PROLOGUE
Was there ever a perfect time to murder an emperor?
Admiral Devon Bastion lay awake in the darkened bedroom of his private quarters. The almost imperceptible drone of the Maelstrom’s powerful engines was nothing more than white noise, pushed aside and garnering none of his attention as his mind poured over the events of the last day.
It had been a long thirty hours—a day of rapidly occurring events that culminated in the death of Emperor Ahlaric—a death Bastion dealt out with his bare hands. Word of the emperor’s murder spread, and Bastion expected the empire to stand on the edge of civil war within the week. There’d be no going back from any of it now, but he’d known that’s how it would be each time his fist pounded the emperor’s face.
He had no regrets over his actions; he had a reason for everything he’d done, a legitimate justification behind each decision. Emperor Ahlaric, a drug-addicted megalomaniac, had ruled the empire since the death of his wife, Empress Elyahna, at the hands of assassins. General consensus held warlocks responsible for her death but no definitive proof had turned up to support the accusation—an irrelevant point at the moment. The focus of those in power in the wake of Ahlaric’s death would be on finding who killed the man, or who it would be most advantageous to pin it on.
Rumors were already spreading that pointed the finger at Lady Silver. Apparently, a few of the palace guards reported seeing the light of a warlock’s aura—silver light—seconds after the discovery of the emperor’s body. Only one warlock known to manifest a silver aura when using her magic, Bryanna D’Isaac immediately became the prime suspect.
She’d been at the palace but she had nothing to do with the murder. He hadn’t even told her why he had her use her magic to transport him to the palace in Mithara City. She would not take responsibility for his actions; he fully intended to confess to what he’d done. Once he and his ship returned from the Well, he’d make his confession to the emperor’s son, the heir to the Imperial throne.
Until then, concern over punishment for murdering the emperor ranked far down on his list of priorities.
He was taking the Maelstrom, her crew, and Lady Silver deep into the Well in search of the ancient homeworld of all humans and warlocks. A destructive Cataclysm occurred thousands of years ago on Centralis, tearing open a rift in the barrier between levels of the multiverse, and it now threatened to give rise to another looming apocalyptic event.
An extinction-level event that could destroy all life in the galaxy, but it wouldn’t stop there. The coming Cataclysm would lay waste to all the layers of the multiverse, effectively unraveling the very fabric of creation.
The death of the emperor paled in comparison.
Lady Silver and her extraordinary magic could heal the breach in the dimensional barrier if she could get to Centralis. It was up to him to get her there, a task for which he was willing to sacrifice himself, his crew, and his ship.
He closed his eyes and drifted to sleep, ready to take them all into the Well.
==***==
CHAPTER 1
T’Laan stepped aside as the door to Bryanna’s quarters slid open. “After you, Lady Silver.”
Bryanna used the towel around her shoulders to wipe the sweat from her face. Walking into her quarters with T’Laan close on her heels, she motioned him to the sofa. “Thanks for going to the gym with me. With you there, I don’t get to cheat or slack off.”
T’Laan stretched out on the sofa, the blue lights of his neural network flickering beneath his plasticon gelform ‘skin.’ “Considering how much you whine when I put you through the paces, I’m surprised you’re thanking me.”
“I thank you because you’re doing what’s best for me.” She headed toward the bedroom. “I don’t have to enjoy it. Going to grab a quick shower. You’re welcome to hang around if you’ve got nothing else to do.”
“I’ve got some downtime, so I’ll wait.”
After a hot shower, she stood before the large mirror over the double vanity. Many had proclaimed her ‘beautiful,’ but she didn’t see it. Granted, she didn’t consider herself unattractive but instead thought she belonged in the realm of ‘average.’ No scarring or discolorations marred her ivory skin. Firm, full breasts, not oversized or out of proportion to her delicate frame, stood out against her flat abdomen. Her narrow waist gave way to round, sculpted hips.
She’d entered puberty around the time of her thirteenth birthday. The curly mound of silver pubic hair signaled her transition to womanhood. Smiling, she remembered T’Laan’s awkward attempts at explaining all the changes happening to her.
She focused on the pendant hanging from the silver chain around her neck. She slid a finger over the gemstone’s smooth facets. Memories reared, and again, her skin burned at the admiral’s touch when he’d hung the necklace around her throat.
Glyndra, her friend and the admiral’s adoptive mother, had said Bastion’s security codename was Dragon because of his stubbornness. Bryanna wondered if it was something else, that maybe the admiral’s fellow soldiers knew the true Devon Bastion. Perhaps they knew the man who could beat someone to death. Maybe they named him Dragon as an acknowledgment of the monster that lived inside their admiral.
Sighing, she pushed Bastion from her thoughts, dressed, then joined T’Laan in the great room.
He stood as she approached. “We’ve been summoned. The admiral wants us on the Bridge.”
“He told me last night, but I assumed it would be later.”
T’Laan extended his arm. “It seems now is the time. Shall we, Lady Silver?”
She frowned and placed her hand on his arm. “Will you stop calling me that?”
“Probably not.” Smiling, he led her into the corridor.
***
Bastion stood with Commander Rhola, his First Officer, at the forward view screen, their backs to the Bridge crew.
“I hope this works the way we want,” Rhola said.
“You’ve seen what this warlock can do. You still have doubts about her ability?”
“Healing you is one thing. Protecting a ship this size is another.”
Bastion turned when T’Laan stepped off the lift, Bryanna on his arm. The silence that descended over the Bridge was palpable as she paused, the lift door sliding closed behind her.
The admiral stood arms crossed and impassive as the Bridge erupted with applause, the crew paying tribute to the nervous, blushing warlock. She smiled, glancing around and mumbling her thanks.
When Bastion signaled the crew back to work, T’Laan moved to present Bryanna. “Lady Silver on the Bridge, as requested, sir.” T’Laan retreated to the Tactical station, leaving her facing the admiral.
“Admiral Bastion.” She nodded, then looked at Rhola. “Commander.”
Rhola bowed. “Lady Silver. Delightful to see you again. Excuse me.”
She waited for Rhola to join T’Laan at the Tactical station. “You sent for me, my lord?” She looked past him to the view screen. “We’re at the Well perimeter.”
“Yes.” The Maelstrom held position at the edge of the Well. A perimeter guard station spun lazily on its axis a few thousand kilometers to starboard.
He stepped to her side and extended his arm. When she wrapped her hand around it, he walked with her toward Tactical. “We’re almost ready to begin operations inside Well space.”
Her unease telegraphed through the soul bond—a psychic connection unintentionally forged between them when Bryanna healed him from injuries sustained in a near-fatal explosion. The attention of his Bridge crew had her unnerved, as he knew it would. Not only were they curious about this warlock with the silver aura—an aura that should not exist—but she’d saved his life, earning their gratitude. If not entirely understood by her, it was clear to him that Lady Silver had won the trust and admiration of the Maelstrom’s crew.
“Admiral,” the comms officer said. “Captain Montison reports the Maverick is three hours out from our location.”
“Tell her to hold position at this perimeter station upon arrival and await my orders.”
“Aye, sir.”
Bastion brought Bryanna next to T’Laan. “We’re going into the Well without engaging our military clearance for entrance.”
Bryanna looked over the displays and graphs. “Why?”
“If we go through on an authorized clearance, there will be a record of it. Going through without authorization will register as a quarantine breach. Normally, a ship would be dispatched to investigate. Luckily, the Maverick will be in the area and available to check it out.”
She smiled up at him. “What a fortuitous coincidence.”
“The only coincidences on my ship are the ones I arrange.” He stepped around her to look at the Tactical console’s scanner display. “Anything showing in the Well?”
“Sensors show clear,” Rhola reported. “But that’s not saying much from this side of the perimeter grid.”
Bastion continued to study the display. “Your job will be to get us through, my lady.”
Bryanna looked from the admiral to T’Laan, then back. “You want me to punch the Maelstrom through the perimeter grid?”
He met her gaze. “Is that a problem?”
“No, but you haven’t—”
“Good.” He pointed to a course chart on the console. “Once we’re inside the Well, your home outpost will be our destination.”
She looked at T’Laan, who shrugged, and said, “Guess we’re heading home.”
Anxiety vibrated through the soul bond—she was uncomfortable with everyone watching her. He didn’t look at her but took her hand and gently squeezed it.
Releasing her hand, he said, “Mr. T’Laan will navigate us through the grid.”
T’Laan said, “You can do this, kiddo. Just like with the Wolverine.”
Bryanna took a deep breath and stepped back. “When would you like this done, my lord?”
“On my order, my lady.” He moved to his command chair.
“Give me a moment to build the magic.” Her aura seeped out, the silver light streaked with iridescent smoke and short flashes of electricity arcing around her. “T’Laan, set the time.”
“You’re a go on my mark,” he replied. “Admiral, permission to transfer helm control to Tactical.”
“Granted.”
“I have helm control,” T’Laan confirmed. “Commander Rhola, if you’ll monitor sensor scans as we enter the Well, please. There will be a second or two when we lose the sensors, but you should get a clean read once we’re through.”
“Understood.”
“Contact with perimeter grid in four minutes,” T’Laan said. “Station’s guard systems coming online.”
Comms said, “Station bot requesting our authorization information.”
“No reply,” Bastion said. “Steady ahead.” He looked around at Bryanna. She stood with her eyes closed, hands clenched into fists, and her arms stretched out at her sides.
“Ready, my lady?” Bastion asked.
“On your command, my lord.” The light of her aura flashed—white, blue, and platinum electricity crackling through gossamer silver smoke and light. Flashes of lightning slithered over her body and encircled her arms before arcing to and from her surrounding aura. Her hair churned as if blown by a whirlwind.
The smell of ozone filled the Bridge, and a low, electrical hum gradually overpowered the normal Bridge noise. Bastion moved up behind Bryanna. He didn’t enter the shell of her aura but stood at its edge.
“Contact with perimeter grid in one minute, kiddo.” T’Laan’s voice carried over the growing growl of the swirling magic. “Get ready to release on my mark.”
“Ready.” Bryanna’s voice reverberated around the Bridge.
“We’re good to go, Admiral,” T’Laan said.
“Proceed.”
“On my mark, kid…five…four…three…”
The surge of power in Bryanna’s aura washed over Bastion like a wave.
“…two…one…mark!”
Her aura flashed. Shielding his eyes, Bastion squinted to see the forward view screen. The Maelstrom slammed into the Well perimeter grid just as Bryanna’s spinning cocoon of magic disappeared from the Bridge, only to reappear on the exterior of the ship.
She cried out as her aura surged anew. Sparks and sizzling bolts of silver lightning burned over the magneto-plasma field that formed the Well perimeter grid. The Maelstrom rammed the field, the magic searing an opening through it, frenzied streaks of plasma-infused lightning erupting all around the ship’s exterior.
“We’re through. Back it down!” T’Laan shouted.
“Sensors coming back online,” Rhola called out over the roar.
Aura fading, Bryanna slowly lowered her arms, then swayed on her feet.
“I’ve got you.” The admiral’s arm was around her waist to pull her close in one smooth motion. “Breathe, my lady.”
She slumped against him for a moment, her hands gripping his arm before she regained her footing. “I’m fine, my lord. Thank you.”
He released her, keeping a hand on her arm. “I’ll escort you to quarters. You should rest.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“Commander Rhola, you have the Bridge. Proceed on course to the outpost.”
When the lift doors closed behind them, Bryanna jerked her hand away. “Next time you want me to perform like some sort of trained perrandia beast, have the decency to give me a heads-up beforehand.”
He regarded her in silence.
She planted her hands on her hips. “And I can find my way back to quarters without an escort. I don’t need you leading me around like your prize pet on display for everyone.” She fidgeted with the silver dragon pendant.
He said, “I’m sure you can. Nonetheless, I’ll escort you.”
“Do you have to protect me from your own crewmen? Am I not safe to walk the corridors of the Maelstrom unescorted?”
He leaned against the wall. “My crewmen pose no threat to you. However, the majority of them are male. You are an extraordinarily beautiful woman. When you’re in my company, when I escort you on my arm, it merely reinforces the suggestion that you are off-limits to them. An extra measure of security, nothing more.”
A blush crept up her neck to light her cheeks. “I don’t belong to you, Admiral. You made it clear you have no interest in me.”
“True.” He pushed off the wall and again offered his arm as the lift came to a halt. “But you agreed to appear my willing companion, so make certain your performance is believable in the eyes of my crew.”
As the lift doors opened, she placed her hand on his arm and walked at his side into the corridor. The crewmen acknowledged her with nods, bows, or whispered greetings of “Lady Silver.”
She smiled and toyed with her pendant.
