Destiny's Blood Marie Bilodeau (best self help books to read .txt) 📖

clearly fell to Captain Malavant. He was a good and loyal man who would see to it that what needed to be done was done. Unlike the captain of the Royal Guards — may his name be cursed to the depths of uncharted space.

For Mirial to survive, for their people to be saved and their shameful exile to end, the final duty given to them by their queen had to be carried out. Zortan Mistolta had to be tried for treason.

And one of the queen’s daughters had to die.

CHAPTER 20

Avienne stared at the screen, her fingers tapping her console in quick succession as her brother navigated Destiny through the various ships lodged in the arms that radiated from the outer Veruvian docks.

Disorganized and impractical little system they have. She wondered just how spectacular it would be if only one of those ships exploded. That would be a ripple effect worth using in the anti explosive energy source campaigns.

Beside her, Layela and the Berganda stood, poised and unmoving. She thought either one might break at any second.

That could also be fun to see, Avienne thought. She looked down at her panel, disgusted by the silence on the bridge, and disgusted that the two girls had been so easy to find. Knowing there are so few Berganda left, you think they’d have made an effort to disguise Josmere.

“We’ve cleared the docks,” Ardin finally announced, his formal tone betraying some of his tension. Cailan sat up in his chair and Avienne wondered for the thousandth time about Destiny’s origins and what the Delamores had to do with it.

Enough to make Cailan edgy, Avienne thought, her fingers tingling with the anticipation of seeing a planet to call home. She fought back the urge to laugh. Now would not be a good time.

“Push her, Travan. Make sure we catch them,” Cailan whispered. The engineer was busy entering a string of commands when something flared on Avienne’s console. Her eyes grew wide.

“We’re being surrounded!” Avienne exclaimed. The ships were too numerous to count.

“That was quick,” Cailan said. Avienne magnified the approaching fleet on the view screen.

Ardin swore before his sister did, and Layela caught hold of Avienne’s console as if to support herself. Before them, highlighted on the screen, too far to fire on but close enough to block them, small attack ships littered the skies, easily over two hundred of them, a fleet bigger than any she had ever seen.

The external communications beeped. They were being hailed.

Cailan took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. The hail was repeated, the only break in the thick silence.

They waited.

i

The communications officer was growing impatient, but Dunkat did not change his orders or tell him to stop hailing them. They wouldn’t respond, he already knew.

Dealing with Mirial years ago had taught him one thing: Mirialers were stubborn, and loyal to no one but their own. Now that Layela was firmly in their care, he knew that he had to stop them. Destiny was their flagship and most powerful ship, but she was also a desperately outdated and outgunned ship. He felt a hint of that satisfaction of closure again. Bit by bit, the errors of the past were being remedied.

“Cease communication attempts,” Dunkat ordered, standing from his command seat and walking forward, staring at the ship before them. There was no denying that she was beautiful, even after years of neglect. He remembered seeing her for the first time, powerful and unstoppable, the pride of a very proud people. He remembered his father looking lovingly at the plans, questioning her designers non-stop about the significance of each aspect, about the time and care it must have taken to create such a functional and powerful piece of art.

Dunkat had even found his father by the window of their visitors’ unit one night, staring out at the ship, the skies reflected in his moist eyes. His father had been strong, a good commander, but weak for art. Dunkat had questioned his father on why he was not pushing them for tactical information about the ship, for information about their shields, weapons, the strength of her hull…His father had looked at him with familiar anger in his eyes.

“If you cannot see that ship as anything but a piece of machinery, I’m ashamed of you. Is war all that you know?”

I bet you never thought your own son would be the one to destroy the ship you loved so much, Dunkat thought. He had outlived his father, but he felt no pride in proving him wrong: the Destiny was no more than mere machinery, easily destroyed at the touch of a button. He did, however, regret that he still could see her as nothing more than a ship; as the enemy.

He saw his father’s angry, disappointed eyes again and swallowed hard, forcing his own eyes to remain on the beast as he gave his final order.

“Fire at will.”

i

Layela clutched to a railing, Josmere beside her, the ship’s various alarms marked on nearby consoles. One was for failing shields, another for hull damage, and one for lost weaponry. She had stopped listening to the screams of the crew a while back, despair grinding deeper in her heart with each new failure.

Travan mumbled as he left the bridge, too many parts of the ship requiring his attention. Avienne cursed freely. She fired whatever weapons were left, all the while trying to keep the shields strongest where the fleet’s shots were incoming. Ardin and Lang plotted courses and escape manoeuvres, and Cailan sat at Travan’s station to try to hold the ship together as he shouted orders.

It was chaos. And Layela knew of only one way to help.

She made her way to Cailan, screaming to him over the various noises. “It’s me they want! Hail them and turn me over or you’ll get everyone killed!”

Cailan turned to her for just an instant, his reply barely audible as another volley struck their shields.

“You have no idea what you’re asking of me,” he yelled. Before she