A Conspiracy of Whispers Read online

  At one point, she found enough time on an empty platform to make a call. This side of the border, her pulse feed was sketchy as hell—Imperials used an aetheric network that was incompatible with pulse standards—but a clipped voice picked up on the third tick.

  “Transmit identification.”

  “You get a lot of booty calls from the Empire, ma’am?”

  “Transmit identification.”

  Olivia sighed. Wallis was stodgy, but as a handler for the Whispers, a sense of humor was surgically removed above a certain pay grade. Wallis had been overseeing and approving her jobs (and payment) since she started freelancing. Her handler was well-known in the organization for all the qualities of an ideal Whisper: discretion, loyalty, and ruthless professionalism. Olivia felt like she’d almost won her over. Almost.

  Olivia rattled off her ID and the authentication codes tied to the biorhythms on her band. Wallis spent an interminable pause checking before the connection stuttered with a heavy blast of static.

  “Line secure.”

  “Goodie. Shuttle’s late.”

  That earned an audible huff. “Imperial inefficiency. No other challenges?”

  “Not so far. Empire civilians are very...friendly. It’s creepy.” Olivia checked her band. “I should be in position in roughly thirty-six hours.”

  “Your briefing was sufficient?”

  “You detailed right down to when he likes to use the crapper, ma’am. I’m good.”

  “Well. It’s my job to shore up your training deficiencies,” Wallis demurred. Olivia wasn’t sure if she should be touched or offended, but her handler continued, “We’re detecting signal scramble across the border today so I won’t expect your next contact until you return. You’re clear on the special riders for this?”

  “Straightforward Quiet job. No contact, no surviving witnesses, use the fancy gun.” Olivia patted the case at her side. “I still prefer my rifle but Imp-made is really shiny. But why does it matter which gun I...?”

  “Quiet, not questions, Shaw.”

  The training motto completely justified the roll of her eyes. “Right. I simply wanted to make sure I understood the scope of the operation.”

  “Allowable. This is your first time on a foreign contract.”

  Olivia straightened. “Yes, and I am grateful that you cleared me for this opportunity.” Higher clearance contracts meant more risk, but also more twill. More twill meant Olivia could stop living hand to mouth. Get B the non-questionable cat food for once. Olivia hadn’t thought she’d ever make this level of operations while working as a freelancer. She still wasn’t sure why Wallis had signed off on it, personally. “I won’t let you down.”

  “I am aware of your abilities. My expectations are low.” Wallis’s insulting reassurances really were a gift.

  “You place so much faith in me,” Olivia muttered. Her shuttle docked, so after confirming her timeline she disconnected. She made sure to be one of the first to board and claim a corner seat with maximum defensive spread.

  It was more dangerous, moving through the Empire without being discovered. If there was a place more dangerous to hide her identity than the Syndicate, the Empire of Quillia was it. More altusii seemed out and about, not registered and enlisted like in the Syn, and personal space was an issue. But Olivia had spent all her adult life being ignorable. By the time she hitched a ride off a truck full of strange aetheric rock, she had a day’s trek through farmland and forest that guaranteed she wasn’t followed.

  Her bounty was for an Imperial military grunt, an altus. Wallis’s brief had declined to state what his crime was, but intelligence sent her to a remote valley in the deep forests of the border where a small military force camped. Olivia wasn’t a spy, had no military training, but it seemed an odd place to stage a training exercise. It took another day of skulking in the woods to identify her target—a corporal—and understand the routines of the soldiers. It was a tightly organized camp. The command that ran the forces must have been a hard-ass, because even the night guard seemed on alert during their shifts.

  So infiltrating the camp was probably out. Olivia couldn’t decide whether she was disappointed or not. She preferred to work from a distance, but gods, these kinds of outdoorsy jobs were not in her comfort zone. She was a Syn native. She’d rather track someone through a strip club in the Cauldron than deal with bugs and thrashing predators that prowled the undergrowth beneath her tree at night.

  At least her target was easy enough to stalk from afar: straw-yellow hair, typical altus build, a sour, shrill voice that carried. She found a secure place to nest, identified a few likely clearings soldiers favored for smoke breaks and trysts. During the heat of the day, she found shade, cleaned her weapons, and waited. It wouldn’t take long. An altus always grew restless.

  Chapter Two

  Galen was restless.

  The air bit his skin, chilled by dawn as he scaled the steps of the guard tower. He paused at the railing, searching over the stretch of light-drenched fields. He didn’t see Zahira’s silver-tipped ruff amid the purple grass; good. That meant his wolf was at ease enough to take off hunting. He should be reassured by that.

  And yet Galen’s mind paced. An unease had clung to this mission since Lyre had laid it out, and Galen had never found an equilibrium with it though he couldn’t say why. He’d carried out harder, more confidential orders for the crown. But that feeling, of something on the cusp, something approaching unseen, gnawed at him until it was a brittle thing in the air, ready to break over his head. If he’d been able to name it, it’d have been easier to weather, but everything appeared fine. Morning inspection had everyone doing their jobs. A minor miracle, with so many unfamiliar and green altus soldiers in the ranks for this one.

  And one green altus in particular was this morning’s problem.

  “Henley, report.”

  Corporal Henley was a leathery scalpel of a man, all sinew marinated with an underlying bitterness he didn’t entirely hide behind his bright hair and lazy smile. He turned from his binoculars without bothering to salute. “It’s probably just a spook hunt, Captain, but thought you’d want to know.”

  “Know what?” Galen’s attention went to the two privates manning the tower this morning. New, like Henley, but Galen recognized Werner as the shy pale recruit interested in medic training. That had potential. The military was too full of glory-hungry altusii and gentas with something to prove. They were always short on the support roles that kept everyone alive.

  “Private Werner here says he saw something.”

  “Werner?”

  “Yes.” Werner dodged his gaze but pointed toward the forest on the other side of the clearing. “Yes, sir. Movement, just in the line of trees there. Half an hour ago. Sir.”

  Galen gave it a cursory glance and tried not to think of his earlier foreboding. He didn’t place much faith in shadows. But if a soldier reported something...

  Even a soldier like Henley. Something about the man raised Galen’s hackles, like the way he was sucking on his front teeth just now, pressing too close, leaning into his space. At one point in his life, Galen would have felt the urge to square up to such tactics, growl, and push him to back down. But responding wouldn’t be productive with a man like Henley. Satisfying, but not productive.

  Instead, Galen decided to focus on Werner. The pale recruit warmed under his attention, standing straighter. Galen nodded. “This was at dawn then? How long was the incident?”

  “Y-yes, sir. Only about a minute.”

  “Did you make out any clear figures?”

  Werner’s eyes flicked to Henley, then away. “No, sir.”

  “Did any sound accompany this incident?”

  “No, sir. Just movement in the underbrush. And a weird feeling like we’re bein’ watched.”

  That sounded familiar. Still, he tried to ease Werner with a
small smile. “We’re in the middle of the Caeweld, Private. We’re always being watched by something.”

  Galen fished his gaze over the field, assessing the deep forest shadows. Maybe he should give his instincts more credence. The only ones who knew this was more than a training mission were him and Lyre’s scouts; there was no reason for Werner to be jumping at shadows. Unless there was something in them.

  He decided quickly. “Corporal Henley, extend our patrol ano—”

  Galen half turned his head, so when the needle plunged into his neck it cleaved sharp through a nerve. Pain jagged through him. He hissed, but a fist caught him in the throat, cutting off his yell. Henley was suddenly too close, leathery grin and sour breath in Galen’s face as things began to swim at the edges.

  Henley’s voice was savage. “Like I said, Captain. Just a spook hunt.”

  Galen distantly felt his knees slam into the steel floor and decided his instinct had been right about one thing: he really should have punched Henley in his damn mouth.

  * * *

  Galen fell back into himself in stages. By the time he righted his mind, he was surprised to be still on his feet. A dark blur of woods righted itself around him. His wrists were restrained. Someone had a hard grip on his arm, but when he jerked it was sluggish and weak. The anger that boiled in him ached to move, to lash out. But whatever had been in that needle, it was a firm wall between his furious mind and the rest of his body. He twisted his wrists, testing the strain of the cuffs again until a steel toe slammed into his spine hard enough to send him back to the dirt.

  “The pride of the Empire looks tired. Never thought I’d see the day.” Henley’s lazy drawl prompted a dutiful if nervous chuckle from Werner.

  Galen was more preoccupied with how Henley had gotten this far. There were guards all along the perimeter. Drone patrols, on top of that. There was no way anyone, no matter their rank, could have moved a limp body through the camp without raising alarm. Just how much had one corporal compromised his unit? Lyre and Bowen had thankfully taken their scouts out last night. Then again, the absence of the only other commanding officers in the camp might have been what emboldened Henley to...whatever this was.

  Galen focused on keeping his feet under him as they pushed him ahead. They were far from camp, and Henley walked with a purpose and destination in mind. They stopped in a clearing. By the time Galen wheeled around, the altus soldier already had a gun pointed at his head. Galen stopped short.

  It sent a smile slicing up Henley’s leathery face. “You seem agitated, sir. I think you need Werner to help you with that. Keep things all soothing-like.”

  Galen lurched forward but Werner caught him on the back of the knees. Galen refused to give him the satisfaction of rising again. “What do you think you’re going to accomplish with attacking your own commander?”

  “You were never my commander, Captain.” Henley’s smile turned vicious. “My commander would have come up through basic. My commander would know what it was like to starve and bleed just to get into this hellhole, knowing that it’ll never make a fucking difference to noble shits like you. My commander would know the value of tossing the people at his back a bone.”

  “A bone. That’s what this is about?” Galen asked, though he knew it wasn’t.

  “My prices have increased.” The nose of Henley’s rifle rested on Galen’s chest. A sloppy mistake, easy to exploit if Galen had just had his hands free, but Henley continued to taunt him. “I’ve got new friends, Captain. I don’t have to put up with your sense of duty now.”

  “What friends?” Galen baited. “Last I heard, the only company that could stand you was your left hand.”

  The rifle shattered across his jaw, a guttural roar accompanying the ring in Galen’s ears. He lost balance and his face hit the ground with a bloom of pain. Well, good. Henley had always had a fragile sense of self. Galen’s vision cleared quickly, but not before Werner took the chance to yank him back to his knees by his hair.

  “I’d kill you right now for free.” Henley craned down to him and, for a tempting moment, Galen considered biting out his throat. “But I’m gonna be rewarded for this. A title, seat on the council, caricae girls, whatever I want.”

  “A reward.” Galen sighed. “You are an exceptional fool.”

  Henley’s lip curled. “I’m gonna take your head, Captain. Maybe I’ll deliver it to your bitch sister personally.”

  Galen had his own raw nerves. Family was one. He jerked forward. “You don’t get to talk abo—”

  “Give him another shot.”

  “Sir, I don’t know,” Werner was a wavering voice behind Galen. “We already gave him a double dose, even altus metabolism might not be able to handle a suppressant dose that—”

  “So what? Fucker is dying today either way.” Henley saved a savage smile for Galen. “Do it, Private.”

  Galen surged to his feet, but it was too late. A prick of warmth ran through his shoulder and, for the second time today, a mewling fog cut him off at the knees. His vision wobbled, morphing Henley’s ugly features into an even more demonic mask.

  A demonic mask that was neatly bisected by a flare of blinding plasma fire.

  Henley’s face just had time to look perplexed before it burst into sizzling red and fell. Werner shrieked, “Sniper!” but it was cut short by another simmering shot. Blue fire lit up the clearing. Werner’s grip on Galen’s hair went slack, and Galen threw himself to the dirt. His ears popped from the ion discharge, and the world tilted. He fought the drug for control of his body, won, and scrambled behind an outcrop of rock.

  Galen’s brain raced hopefully. That plasma was blue, that’d be ammo from an Imperial rifle. One of their own. Had Lyre caught wind and turned back to route around them? But he couldn’t hear enough movement for a scouting unit. Even if his senses were dulled by the drugs he should have—

  Werner fell to the earth nearby, winged by an off-center shot. He wailed from the pain, flopping toward him, but Galen had trouble registering sympathy before a shadow fell across them from above.

  A figure landed, light as a feather, on the outcropping above Galen’s head. The assailant was clad in frayed layers of black and gray fabric that covered every inch and made further identification impossible. The person wore a mask over the lower half of their face and their eyes were turned away, studying Werner.

  The private wailed again and fell onto his back. “P-please, I’m just a private, I didn’t—”

  “No.” A soft, obviously female voice made the hairs on the nape of Galen’s neck stand on end. It was a voice for secrets and sighs. There was no anger in the voice, no aggression, but neither was there any hint of sympathy. She pulled the trigger on the rifle and Werner fell to the earth for the last time.

  Galen strained at his restraints and tried to slide around the rock. The quiet voice halted him with a word.

  “Stop.”

  She’d not even bothered to turn. A blind sidearm pointed dead at him. Galen weighed his options and stilled. She was obviously well trained, though judging by her haphazard clothing he doubted she was Imperial, regardless of the weapon. Either the Syndicate had started sending assassins into Empire lands, or this was a double-cross by Henley’s so-called friends.

  The woman landed soundlessly ahead of him, pausing to verify her body count. It was admittedly tidy—Henley and his minions hadn’t even had time to raise the alarm. The barrel pointed at his face held steady as she slowly turned, and Galen was caught up in the greenest eyes he’d ever seen.

  They were sharp, wary eyes, set at a high cant that indicated Syndicate heritage. Any emotion in them was buried, out of reach like emerald fish at the bottom of a dark pool. Hair the color of pale sunlight escaped her wrap and it struck Galen’s drug-muddled brain as fitting. An assassin colored in green life and bleached death.

  Those same eyes skimmed over him once before s
ettling on his cuffed wrists. He couldn’t see her face, but her voice carried a smug humor. “Well. Haven’t you had the devil’s luck.”

  “I like to think it might be changing,” Galen risked. He hesitated and got to his feet—slowly, to keep the world from spinning again.

  Something harsh shuttered over the assassin’s eyes as he stood. She took in his height and leaped back. She was dazzlingly careful on her feet. Her movements reminded Galen of a kestrel at hunt. She gripped the gun firmer. “You’re an altus.”

  “And you’re not.” Galen’s senses were maddeningly dulled by the sedative but he could tell that much. She lacked altus height and power. She was even short for a genta. Skilled, as indicated by the corpses at her feet, but she lacked the strength and reach of a soldier. If he’d met her in a fair fight he could have ended this quickly.

  Her eyes darkened as she evidently came to the same conclusion. No, nothing about this was fair. He held up his cuffed hands. “You appear to have the advantage.”

  “I bet that’s galling for a big bad man like you.” The woman didn’t appear mollified in the least. She switched back to the Imperial weapon strapped to her back, careful to never lower her sidearm. “They drugged you with what, a sedative?”

  “Suppressant.” Galen’s lips thinned to admit it. If it had been a sedative, he at least still would have had the strength to act.