“You’re on Wright’s shift with Grant tomorrow. Perimeter check at eight.”
Zane relaxed into his chair. “Yes, sir.”
It sounded robotic at this point, after so many cycles repeating it. With a curt nod, Vale stalked to his office.
“Least it’s just a perimeter check,” a younger guard said. “Should be a breeze.”
“Perimeter checks are no joke,” admonished the graying man. “Now more than ever, it’s critical that the palace is as secure as the prison on Titan.”
“Especially with the rumors about war,” said a woman at the kaf machine.
Every muscle in Zane’s body went rigid. His jaw tightened as he looked from one face to another. With every knowing nod, the tightness in his chest expanded.
“War?” he choked out.
“It hasn’t gone that far yet. Her Majesty’s trying to win the support of the government.”
“Yeah, but she’s been in classified meetings all week, so the formal declaration should be any day now, shouldn’t it?”
Zane lurched to his feet. The empty kaf mug clattered to the table. Something cracked; it might’ve been the handle, but he didn’t look down. The word echoed in his head.War, war, war. Shrieking missiles. Billowing plumes of smoke. Wails and blood. All the vivid scenes that made him wake screaming, night after night.
He managed a few shallow breaths, but the air didn’t go into his lungs.
Voices warbled around him. He couldn’t make them out. Mira had been right. She’d tried to warn him, and like an idiot, he’d ignored her.
Zane’s fists clenched. He took a staggering step forward.
One of the guards rose, as if to catch him. Zane kept going. The wordwarpounded a drumbeat in his head, in tune with the rapid thumping of his heart. With every step forward, his breathing grew harsher, his face burned hotter, until he felt like he was going to explode from the rage building inside.
When that happened, there was only one place to go.
The guards flankingthe towering glass doors scattered as Zane barreled through, storming across the marble veranda and down the shallow outdoor steps. Raindrops pelted his skin, turning to icy beads as wind gusted across the lawn. Breathing heavily, Zane followed the cobblestone path through a maze of hedges and dying trees, into the fencing yard.
He wasn’t alone.
Across the lawn, stations with fencing dummies swayed in the wind. Grant jabbed at one with a training saber, then fell back, dropped into a defensive position, and lunged again. His shaggy hair flew around his head in a halo.
Zane gnashed his teeth together.
So much for solitude.
Grant turned and lowered his blade. “You here to drag me back to Vale?”
Zane’s jaw was too tight to speak. He shook his head.
“Good.” Grant whirled, jabbing the dummy again. His technique wasn’t elegant, but the way he moved suggested he had experience.
Thunder crackled through the dark sky as Zane climbed a few steps to an old wooden shed. He pulled a blunted training saber out of a bucket on the porch, testing the blade’s weight in his hand. Lighter than usual, but not impossible to work with.
“You fence?”
“Yeah. You looking to blow off some steam?”
With a nod, Zane dropped into guard. “Fair warning, I won three championships.”
“Good.” Grant grinned and took up a defensive position across from him. “When I thrash you, you won’t be able to say it wasn’t a fair fight.”
Smirking, Zane lifted his saber.
