Freedom's Knife Read online

  Freedom’s Knife

  Daphne Moore

  For James and Gerald McDonald

  Love you, miss you

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  About the author:

  Excerpt: Frost’s Fall

  Chapter One

  Alvar, alvar, flying high

  If you see one you will cry

  —children’s rhyme, the Union

  Free Commonwealth of Kentucky, year 2642 CE

  Exasperation and love are conjoined twins. A physical manifestation of both sat on top of the hill, waiting for me.

  Emory, my cousin by courtesy, brooded down at me while I ran up the hill, stomping on dandelions to send their seeds aloft. He’d retreated here to avoid the question he knew I planned to ask.

  As if a little hill could stop me. Even one with one of the old altars used by the alvar on top. There were thirteen hills with similar stones in Kentucky. Sensible people avoided them.

  Emory climbed to the top when he wanted to be left alone. It must be nice to be powerful enough not to need to be cautious.

  I flopped down next to him, stretching out in the grass and enjoying the fresh wind. Summers here were sultry, even with the sky a cloudless blue stretching to infinity. I pulled my gloves off, tucking them into my belt. I didn’t like going to a gathering of people with my hands bare—they were most sensitive to mental impressions, and gloves dulled that.

  “No, Alys.” His eyes, more grey than green with irritation, met mine. Emory had come to live with Ethan—and by extension, me—in his teens, to get training. He’d been too gifted magically for regular training, too smart and too wild. Even for a Xoticos. So, he fostered with us.

  We disliked each other when we met. I was jealous of him; I didn’t have anyone but Ethan. He took me in after my parents died—he’d helped me make the mental door that locked away most of my magic. The reason was a secret that only he and I knew.

  “I haven’t said anything!” I hated it when Emory anticipated me. He always won at chess.

  “You will. Nothing shuts you up.”

  I hmphed, then caught the gleam of satisfaction in his eye. Manipulative jerk.

  “Look, why can’t I walk the Road with you to the Reborn Kingdom? It’ll be fun! I really want to travel, and you’re going there anyway.” I kept all wheedling out of my voice, making my tone reasonable and pleasant. Australia, the continent that sheltered the Reborn Kingdom, beckoned, if only he’d lead me there.

  Unlike him, I’d travelled outside the Commonwealth we lived in. It was worth sneaking into the Union to see all the people and creatures that lived there. There was so much to see, and experience.

  The rumor that I’d come back because of a price on my head started the day I arrived. It was true enough. “Police” shouldn’t burn down houses and extort people.

  Emory sighed. “Alys, you could contract with the Road. You have the power.” He brushed back springy waves of black hair. It had grown in curlier after I shaved his head a few years back, just before I left. It was really a favor, anyway; getting drunk enough to pass out was a very bad idea.

  He hadn’t seen it that way in the morning.

  “No, I don’t. Remember? I tried; Ethan tried with me, and it didn’t see me.” I sat up and leaned forward, not averse to letting my cleavage speak for me. We’d touched each other often enough over the years that his emotions didn’t intrude on me the way a stranger’s would. For his part, he was much better at blocking people’s feelings than me.

  He rolled his eyes. Today, the breasts weren’t eloquent enough.

  “You do, Alys. I can feel it; you just refuse to tap it. And Ethan won’t put you in a position where you have to. Call the sum of your power, just once, and I’ll take you to the ends of the earth.”

  “I can’t, Emory! I’ve tried.” Irritation made me crush the grass between my fingers, stripping seeds from the tall stalks. There were reasons it was locked away, reasons I’d never told Emory.

  He trapped my chin in a firm hand, and I met his eyes, letting down my shields so he could feel my sincerity. Staggering under the sudden drowsiness that emanated from his touch, I swung at him with my fist. He caught me around the waist when my knees gave out.

  I headbutted his chin.

  “Though she be but little, she is fierce,” Emory murmured.

  I hated Shakespeare; I could never answer Ethan’s or Emory’s quotes. Sleep broke over me in a black wave, drowning the thought.

  Blinking, rising from ocean-deep sleep, I shivered as the cool evening breeze wandered across my bare body. I pushed away the singing that haunted dreams as my eyes opened to racing clouds above. When I stirred, rough stone scraped my back. My arms and legs were stretched to their fullest extent, secured to the rock by rope wrapped around pitons.

  The sun was far gone in the west, and the moon had risen. Bats flitted above me, squeaking as they feasted on insects. I turned my head to the left.

  My clothes and knives sat on a folding table in an untidy pile. Emory never respected my tools.

  “So.” His voice came from the other side. My head snapped in that direction, my lips drawn back from my teeth. I’d trusted him, and he did this? He’d be lucky if I only stabbed him a little.

  Emory got up from the folding chair and put it into its sling, pulling the bundle over his shoulder with casual strength.

  “A favor for a favor. It’s midsummer’s night. You’re naked and spread-eagled on one of the altars to the alvar.”

  “Really? I hadn’t noticed. Asshole.” I yanked on the strap holding my left wrist.

  He continued, not raising his voice although I was shouting at him. “I figure you’ll find the power to get out of there and join me below. You might even be strong enough to kick my ass for this. I leave at midnight. Hurry up if you want cake.” The weight of the words meant that he wouldn’t listen to anything I said, convinced he was right. He turned toward the path off the hill.

  “I don’t have any power!” I shouted, struggling wildly. My heart raced as chilly sweat broke out on my exposed skin. This was not a good place to be.

  He didn’t answer me, vanishing from my view. Dark thoughts of what I’d do to him when next we met kept fear at bay as I twisted and yanked. No yield. Emory was too good with knots. This was going to take forever.

  Sweat only helped so much with lubrication, but fear was a great motivator. Alvar were scary, alien bastards with whom I’d no desire to mess.

  Focusing on the fact that Emory’s skin was going to make a nice set of gloves, I squirmed, sobbing for breath. My wrists and ankles dripped with blood from being sawn against the bonds. The wind kicked up as clouds rolled across the sky. Lightning jumped from cloud to cloud. My shoulders and wrist stabbed with pain as I yanked desperately. One hand squirted out of its loop. Loose!

  Emory would regret this for a long, long time.

  While I was freeing my ankles, the wind shifted to the east and the crickets stilled between one chirp and the next. Throat dry, heart thundering, I t
urned to face the wind.

  Eyes the color of the thunderclouds above, lid to lid. A lazy smile curved the lips of the alvar that observed me. Human in form, at least.

  Shit.

  Chapter Two

  On July 4th, 2100 the surviving government officials of Canada, the United States of America and the United Mexican States came together to forge the Union, to stand as a bastion against the invasion of creatures from another world, called Riders.

  —After the Fall, by Antione Morales

  Capitol, the Union, early March, year 2645 CE

  Having experienced both, I could say with confidence that crucifixion was preferable to a three-hour slideshow presentation evaluating my performance and assigning personal goals.

  The pie chart illustrating the number of completed missions versus violent incidents glowed with contrasting colors in the air, reflected on the glossy teak of Silver’s polished wood desk. The hologram projector floated above its expanse. I’d never seen a slide presentation before I came under his thumb, and my great hope was never to see one again.

  Silver stood next to me, the crease between his brows belying his pleasant expression. Though he was one of the five Justiciars, dispensers of final justice, his forehead bore the red gem signifying Senatorial status. It gleamed in the harsh light, a visible symbol that his words had power behind them. The Union claimed that all people were created equal, while simultaneously classifying them into rank and influence based on family and skill set. All this was displayed using gems or tattoos on the face.

  More often than not, people Outside thought the onyx I wore signified status rather than servitude. Within the enclaves, the stone’s purpose was to tell people my position in the Union.

  Servant, indentured, but not slave. Slavery was illegal.

  “Alys.” Weary as a long day, Silver’s voice caught my attention. “If you don’t concentrate, I’ll put you on a performance plan.” All signs implied that my outcomes didn’t meet his preferred methods. Sad to live in a world that didn’t take your preferences into account; I’d have to give him pointers on how to cope.

  I relaxed into the metal chair, slouching in contrast to Silver’s painfully correct posture. I’d dropped my bag by the door, unlaced, so its occupants could find their new home. I’d just come back from a mission near the Dominion, and scorpions were plentiful by the Rio Grande.

  “Out of fifty Indentureds and two hundred Interns, you’re the only one with a perfect history of violent incidents. Alys Xoticos-Quinn, have you ever found an issue that you haven’t solved by violence?” His low voice fell measured and even into the cool air.

  Silly question. Subtle mockery seemed called for. I opened my eyes very wide, then furrowed my brow. After a pause, I smiled and answered, “Nope.”

  He folded his arms. He stood near enough for me to smell the subtle scent of the cologne he favored.

  I stared up at the ceiling to avoid his gaze. Meeting his eyes made everything he said seem reasonable and right, a trap I’d ceased falling for.

  Three years ago, after I’d gotten loose from all the teams SecForce sent to detain me, he brought me in for judgment and punishment. What happened afterwards proved him an admirable man in his way, even though he represented everything I detested.

  At the edge of my vision, a projection of Capitol sprawled across the wall, all glittery metal and shining buildings. The powerful and those who worked for them made their homes in its confines: Representatives, Senators and Administrators from around the Union.

  My son lived here as well. Before he was even born, he’d been assigned to Elise and Robert Dumont, a Representative family. Elise came from one of the First Families, a bloodline that could be elected to the Presidency. Her delicate exterior belied a low-key will of iron. I’d learned to deflect her to other targets, but she still insisted I finish the entire meal before dessert would be served…and on some nights there was no dessert served. I only yielded because it was depriving their teenage daughter Kara of her chance at sweets. She didn’t get many; Elise also knew the value of appearances and watched Kara’s weight like a hawk.

  Robert was a trained battlemage, sour and overly concerned with discipline and good behavior. We’d gotten into a shouting match when we met while I was still pregnant, since he couldn’t admit that anyone but him was right.

  Despite Robert’s attitude, Silver and he forged a compromise with unnamed interests in the Union’s government. Capitol should have been off limits to me due to my indenturement, an unfair punishment for some much-needed killings. It left me wrapped in a variety of compulsions that restricted and contained all aspects of my life and behavior. Silver himself put the geas on me, since my clan—the Xoticos—were resistant to coercive workings. He was one of the few who could make it stick.

  Elise and Robert would rear Dmitri in the correct, Union mode, but I would be permitted contact with him, between my missions. A kindness that didn’t make up for the fact that Silver, to all intents and purposes, owned me. Or that Robert Dumont sneered at the sight of me, which was fine. I reciprocated with compound interest. The only matter we all agreed on was that Dmitri’s potential required him to be protected from exploitation.

  This made it a priority for me to break loose of the geas and run with Dmitri. Not the uttermost priority: I had a few years, but I’d go into debt with my family to get him free before letting him be groomed to be a killer. And possibly save the Dumonts from the assassins that were coming, but I’d rub their noses in it.

  The Union wouldn’t let a prize like my boy go unutilized.

  I blinked away spots. The lights in Silver’s office, bright and harsh, always dazzled me when I used avoidance to deal with him.

  He was waiting for me to bring it up and I hated having to ask.

  “When will you be available to escort me to the Dumont’s?” I straightened, ready for his answer. Normally, it meant a wait in the general area, but I was used to that.

  A flicker disturbed his expression, gone before I could identify it. “They aren’t in residence.”

  “Why aren’t they at home?” The chair clattered and fell as I stood. I kept my fists held behind me as if my hands were clasped rather than clenched.

  One white brow rose. “You weren’t expected back for a week, at the minimum. You returned after three days. They took Dmitri on a short cruise.”

  That flicker of expression again—I couldn’t read it, didn’t feel his emotions either, partly due to the haze over my vision and the blood that pounded in my ears. If it was amusement, I would rip it off his face and jam it down his throat.

  I struggled for words. They’d taken my son out on the ocean? The virus that had mutated many freshwater fish into terrifying predators made the leap to saltwater species centuries ago. Ocean travel was dangerous. Even if Robert felt that his yacht was adequate, I didn’t.

  Silver raised his hand. “Alys. Since you have a few days to fill, I have another request that you could handle. Then I can place your off time in a single lump and waive the requirement you only spend three days at a time in Capitol.”

  I nodded and wrapped my arms around myself. I wanted to break things—the desk, the projector, Silver’s nose—but the geas clamped me in place when I tried to move on the impulse.

  Forced to follow Silver’s orders: no non-compulsory violence; no sex with anyone who hadn’t qualified as a battlemage. Forced to obey orders from SecForce within Capitol. I struggled with the compulsions every day, but I hadn’t managed to slip out of the iron bands of Silver’s working. I’d beat it some day and pay back all the debts outstanding.

  The soft whoosh as the door slid open broke the tense silence. Silver frowned, stiffening as he turned to face the door.

  The man who came in riveted my attention, not because of his looks, but because the geas didn’t dig in to let me know he was off limits. Thus far I’d only met four men in Capitol who weren’t: Silver and Flint, both Justiciars; Robert Dumont, a retired battlemage; and
now this man.

  He gazed at me, raised a brow as I stared back. I liked what I saw—tall, wiry, dressed in a quiet suit, a reader in his hand. Blue-black hair pulled back in a braid. He bore a red jewel on his forehead, a scion of a Senatorial family who worked for a living.

  He turned to face Silver. “Why have I been seconded to Special Investigations?”

  I liked the sound of him. Warm, rough and low.

  “Have you heard of knocking?” While his posture remained stiff, Silver’s voice was more amused than annoyed.

  “You didn’t have the privacy light on.” The other man’s eyes, dark and lively, crinkled in the corners with mock alarm. “A lady friend?”

  I snorted. Silver half smiled, gesturing the other man to sit.

  Curious, focused too much on the stranger, I jumped as the door slammed open.

  This time, several people filed in. An unfamiliar man, flanked by two SecForce personnel in civilian guise, smiled with surprise as his appreciative gaze wandered slowly from my toes to the crown of my head. I’d have preened, but for the unsettling aura he brought with him.

  Expensive clothing and a green gem; I’d seen him before, somewhere, possibly on the holo, but couldn’t think of a name. I didn’t like how he felt.

  “Well,” he began. Intense blue eyes issued an invitation. He extended his hand. “You are?”

  “Alys Quinn.” Even though my hand was bare, I offered it. His grip was firm, but the cool film of his magic made my muscles twitch. A working twined around my fingers, subtle and sticky. My hand felt as if a residue lingered, some type of emotional working that slid off me. Swallowing hard, I took a step back, pulling my gloves from my belt.

  “This is President Cohen, Alys. Here’s your mission brief. You’re late; go.” The unusual calm neutrality of Silver’s voice snapped my attention back to him. He tossed me a preloaded reader.

  Dismissed. My feet took me out the door, reader and gloves clenched in my hand, as Cohen settled in the chair I’d vacated. I hadn’t even gotten the name of the man I wanted to meet.