“Right now they’ve got Fiear’s fleet holding the skies above the planet, not that anyone’s contested it, while Carthis is organizing more troops on the ground for a systematic battlefront like they did on Ascendia.”

Liam shot her a grimace. “They’re willingly comparing it to Ascendia? So bloodshed, bloodshed, and more bloodshed.”

“From the sounds of it. The whole operation turned into a mess.”

“What I don’t understand,” Liam posed thoughtfully. “Is why the Ellegian rebels who have spent, gods, years fighting the Society, would suddenly rejoin them in the midst of battle. I know Carthis kind of screwed them by leaving them out of the plans, but that doesn’t sound like a reason to completely change their tune.”

Leta regarded him sideways, her lips pursed and a frown creasing her brow. She couldn’t tell Fiearius what she had uncovered about the battle of Ellegy, not yet, as much as it was killing her not to. But she could tell Liam, couldn’t she? He’d proved enough times over that he was trustworthy with information and frankly, she needed this off her chest before it burst. So though she knew she probably should have stayed quiet, she instead said, “They didn’t. The Society did.”

Liam turned to her and tilted his head. “How do you figure?”

Well she was into it now. No going back. She took a deep breath, swung her legs up onto the couch and turned towards him entirely. “You know about Desophyles Cordova?”

“The terrorist?”

“He’s not–” Leta faltered. Gods, she was sounding like Fiearius. “Yes, him. He was on Ellegy during the battle. Fiear–” She cut herself off suddenly and narrowed her eyes. “This is off the record, by the way. All of this. This can’t get out, I–”

Liam waved off her concern. “Of course, it always is. I’d never publish anything you told me in private. So go on. Fiearius….?”

She drew in another breath. “Fiearius invited Dez to help him with the Councillor mission. They met up on the planet and he went with him for a while, but Dez had this other agenda. One that included blowing up half the city…”

Liam’s mouth fell open in shock. “I thought that was the rebels.”

“It was. Sort of. When Carthis cut them out, they teamed up with him and his followers. The explosions were all part of this convoluted plan they had to distract Carthis and the Society enough to take prisoners as leverage against each.”

“Oh yeah, I heard something about that. They’re in negotiations to get them back.”

Leta nodded and muttered, “Yeah, update on that, Carthis isn’t willing to give them anything they want…So that’s not looking very promising.”

“Great plan.”

“It wasn’t the only plan though,” Leta confessed, her voice getting even quieter. There was no chance anyone was listening, but she could never be too careful. It just didn’t feel right to say any of this so loud. “Dez was working with this woman, Ophelia Varisian, I think I told you about her?”

“The blonde psycho arsonist?” Liam put in and Leta couldn’t help but smirk a little.

“They’ve been working together for a while, though with the shit she pulls, you’d hardly know it. She’s been still following the orders of the Society Council all this time, but I guess collaborating with Dez as well, passing him intel, helping him out where she could. She was supposed to reach the Ellegian Councillor before Fiearius did and use her to gain access to the system and call off the Society’s attack. Which was coming. Quickly. The Ellegian fleet destroyed the CORS and turned right around. If they’d arrived, Carthis would have been overwhelmed and lost the air battle too. Our forces would be decimated.”

“But you told me this Varisian was killed,” Liam pointed out hesitantly. “And the fleet still didn’t return…”

“Because there was a second contingency.” Now, Leta glanced over her shoulder. Just in case. “He used Fiearius’ Verdant chip to command the fleet and tell them to turn around.”

Liam’s eyes grew wide. “And the ground troops? He–”

Leta nodded. “Ordered them to join with the Rebels.”

The news had hit her just as hard as it hit Liam now. He stood up from the couch and started pacing back and forth, his hand on his head. “Are you telling me…that that terrorist…is in command of the entire Society arsenal?”

“No no,” Leta assured him, leaning forward. “Only those that listened. A lot are still loyal to their Council over their Verdant of course, but I guess whatever he told them was compelling because the half that didn’t head immediately to Exymeron on the remaining Councillor’s orders did as Dez asked.” Before Liam could rephrase his question, presumably to ask if that terrorist controlled half of the Society’s fleet, Leta added, “And he doesn’t have the chip anymore anyway.”

Liam stopped pacing to look at her. “Who does?”

Leta grimaced uncomfortably and raised her hand a few inches in the air. “But I’m not using it. I’m giving it back to Fiearius as soon as he’s on his feet again.” It was Dez’s only condition to returning it to her caretaking and one she had little trouble agreeing with. Despite Fiearius losing the CID, it was still his as far as Leta was concerned. As for what to do with it–

“Then you have to give it back now,” Liam said suddenly. “Give it back and make him put it to good use. He can call off the Society troops on Ellegy and end the bloodshed before it begins.”

But Leta shook her head. “In his current state, I’m not risking that. The wrong stimuli and he could destabilize, go back to the seizures. We’ve already lost him before, I’m not contributing to that happening again. Even so, he would never do what you’re suggesting. Calling off the Society would mean Carthis plows through the rebels and takes Ellegy for themselves. For once, Dez actually did something kind of helpful.” The words tasted bitter in her mouth even as she praised him.

“Gods.” Liam gazed into the middle distance, looking so struck that Leta reached out to take his hand. He sucked in a deep breath, his eyes glassy. “I wish you hadn’t told me this.”

It was not the response she expected. “What?”

He started to laugh, quiet and strained, a little manic. “It’s just gonna make it so much harder.”

“Make what harder?”

Liam looked down at her and tightened his jaw, as though he was considering something very serious indeed. Finally, he nodded to himself and drew a tablet out of his bag. He switched it on and handed it to her. “Read this.”

Leta took the device, curious as to what this was about, and began to read the document open on the screen. It was a news report about Ellegy, but none of it was right. It described the battle that had taken place a week ago, but it read so wrong Leta barely recognized it, painting Carthis as saviors from on high and the Ellegian rebellion as treacherous scum out to get them every step of the way. The article ended abruptly, like it hadn’t been finished yet, on a line that outright blamed the people of Ellegy for the noble Carthian lives that had been lost.

The words left Leta stunned.

“What is this?” she breathed.

“My latest piece,” barked Liam bitterly. “What do you think?”

She looked up at him, her eyes round. “You’re joking,” she said flatly, not even as a question. Of course he was joking. There was no way this was real. No chance that this was truly his work.

“I wish I was.” He turned away from her and made a circle around the coffee table. “Obviously not done though. Just wait til I put in Gates’ interview.” He laughed again, even more panicked this time. “It really puts the nail in the coffin, you’ll see.”

Leta got to her feet. “You’re not publishing this.” He didn’t meet her stare. Perhaps couldn’t. “You can’t publish something like this. We need peace between Carthis and Ellegy. Not–” She shook the tablet towards him. “This will just give people another enemy to hate.”

“Oh yes,” Liam agreed, spinning around to face her finally. “That’s entirely the point.”

This didn’t make sense. None of this made sense. Liam knew the delicate balance of politics in this war. He and Leta were on the same page. They agreed. That’s why they had gotten along so well in the first place.

“I don’t understand.”

He met her gaze sadly for a moment and then sighed. “The outlook out there is bad right now. Ellegy was a series of mistakes and everyone knows it. The upper Carthian brass want the media to turn public opinion in their favor. They contacted my editor who contacted me and now–” He gestured towards the device in her hand. “Well you can see the results.”

But Leta was already shaking her head. “You can’t publish this,” she said again.

Liam let out an exasperated laugh. “I don’t really have a choice, Leta.”

“You do. You could not write it.”

His eyebrows shot up on his forehead. “Oh I can just not do it? Gee, why didn’t I think of that?” He rolled his eyes and paced around the coffee table again.

A spike of anger ran through her. “You can just not do it. You should just not do it! Why are you doing it?”

“Because they’re forcing my hand!” he snapped. “It’s not that easy, Leta. Even if I didn’t do it, somebody else would.”

“Fine, but it doesn’t have to be you!”

Liam let out a groan and put his hands over his face. “You don’t understand. This is my job. My career. I can’t just not do it. My editor asks me to write? I write. I don’t write, I don’t get paid. It’s pretty non-negotiable.”

“Non-negotiable?” Leta couldn’t believe her ears. “Liam, these are lives at stake here. This whole war is hanging in the balance right now, one little tilt and everything could fall apart. Everything we’ve worked for. You can’t just let that happen, gods, contribute to it because,” the words fell out of her mouth dripping in spite, “your editor told you to.”

He groaned again, louder this time and tore his hands away to look at her squarely. “Yes, actually, I can. And I will.” Leta opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off, “Look, it’s all nice that you can stand up on your moral high horse and tell me what’s right and what’s good, but those of us on the ground don’t have that option, okay? At the end of the day, I need a paycheck and a promise of more paychecks so I can just survive.”

“So you’re just willing to completely sell yourself out,” she accused, crossing her arms over her chest and regarding him with disgust. “Sell out all of Ellegy. So you can get paid.”

“Yeah, Leta, I am,” he spat back. “Because some of us still have to actually work and get on with our lives through this war. Not all of us are lucky enough to just get taken in and taken care of by the Carthian military because their ex-boyfriend is an admiral.”

Leta’s mouth fell open in shock. The anger she’d felt suddenly turned to rage. “Excuse me?!”

“You know what, just forget it,” he growled, reaching out and seizing the tablet from her hand and turning towards the door. “I knew you wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh I understand.” It was pure fury keeping her going now as she chased after him. “I understand that you’re a coward. I understand that you’re willing to sacrifice your integrity at the drop of a hat. I understand that–”

“You–” he snapped suddenly, turning on his heel and pointing at her. “You really need a reality check, you know that? Or actually–you know what? Maybe I’m the one who needs a reality check.” He barked a single humorless laugh. “I thought you were passionate and caring and focused. Turns out? You were just self-righteous.”

Before she could get another word in, he swung open the door and walked out. It slammed shut behind him, leaving Leta alone, her mind racing, her chest heaving and her hands at her sides trembling.

“For a man who recently died twice and underwent three surgeries, you still have enough energy to be an ornery old ass, don’t you?” she couldn’t help but point out.

Fiearius snorted his indignance. “I’m not old.” Apparently he didn’t feel the need to contest the other two accusations.

By all accounts, it was miraculous that Fiearius was even alive, let alone awake and feeling well enough to argue just a week after the Battle of Ellegy. Sure, he looked and sounded like he’d been hit by a freight train, but even exhausted and confined to a bed, after everything that had happened back in that tower, if he was already a fraction of the Fiearius she knew, Leta would take it.

Certainly the medical facilities and staff on Carthis proper had been a major contributing factor. From the moment Fiearius had arrived on the planet, there had been a constant barrage of people working their hardest to get him stabilized. Admiral Gates himself had apparently issued an order to the chief of staff that Fiearius’ treatment was the hospital’s highest priority. Their top physicians checked on him regularly, the nurses were constantly bringing him anything he asked for and Leta was certain he had the best view of the city in the building. Carthis clearly wanted him to survive this war more than he gave them credit for.

But as well as Fiearius had been doing and as grateful as Leta was that her calculated risk had paid off with the revival device she’d installed in him, his recovery was not without its side effects.

“Unless you can fix this.” Fiearius lifted his hand and waved it in front of his face. As he did, a surge of some sort overtook him, starting in his hand and a shudder that rolled up his arm, through his shoulders and made him grit his teeth uncomfortably. It lasted just a moment before he took in a deep breath and shook it off. “Or that. I’d rather not with the poking and the prodding.”

She sighed as she leaned against the table, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Are the twitches getting any better?”

“Not as painful anymore,” he admitted. “Just as irritating.”

“What about frequency?”

“Still once every hour or so.”

She tugged nervously on the stethoscope around her neck and crossed the room to pick up the tablet that displayed his chart. “I’d like to prescribe something for them, but I think it’s too soon to risk it,” she mumbled, mostly to herself as she scanned down the screen. “With the way your body reacted to the drugs I had to give you, I’d be hesitant to add more into your system…”

Fiearius, as he usually did when she tried to talk to him about serious medical issues, stopped paying attention. “All I wanna know is if this shit is permanent,” he groaned, dramatically dropping back against the pillows.

Leta looked up at him, feeling an ounce of remorse. It was her device that had caused the troubles that plagued him now that the bullet was removed and his wounds sewn shut. She’d hoped and prayed that it would keep him alive which it had, just barely, but she hadn’t known it would also cause blindness and regular muscle spasms…

“I can’t say for certain.” She could hear the apology seeping through her tone. Her fingers fiddled with the switch on the tablet. “We never tested that amount on a live subject. I’m not sure what the longterm effects are. If the twitches don’t stop on their own with time, there might be something we can do pharmaceutically. In regards to your left eye, I can get you in touch with an opthalmologist, they’d have a better idea of what we’re dealing with and what your options are, but–“

“Hey.” She looked up at him across the room and he was watching her with a frown creasing his brow. “This isn’t your fault, y’know? Well–” He cut himself off and shrugged. “It is, but I’m only lettin’ you take credit for the fact that I’m still breathing at all. The rest of this crap?” He rolled his eyes and lifted his hands helplessly. “My own damn fault for gettin’ killed to begin with.”

Leta felt a smile come to her face. “I did tell you to be careful.”

“And I never listen,” he replied with a grin himself.

“So I’ve been keeping tabs with Javier,” Leta changed the subject swiftly, laying the tablet back on the counter and leaning against the counter. “You have about a thousand messages waiting for you once you’re ready.”

Fiearius’ grin slackened into disappointment. “You have to remind me?”

“Hey, I’m the one who’s fielding everything from Gates for you.”

“I told him to go through Quin, she’s handling the fleet ‘til I’m back in action.”

“Yes, well he doesn’t like Quin’s answers so he goes to me. And I tell him to go to Quin and he just asks for you. And since you’re stuck here–”

“–and not even keeping up with what’s going on out there–”

“It’s a good thing you’re not actually dead, this whole effort would fall apart without you,” she mused. “Anyway, point being.” She crossed the room and patted the edge of his bed cheerfully. “Enjoy your break while it lasts.”

And a true break it was, Leta knew. The Carthian doctors had, in fact, ordered that Fiearius be told next to nothing about the aftermath of the Ellegian battle to keep his stress levels down. For once, he had actually agreed with medical advice. Of course, when it benefitted him, he was the perfect patient. Still, Leta was having a hard time not discussing the situation with him. Especially the piece of information she couldn’t share with anyone else.

Desophyles, to Leta’s surprise and true to his word, had contacted her shortly after she’d landed on Carthis to check on Fiearius’ condition and arrange to return the Verdant CID to her. Not sure how long his good spell was going to last, she snuck away from the hospital the very next night and convinced Eve, Richelle and the rest of the Dionysian crew to take her to the nearby moon to retrieve it from him. It was there on that desolate battle-torn wasteland Carthis had won from Exymeron years past and then promptly abandoned that Dez uncharacteristically provided her an explanation. Or half of one at least. She presumed only Fiearius would get the full story out of him.

But as Leta absently thumbed the tiny chip in her pocket, thankfully removed from its previous owner’s wrist, she forced herself to keep her mouth shut. Fiearius didn’t need the stress. Especially that stress. Not while he still had recovering to do.

“Yeah because sitting in a hospital is my definition of enjoyment,” he grumbled, waving his hand towards the window. “Really enjoying this break from the monotony of–” He cut himself off dramatically and put his fingers to his chin. “Wait…”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be back to it soon enough and there’s plenty to do.” Leta grimaced and Fiearius tilted his head, curious, for just a moment, before he seemed to remind himself that he didn’t care, wouldn’t care, shouldn’t care, and shrugged. “Anyway. I’ll let you get some rest, but maybe I’ll swing by–”

Suddenly, down the hall, but loud enough to be heard by likely the entire floor, came a mighty yell. At least, as mighty as a five year old girl could manage.

“O’rian!” echoed through the hospital, followed by the hurried patter of tiny feet running at full speed.

“Kalli, wait!” came a second shout, then the crash of a body meeting a medical cart, a curse and a woman’s laugh.

Leta met Fiearius’ glance and he grinned. The footsteps were coming towards them so Leta stepped out into the hallway and put her hands on her hips as the bushy haired girl plowed towards her. In her wake, papers had scattered, equipment had been dropped and a few nurses looked shell-shocked. Still back by the elevators, Addy was helping Cyrus back to his feet. She glanced up and waved at Leta. Leta waved back just as Kalli slammed on the brakes and jumped in front of her. “A’iya!” she shouted in greeting.

“Right this way,” Leta cooed and swept her arms towards the door. Kalli looked up, met her uncle’s smiling face and burst straight into the room, leaping onto Fiearius’ bed and throwing her tiny arms around his shoulders.

“O’rian!” she shouted again as Fiearius laughed loud and more cheerful than he’d been all week.

“There’s my little monster.” Carefully, he pried her arms from him and held her back to get a good look at her. “L’asi de foriniso p’ahti na?” he asked. She nodded enthusiastically. “Ti’arim!” Then he held up both hands and she slapped them excitedly.

Watching Fiearius with his niece had always been something that Leta found both adorable and, for reasons she couldn’t quite explain, or perhaps just didn’t want to, uncomfortable. Uncomfortable somewhere very deep inside of her and in a way that made her cringe at herself. Why was it that humanity had come so far in evolution and technology and yet she still couldn’t fight off such a simple thing as primal maternal instinct?

Regardless, she felt her cheeks flush as if she’d done something wrong when suddenly Cyrus was beside her asking, “How is he?” Addy joined him moments later.

She didn’t look at them, determined to hide her embarrassment as she answered, “See for yourself.”

Kalli had seized Fiearius’ hand and was jumping up and down with it like it was a prized toy while Fiearius laughed heartedly.

“Issyen,” Cyrus scolded and she looked over at her parents in alarm. And then glee.

“O’rian, p’ahti told me you died!”

Cyrus put his hand on his forehead as Addy asked him, “You told her what?”

But Fiearius just laughed it off and told Kalli as though imparting a mysterious secret, “Oh, I did. I am the living dead.” He raised his hands threateningly and made a monstrous face, but the little girl seemed unimpressed.

“You don’t look like a zombie.”

“Yeah well, just wait til my flesh starts to rot off.”

“Wh–don’t tell her that,” Cyrus finally stepped in, marching into the room and swooping Kalli off the bed into his arms. The siblings continued to bicker as Kalli squealed in delight and wriggled her way out of her father’s arms. Perhaps it was the sudden excess of noise or simply her own exhaustion catching up to her, but Leta tuned them out and turned to Addy.

“I’m gonna take a bit of a break, leave you all to catch up. I’ll be back at the base if you need to get in touch with me.”

Addy just smiled at her. “Take as much time as you need.” She took a deep breath and looked into the room with a determined grimace. “I can handle this lot.”

Leta let out a chuckle, pat her on the shoulder and wished her, “Good luck,” as she retreated down the hall.

——————

Icy rain pounded the windows of Leta’s temporary room on the base where she’d chosen to retreat for a few hours. So much for summer on Carthis, she thought absently as she sat on the sofa, scrolling through headlines on the glowing tablet in her hand. The weather made her wonder how long she would be on the base — if she would see another famously brutal Carthian winter. If Fiearius would.

A knock made her blink and sit up. The door slid open, and Liam appeared, offering a watered-down smile through the scruff on his face.  “Well, Gates is just as strange as you said he would be,” he said by way of greeting, shrugging off his rain-soaked coat. “He was drinking whiskey, too. You were right on all fronts.”

“As usual,” Leta agreed, just as Liam bent to give her a kiss hello. “I’m surprised he even agreed to the interview, Gates is particularly tight-lipped these days.”

“Let’s not talk about Gates while I’m kissing you, hm?” Liam mumbled against her mouth, then drew away. He dropped onto the edge of the sofa, and Leta thought she saw a shadow pass over his face: he was not entirely at ease. In fact, his voice was a little too casual, too light-hearted, when he asked,  “How’re you? How’s the other admiral doing?”

“His vision hasn’t fully restored, and he’s still having muscle spasms … “ Briefly, the horrible image of Fiearius twitching came to her mind, but she pushed it away. “He’s recovering more and more though and his family just landed today so I left him in good spirits.”

“That’s great,” Liam said, though his tone hardly matched his words. “That’s really great.”

This wasn’t like him. Liam was always talkative and enthused and interested in any and all news Leta had for him. At the very least he paid attention instead of absently flicking the top of his shoe. “Are you alright?” she had to ask.

Liam opened his mouth, then closed it again. “A lot on my mind. Like everyone else around here.”

Leta grimaced. “Did Gates give you any updates on the Ellegy situation?”

“Nothing you didn’t already know.” Finally, he leaned back against the couch and threw an arm loosely around her shoulders. “Carthis defeated the Society’s air forces, but the rebels on the ground switched sides to rejoin the Society and amassed in too large a number, forcing them to retreat,” he recited. “They’re still calling it a victory though, y’know? I think they might need to look up the definition of the word.”

“It’s the media calling it that, not the military. Not behind closed doors anyway,” Leta corrected, leaning against him as she sighed. “If the war council meeting we had yesterday was about a victory, I’m worried what it would look like if we lost.”

“So what’s their plan?”

“We never had the chance or the budget. I installed the prototype in Fiear right before we lost Vescent. It was just….just in case…A last resort. To give him enough time to–” To get help. Help from her. Which she would have been able to administer had she not been across the city and he thirty floors up an Ellegian spire. Even having sprinted here as fast as she could manage, so much time had passed since that alert had gone off. Too much time.

Gods, why hadn’t she gone with him?

“So he was killed, but this device–brought him back?” Dez attempted to clarify, but when Leta didn’t answer, wasn’t able to answer, he muttered, “Theoretically.”

The device went off, that was all she knew. It went off and sent her the alert that it had gone off and, yes, theoretically, administered the procedure to revive him. The science was there and it had worked in the chemical tests. It had done what it was meant to do to the collection of cells they had tried it on. There was no reason it wouldn’t work on a whole human being.

But even as she assured herself, the scientist in her knew there were a million reasons it might not work on a whole human being.

But she had to believe that it had worked as she forced her exhausted legs up yet another set of stairs. It had worked and she would find him alive because the very thought of the alternative, of being too late, of having to tell Cyrus what had happened, of a somber funeral and detached media speculation, of a Span without Fiearius in it —

She halted at the top of a stairwell in a hallway. The hallway, if the massive hole in the exterior wall was to be believed. The wind lashed at her violently as she took in the scene: Smoke, debris and lifeless bodies strewn across the ground. The rusty tang of blood filled her nostrils as she counted off four younger people with librera tattoos, an older woman she didn’t know, Ophelia? And finally, slumped against the wall beside her, his eyes closed —

“Fiear!”

Leta slid across the room and was on her knees beside him in an instant, pressing her fingers to the pulse in his neck. He lay unnaturally sprawled, his neck at an odd angle, his long limbs covered in soot. Unmoving. Her other hand pressed against his chest, wet with thick blood. If the device had worked, why wasn’t he responsive?

“You’re alright,” Leta informed him, her voice shaking so badly she could hardly move her lips. “You’re alright, Fiearius, you’re going to be alright, you always are.”

Fiearius did not stir.

“What’s your blood type?” Leta barked, throwing her eyes toward Dez who was standing over Ophelia’s lifeless corpse, looking down at it with empty eyes. “He needs a transfusion, I have some things in my bag, I can probably rig up– “

“Doctor,” said Dez, “I think it’s too late for — “

“No it’s not!” Leta growled in a voice so violent, so vicious, she hoped she’d never hear herself use it again.

After a moment of blank shock, in which Dez only stood staring at her curiously, Leta relented. Obviously he was going to be no help. But she could fix this without him, she knew she could. And suddenly, her memory jumped in and she knew how. Leta fumbled in her satchel, tossing aside vials, bandages, gauze, until her hand closed around a cold piece of metal: a syringe. In it, the very same cocktail of drugs the device carried. ‘Wake up juice’ they had called it in the clinic. Hardly a pleasant concoction and one they only used if nothing else worked. It was painful and probably harmful, but if it kept someone alive when they would otherwise be dead? it was worth it.

Taking a deep breath, throwing one last look at Fiearius’ face, she plunged the syringe directly into his neck. The needle sank and sank into his flesh, and Leta sank too; trembling with worry, her forehead fell against Fiearius’, and she squeezed her eyes shut. If you leave me with this war, she thought, I’ll never forgive you.

Still, the man below her didn’t move. Maybe Dez was right. Maybe it was too late. The tears started to well in her eyes before she could even consider the words: maybe she’d lost him.

Just as her chest started to clench in despair, though, Fiearius jerked awake, gasping in a deep breath and struggling in alarm. Leta drew back, water now streaming down her face as she grasped his shoulders and tried to calm him, “Fiear, it’s okay, it’s alright!” His body had gone tense and stiff, a reaction to the drug she’d given him. “I gave you something, it’s gonna hurt for a few minutes, but it’ll be okay. Just try and relax.”

Despite the clear confusion on his face, he seemed to try and follow her advice, forcing slower, more even breaths with each passing moment. Desperately, she searched his face as he blinked furiously and tried to focus on her. “You’re okay,” she said again, half laughing, half crying and she realized she was saying it mainly for herself. “You’re gonna be alright, I’ve got you. Everything’s gonna be fine.”

But as relieved as she felt, things weren’t fine just yet. He’d been shot in the chest, sustained massive blood loss and had to be given two heavy doses of questionable drugs just to keep his heart going. He didn’t need a field medic, he needed a hospital. So as much as she wanted to simply throw her arms around him and weep, she instead steeled herself and raised her fingers to her COMM. “Emergency channel, this is Dr. Adler, I need an extraction vessel to my location immediately. Priority level 1. I repeat, extraction vessel to my location, priority –”

Suddenly, Fiearius grabbed her arm. His grip was weak, but it was enough to give her pause. When she looked over at his face, it was twisted in pain and he was shaking his head.

In her ear, a voice came through the COMM. “That’s affirmative, Dr. Adler. Extraction vessel on its way.”

Unsure what Fiearius was trying to tell her, Leta simply replied to the operator, “Thank you. There’s a break in the tower wall, that’s where we are, the vessel should be able to–” she began but Fiearius’ grip tightened and he let out a groan of protest. A surge of anger rippled through her. “Fiear, no. Don’t you dare try and pull that sacrificial bullshit on me, I am getting you out of here and you are living through this so don’t you dare–”

“No–” he finally managed to choke out, “No, the –” He coughed violently. “The chip–”

Leta’s brow creased in confusion. “I don’t–”

“The Verdant database,” said Dez suddenly from behind her. “He was killed by a Society ID-ed gun. It transferred.”

Fiearius swallowed hard and nodded. “You can’t–let Carthis find it. They can’t–know.”

“Who has it?” asked Dez and Leta watched as Fiearius searched around the room, his eyes still glazed over and unfocused. Finally, he squinted and raised his index finger at the body of Ophelia Varisian. The look on Dez’s face changed, just by a fraction, Leta noticed. She had never seen the man hesitate on anything, but looking down at the dead woman, contemplating the CID in her wrist, for the first time, Dez showed a moment of reluctance.

But only a moment. Before Leta could even say anything, Dez had kneeled beside the body, drawn his blade and in one swift motion, expertly severed Ophelia’s hand from her arm. Leta’s mouth fell open in shock, but by the time she’d caught up enough to protest, he was already on his feet, hand in hand and stalking away from them towards the doorway at the end of the hall.

She wasn’t about to let this, let him, go though. Leta too stumbled to her feet and demanded, “What the hell are you doing?”

Desophyles paused in the doorway to look back at her. “Fixing Plan A.”

Leta marched after him. “Oh hell no. If you think I’m just going to let you walk away from this with the Verdant CID to do whatever the hell crazy plan you’ve concocted–”

Dez glanced down at Fiearius, presumably for help, but he seemed entirely focused on ensuring oxygen made it in and out of his lungs. So Dez sighed. “Doctor, you have to trust me.”

Leta crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t.”

“I know.” Dez frowned. “I know. But you need to. Any minute, the Ellegian fleet is going to return and Carthis, your friends, are going to lose this battle. Let me go and I can stop that from happening. I can end this.”

“If you’re suddenly so noble, then I’ll come with you,” Leta seethed. “I’d love to see this great save-the-world plan of yours in action.”

Dez’s clenched fists told her just how much he was losing his patience. “You have a more important task to attend to.” He gestured at Fiearius lying against the wall, those breaths of his coming shorter and shorter. “Doctor, please. Get him out of here, keep him alive. I swear to you, upon whatever you need me to swear on, what I do here today is nothing you yourself would not do, and as soon as I’m able, as soon as we can ensure Carthis’ ignorance of it, I’ll return the chip to Fiearius. You have my absolute solemn word.”

Leta didn’t like this. Of all of Fiearius’ colleagues and criminals, even those who she’d seen firsthand do terrible, brutal things, Dez was still the one she trusted least. He was the man who, no matter what side he seemed currently aligned with, appeared likely to jump to the other at any moment. How many times had he betrayed Fiearius? How many more would he? And yet as Leta stood there across the hall from him and growled, “Your word doesn’t mean a hell of a lot,” she realized he was right when he shrugged and replied, “What other choice do you have?”

As if on cue, a blast of wind swept through the hallway, so strong that Leta had to shield her face from it. When it died down and she looked up, a small Carthian shuttle was carefully hovering in place just outside the wall, its ramp already open and an emergency team rushing out into the hall. And Dez? Gone.

Praying with every ounce of faith she had left that just this once, Dez was telling the truth, Leta turned from the doorway and hurried back to Fiearius’ side to help the medical team get him aboard and get him to safety. After all, if she wanted Fiearius to live, if she wanted Carthis to stay in the dark about the CID and about Dez, if she wanted this alliance to continue? What other choice did she have?

“And what of me, ma’am?”

The Councillor could not have sounded more surprised. “You? What about you?”

And Ophelia could not have sounded more confused. “In assuming my place as Verdant, ma’am? I’m ready to serve and await your orders.”

“Ah yes.” The footsteps moved away from Fiearius and made a small circle nearby. “Our new Verdant, of course. Well.” There was a long pause as the Councillor seemed to consider her options. Finally, she decided, “You can just stay here with Soliveré, can’t you?” Before Ophelia could voice her concern, a quick succession of noises filled Fiearius’ ears. The sound of metal sliding out of a sheath, the same metal sliding into flesh, a horrible groan followed by the thump of a body hitting the ground.

“Like I’ve always said,” the Councillor remarked, calm as ever considering she’d just murdered a woman by her own hand. “The Verdant is a weak link. Regardless of who bears the title.”

The woman’s clicking footsteps began to move away and tentatively, Fiearius opened his eyes. Beside him, barely holding herself up, was Ophelia, her hand clutched over her chest, trying to keep in the blood that was spilling from her onto the marble floor. It pooled outward, Fiearius could feel the warmth of it as it met his arm. Varisian’s eyes were glazed over, her breathing was shallow and shaking. But just for a moment, she looked up and her stare met Fiearius’.

Of all the things Fiearius would have expected from the woman who had murdered him, relief was not it, but relief was what was written into all of her features. Her final words to him rang in his head, again, ‘I’m sorry’. None of it made sense. Ophelia had been trying to kill him for years. She was pure loyal Society. Her allegiance to the Councillors was clear.

Wasn’t it?

But as she kneeled there, bleeding out, dying at the hand of the woman she supposedly served, clearly the tables had turned.

Weak and growing weaker as she was, Ophelia frowned in what must have been determination, but looked a lot like pain. “Where is it?” he saw her say, more than he heard it as her voice was too weak to carry the short distance between them. Fiearius stared back at her, lost, until she snapped, “Gun. The–gun–where–”

The gun, of course, there was still a chance to finish this. Though it sent a terrible surge through his left side and across his middle, Fiearius forced his body up onto his elbows and frantically looked around for the weapon he knew he’d dropped somewhere around here. It was difficult to see, his vision was still a haze, but finally he saw the dark shape of the pistol just out of reach.

Bracing himself for the consequences, he stretched his arm out towards it, gritting his teeth as what felt like lava inside him rumbled and burned in protest. He could still hear the Councillor’s footsteps down the hallway. He had to get to her before she got away. Before he slipped away again. This had to happen. Desperately, he reached even further and his fingertips mercifully touched cold metal.

In an instant, the gun was in the air and his finger pulled the trigger. Where he’d aimed it, however, was another story entirely. Though Fiearius could make out a shape in a direction, his aim was hardly on point. The gunshot echoed off the walls, but there was no shout of impact, no collapse of a corpse. Just footsteps ceasing and a distant, “How’re you–”

Before Fiearius could even begin to try and line up another shot, he felt the gun being wrenched from his hand. Ophelia. She seized the weapon and with what looked like all the strength left in her, rose to her feet, aimed, and fired.

This time, the distinctive sound of bullet meeting body hit Fiearius’ ears. And then again. And again. Ophelia kept firing the gun over and over, all of her shots hitting her mark until the pistol clicked uselessly beneath her fingers, empty and spent. She dropped it and it clattered to the floor in unison with its victim who, from what Fiearius could make out, slumped to the ground ungracefully and went still. Ophelia, only moments later, did the same.

For a moment, Fiearius just sat there, barely propped up, taking in the silence and trying to wrap his hazy mind around what had happened here. A mission gone badly, no doubt about that. And yet the Councillor lay dead and defeated, as he had planned. Thanks to Ophelia, of all people. He glanced over at her where she lay, heaving in shallow breaths, her face pale and her eyes drooping. Maybe someone could save her. Maybe whatever miracle had saved him would reach her too. But if something was going to change, it would have to change soon because she was fading and fading fast. And Fiearius was in no condition to be that miracle she needed.

“Thanks,” he managed, his voice hoarse and rough. He wasn’t even sure she heard him until one eye from beneath her messy blonde hair flicked up towards him.

“It wasn’t for you,” she sputtered.

“I know.”

She gasped in an awful breath. “If you get out of here–” she coughed, “–save Satieri–”

Fiearius snorted indignantly, a gesture he regretted as soon as the spike of pain shot through his chest. “That’s the plan.”

But Ophelia was weakly shaking her head. “Not from–Society. From Carthis.”

Fiearius looked down at himself, unable to look elsewhere, mostly unable to look at her. “I will,” he mumbled, but when he glanced back at her, she wasn’t moving any longer. Her heaving breaths had stopped. Her eyes stared emptily at nothing. She was gone.

Feeling a strange urge to move away from the body, Fiearius clenched his jaw and pulled himself a few feet backwards to lean against the wall. His finger raised to his COMM weakly. “This is Admiral Soliveré, addressing all channels. Need medical assistance in the Capitol Tower ASAP. Repeat, medical assistance to the Capitol Tower.” He waited for a moment, but the COMM made no noise, not even a buzz of recognition that it was even on. He tried again. “If anyone can hear me, I need medical assistance.” Still nothing. “Hello? Anybody?”

He was starting to feel weak. Too weak. Whatever force had awoken him from death was starting to wear off now that his task was done. He was slowly becoming more and more aware of how much blood he no longer had, how much of his life was still smeared across the floor. He swore he could even feel the bullet still lodged in his chest, grating against his slowing heart.

“I think I’m dying,” he said into the useless COMM. “Again.” If only he’d let Javier find him one that wasn’t broken like he’d offered. Maybe the pigeon would find that funny. In the end, after everything, it was only him that could have saved Fiearius’ life. If only Fiearius had let him.

The chuckle that escaped his lips was barely more than a sharp breath. He was so tired. He’d never been this tired before. Sleep had never sounded so good. “Sorry, pigeon,” he muttered, letting his eyes close and his head roll back against the wall. “For not listening. And sorry, Harper. For leaving you behind. And Cy. For not calling you before all this.” His voice grew quieter and quieter as his mind started to drift towards unconsciousness. “Sorry Leta. For…well, everything.”

Save Satieri, Ophelia had said and he wanted to do that, of course, but right now? All Fiearius wanted to do was rest. “Sorry to you too,” he mumbled as he felt the sweet relief of blackness envelop him. “I tried.”

————

Although Leta had indeed prepared for this moment, she’d never felt less prepared for anything in her life. Her whole body shook like she was outside in freezing air as she forced her legs to jog up countless flights of stairs toward Fiearius. Behind her, Dez followed.

“I’m still not sure I understand,” he said, his breath coming short as he raced up the tower. “You remotely monitor Fiearius’ life signs?”

Explaining why and how Leta had gotten such a morbid alert to Dez was not particularly something she was in the mood to do in her current state of duress. On the other hand, explaining it, acknowledging the science and fact and logic of it, maybe was exactly what she needed to make her breathing even out, her heart stop pounding and her head stop reeling.

“Not always,” she managed to get out. “Just a–dramatic change in them.” Like when they stopped, she added silently.

“It’s something my team back on Vescent developed,” she went on, trying to ignore how much her voice was quavering. “You inject a microscopic device into someone’s bloodstream and it can sense when their heart stops. Then it’ll release an electrical impulse and a small cocktail of chemicals to reinvigorate the nervous system and speed up blood clotting in a wound.” She hesitated, before muttering, “Theoretically anyway.”

“You never tested it,” Dez concluded, his tone flat.