“Because you think you’re gonna die soon,” Leta accused, her tone a touch more harsh than she’d intended. “You’re telling me you love me because you think you’re going to die.” She stared at him blankly and he visibly squirmed beneath her gaze.

“Well, yeah, when you say it like that–”

Leta let out a groan and put her hand over her eyes. “Fiearius.”

“Okay, okay, fine, I get it,” he growled under his breath. “Yes, I should have said something earlier. I should have realized earlier. I should have been less of a coward and made less excuses and said something even though there was never a good time, gods Leta, I’ve not told you up to now because frankly, I always think I’m gonna die soon, this isn’t new.

“But you’re right, I should have said something anyway, I should have fixed things and for that matter, I should never have fucked things up between us to begin with. I should have stayed on Vescent with you, I shouldn’t have gotten involved in a war, I should have listened to Aela, I shouldn’t have gone to Satieri, I should and shouldn’t have done a lot of things, and that’s why I’m telling you now, because I can’t add one more thing to that list.”

Finally, the sharpness dropped from his voice as his arms fell back to his side in defeat. “Well. I’m sorry I dumped this on you. I’ll let you be.” He turned from her and headed towards the door. “You should try and get some sleep. I imagine you’ll need it tomorrow.”

Leta couldn’t tell if she was fuming with anger or something else. Now? Really? Selfish was an understatement. And now he was just walking away? He was walking away. She was watching him walk away as she stood there, frozen by indecision. What the hell was she doing?

The door slid open and Fiearius stepped into the hallway, bracing his hand against the frame. Like she was emerging from water, Leta suddenly pulled away from her shock.

“Fiear–”

By the time he’d half-turned back to her, Leta had abandoned her drink, stepped forward authoritatively, captured the sides of his jaw in both her hands, and pulled his lips down against hers. The kiss was hard, clumsy, full.

For seconds, Fiearius stood still — uncomfortably still — bent at an awkward angle and stunned into place. But finally, he responded to her feverish kiss, orienting himself toward her as though he had all the time in the world to do just this: his hand curved against her face, another at her neck, drawing her closer as she sunk against his arms.

It didn’t matter how long it had been, it didn’t matter how far apart they’d ended up, embracing Fiearius always felt natural. The way they fit together as their mouths attacked one another’s and her hands roamed over his shoulders and down his back was nothing less than synchronized. In a way so unlike anything else she had ever experienced, Leta and Fiearius’ bodies spoke the same language.

When their lips gently parted an inch, Leta found she was short of breath. He drew back, though his hands held her steadfast. Still, there was worry in his eyes until she met his stare and grasped him tighter.

“I love you too,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Fiearius’ brows lifted on his forehead in surprise. She felt his hands go still against her shirt. And then he cracked a horribly familiar shit-eating grin and said, “Yeah. I know you do.”

“You — what?!” she snapped, but before she could argue any further, he reclaimed her lips once more, drowning her protests.

In the silence of the hallway, Fiearius expertly eased Leta backward a step so her shoulders were pressed against the doorframe to her room. Meanwhile, his mouth traveled from her lips, down her jawline, to her neck, gently nipping at delicate skin, sending shivers down her spine as her fingers dug into his hair. She felt his hand on her rear, pulling her hips against his and a low moan rose involuntarily from her throat.

As one of his hands moved down, the other moved up, under her shirt, his calloused palms gliding over her side and ribs. She leaned towards his ear and murmured, “Can you stay?”

His voice was muffled against her neck, his breath hot. “Do you want me to?”

It was hard to be annoyed when he was bombarding her with every pleasant sensation he had in his arsenal. Still, she glowered as she said, “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

“Ask me again,” he muttered and proceeded to use his hands to make it more and more difficult to think let alone speak.

But just barely, she managed to whisper between harsh breath and moans, “Stay with me.”

Fiearius didn’t answer with words. Instead, he withdrew his hands from where they were (Leta made a small groan of irritation), put one behind her legs, the other behind her shoulders and in one fell swoop, lifted her into his arms. Leta hurriedly threw her arms around his neck to hang on and laughed raucously as he carried her back into her room.

——————–

Hours later, Leta awoke dimly to the strange feeling of someone manipulating her fingers. At first, she recoiled, drawing her hand to her chest and trying to roll over to fall asleep again. She didn’t want to be awake. She hadn’t slept this well in months. She fully intended to enjoy it while it lasted.

But someone took her hand again and unwound her fingers. She didn’t fight this time and allowed them to place something in her palm then close her hand around it, tight. Exhausted as she was, Leta blinked open one eye and tried to focus on the blurry red shape sitting on the edge of her bed.

“What’re you…” she asked Fiearius, her voice fading away with her lack of consciousness.

“Shh,” he muttered, smoothing hair back on her forehead. “Go back to sleep.” Another blink and she realized he was no longer the Fiearius she had fallen asleep with. He wasn’t the careless, passionate, affectionate man who had kept her awake, writhing breathlessly and twisting against him for half the night. Now, he was dressed, armed with a gun at his leg, and there was a solemnity in his eyes as they stared down at her.

“I gotta go,” he whispered, leaning over the bed and kissing her on the temple.

“Why?” she asked,

“I’ve just gotta go,” was his only answer.

“Are you coming back?”

Fiearius smiled. “I hope so.”

Lest she argue further, he leaned in and kissed her lips, hard, but slow and sweet. She shifted towards him, ran her hand down his chest and arched her back against the mattress. But instead of deepening the kiss, he ended it, breaking away and regarding her with a sad smile.

“I love you,” he said. Leta cracked a tired grin.

“So you’ve said.”

“Just makin’ sure you don’t forget.”

“I won’t.”  but he had already drawn away and was moving across the room to leave.

There was one brief moment of panic that caused her to call out, “I’ll see you again soon,” before Fiearius disappeared out of the door and Leta’s mind, weak and spent, drifted back into sleep.

———————–

The next time she awoke, it was to someone knocking — no, pounding — on her door. First confused, then startled, Leta sat up in her bed, instinctively pulling the sheets around her bare chest. The three thuds sounded again and she looked around to regain her bearings. Fiearius was gone, her clothes were on the floor and — gods, who the hell was making such a racket at this time of morning?

Finally managing to pull on a shirt and pants, Leta stumbled towards the controls and the door slid open. Instantly, she was treated to a barrage of voices arguing in the hallway beyond, Corra’s chief among them.

“You can’t just barge onto my ship and assault my passengers,” she barked at Chief Strategist Arsen who turned his nose up at her.

“As long as you are docked to our dreadnought and, lest you’ve forgotten, siphoning our power supply, the Beacon is subject to any search and seizure deemed necessary to–”

Corra erupted a disgusted exclamation and continued to argue as Leta turned her attention to Admiral Gates, flanked by three other officers. He appeared oblivious to the bickering behind him.

“Good morning, Dr. Adler. May we come in?”

Leta had no doubt Corra would fight all five Carthians on her behalf to ensure she had a choice, but barring fistfights, there was only one possible answer. “Fine.” She stepped aside to allow them entrance. “What’s this about?”

Gates didn’t immediately answer, instead filing into the room and looking around. His silent escorts stuck close behind him. Arsen, apparently finished discussing these matters with the Beacon’s captain, joined him at his side.

Corra herself joined Leta’s. “I’m so sorry, I tried to stop them, but–”

“It’s okay,” Leta assured her and asked again, “What’s this about?”

This time, Gates cleared his throat. “Dr. Adler, do you know the current whereabouts of Admiral Soliveré?”

She hadn’t noticed the pit of discomfort in her stomach until it suddenly grew heavier. “No, I don’t. Why?”

One of the officers tapped something on his tablet. Gates didn’t answer her question and instead stated, “But he was here with you last night.”

Corra bristled. “That’s none of your damn business,” she growled, but Leta held out her hand to her. She wasn’t embarrassed. Though she was curious as to how they knew. Fiearius had often mentioned that Carthis had bugged him with a tracking device when he was recovering from an injury. She had assumed he’d been kidding.

“He was. But he’s not here now.” She gestured around the tiny room, empty aside from the intruders. “He left during the night.”

Gates nodded and the officer tapped another note onto the tablet. “And he made no mention of his destination?”

“None,” Leta answered calmly, staring him down with the same quiet threat he’d been giving her since he walked in the room. “But it’s not unlike Fiearius to disappear for a while. I’m not sure what about it warrants you barging in here and waking me up.”

Gates lifted a brow at her then nodded at Arsen. The strategist seemed a little more pleased than he should have to report, “We have reason to believe that Admiral Soliveré has committed or will very soon commit an act of high treason.”

Leta’s eyes grew wide as her body went very still. “What?”

“This footage was recorded in the C Deck fighter bay early this morning.” Arsen turned the tablet towards her and Leta peered at the screen to watch a tiny image of Fiearius walk across a docking bay, deliver the butt of a gun into a patrolling cadet’s head and board one of the ships. “He wounded three soldiers,” Arsen elaborated. “One is in critical condition.”

“Okay, so he stole a ship,” Leta clarified, regarding them skeptically. “He is a thief, and you did destroy his vessel. I don’t really see why this points to an act of high treason.”

“It’s not,” said Gates calmly. “But the ship is not the only issue and Soliveré is not the only one who has disappeared. Tell me, doctor, have you looked out the window lately?” Her room had no windows. She shook her head. “If you do, I think you’ll find the skies a lot less busy than they were last night.”

“His entire fleet is gone,” Arsen confirmed. Corra’s mouth fell open, a frown on her face that looked to be part shock and part offense. “We’ve lost tracking of Soliveré himself, but our monitoring was able to pick up the trajectory of a number of his flagships. We know where they’re headed.”

Leta’s eyes were glazed over and she was frowning lightly at the floor. She didn’t need Arsen to tell her. She already knew. “Satieri.”

—————-

Dorrion E’etan didn’t need to look up from his console to know that he was no longer alone in the quiet comfort of his home atop one of Paradiex’s sweeping residential towers. When he did glance from the screen to the window overlooking the twinkling city beneath a dark night sky, he could see the reflection of the figure standing in the doorway behind him.

“You finally made it,” E’etan said, still not turning around.

“Your security was pleasantly apathetic,” replied Fiearius Soliveré, stepping into the room.

E’etan shrugged. “I’ve never believed much in others dying to protect me. A person should be responsible for their own survival, don’t you think?”

“Can’t say I disagree.”

“So.” E’etan spun around in his chair finally and came to his feet to address his visitor. “It’s my turn then?” Soliveré cocked his head curiously. “You’ve killed all my colleagues. So it’s me now, yes?”

The man seemed to consider the notion for a moment. Then he ignored it. Fiearius strode forward and joined E’etan next to his console. He gazed out the window at the city and said, “Nice place you got here.”

“Thank you,” E’etan responded, masking his uncertainty by crossing his arms behind his back.

“Must not have been easy to get.”

“I was on a waitlist for three years.”

Fiearius made a noise of surprise and regarded him curiously. “Three years? Even you?”

E’etan snorted. “My job comes with less perks than you might imagine.”

Fiearius nodded slowly. “Good to know.”

E’etan narrowed his eyes on the man beside him. “And why is that?”
“Because,” Fiearius answered, casting him a sideways glance. “I’m not here to kill you. I’m here to help you.”

The liquor burned down his throat in a way Cyrus had never quite felt before. It was almost painful and he caught Addy grimacing through his own scrunched eyes as he tried to get it down. Across from them, Fiearius snorted a laugh. “So’ara wine,” he explained. “Rough, isn’t it?”

“Only a little,” Addy murmured, delicately placing her glass back on the table and trying not to look horrified when Fiearius tilted the bottle to refill it.

“The story behind it,” he went on, filling his own glass and plucking Cyrus’ from his hand,” is that to be proper so’ara wine, it has to make a journey to each of the eight Ridellian temples across the Span where they add their own ingredient to the fermentation. Something about covering the whole Span drawing the attention of the dov’ha to hear your request.” He shrugged. “Taste isn’t really a factor.”

“How did you get your hands on this?” Addy wanted to know.

Fiearius nearly smiled. “When I demanded it yesterday none of the Carthians were brave enough to argue. Found it on my doorstep this morning with a condolences card.”

“I guess that’s one nice thing they’ve done,” Cyrus muttered, unconsciously lifting the glass to his lips to take a sip until the smell reminded him and he drew it away.

“We’re not here to talk about Carthis,” Fiearius reminded him, his tone uncharacteristically stern.

“Right,” Addy put in, sounding much softer. “We’re here to mourn our friends.” The room fell quiet for a moment, none of them quite knowing what to say. Finally, Addy tried. “I wish I’d known them better, honestly.”

“You were really only on the Dionysian during the pregnancy though, you have an excuse,” Cyrus said. “I lived there for years and I still barely knew any of them.”

“Really?” Fiearius tilted his head curiously. “Rhys always liked you.”

“He liked me?” Cyrus balked. “I don’t think I ever had one conversation with the man. He didn’t even know my name.”

“He didn’t know anyone’s name,” Fiearius countered. “And what about Maya? She was really into you for a while.

That was news to Cyrus. “She was? When? How?”

“How?” Addy repeated, laughing.

Cyrus nudged her playfully and amended, “I mean — how do you know?”

“She told me.”

Cyrus’ eyes narrowed on his brother. “She told you. Are you sure she didn’t tell you just to make you jealous? Because I distinctly remember her wanting to get with you.”

“Pretty sure she only wanted that to piss off Corra though,” Fiearius muttered. “Well. Doesn’t matter. That nonsense was a long time ago. She became really reliable the past few years. Got us out of more than a few scrapes just by being sharp and paying attention. She really grew into the ship.” He looked up, reminiscing internally for a moment before snapping his fingers and pointing at Cyrus. “And on that note, c’mon, you didn’t know anybody? What about Richelle?”

At once, Cyrus broke into a grin. “Aw, Richelle, of course. That girl was a damn gifted mechanic.”

“Better ‘n you,” he heard Fiearius mumble, but by the time he managed to glare at him, his brother was innocently drinking from his glass and looking elsewhere.

“Regardless, I’m glad she stuck around so long.” Cyrus eyed Fiearius again. “Glad you didn’t kick her off after all that Paraven stuff.”

Fiearius shot him a frown and opened his mouth, but Addy cut him off. “What Paraven stuff?” Immediately, his eyes went wide and he set a pleading stare on Cyrus who laughed.

“You never heard the story of how Richelle came to be on the Dionysian?” She shook her head and Cyrus provided his brother a grin full of malice. “Oh it’s a great story.”

“Please don’t,” Fiearius begged.

Which only made Addy more excited. “I wanna hear it!”

“That was not my proudest moment…”

“I need to hear it,” Addy insisted.

“Cy, come on.”

“Tell me Cy-Cy.”

“Please.”

“Who would you rather make angry, me or him?”

“That’s unfair, you can’t play wife card.”

“Watch me.”

Cyrus held back his laughter as the two of them bickered, but in the end, a vigil probably was not the time or place. Besides, Fiearius just looked so desperate. “Alright alright, I won’t,” he relented and Addy immediately crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.

“Thank you,” Fiearius sighed as Cyrus leaned over to the woman at his side and whispered, “I’ll tell you later.” It seemed to appease her.

“So,” she spoke up, and Fiearius watched her suspiciously, perhaps expecting her to keep going, but she changed the subject. “Now that the Dionysian’s gone–what happens after all this?”

The lightness in the room seemed to evaporate entirely. Cyrus nervously sipped his wine, braving the awfulness to mask the discomfort. But to his surprise, Fiearius didn’t seem as sensitive to the subject as he was.

“Depends how things play out I guess,” he admitted, spreading his hands helplessly. “Hard to say at this point.”

“Right.” She nodded in understanding and shifted again, her fingers lacing together in her lap. So Cyrus wasn’t the only one who found this uncomfortable after all. “Well. I just want you to know that we’re with you all the way. And whatever happens, we’ll have your back.”

Fiearius leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees and fixed her with an amused smirk. “You don’t say.”

Addy turned pink. And then she frowned at him dully. “Okay, you wanna be like that? Fine. I was just trying to be supportive because you never ask for help, but you’ve been through a lot and you’re family so you can and you should, but fine. Be dismissive. I don’t care,” she said in a waspy tone that clearly meant that she cared quite a bit.

Fiearius’ smirk morphed into a grin and he glanced at Cyrus. “This one? You keep her, ya hear me?”

“Oh I intend to.” Cyrus smiled as he took one of Addy’s hands in his. She shot him a glare and mumbled something about not being property to be kept, but she didn’t pull her hand away.

————————-

The knock on the door made Leta jump. It was authoritative and business-like, which was surprising: the hallways had been ghostly silent all day, quieted by grief.

“Hang on a sec, Nikki,” she said into the COMM speaker. “Someone’s at the door.”

“It’s okay,” said Nikkolai quickly. He was in his apartment on Vescent, and though the COMM connection was clear, he sounded very far away. “I’ll let you go.”

“No, I can tell them to wait. I called you, I’m talking to you.”

“Ley, it’s fine, really.” His voice was thick with the tears he’d been shedding just minutes ago. “I need some rest anyway. Go.”

“Are you sure? I can stay if you’d like to talk more.”

“I’ve talked enough for now.”

Her heart twisted in her chest. “Well — I’ll call again soon, alright?”

“Absolutely. I’ll tell the rest of the clinic you said hi.”

Leta very nearly returned her usual response, that she’d say hi to the Dionysian for him. The words stuck in her throat as she blurted out instead, “Right. Thanks. Take care of yourself, Nikki.”

“You too, Ley.”

The connection went dead, and worry rippled through her like an acid wave. No one was taking the recent loss well, but Nikkolai had lost the most dear person he had without getting to say goodbye, all because he was on Vescent running Leta’s clinic in her absence. Logically, she knew she was not responsible for Javier’s death or Nikkolai’s sorrows, but logic didn’t stop her from feeling guilty.

The COMM disconnected and Leta stood to answer the door. When she slid it open, there was no one on the other side, but Fiearius was down the hallway, looking back over his shoulder at her.

“Oh. I thought you were asleep.” When she blinked in confusion, he added, “It’s pretty late…”

“Is it?” She hadn’t even noticed. “I haven’t really been in the mood to sleep.”

Fiearius turned around to face her, a tired smirk on his face. He looked as exhausted as she felt and, she guessed, just as sleepless. Which was only part of the explanation for why he was at her door in the middle of the night.

“Did you need something?”

The question somehow caught him off guard. He opened his mouth, then shut it again, tucked his fingers into his hair, and frowned at the wall next to him as though asking it what it thought. Leta wasn’t sure if the wall helped at all, but eventually he decided on an answer. “Yeah.” He eased a few steps closer. “Can we talk for a minute?”

“Only a minute,” Leta teased, then she moved out of the doorway. “Of course, come in.”

Fiearius lifted his brows as he walked past her into her quarters. “Bad jokes, huh? You really haven’t been sleeping.”

“Told you.”

She closed the door, watching as Fiearius surveyed her room: he made a small circle, looking around at the silver walls like he’d never seen anything so interesting. It didn’t seem to matter that she’d only lived there for two nights and had lost most of her possessions on the Dionysian anyway. A narrow bed, neatly made. A stack of clothes she’d borrowed from Corra sat on a chair. A tablet provided by Carthis was on the table. Nothing else gave any indication that anybody lived there at all.

When he still didn’t speak up after his circle was complete, Leta decided to step in. “About earlier–“

“I don’t want to talk about that,” he interrupted immediately, finally turning to face her.

Leta paused, surprised. “Alright. Then what do you want to talk about?”

Fiearius looked her up and down for a moment as if sussing her out for something. Then he frowned at the wall again. And, most importantly, didn’t answer.

“Fiear–”

“Hang on, I’m thinking.”

“You do that.” She sighed, half-weary, half-entertained. “I’m getting a drink.”

Okay, so there were three things in the room. Corra had been nice enough to store a small collection of Leta’s favorite liquor in one of the cabinets. As she reached for a bottle of whiskey, she called back, “No ice, right?”

“No drink. I’m fine.”

No you’re not, she almost said. The Fiearius she knew didn’t turn down drinks. Or have silent conversations with walls. She finished pouring her glass and returned to the center of the room, taking a sip. He still wasn’t looking at her and he didn’t seem any closer to a solution to whatever problem was floating in his head.

“Can I know what you’re thinking about at least?”

“Words,” he answered without skipping a beat. “I’m not good at them.”

“You can be.” It was meant to be encouraging,it sounded more like a slight. “But you are more of an actions kind of guy,” she added, quieter.

“Exactly,” Fiearius agreed with a small groan. “But I need words for this.” He ran a hand through his hair.

“Is this about–“

“No,” he said before she could even finish.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“I do, and it’s not that,” Fiearius insisted, shaking his head. He made another circle, but this time, once it was finished, he seemed to have arrived at something. “Okay. Alright. I’m just gonna make this quick and painless.”

Leta wasn’t sure if she should have been amused or alarmed. “That sounds ideal.”

“This is terrible timing, I want you to know that I know that,” were the first words he managed to choose as he turned back to face her. “Finn said there’s no such thing as bad taste right now, but I think he’s wrong and this is incredibly bad taste. I know that. Know that I know that.”

Leta studied his face curiously. “Noted.”

“It’s just. With everything happening, y’know. In case.” He frowned, perhaps realizing he wasn’t making sense, took a dramatic step towards her and declared, “This is stupid. I don’t need anything from you, and, gods–” He barked a laugh– “You already know. I know you know. But I–” He fixed his eyes on hers and the sort of nervous manicness melted away. It was replaced by something far more earnest and Leta swore she saw a hint of — of all things — pleading.

“I just need you to hear it from me.” He took a deep breath and kicked the bomb straight out the side of the ship. “I love you.”

Silence fell over over the room. Slowly, achingly slowly, Leta lowered the glass from her lips. Shock descended through her and she was suddenly very conscious of her hands, of her feet, her skin, and though a thousand thoughts barrelled through her head like a speeding freight train, her mouth felt like it wasn’t interested in ever moving again.

Fiearius, staring at her face, started rambling. “You don’t have to say anything or do anything, really. I didn’t — don’t — expect anything. This is honestly just me being selfish because I can’t stop thinking about what’s gonna happen if–” He seemed to rethink the statement and shook it off. “So I had to tell you. I’m sorry. But–I just never got over you. I tried. I fucking tried, but it was you. All along, it was always you and I fucked it up really badly and I know that, but it’s you and I can’t pretend anymore that it’s not.”

He was talking so fast he almost ran out of breath. He took a moment to recuperate before lifting his hands in defeat. “So there it is. That’s it. I love you.” He stayed like that for a moment, paralyzed by what he’d admitted. Then he squinted at her. “Why do you look so surprised?”

On some level, Leta did not feel surprised. She’d — sort of known. Part of her knew. Fiearius had never gone through great lengths to hide his attraction to her. He’d admitted his jealousy of Liam, he fought for her attention in any room they were in, he seemed to trust her and go to her for counsel more than anyone else. She knew that he liked her. There was an attraction, a spark — she’d felt it, too. But she didn’t know that he loved her. And she sure as hell didn’t expect him to say it.

“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”

Fiearius didn’t seem to have anticipated the question. “Why didn’t I–what?” he stammered.

“Tell me earlier,” she said again. “Of all the times to choose to speak up, you choose now?”

He gaped at her for a moment, then clamped his eyes shut and massaged his fingers into his temple. “Bad taste. See? I knew he was wrong.”

“It’s not just bad taste, it’s–” Leta shook her head. “What do you expect me to do with this information? Now?” She gestured her hands to the room at large.

“Nothing,” he assured her. “Absolutely nothing. Like I said, this is purely selfish.”

There was a murmur of agreement and a few of the assembled personnel practically ran for the door, eager to get away from Fiearius or Arsen or both before they decided to rip each other’s heads off. Fortunately, Arsen didn’t seem interested in disobeying his commanding officer and without another word or even glance in their direction, exited the chambers. Slowly they all filed out until it was only Fiearius, Leta and Gates remaining. Fiearius was looking down at his hand, prickled by a hundred cuts from the table’s glass. Gates was watching Leta patiently.

She said what he knew she was going to say. “We’re not satisfied with your answers. Good people died. Your excuses aren’t enough.”

“I know,” was his somber response. “Regrettable was the word my colleague chose, but unforgivable is how I would describe what happened to the Dionysian. I can’t make it up to either of you, the time for that has already passed. But I would like to discuss what can be done. Tomorrow morning, before the council meets, please come to my office. We should talk through our next steps, just the three of us.”

Leta looked to Fiearius, still nursing his hand and glaring over at Gates in silence. He didn’t seem eager to respond so she did so in his stead. She nodded. “Alright. We’ll be there.”

“Good.” Gates crossed his arms behind his back and headed for the door. “Get some rest,” he called before disappearing out into the Carthian dreadnought’s hallway. “You’ll need it.”

Leta waited a moment after he left before she turned back to Fiearius and took his injured hand in hers. He flinched as she turned it over and examined the wounds. There were still specks of shimmering glass winking out at her beneath the light. “I need to clean these. And you’ll need stitches on a few of them,” she told him quietly.

He let out a heavy sigh. “Let it rot, I don’t care.”

Leta gave him a short glare of annoyance, but it was hard to be annoyed at a man so clearly suffering. It was hard to be annoyed when she herself was suffering along with him. “Hey–” she began to say but he spoke over her.

“Thank you, by the way.” He met her eyes and she felt herself soften at once. “For holding me back.”

“Yeah of course.” She searched over his face. “Threatening them isn’t going to do anyone any good.”

“I know.” He took his hand from her and ran it through his hair, an act that made her wince. Surely that had to hurt, but he didn’t seem to notice. He just stared at the broken table and growled, “I just hate them. I hate them so much.”

Leta couldn’t exactly argue. Still, she murmured, “Fiear…”

“I’m so sick of this,” he growled, grasping the edge of the table with both hands and leaning over it. “I’m sick of being used. By the Society, Dez, Aela, gods, and Carthis? They might just well be the worst of ‘em all. I’m just their little pawn to do their dirty work and draw the media’s attention and prove to the Span that they’re not the assholes they really are. They talk a lot about how important I am, how significant my opinion is, but fuck them, Leta. Fuck them.” He slammed his palm down on the table and Leta couldn’t help but glance up at the cameras she knew were in every corner of this room, recording this entire conversation. “What good is an ally if at the first sign of dissent, they try to off you?”

“You don’t seriously believe that,” she stated rather than asked. “You can’t believe that they were really trying to kill you on Satieri.”

“Is it that hard to believe?” Fiearius growled. “Think about what a story that would be, spun the right way. Beloved war admiral killed on his own home planet. Satieri clearly a cesspool. Better off destroyed.”

“But they need you alive. They need your fleet if they’re gonna win any of the battles still to come.”

Fiearius made a pfft sound and shook his head. “Right, they need my fleet, they don’t need me. I’m just a thorn in their side.”

“But your fleet wouldn’t follow them without you,” Leta argued. Having met most of Fiearius’ captains throughout the years, that much at least seemed true.

“Under Quin, you’re right, it wouldn’t. She would take over and abandon them,” he looked up at her and frowned. “But Quin’s not second in command anymore is she?”

“So you think this whole thing was a giant conspiracy against you?” she clarified, crossing her arms over her chest. “Fiear–”

“No, I don’t–” He groaned and dropped his head again. “I just don’t buy their shit, okay? I don’t trust Carthis. I don’t trust their motivations. And I don’t trust them to not stab me in the back.”

“Well if this war is going to end, they need you and you need them,” Leta pointed out. “What’s your alternative?”

He cast her a serious look. “You know what my alternative is.”

Dez’s alternative, she realized. The dead man’s insane plan for Fiearius to take over the Society. “That’s not an alternative. That’s just more manipulation and lies that’ll end with you dead on some altar in the middle of Paradiex.”

Fiearius rolled his eyes, turned around and leaned against the table. “Probably.” He glanced towards the door and muttered cynically, “I dunno, sounds better than this.”

Leta preferred to assume he was being sarcastic. She put a hand on his back and rubbed her palm in a slow circle. “Come on, we’ll talk to Gates in the morning, we’ll make a real plan. A good plan that works for everyone. You’ve survived this long working with Carthis, you can survive a little longer.” Fiearius snorted at the statement but didn’t disagree. “Let’s just get back to the Beacon, clean you up a bit and get some rest.”

“Right, the Beacon,” he muttered and Leta felt her heart clench. The Beacon. Not the Dionysian. Because the Dionysian was no more.

“I miss her,” Fiearius said under his breath, the weight of the last twenty four hours heavy in his words.

Leta let her arm rest on his back and leaned her head against his shoulder. “Me too.”

Leta might have cringed had she not been fuming. The rest of the war council didn’t know it yet, but they’d all be recoiling in just a moment. But not from her. Oh, she would gladly tear into Arsen’s entirely short-sighted statement. She would be more than happy to rip him to shreds over it. But she didn’t need to. Sure, it would be satisfying to retaliate herself. But it would be even more satisfying to watch Fiearius do it better.

Beside her, his face had turned to stone. He stared across the table at his opponent, eyes glinting with malice, his knuckles protruding from his fists and his whole body trembling ever so slightly. Leta recognized him instantly. The Fiearius that only came out when a line had been crossed. She’d first seen it in the fighting ring, so long ago now, but still engraved in her memory like it was yesterday. She’d seen it when he fought and killed Ludo. Most recently, she’d seen it with Dez.

Usually, the sight of this particular side of Fiearius, the one that lusted for blood and lost himself in the process, sent a wave of worry straight to her heart, but here, now, for once, she embraced it. She didn’t even flinch when his quiet, poisonous words broke the silence.

“Don’t. You. Dare speak of cost to me.”

Arsen, Leta surmised, had never met this man before. If he had, he wouldn’t have dared to even open his mouth to speak. Not that he got any words out.

“Don’t you fucking dare!”

His fist slammed into the table once more and the room was filled with a horrendous crack. The glass coating the surface shattered beneath his hand and two thick lines extended outward from the impact.

“You want to talk cost?” Fiearius spat, oblivious to the blood speckling his hand. “Let’s forget for a moment that I lost my best captain and commander. And that my own fleet took hits during the battle, just as yours did. That we lost three ships of our own, nearly three hundred women and men. Let’s forget that on that level, at least, we’re even. The cost of war. Unavoidable.”

“But you–” Fiearius’ voice started to crack into a horrible manic laugh. His fist opened and his fingers instead clawed at the shattered glass. “You–” The words choked in his throat and he squeezed the shards against his palm, thick red liquid dripping between his fingers. “I expect to lose people to our enemy. I don’t expect to lose them to our own side.”

Finally, Arsen’s resolve seemed to stumble. His frown didn’t soften, but his shoulders fell ever so slightly and Leta couldn’t help but notice him glance toward the still silent Admiral Gates, perhaps begging for help. Gates, however, never took his eyes off of Fiearius, watching the scene unfold with a guarded interest, but little else.

With no one coming to his aid, Arsen mustered his courage. “The incident on the surface–”

“Incident?” Fiearius snapped, a wild look in his eyes. “Incident?!” And a long, terrible laugh to match. “You fucking destroyed my ship! You killed my crew! Five of the most hard-working, loyal, dedicated people who’ve been part of this cause since day one! And you fucking killed them!”

Arsen’s facade crumbled even further. “As I said, the Society scrambled our tech, what happened was–”

“Oh no, no no no,” Fiearius cut him off. “It wasn’t the Society that killed them, it was you. Or whoever the fuck gave the order to blindly fire full power ship weaponry into a populated city. That person? They took something from me. Something valuable. So I want something valuable of theirs.”

“I’m sure we can discuss proper reparations–” started one particularly brave captain, but Fiearius growled his disinterest.

“Proper reparations, I want their fucking head, you understand me? On a stick. Or a platter, if you fancy fucks prefer. But a head. Now. So who the fuck was it?”

He looked around the room, but unsurprisingly, no one spoke up. “Was it you?” Fiearius demanded of Arsen who lost his nerve and looked away. “You?” He swung towards Gates who blinked back at him, unphased. “I don’t give a shit if it’s your godsdamned president, I want blood for this.”

The mention of the Carthian president sent a ripple through the room. Arsen found his guts again. “Soliveré–”

“If you’re not about to give me a name, you can shut your fucking mouth,” Fiearius barked.

“What happened was regrettable, but–”

“Regrettable?!”

“But it was an accident and we will not be resorting to thuggish violence–”

The words seemed to land somewhere volatile in Fiearius’ brain. Leta saw him visibly twinge, like someone had reached inside him and flipped a switch. Reason was replaced entirely with his grief. For the first time since this conversation started, Leta felt more nervous than appeased. “You piece of–”

“We would be happy to provide you a new ship and a new crew and any other reasonable requests you might have.”

Leta watched as Fiearius bared his teeth and tensed every muscle in his body. “Fiear–” she ventured hesitantly. This could turn very bad very quickly. Leta could see it all playing out before her eyes. Fiearius would leap across the table and fix his hands around Arsen’s throat, throwing him to the floor. They would wrestle, the larger man clawing at the other like an animal. Like he’d done to Dez. Then someone, a few people, would seize him and drag him away, kicking and screaming in a frenzy. Any moment now.

And then Arsen sealed the deal. “Until that time, I ask that you yield the floor to rational discussion regarding next steps.”

Fiearius’ breathing went from being jagged and heavy to slow, measured and smooth. Leta saw his stance change. She’d known, walking into this room, that his rage would get the better of him at some point. It was inevitable. But not like this. She knew now she had a half second to act just as Fiearius growled, “I’ll show you rational.” A half second to put an end to this before it began, as only she could.

Leta still wore the bruise on her eye from when she’d gotten involved the day before. A bruise Fiearius had apologized for in every cognizant moment since. A bruise she prayed would be enough to pull him back just as he readied himself to lunge.

Holding her breath, she reached out and grasped his shoulder. “Fiearius.”

For just a flash of a moment, Leta felt his muscles tense and she nearly flinched, expecting to be brushed out of the way, but his eyes flung to hers, demanding explanation and then — then he stopped. His face fell. She swore she saw yet another apology behind his stare. The switch, thank the gods, was turned off.

Across the room, Arsen barked, “Admiral, if you continue to threaten violence on this council, I’ll be forced to restrain you.”

Fiearius spun back towards him. “I’d like to see you fucking try.” But as angry as he sounded, it was different now. More snippy than outright fury. Leta let out a deep breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

Before Arsen could respond, finally, at long last, the one person in this room who hadn’t reacted to a single thing spoke up. “Council, yesterday was a difficult operation for all of us. I suggest we adjourn this meeting and allow some time for heads to cool off. We can reconvene first thing tomorrow to discuss what comes next.”