Here's your Tuesday chapter! Enjoy :)

BTW, if you're not a big fan of all the politics and character stuff, hang in there; the heat's gonna get turned up soon.

-Plum

31 – Between Us

Fernando threw his practice mask into the basket, and Hector could see he was fighting back tears. His cheeks were flushed, his lips trembling, and his short-cropped dark hair—the same as his father’s—was matted with sweat. Still, he didn’t let a whimper loose as he unbuckled his belt and hung his practice knives on the wall. Hector looked back to the training field, watching Drake walk away, his back stiff. That was the norm, though; Drake never slouched.

“I hate him!” Fernando muttered, and the words almost broke the dam; the tears were so close that he had to scrub his eyes with the back of his sleeve.

Hector chuckled and unfolded his arms, glancing around to be sure that they were alone before saying, “I hated my first decanus, too.”

“Difference being that’s not my decanus!” Fernando turned on him, scowling, making the easy conversion from frustration to anger.

“Well…” Hector shrugged, looking toward Drake again, now a distant figure on the lawn. “Your father has to be many things to you. He has to think about more than whether you like him or not. He has to know you’ll be able to defend yourself—and your House. When he’s punishing you out there”—Hector nodded to the practice field—“he’s thinking of Nora and Jasmine—even Esme and your mother. He’s put a lot into you.”

“Well, I don’t want it.” Fernando ripped his armored coat open, the buttons making little popping sounds. Heaving for breath, he sat on the bench beside the armory and cradled his head in his hands.

“Yes, you do,” Hector said, trying to keep the mirth from his voice. He could laugh at the dramatic nature of the outburst because he was seeing it from the outside—he was aware of that.

The boy looked up, eyes red-rimmed and ready to let loose their watery burden. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that you’d rather have your father doing this—working you hard, pointing out your flaws—than ignoring you. Trust me.” He gestured to one of Fernando’s knives that was hanging crookedly from the rack. “Now, straighten that, and let’s get you to your next lesson.”

“Do you always have to be a hardass? Do you always have to take his side?” Fernando’s tone was still angry, still bitter, but Hector was pleased to see more of those feelings directed his way. Drake wasn’t a warm father—not to Fernando—but he wasn’t bad.

“Come on,” Hector quipped, “I only treat people I like this way.”

Fernando snorted, “Hate to meet the people you don’t like.”

“…Hector?” Gladia sounded concerned, and when he blinked away the memory, he realized he wasn’t sure how long he’d spaced out.

“I’m here. I was just…remembering. The memories are more raw than I thought.” He sighed, leaning forward, elbows on knees. They were sitting on a bench in the furthest section of Sparling’s garden where rose bushes that were more thorn than flower grew. A small fountain burbled nearby, and Hector could see old, tarnished coins in the depths of its murky water.

“About the children?” Gladia’s voice was tentative, and Hector could understand why; he’d just dumped a hell of a story on her. He’d left out plenty of details, but she had the gist of it now—he’d been a bodyguard for a wealthy family, betrayed and blamed for the slaughter of the people he’d been charged to protect. Hector had even told her about his neurodeck—to a degree. She knew that he’d been out of commission for a long time, and that, though the betrayal was distant in time, it was still fresh to him.

“Yeah,” he replied, his voice a little hoarse. “I’ve been…” He shook his head. “I haven’t let myself look directly at them—those memories.”

“Since you woke up?” Gladia’s eyes widened. “How?”

“Just focus on the present—on the things I need to do and the people I need to…”

“To kill.” Gladia took his wrist with her cybernetic hand. It felt just as warm and soft as human skin, despite its ivory appearance. “This is why you didn’t think you could risk scaring him away—the traitor with my brother?”

“It’s not an excuse, but I hope you’ll understand that my mind isn’t right about this. I didn’t mean to hurt you or your cause; I’ve had this damn tunnel vision, and…” He trailed off, shrugging.

“Well,” Gladia said with a sigh, pulling her hand back. “You’re still holding back.”

He stared at her for a long moment, looking into those fancy golden irises. They were depthless, with intricate, tiny patterns that were only visible if you truly stared. After the silence began to grow heavy, he said, “I don’t think anything I’ve left out will affect you.”

“But you don’t trust me with it?”

Her tone was seemingly flat, but there was an underlying current, something that sounded almost like pain or hurt. Maybe it was his night with Lemon, or the fight he’d had with Gladia the day before, but Hector’s resolve felt fragile; he could recognize that much. He could feel it crumbling on the edges. I’m a soldier, dammit, not an infiltrator.

//You were many things for the Contis.//

After a moment, he looked down, and his response was a bare whisper. “I want to trust you, Gladia.”

“Maybe it would help,” she said, once again reaching out, this time pressing her palm against his chest. “Just talking to me today allowed you to look at memories you’ve been hiding from. Do you think I could help with the burden?”

Hector didn’t want to admit how much he liked the sound of that, even to himself. He inhaled deeply. As he exhaled through his nose, he said, “Or you could destroy me.”

“That’s what it means to trust, though? Aren’t I right about that? You could have destroyed me several times. You could kill me right now—there are powerful people who would reward you handsomely.”

A thought occurred to Hector, and he looked into Gladia’s eyes again. “How old are you, really? My AI says you’re closing in on a hundred, but I know sometimes people take on new identities with new skins.”

“I’m eighty-seven, and this is my second corpus vivum, Hector.” She answered quickly, and there wasn’t a hint of duplicity in her tone.

Can I trust her?

//It matches the records I found.//

“You want trust, Gladia? Real trust? Then I want you to promise me that what I tell you stays between us. You’ll share it with no one—not even Loyal.”

Gladia folded her hands on her lap, took a moment to adjust her position on the bench, turning to face him a bit more squarely, and then said, “I promise.”

“You may regret those words.” Hector looked toward the fountain again, speaking softly as he watched the water burble out of the nozzles. “I guess the easiest way to bring everything together for you is to name the family I was protecting. I was the Guardian Primus for House Conti.”

“Conti…” Gladia’s eyes unfocused as she followed his gaze, turning to the fountain, searching her memory. Maybe her AI fed her the answer, or maybe she remembered her history lessons—after all, the fall of a Great House would surely be taught by the tutors of Royal children. She gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth as she turned back toward him. “Hector Finalis?”

#

The SUV hummed along, gas suspension dampening the roughness of the terrain as the AI piloted it off the dirt road. Flint looked over his shoulder, clearing his throat to interrupt everyone’s idle chatter as he said, “We’ve got to go off-road for a few klicks to reach the transmission relay.”

Lemon nodded, and Kristy, who was sharing the back seat with her, threw Flint a thumbs-up and asked, “We’ll still be in town before lunch, right?”

Flint chuckled, nodding. “Oh yeah.”

“I’m going to need a few minutes at the relay,” the doctor said. Lemon couldn’t quite remember his full name…something Dent. He was sitting in the second row, and he turned to smile at Kristy. “Promise I won’t make you late for lunch.”

“I’m just starved,” she replied, smiling. “Skipped breakfast.”

The only other passenger, one of Sparling’s house staff, didn’t say anything. He’d been quiet since they all piled into the vehicle, and Lemon got the feeling he was used to shopping for supplies on his own. He was middle-aged and heavyset, and when he’d said hello to them all, his accent had been unfamiliar to her—Spanish, perhaps.

“No Kit today?” Kristy asked, nudging Lemon to get her attention.

She shook her head. “He spent the night with the boys, and he wasn’t up. Besides, he hates long drives.”

“The boys? Hector?”

Lemon smiled and looked down. “No, I mean Orin and Demon.”

“Ah yeah. Orin’s a softy, isn’t he? I mean under all those scars.”

“Yeah,” Lemon replied, glancing at Kristy again, smiling at the way her fox ear twitched. “He used to look after me—back in the day.”

“Look after?”

“When I worked at the club.” Lemon felt her cheeks heating up, but she didn’t know why—she’d never been ashamed of her old job before. “I mean, he’d make sure the clientele didn’t mess with me—and he kept Grando’s other boys in line.”

“Oh! Right!” Kristy nodded, smiling. “I always forget you’re not some kind of fancy lady! You pull off the look so well.”

Lemon’s cheeks flushed at the words, and she laughed, shaking her head. “Stop that!”

As Flint turned on some music—heavy beats and guitar riffs—and Dent leaned forward to talk to him about the band, Kristy shifted closer to Lemon and quietly asked, “So, we gonna get lunch together or what? I don’t want to eat by myself, and Flint makes me nervous.”

Lemon nodded. “Yeah, sure. The only thing I’m hoping to accomplish is to buy a PAI chip.”

“Oh? You don’t have one?”

Lemon shook her head. “I couldn’t justify the expense…before.”

“Right. Yeah, I got lucky in that department. It was the only thing my pops ever bought me. Then a few lucky merc jobs later I replaced it with an aura system.” She shrugged and just then the vehicle shuddered and tilted down at the nose steeply. If it weren’t for the restraints, Lemon thought they might have all fallen to the front seat in a pile. “Damn!” Kristy said, laughing. “Trying to dump us out, killer?”

“I told you we’re off-road,” Flint said. “Almost there.”

“Super tight security,” Kristy said to Lemon as the vehicle leveled off and rumbled toward a small concrete structure built into the side of a red stone bluff. Even Lemon, completely unversed in communications equipment, recognized the antennae sprouting from its circular roof.

She looked at Kristy and nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“I know some of the stuff going on with Hector and the Sparlings—and Lady Ventress. What about you?”

Lemon licked her lips, nodding. “Yeah, some of it.”

“By the way,” Flint growled, looking back and locking eyes with Lemon and then Kristy, “if Hector didn’t make it clear to you two, we’re on a comms blackout, even when we leave the jamming field. If I pick up a signal—” He paused, looking at Dent and Sparling’s guy. “—from any of you, there’s going to be an uncomfortable interview with Sparling’s head of security when we get back to the ranch.”

“Roger, Commander!” Kristy said, throwing a mock salute. To Lemon’s surprise, Flint chuckled and shook his head, looking back through the windshield as the SUV pulled up to the cement building.

“We’ll be out in a minute,” Gladia’s bodyguard said, exiting the vehicle and opening the door for Dent.

Kristy watched the two men walk to the little building, then glanced at Sparling’s employee, who had his head pressed against the window, peering outside. She nudged Lemon and pointed, mouthing, “Weird.”

Lemon smiled, but shook her head slightly, mouthing back, “Be nice!”

Kristy shrugged, then she said, “Anyway, yeah, tight security.”

“Yep,” Lemon replied. She looked out the window, watching the dust blow, waiting for Flint to get done with the comms. She wondered why they had to use the relay when they were going into town, but supposed it had something to do with security—as Kristy kept reminding her.

She knew that Gladia was supposed to be “dead,” and she didn’t want to show her face anywhere where a camera might pick her up. She’d even given Lemon a list of things to buy—mostly personal products that she was running low on, including a night cream that cost more than Lemon’s rent back in J-district.

Thoughts of her apartment brought to mind her last few weeks there…and Hector. She didn’t know whether to smile or frown at the thought. The night hadn’t gone as well as she’d hoped, but she’d feared worse. He’d given in, after all, hadn’t he? He hadn’t pushed her out and locked the door, or run away somehow. The thought of him literally fleeing sex with her was enough to bring a small smile to her lips.

It only lasted a few seconds before she remembered how he’d been in the morning and how she’d bristled at him, cut him off and basically dismissed him. Well, I’m allowed to have some pride, aren’t I? She hoped he hadn’t been offended when she’d suggested he ought to reconsider his priorities. After all, she was talking about stuff she didn’t know.

But how could I? She grimaced and even might have growled at the thought, so frustrating was Hector’s refusal to communicate.

“You good?” Kristy asked.

Lemon sighed and forced a smile. “Just thinking.” A brilliant distraction came to her and she added, “And I’m hungry.”

“Me too!”

It wasn’t much longer before Flint and the doctor returned, and when the big man got back in, closing the door behind himself, he reached past Dent, holding out a small data chip. “Kristina—it’s an encrypted message from that scientist on the ship.”

Kristy snatched the chip, her enthusiastic grin making her more foxlike than ever. “I didn’t expect mail!”

Flint ignored her and the SUV started moving, backing away from the concrete building. “We’re rolling to town now. One hour and forty-seven minutes ETA.”

#

When Hector didn’t deny the name, Gladia stood, fists clenched, and paced, walking toward the fountain and then back. “You—” she started to say, but cut herself off, shaking her head. “My family…” Again, her words failed her, and she paced again, turning back to the fountain.

Hector watched her, trying to decide if he ought to let her run her mind through all the implications or if he should speak. After another aborted attempt from her to react, he said, “Come on, Gladia. You’re a Royal—you’re used to intrigue and backstabbing. This can’t be that hard for you to wrap your head around.”

“Well,” she snapped, “it is!” She whirled on him, locking eyes and stomping forward to stare down at him. “You’re saying my uncle—”

“Alistair Ventress-Dane?”

“He killed you! He won commendations for it!”

“He’s a pawn of the Emperor. You know that much, right?”

Gladia growled and whirled, fists clenched again. “He’s refused to support Loyal—that much is true.”

“And it wasn’t me he killed. We went over that.”

Her tone was mocking as she looked at him with hooded eyes. “Right…of course. Your friend took control of your corpus vivum and committed the crimes—the slaughter.”

“I knew this would happen,” Hector sighed. “It’s a hell of a story—hard enough to believe when the players were unnamed minor nobles. Now, though, seeing how it’s related to your family? Seeing how it goes all the way to the top? It’s easier just to believe I’m a psychopathic traitor to the Empire, isn’t it?”

Gladia shook her head, but the venom left her voice as she said, “Two hundred years.” She looked at him with wide eyes. “But to you it was yesterday!”

“Well, not yesterday, but yes, the Contis are still very fresh in my mind.”

“Who was the traitor? The one who’s supposedly with Loyal, I mean?”

“Lucien Vigilant.”

“My PAI says he was your second-in-command and an old friend. He’s supposed to have died during your…rampage.”

Hector glowered, his mind drifting to dark places.

“I…” Gladia stepped closer to him, despite his likely fearsome countenance. “I don’t believe that about you, Hector. I’ve seen you with Sass and with Lemon’s boy. Even with the pirates, you showed mercy where it was appropriate. You’re basically Freddy’s idol, and—”

“He reminds me of Fernando,” Hector said, before he could stop his stupid mouth. “I think he always has. I—I liked him right away.”

“Oh,” Gladia said softly, then she stepped closer to him, grasping the sides of his head and tilting it up so she could look into his eyes. “Oh, Hector. You’ve been holding onto so much, keeping it buried all to yourself.”

“You believe me?” he asked, voice thick with his need for her to say yes.

“I do, but I don’t know what this means for us. My entire family profited from the redistribution of the Conti holdings. Loyal—”

“I don’t care about that. I care about the ones who planned it—the ones who carried it out. It goes beyond House Ventress.”

Gladia released him, letting her hands drop to her sides as she slowly nodded. She turned and walked toward the fountain again, her steps small and slow as she pondered the ramifications. “And thus, you’re not just using us to get close to Lucien. You want Alistair, too. You want—” She whirled to face him, eyes wide. “You’re after House Lautrec! You want the Emperor!”