Fated Blades (Kinsmen #3)(7)

This ought to be interesting.

Matias activated the console and went through a quick checklist. “The Davenports are the obvious choice.”

She’d thought about it too. Like the two of them, the Davenports had thrown all their resources into the production of a working seco generator but had made the least progress.

“And likely the wrong one,” she said. “My husband led a rather cushy existence. I take it your wife enjoyed the same?”

“I gave her everything she wanted. Almost everything.”

Her curiosity spiked. She really wanted to know what hid behind that almost, but his tone told her questions wouldn’t be answered.

“Stealing the research carries a lot of risk. They wouldn’t have done it unless the payday was worth it, and they expected to survive. The buyer must have promised money and protection.”

“And the Davenports aren’t in a position to provide either,” Matias finished for her.

“Their finances are stretched”—she almost said “even thinner than ours” and then remembered who she was talking to—“dangerously thin. Of course, they’re desperate enough to lie to get what they want.”

Matias touched the controls, and the aerial soared in a smooth curve. She barely felt the acceleration. He angled the vehicle with practiced ease and effortlessly joined the stream of aerials speeding through the air above New Delphi.

When Matias was eighteen years old, he had left the planet for five years. Her family never figured out where he went or what he was doing, but now she had a pretty good idea. Whatever he did had involved piloting small combat craft and lots of it.

At the time he left, she was fifteen. She’d envied him the freedom.

“Cassida would have done her homework,” he said. “She’s thorough, and she had access to our database. Our Davenport file is extensive. I trust yours is as well.”

She nodded. “So, it’s not the Davenports.”

“No.”

“Still have to check.”

“Yes,” he said.

“I don’t want to hurt them.”

He spared her a long, careful look. “Compassion? At a time like this?”

“Were you happy in your marriage, Matias?”

“Happiness is overrated.”

“The Davenports are happy. They just had a baby. I don’t want to wreck that without a reason.”

“And if they had a part in this?”

She sighed. “Then I’ll cut them in half. Isn’t that what I’m famous for?”

“Very well. We will be gentle as a summer breeze until we have a reason not to be,” Matias promised.

“Thank you.”

He touched the console, and the aerial swooped down and to the left, banking gently. Ahead the Davenport building rose in the middle of a small park, an undulating flame of orange glass wrapped in an envelope of black callosteel ribbons. The ribbons curved around the building, skimming the solar glass but never touching it, with the widest gap between them barely two meters tall.

At this time of day, Damien Davenport would be at home, while Haider Davenport would be in his office on the twenty-third floor, safe behind that shatterproof solar glass and callosteel designed to hold the enormous structure of the building together through the hardest earthquake. The ribbon envelope was impact resistant. It would take a blast from a midgrade energy cannon to even scratch it.

Twenty-two floors of building security, about a hundred private guards, and several automated turrets. All the standard toys of a successful kinsmen family ready to protect its territory.

Matias steered the aerial toward the tower. “Since you want to minimalize casualties, do you have a plan?”

“How good a pilot are you?”



The woman was insane.

Matias gently tilted the control stick, bringing the aerial down another sixty centimeters. He had positioned the craft slightly above the twenty-third floor of the Davenport building, with the rear of the aerial facing the building and tilted just a touch toward it. The gap between callosteel ribbons widened here to make the best of a spectacular city vista, and the rear cameras presented Matias with a great view of the solar glass window and Haider Davenport behind it, sprawled in his chair, his blond head leaning back on the headrest. The man was passed out.

“Give me another twenty centimeters,” Ramona murmured from the back.

He edged the aerial closer. A meter from the ribbon. This was as close as he dared to get. Another ten centimeters and the current circulating through the metal would short-circuit the aerial’s control system.

This was an idiotic plan. First, she would have to clear the empty air between the aerial and the ribbon, then fifteen centimeters of callosteel, then another fifty-centimeter gap to the solar glass, and then she would have to cut her way through a three-centimeter-thick glass pane, and she would have to be blindingly fast, or she would plummet to her death.

The screen in the dash showed Ramona backing up. She pressed herself against the partition separating the cabin from the cargo hold. Her eyes were focused and calm.

He could just not open the door.

Unfortunately, they had only three options. First, they could ask for a meeting. There was no guarantee the Davenports would agree, and knowing Haider, he would stall as long as he could to gather intel. They couldn’t afford to waste time.