Aurora Burning (The Aurora Cycle #2)(54)

Sometimes the only way to win is to break the game.

I’m staring at a set of checkered hexagonal tiles, stacked six high, scattered with white and black stones. It’s a dóa board from Chelleria—a tactical game, considered to be one of the most difficult to master in the galaxy. I’m a third-tier player at best. The board is sitting atop an ornately graven desk of dark metal in Saedii’s outer quarters, vibrating softly to the hum of the Andarael’s engines.

Looking around the room in the dim illumination, monochrome from the Fold, I can see other games. A samett set from Trask. Three beautiful tae-sai boards from Syldra, all carved of lias wood. Even a half-finished game of chess. Waiting for my hostess, sitting in a comfortable chair in front of her desk, I can tell she’s a tactician. Everything about the room—the games, the books, even the simple geometric art—tells me Kal’s sister is fascinated by strategy.

I pick up one of the dóa pieces, my ribs and muscles still groaning after my run-in with the drakkan. The piece is a flat white disk marked with a triangular black symbol. They play the role of pawns in the game—kinda, anyway. Sacrificial lambs used to gain an edge elsewhere in the battle.

I’m starting to appreciate how they feel.

“Do you play?” comes a low, sweet voice from behind me.

I turn and see Saedii stalking through a double set of auto-doors, a silver tray poised on one hand. Her pet drakkan rides on her shoulder, watching me with glittering golden eyes. Before the doors whisper shut behind them, I see her inner quarters: simple artwork, a large bed, a computer terminal. I briefly wonder where she hangs the skins of her victims.

She’s changed out of her armor into Syldrathi dress uniform—formfitting black, elegant lines, glittering with silver embellishments and battle trophies. Her black hair rolls down over her shoulders in seven thick braids, just like Kal’s. She’s taken the time to refresh the black paint that coats her lips, the strip that frames her eyes. I can see her brother in the shape of them, the line of her cheeks and brow. She radiates an aura of command: cold, cruel, calculating.

“Do you play?” she repeats.

I put the dóa piece back where I found it.

“Tyler Jones,” I reply. “Alpha. Aurora Legion, Squad 312.”

Saedii walks to the desk, places the tray down. It holds a carafe of crystal-clear water and two glasses. There’s also a beautiful long-bladed knife and four spheres that I recognize as a Syldrathi fruit called bae’el.

Sitting down opposite me, Saedii fixes me with a withering violet stare.

“Really?” she says, speaking perfect Terran. “That is your opening gambit? Name, rank, squad number?”

She raises one dark eyebrow, then pours the water. The drakkan crawls up onto the chair’s back, trilling softly as it continues to stare at me. Saedii pushes the crystal glass across the desk and murmurs to her pet.

“Yes, Isha, my love, he disappoints me, too,” she says, eyes returning to mine. “I thought he would know how this game is played.”

I’m desperately thirsty after my arena brawl, but instead of drinking, I meet her stare, speaking softly, my voice calm.

“The first step of successful interrogation technique is to establish rapport,” I say. “Offer the subject kindness—a gift like water or food or pain relief. Alleviating their suffering will highlight the suffering they’ve already endured, and evoke a sense of empathy in you, in contrast to their other captors.” I glance at the water, then back up to her eyes. “I know exactly how this game is played.”

I lean back in my chair, lace my fingers in my lap.

“Tyler Jones. Alpha. Aurora Legion, Squad 312.”

Saedii pours another glass for herself, takes a small sip.

“We Warbreed teach our adepts differently, little Terran,” she says. “The first step of successful interrogation technique is to establish dominance. Assure the subject, in no uncertain terms, that you are in control.”

She picks up the knife from the tray, presses the tip ever so gently against the forefinger of her other hand. Like her hair, her nails are dyed black.

“Begin with a mild amputation,” she suggests. “Something small. But something that will be missed.”

She looks down at my crotch, then up into my eyes.

“A sister, perhaps.”

My stomach lurches at that, but I keep the fear from my face. Running the math in my head. “How did you know she w—”

“I am no fool, Tyler Jones, Alpha, Aurora Legion, Squad 312.” She stabs the knife into a piece of bae’el, then begins removing the rind with deft twists of the blade. “The sooner you dissuade yourself of that notion, the better.”

“You speak excellent Terran,” I say. “I’ll grant you that.”

She slices a sliver of dark flesh from the fruit. “Far better than your Syldrathi.”

“I’m surprised you bothered to learn. Given how clearly you despise us.”

Saedii slips the sliver between her teeth. Looks me dead in the eye.

“I always study my prey.”

She leans back and places her feet up on the desk, nudges the glass of water toward me with the heel of one knee-high, silver-tipped boot.

“Drink, boy. You will need your strength.”

Isha trills, fluttering her wings and watching as I finally lean forward and pick up the glass. It’s solid crystal, heavy in my hand, and for a moment I consider pitching it at Saedii’s head, making a grab for her knife. The more sensible part of my brain reminds me of the beating this girl gave me the last time we tangled. My groin sends an urgent transmission, pointing out I might wanna have kids one day.