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Eris got the call from her commander while she was killing a man.
Her Pathos, the communication chip embedded within her cerebrum, echoed through her skull with the most irritating musical tune. Commander Sher had chosen it because he knew Eris couldn’t ignore it. <Riiing riiiing this is important,> the tune sang. <Listen to meee and remember don’t murder people!>
Eris saw stars. The Oracle’s programming was a benefit and a curse. Right now, it was pumping adrenaline through his body and running code through his brain until all that remained was the Oracle’s commands: God of Death, I kill for Thee. In Thy name I give my body. Nothing else. No consciousness. No choice. No autonomy.
The God of Death did not have favorites. He simply took.
And her patron god was Letum, the most powerful of their pantheon. Death Himself. Eris whispered a prayer to her insatiable god. In His name.
“Clo knows these types of ships inside and out, and I’m not taking any chances. Questions?” A pause as Clo and Eris looked at one another. Then at the same time: “Who’s in charge?” Sher grinned. “Told you,” he said to Kyla. “Hand over the scratch and nobody gets hurt.” “Oh, shut up.” Kyla dug in her pocket, came up with a few coins, and smacked them into his hand. “I’m disappointed in you both.” “You deserve it,” Clo said. “You shouldn’t have bet on us. Answer the question.”
Clo sighed. “All right. I’ll do it.” Sher and Kyla both looked at Eris. She shrugged. “I already signed on. ITI mission, remember? Little chance of success, high chance of death. My favorite.” Clo’s eyes met Eris’s. “Yeah. I’m familiar with Eris’s favorite hobby. It cost me a leg.”
Regina regem necat. Queen kills King.
“Yer gonna get us fluming sunk,” Clo hissed. “Ye no care a peat fer us Snarl berms.” Sher frowned, struggling to understand. Clo made an impatient sound. “You’re. Going. To. Get. Her. Killed,” she said enunciating everything in insultingly slow Imperial, so he could understand her all proper-like. “You eejit.”
Eris strode down the hall, and Clo’s limping, uneven footsteps followed. “I don’t want to die because of you,” Clo muttered. “Clo. If anyone is going to kill you”—she jerked the door open—“it’s going to be me. Now get inside.” Eris shut the door behind them.
Eris ignored the question. “Did you kill those guards? And the Legate?” “Of course I didn’t,” Ariadne said. “I don’t like killing. That was Nyx.” She indicated the tall, military woman next to her.
Ariadne clapped her hands. “I’ve always wanted to meet a pirate. You’re not here to kill us, are you? Because I’ve just decided I like you, but I take exception to someone trying to murder me.”
“That one is military. Takes one to know one.” That woman had dead eyes. Devoid of expression. She had the look of a thousand kills to her. Back in the barracks, they would have called her Blessed. It was always clear when the God of Death chose His favorites; they carried the burden of every life they took. Nyx would know. She had been Blessed too.
Ariadne was almost dancing with delight. “Oooh! They put shifter tech in the suits? How much can you change? Can you give yourself a tail? Can I have one?” Nyx suppressed a sigh. She was the only one with a Mors still pointed between Eris’s eyes. “Why would I want a tail?” Eris asked. “What would I do with—” “You can have a tail if you want,” Clo interrupted. “Especially if you make her”—she gestured at Nyx—“lower the weapon.”
“So, let me get this straight. Your plan was to murder a Legate and his guards, commandeer a ship, and just . . . find the resistance?” Clo asked. “That’s not even a plan. Seven devils, that’s barely even a fraction of a plan. That’s like a note to self after a night of carousing.” Ariadne bristled. “We knew where to go; we just needed a way to get there. We planned this for a year.”
“We know our worth,” Ariadne insisted, angling her chin up. “Rhea”—she pointed to the other woman, who gave a little curtsy—“is a magnificent, highly talented courtesan who is very prone to extracting interesting details post-coitus.” Nyx shut her eyes and muttered, “Please, seven gods of Avern, never let me hear that kid say the word coitus again.”
“Fine.” Clo held the rock out to Eris. “Here, take this stupid thing.” Ariadne slid between them. “Can I have it?” she asked brightly. “I love rocks. I’ll take good care of it.”
“Don’t melt your face off,” Eris muttered. “Kyla will kill me.” “We’re taking proper precautions,” Ariadne said. “Hopefully,” Eris said into the speaker from behind the glass. “You worry too much,” Ariadne sang. “We’ll be fine. Josephine won’t hurt us.” Eris rolled her eyes behind the partition before speaking into the microphone. “Josephine is an inanimate object of questionable origin. She can’t make the decision. She can’t make a decision.” A pause, then: “And I can’t believe you have me calling a rock Josephine.”
Ariadne smiled smugly at Nyx. “See? Josephine is gorgeous.” “Does the ship’s computer show any hazardous spikes?” Clo’s voice sounded through the speakers. “Please tell me no. I don’t want to hemorrhage and die.”
“All clean.” Ariadne breezed into the mess hall. “Josephine is back in her lead home.”
Nyx swore through the Pathos. <I’ve seen him execute merchants for selling to the wrong individuals. I hope you know what you’re doing.> <Yeah, ’cause if you don’t, we’re all dead,> Clo chimed in. <I appreciate the vote of confidence,> Eris replied.
“Either handle it or let me die. I’m tired.” Her bones were as heavy as her heart as she started for the doors.
“What’s a little identity kidnapping between friends?”
“Remember,” Rhea told the two soldiers. “No deaths.” “What about maiming?” Nyx asked. “Because maiming seems highly likely.” “No maiming unless you really can’t help it. And even then, only a little maiming,” Ariadne admonished, firm despite their fourteen inch height difference.
“Seven devils, we’re screwed,” Nyx muttered. Ariadne grinned, as if Damocles’s words bounced off her like a child’s rubber ball. “Hey, I like that. Seven of us, and we’re devilishly clever.” She gave a clap. “I hereby dub this our team name.”
“Really? You’re going to name us after a curse?” Clo asked. Then she paused, considered it, and gave a half-shrug. “Actually, it’s not bad.”
