve sat through plenty of dinners like this. Provoke the target. Find the stress fracture. Watch how they react in front of an audience.

I fold my hands on the table. “Is something not to your liking?”

Orien flashes a wide, entirely fake smile. “Don’t worry about it, Maggie. I’m just not used to tasting the pollution quite this much.”

My jaw clenches hard enough to crack my teeth.

Down the table, Tara leans toward Kairen. “Bet you the last edible jar of peanut butter on the planet that Maggie’s about to enter her napalm era,” she whispers loudly.

I ignore her and keep my voice deadpan, freezing the air between me and the spymaster.

“I’m certain that I didn’t ask what you are and aren’t used to tasting.”

Orien doesn’t flinch. Instead, he twirls his fork through the air, singsonging his reply. “I’m certain you can help change my mind.”

I stare at him for one long, murderous second. Then I shift my gaze to Kairen.

“Call someone else.”

The prince looks highly amused. “Orien will be more courteous,” he promises.

“I am being nothing if not courteous,” Orien huffs, placing a hand over his chest in mock offense.

“Be less of your brand of courteous, then,” Kairen replies, shutting the performance down.

Orien leans back, his amber eyes locked on mine, burning with a bright, dangerous intelligence. He isn’t deterred. He’s recalibrating.

“Maggie, please tell us what you know about the Ghorvek activities here, so that we may coordinate more efficiently,” Kairen requests politely, briefly interrupting my fantasies about torturing his spymaster.

Tara lets out a soft, disappointed whine at her amusement being cut short.

I take a deep breath, then motion to my aide for a map of Belgium. “Let’s discuss Brussels. The leaders there are holed up in the royal palace. We need to coordinate the European front.”

For the rest of the meal, Orien remains surprisingly muted, watching me direct the flow of information. He tracks my movements, my questions, my silences.

He thinks I am a puzzle to be solved. He thinks I am a locked door he can pick.

Let him try. He has no idea what I’m capable of.

3

ORIEN

The Talon disappears into the gray skies of the British Isles, carrying my commander and his newly discovered match toward the continent.

The mental link I share with Kairen hums with a final pulse of acknowledgment before the atmosphere swallows his ship whole. I stand on the damp grass of the Hampton Court outer gardens, rain beading and sliding off the matte-black surface of my nano armor. Around me, two dozen human guards remain frozen in their positions, their weapons lowered but their knuckles white. They stare at me like I might unhinge my jaw and swallow the palace whole.

I flash them a wide grin. Three of them actually take a step back.

Entertaining.

Then I turn and stroll back toward the bunker entrance. As I walk, I bring up the internal intelligence dossier I began compiling the moment Kairen gave me this assignment.