Page 70 of Ashes & Aether

I turn and stalk out of the ruined laboratory. I am no longer her charming spymaster. I am no longer the negotiator.

Margaret Elmsleigh is out there, perhaps trapped in a cage like Tara was, maybe already carrying my child.

I will burn the Sha’rekai galaxy to ash to get her back.

23

MAGGIE

Cold metal presses against my spine. A bitter, chemical tang coats the back of my throat, thick and metallic.

I don’t gasp. I don’t open my eyes wide. I keep my lashes lowered, letting only a microscopic sliver of harsh white light through. Survival begins with information, and information requires absolute stillness.

I catalog my physical state. A dull, rhythmic throb pounds at the base of my skull. My mouth feels stuffed with cotton. The muscles in my lower back ache with a stiff, heavy lethargy, indicating I have been lying on this solid surface for hours. Vessa Korvann sedated me. The question is, why am I not asleep? The Ghorvek pathogen failed to hijack my nervous system; could this anesthetic be burning out faster than it should?

I catalog the constraints. Thick bands of cold metal lock my wrists and ankles to the sides of a flat medical gurney. The restraints are tight, allowing less than an inch of vertical movement.

I catalog the room. Subterranean. The air smells recycled, stripped of the sweet moss and waterfall mist of Orien’s estate. The walls are seamless gray alloy. One heavy steel door stands directly ahead, secured by what looks like a biometric keypad. Two Avaren soldiers flank the exit, their posture relaxed, plasma rifles slung casually over their shoulders. They expect a sleeping human, not a threat.

I catalog the machinery surrounding me. A low, continuous hum vibrates through the gurney. A thick, transparent tube runs from the crook of my left elbow to a humming centrifuge beside the bed.

Dark red liquid flows through the plastic in an unbroken stream. They aren’t pulling a sample. They’re harvesting me.

A figure in a pristine white lab coat steps into my narrow field of vision. Pale hair pulled back in a severe, immaculate knot. It’s Dr. Vessa Korvann.

She leans over the gurney, her pale eyes scanning a hovering holographic display tracking my vitals. I let my head loll to the side, relaxing the muscles in my neck, feigning the heavy, vacant fog of deep sedation.

Vessa taps the console. “The human’s metabolism is processing the chemical compound faster than projected. Increase the drip.”

A mechanical whir responds. A fresh wave of cold liquid pushes into the IV line attached to the back of my right hand. I suppress a shudder. I need her talking. I need her close.

I let a low, ragged groan slip from my lips. Then I flutter my eyelids, staring blankly at the ceiling before dragging my gaze to her face.

“Where…” I slur the word perfectly, letting my jaw hang slack.

Vessa smiles. It is a terrifying expression, devoid of any actual warmth.

“You are in a secure, unregistered facility, Margaret,” she answers, her tone conversational, as if we are discussing the weather over tea. “Far below the capital. Your spymaster cannot hear you, and his tracking algorithms cannot penetrate these walls.”

I let my eyes drift out of focus. “My people…”

“Your people are irrelevant.” Vessa picks up a datapad from a metal tray beside the bed. “Your sole purpose now is the continuation of the Avaren species. You possess a localized immune response that dismantles the Ghorvek viral scaffold. I will isolate the binding sequence. I will replicate it.”

She touches the blood-draw tubing, watching my plasma feed into her machine.

“I merely required your bone marrow and plasma,” Vessa continues, her voice taking on a detached, academic cadence. “I fully intended to initiate a chemical termination protocol for the parasite. But then I realized I could use it as well.”

I blink at her, pushing away the haze of sedation.

“Parasite,” I whisper.

Vessa glances down at me, her pale eyes gleaming with absolute, fanatical triumph.

“The embryo,” she clarifies, waving a hand over my flat stomach. “Avaren scanners are flawless, Margaret. Gametic fusion occurred less than two marks before I brought you here. You conceived Orien’s child.”

The words hit the center of my chest like a sledgehammer.

You conceived Orien’s child.