Page 45 of Ashes & Aether

The docking sequence completes with a soft hiss of equalized pressure.

I lead her down the ramp and into the pristine, luminous corridors of the Sovereign. Avaren soldiers pause in the hallways, their glowing eyes tracking the small human female walking beside their spymaster. Maggie does not shrink. She matches my long strides, her heels clicking against the deck floor.

We enter the primary observation chamber. The curved transparent walls offer a breathtaking view of the blue-and-white marble of Earth below.

Four of the Sovereign’s chiefs wait around the table. Caden stands at the head. Beside him, Kael offers a small nod, while Cyrel hums with nervous, academic energy, her datapad hovering above her palm. Lirael, our chief medical officer, watches the human female with calculating, silver-flecked eyes. I introduce them all by name and rank.

“Margaret Elmsleigh,” I tell my brethren. “Commander of the British Isles.”

Maggie steps forward. She commands the room despite being half our size, sweeping her gaze over the Avaren towering around her.

“Gentleman. Ladies.” She doesn’t bow. She doesn’t flinch.

“We are honored to host you, Commander,” Caden says smoothly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Orien’s reports indicate your tactical acumen is formidable.”

“His reports are accurate,” Maggie replies flatly, making Caden snort with surprised amusement. She turns her attention to me, then to Lirael and Cyrel, before taking a deep, stabilizing breath.

Her fingers move to the cuff of her blouse. She undoes the small pearl button and pushes the fabric up her left arm, exposing the pale skin of her forearm to the brilliant lighting of the observation deck.

Right in the center of her flesh sits a ragged, puckered white scar. It is a perfect, jagged circle. A violent imprint of serrated teeth.

“Two and a half years ago,” Maggie says, her voice echoing into the stunned silence, “I was attacked by a husk. It bit me, breaching my skin.”

Cyrel drops her datapad. It clatters against the floor.

I force my face to obey my commands, widening my eyes. I bury my prior suspicions—the deductions I made—deep behind my mental walls. As far as the Sovereign’s officers are concerned, I was as clueless about this as they were.

“By the Creators,” Lirael breathes, stepping forward, her silver eyes locked onto the scar. “You did not turn.”

“I did not turn,” Maggie confirms, lowering her arm but leaving the sleeve pushed up. “I locked myself in a room and waited to lose my mind. The fever never came. I am immune to the Ghorvek virus.”

The chamber erupts into overlapping whispers. Caden steps closer, his expression one of pure awe. Kael stares at my female like she is a deity pulled from ancient mythology. Lirael and Cyrel close the distance, the scientific hunger practically radiating from them.

“Commander Elmsleigh,” Lirael starts, her voice vibrating with desperate hope. “Do you comprehend what this means? If your biology neutralizes the pathogen, we can synthesize a cure. We can reverse the necrotic damage in the early stages of infection. We need to test your blood. We must analyze your plasma against the known Ghorvek viral strains immediately.”

Cyrel nods rapidly. “A microscopic sample. That is all we require. The implications for planets under siege are staggering.”

Maggie holds her ground against their encroaching enthusiasm. She doesn’t back away, but her left eyelid gives that rapid, beautiful little twitch.

“You may test my blood,” Maggie states, her voice slicing through their excitement like a blade. “I will provide the samples necessary to synthesize a cure for the infected.”

Lirael exhales a shuddering breath of relief.

“However,” Maggie continues, raising her chin. She turns her head, her piercing blue eyes locking directly onto mine.

“You may analyze my blood and genetics only as they relate to the pathogen and my immune response. You will not run my genome through whatever registry you use to solve your fertility issues. You will not retain any sample for reproductive screening or unrelated research.” She doesn’t blink, driving the ultimatum straight into my chest. “I will not be tested to see if I am a match. Those are my conditions. You accept them, or I walk back to that ship and return to my bunker.”

I clench my jaw to ward off the sharp pain in my chest. The rejection is bitter, burning the back of my throat. She is terrified of the gravitational pull between us, terrified enough to draw a line in the sand before half of the Sovereign’s command staff.

Lirael hesitates, glancing at me as if asking for permission.

I hold Maggie’s gaze. I absorb the hit. I swallow the ache, pushing it down.

She wants to build boundaries. She wants to pretend the chemistry in the cockpit was a biological misfire. She wants to remain an island.

I am a spymaster. I dismantle fortresses for a living.

“Accept her terms, Lirael,” I command, my voice a silky, lethal whisper that sends a shiver through the room. “The Commander’s genetics remain her own.”