Page 16 of Commander’s Mate

The woman’s eyes fixed on Scarlet without comprehension.

Kyanna Guryon, still pale lavender and teal-haired and somehow managing to look elegant in the same slave sack as the rest of us, shifted on the floor from the other side of the group.

“She is from Mavrin,” Kyanna said. “Her translator may not be working properly. Some species do not tolerate cheap chips well.”

“Can you tell her?” Nora asked.

Kyanna nodded and spoke in a fluid, musical language. The trembling woman answered in a broken whisper and then began to cry.

“She says she thought no one would come,” Kyanna said, and for the first time since I had met her, the governor’s daughter looked less like a princess who had expected rescue and more like a woman who had almost failed to believe in it.

“Most of us thought that,” I said.

Kyanna looked at me. “I told you my father would send someone.”

“You did.” I tried to smile. It came out crooked. “I’m very glad you were right.”

Kyanna’s gaze lowered. “He sent them for me.”

The words hung there, unpleasant and honest.

Scarlet snorted. “Well, they took the rest of us, too. I’m counting that as a win.”

A few of the women gave shaky laughs.

I was grateful for Scarlet’s mouth. It gave the fear somewhere to go.

The shuttle lurched hard to the left. A wave of cries rolled through the cargo hold as bodies slid and grabbed. The soldiers did not move. My shoulder hit Zoe’s, and Nora’s elbow jabbed into my ribs.

“Sorry,” Nora gasped.

“Better you than the floor.”

The lights shifted from white to amber. A harsh chime pulsed through the shuttle.

“What is that?” Zoe whispered.

Kyanna had gone still. “Pursuit alarm, I think.”

“Oh, fantastic,” Scarlet said. “The slave auction house wants a refund.”

The armored soldier nearest the hatch lifted one hand to his helmet as if listening. Another turned toward the cockpit door.

My stomach dropped.

Rescue was not over.

I had thought the run from the auction house to the shuttle was the dangerous part. I had thought once the hatch sealed and the ship lifted, the world of slavers and tags and being lined up like product would fall away beneath us.

But there was no beneath. There was space. There were ships. There were people who owned cannons and thought my body was merchandise.

A deep voice came through the shuttle’s overhead speaker. It was not Zared’s. The translator turned it clipped and calm.

“Docking in ninety seconds. Remain in position. Medical and intake teams are standing by.”

Another jolt.

This time the lights flickered.