Empress Fallen

By Bethan-Ann Scott

Does love have the power to overcome evil?

It is the year 7056. In a solar system hundreds of light years from Earth, the broken and weary human race has lost its path, tainted by millennia of suffering and oppression. The corrupt Empress has utterly succumbed to the dark seductions of greed and now hides a deadly secret, one that could bring about the annihilation of humanity. Will the greatest conspiracy of all time go undiscovered?

But revolution is stirring. Slave girl Aliya Soter and rebel pilot Miriam Ferox are embroiled in a daring race against time as a mysterious anomaly hurtles towards the solar system. The slave colonies are revolting, the stock markets are poised on the brink of collapse, and overhanging everything are the forbidden rumours of a mysterious resistance force . . . Can they bring down the Empire once and for all?

But all is not as it seems. And with this simple realisation it becomes clear, this is just the beginning of something far greater.

The first instalment in the Through Darkness trilogy, Bethan-Ann Scott's debut propels the reader through an epic space opera adventure, raising profound questions of morality and man's inhumanity to man. Twists and cliffhangers unfold relentlessly throughout the book, entertaining the reader at every turn, a must-read for fans of The Hunger Games.

This is sic-fi like you've never seen it before.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bethan-Ann Scott
• Release date: Oct 12, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311877956

Bethan-Ann Scott

Bethan-Ann Scott is a student of English literature born in Glasgow and currently based in London. Her first novel, Empress Fallen, is a science fiction epic for young adults.Visit her website at bethanscott.com and blog at seebetterlear.com..."A single dream is more powerful than a thousand realities."- Tolkien

Book preview

Empress Fallen

Through Darkness: Book I

By Bethan-Ann Scott

For Annie Rhiannon,

'Nana Morgan',

my great-grandmother,

because you were a writer too

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

PART ONE: The Ghost Anomaly

CHAPTER ONE: Wrath and Tears

CHAPTER TWO: The Brows of Grace

CHAPTER THREE: To the End

CHAPTER FOUR: A Tyrant Spell

CHAPTER FIVE: Espaces Infinis

CHAPTER SIX: Long Hidden

CHAPTER SEVEN: The Lie Shall Rot

CHAPTER EIGHT: Stars, Hide Your Fires

PART TWO: Omicron 24

CHAPTER NINE: No Coward Soul Is Mine

CHAPTER TEN: Strong To Undergo

CHAPTER ELEVEN: Sure Solacer

CHAPTER TWELVE: Unbowed

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Every Gate

PART THREE: Eversor

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: If I Must Die

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Time and Fate

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Nought's Had, All's Spent

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Hell Itself

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Beyond the Sunset

EPILOGUE

'Hell is empty,

And all the devils are here!'

The Tempest, William Shakespeare

L'Etat, C'est moi

The state, it is me

Louis XIV of France

I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality. This is why right, temporarily defeated, is stronger than evil triumphant.

Martin Luther King, Jr

Prologue

The Validian Dynasty

Year 7056, 11th day of the 2nd Caelum month

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,

To the last syllable of recorded time;

And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

The way to dusty death.

Macbeth, William Shakespeare

Space was cold. Deathly cold. But inside the frigate, it felt even colder. Silence and anger fused together to form a terrible, icy atmosphere, where even the harsh electric lighting seemed unwelcome. The hollow, metal creature hung there in the void, like a broken ship gutted by the ocean.

Juliava pulled the heavy black cloak tighter over her shoulders, the silver braiding woven into the material in stark contrast with the red uniform beneath. She stood in front of a curving viewport at the prow of the frigate.

'Empress, your majesty . . .' a low, wavering voice murmured directly behind her. She let her eyes wander aimlessly over the star strewn abyss yawning before them. The voice resumed falteringly, taking her silence as affirmation to continue.

'The primary Imperial port has fallen. All remaining forces have been ordered to defend the Vaults. But - but two have been lost, the first destroyed by - by them, the second, looted by renegade merchants. Many Wolf-Class frigates have fled. Our remaining cohorts are making a stand near Sanctus, but the Armada's just too strong. There are reports coming in of mass . . . mutinies.' The man swallowed, sweat stinging his eyes, hands clenching and unclenching. The Empress did not move. He continued, his voice breaking, 'And word from the surface: the southernmost Tyrannian border has been overrun. Our casualties stand at 49 cohorts . . . The Armada's ranks have been reinforced by fresh reserves from the revolted colonies on Ignis-'

'Commandant Proditor,' the Empress murmured, still facing the stars, the ice in her voice almost tangible. He froze. 'How did these slaves reach Tyrannis unchallenged?'

Her words prowled into the silence.

'Your m-majesty . . .'

Juliava tensed, her eyes sliding shut as irrepressible anger threatened to cloud her reason.

'They have salvaged one of the three hundred and thirty-three Exodus prison ships.'

The movement was so fast, so sudden, that the skinny man stumbled backwards, slamming his knee hard off the silver floor as the screech of metal on metal rang in his ears. The Empress now towered over him, emerald eyes burning, the clawed black tattoo around her right eye more menacing than ever, and the legendary Imperial sword she wore under her robe drawn just touching the Commandant's neck.

The slender weapon, hilt coiled and jewelled, hosted strange markings along its blade. A trickle of blood disappeared down the collar of his uniform, but he couldn't tear his gaze from the Empress' livid face, couldn't move, couldn't breathe, paralysed by his own naked horror.

A deep, guttural voice cut the air like a shot from a plasma rifle. A tall, white-haired man stepped forward from the tightest shadows in the corner of the room.

'Which ship?' he spat. The Empress glanced at Dragutin Ultor, the new Marshal of the Validian Army, realisation coursing through her, twisting her gut.

The man hunched on the floor flinched. His eyes widened infinitesimally as he licked his lips. It was barely a whisper. 'Vessel 162 Epsilon-Rho.'

The Marshal's acidic blue eyes flashed. Juliava turned back to the Commandant, no doubt elected to deliver the information by his superior. She distantly wondered which of the Brigadiers was so cowardly, and so wise. Her eyes closed as Ultor spoke again in a hiss, his voice heavy with uncontained fury.

'Who is their leader?'

'A female Ignian slave, of Caelum birth-' the Commandant stopped abruptly, as though realising what he had just said.

'Who?'

The Commandant squirmed, inching backwards, instinctively edging his hand closer to the plasma rifle secured across his back.

'Her name? . . . Aliyanca-Thrin Soter.'

It was too much. The Empress surged forwards, brandishing the great blade. The man tried to drag himself back towards the door, drawing his rifle in desperation, hauling it up.

But it was too late.

Juliava brought the sword above her head, screaming. In one smooth motion, quicker than breathing, she swept the blade in a wide arc through the air. It sliced down the Commandant's front. His mouth was left yawning open, cut down the left side all the way to his waist. She merely deflated with relief, a revolted grimace marring her features as the man's insides spilled onto the glinting floor with a sickening noise, and he slumped, motionless.

The Marshal shifted his weight uneasily across the room.

'Shall I call someone to-?'

'Leave it,' she hissed, turning back to her vigil before the viewport. The thick glass reflected the faintest image of herself back at her. A ghost.

Ultor stood frozen, fighting a gag reflex at the stench. Such a form of injury was strange to senses accustomed to laser wounds.

'Fate kisses reality with purpose,' she exclaimed suddenly, 'with ambition. Isn't it funny?'

Ultor watched her back nervously. The black robe concealed her body. Like an eventide raven.

'Destinies interweaving, locked, fluctuating.' Her voice was louder now, head tilting slightly. 'My father conceived the schematics for Eversor. I implemented them. So who should - but is it even fault? The Purge was decreed by Vindex . . . Is it fault?'

She turned sharply, fixing him with an unblinking glare. 'Is it?'

Silence gnawed through his mind as he squirmed, blindly stumbling for an answer. 'I - I don't-'

'No,' she snapped, moving once more in front of the viewport. She slowly raised a hand, pressing it to the cold surface, trying to claw at the stars. 'All our fates have been tainted from birth . . . Haven't they? We strove for more. Beyond our star. But Vindex has spoken. Not ready . . .' Something passed over her face. 'And yet, I am threatened, this cannot be right. Who would stand in my way?' The words were barely a whisper now, charged with emotion.

'Who?' she screamed at the darkness, throwing her head back. 'A slave?' The eyes shut. 'A slave? My blood, my father's blood. It can't be.' A murmur. Then, she drove the sword at the ground. It bounced off the metal with a hair-raising clang.

'A slave?' she bellowed. The Marshal took a step back, swallowing.

She fell quiet for several minutes, her heavy pants gradually slowing. He opened his mouth, but was devoid of any intention to speak. The hand against the viewport clenched into a fist, and she broke the skin of her knuckles with a bestial snarl.

'Only Vindex could have done this. Augustus said it was a sign. A message from the one. A sickness. Diseased souls. The Purge was the key, but the slaves, they - they, and my people are . . . Vindex awaits me in Hell.' This last part was a whisper, barely wielding a shred of coherency. 'The markets have fallen, Denarii are worthless, the Arcanum reserves gone, the Sanctian monks fled into exile, abandoned us. The slaves live. They live. Anarchy. Anarchy. Purpose? Was this it? Yes this is the work of divinity, but the Purge, not me, impossible . . . What was I to do?'

The Empress bowed her head once more, shoulders visibly shaking with rage.

'What was I to do?' Livid desperation stretched taut over her face as she whirled round, sword aloft. Dark circles ringed her eyes, strands of damp hair loosely hanging over her cheeks. She pitched forward abruptly.

For one wild moment, Ultor thought she was going to advance on him. But she stopped over the Commandant's mangled body, swaying as though caressed by the autumn wind that stirred the forests on Caelum.

'Your majesty?' he offered into the quiet. She wavered, staring down at her own hands, gripping the magnificent sword. Very slowly, like a Sanctian water falcon, she fell, crashing onto her knees.

'The Purge?' she whispered. 'Eversor.'

Ultor tensed in horror as he watched the Empress' arms rising. Before he realised what was happening, she had turned the glistening weapon round, raising her head, eyes closing gently with a deadly resolve.

The terrifying blade was now poised over her own heart.

Part One

The Ghost Anomaly

Eight days earlier . . .

Chapter One

Wrath And Tears

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

Invictus, W.E. Henley

i. Tumultus

Dawn broke over the horizon.

Needles of cautious light probed the layers of rock over the irate red planet. The golden fingers crept across the wasteland, stretching, feeling, sharing an intimate ritual with the rock. But they soon reached an alien formation, cold and glinting. So cold. The flat silver building rose like the head of a snake from a sea of blood. Utterly elusive, a facade over a hidden darkness. It was impossible to guess the true nature of that building, the hundreds and hundreds of metres of iron and steel stretching deep underground in an impenetrable metal tower right below it, the hundreds of thousands of prisoners it incarcerated, the dark tyranny that had excavated it . . . No.

All it was from the sky was a shard of coruscating silver, abandoned among the rocks. The broken tooth of some massive beast. These deceptions were scattered over the entire northern hemisphere of the planet, structures that hinted of life.

The prison glistened as though composed of ice, or perhaps frozen tears. And as the vast sky awakened, movement marred the stillness. It wasn't long before hunched silhouettes could be seen streaming out into the heat, small figures, dispersing in concentric patterns from the building. They converged at the bases of jagged crags and ridges, at the mouths of mighty rips in the ground. Soon there were hundreds of strange things glinting aggressively in the sun's rays, manned by the people, by the workers. They were monstrous contraptions that drilled into the rock, digging down towards the blood-red stones encased in the planet, towards the Arcanum.

This was the first shift of prisoners that would begin the day's mining, and thousands more were incarcerated within the vast complex. Deep inside the structure, people flooded into the eating halls, a rare atmosphere of anticipation searing through their minds like a contagion.

On the 147th level from the surface, in one of the innermost cells, a tall, golden-haired girl stood leaning against the window. These windows were small squares looking out onto the central core of the complex, its hollow, cylindrical heart. It was framed by a series of silver elevator tubes running up towards the surface. Just visible, so far above, a transparent oval in the ceiling of the building above ground permitted a fraction of light into the gloomy prison.

Aliya gazed through the window, lean and dirty arms crossed defiantly before her. If she squinted, she could just make out that mocking oval of light hanging over the yawning tower so far above.

That hint of the surface.

Although, she thought, frowning, she had been told towers generally climbed up the sky. These 'towers' stretched into the earth. So, inverted towers. This deception was particularly infuriating considering the depth of this 'tower'. With four hundred levels of cramped, dirty cells, their inverted tower rivalled the Empress Regnant's skyscrapers on Caelum.

Aliya pressed her forehead to the window, closing her eyes. The cool surface sent ripples through her burning skin. Was there ever a respite from the heat on this infernal planet?

Hazy images rested behind her eyes of her time before her enslavement. Whispered illusions scurrying around her mind. Blurred shadows of half-remembered events hovering like wraiths just beyond her sight. It was as if that life had been painted in sly greys and illusive blues, if it had even existed at all. It was all utterly eclipsed by the fiery reds and browns of her days on Ignis. There was no one else like her, no one who claimed to be from a different world. But to pursue the matter would be to court death. She was alone.

'Aliya?' She tensed. His voice had induced this effect on her ever since the day on Nex Ridge, on the edge of the world.

'You coming?' The words crept through the air behind her. She didn't move. He tried again.

'Aliya, it's Surplus day.'

She opened her eyes. Surplus day, the biannual event when food rations doubled as the Enforcers rotated, and the new Cohorts arrived. The extra food was a mere incentive to kick-start slave efficiency for the next mining season. The fresh Enforcers would instate their authority by ravaging those who could not maintain the faster pace, the heavier labour overwhelming them. It was no cause for complacency.

But there was more food.

She turned slowly. Malik smiled at her, reaching for her hand. She instinctively recoiled. He froze, smile dropping. A second hovered fleetingly between them before he shrugged and strolled from the room. She followed, a needle of sadness stinging her for an instant. But it had soon fled.

She followed him through the winding stone corridors, passing several sections of cells. The absence of Enforcers was immediately apparent, and a strange foreboding stole through her, but she tried to put it from her mind. They eventually turned a corner to a wall of metal. The elevator door hissed open and they stepped inside. Aliya tensed, closing her eyes, holding her breath as her stomach lurched. She desperately tried to retain her composure but it was like trying to hold back the sun from rising.

Her eyes flashed open, the walls tilting, closing round her.

A cold, metal tomb, deep underground. A silent, alien tomb.

She was vaguely aware she was sliding to the ground, when a hand clamped round her elbow. All of a sudden she was staring wildly into Malik's intense, ochre eyes. His mouth was moving. She stared at it, frowning. His lips formed indiscernible shapes . . .

And then he was pulling her out into another stone corridor. It was a tall, arched one this time. She was abruptly aware of his arms clasped tightly around her, her face pressed into his chest, that familiar smell bringing her back. Her breathing slowed and she relaxed fractionally. But then she realised, shoving him away. Before he could turn, before he could mask the reaction on his face, she saw the hurt there, his eyes over-shadowed by his dark hair. And as she looked at him, an image burst behind her eyes, ramming itself between them.

A screaming, red sun. Naked rock. Enforcers yelling, torture, the shaking in the earth. Swallowed, trapped. Malik. He was there. Always there. But leaving. Leaving? Enforcers yelling, and him leaving. And her trapped in the burning tomb until darkness.

She shoved past him, angry tears rising inside her. No. She would not succumb to such weakness. His betrayal had changed everything.

The Section Sigma eating hall abruptly opened out around them. It was packed. Enforcers stood on the raised stage near the ration stations, plasma rifles raised, metal clubs slamming down on the slaves trying to climb onto the platform. It was utter pandemonium.

Aliya spotted the ebony head of her closest friend, Sitara Kaur, sticking out of the seething mass several rows in. She plunged into the fray, Malik close on her heels.

'What the hell is going on?' she yelled into Sitara's ear as she reached her, wincing as someone's elbow rammed into the small of her back.

'What?' Sitara yelled back, pointing at her head with both hands and grimacing. Aliya repeated herself.

'Surplus Day,' Sitara began, gesturing violently with her hands as they were jostled about, 'It's cancelled. New enforcers. Double as many as usual. And no goddam food.' Aliya stood in shock, a thick confusion stifling her mind. Malik appeared next to them.

'Cancelled?' he barked in outrage. Sitara gestured again towards the Enforcers just as they were shoved forwards, pressing against the people in front of them. The slaves had rushed onto the platform and the crowds surged. The hall was consumed by screams. They were surrounded by cries of agony, fear, anger.

Aliya grabbed Sitara's arm and hauled her in the direction of the west wall. A tall bearded man cursed at them as they elbowed past him. He trapped Sitara's boot under his for a tense second before the crowd carried him past. An elderly woman desperately twisted out of their way, dragging several wide-eyed children behind her.

Finally, Aliya broke out from the throng, pressing herself to one of the pillars of rock, breathing heavily. Her face was red, sweat clinging to her forehead. She longed to tear off the thick jacket. Sitara appeared a moment later clutching her winded stomach and yelling something.

They tried to spot Malik but he had been swept away. Aliya craned her neck. Several men had shouldered ration canisters and were throwing them carelessly onto the heads of the crowds, simultaneously fighting off the Enforcers that lunged at them. She registered for the first time the wailing alarms reverberating through the hall. One man collapsed suddenly as a towering Enforcer clubbed him on the back of the head. Blood pooled around his crumpled form. Another man's jacket was half-ripped off and as he grappled with the Enforcer, another grabbed his neck from behind in a tight headlock. His body went limp and he rolled off the stage. That's when they opened fire.

Aliya watched in horror as slave after slave was exterminated. Children too. The Enforcers leapt down into the crowds, shoving those at the front back with renewed ferocity. The side doors burst open and a fresh unit of red-suited Enforcers flooded through the archways into the chaos, like a wave of blood. They were coated in glinting black armour plating, giving them the disturbing appearance of tall, scarlet insects. New alarms cut into the air and clubs beat avenues through the masses.

Aliya glanced to the front again. A woman was scurrying to the spilt rations, a tiny dark-faced girl clutched behind her. She sifted through the silver packets, filling her arms and those of the gaunt child. They had almost made it off the side of the platform when a yell leapt up and an Enforcer threw himself in their path. He tore the rations from their grasp, knocking the woman to the floor. She clawed at his feet, trying to bite his ankle. The Enforcer kicked her roughly in the head and she collapsed, neck twisted at an impossible angle over the edge of the stage, quickly obscured by violent reds and waves of grey.

Aliya looked back to the woman's daughter in horror. She was barely aware of what she was doing, choking on her own screams as she threw herself forwards, desperately scratching and clawing her way towards the front.

She was so far away, she would never reach the girl. White flashes seared behind her eyes as she thrashed, vaguely aware of her fists colliding with the people around her. Her vision blurred. The image burned in her mind of the Enforcer bringing his arm down again and again on the almost indiscernible form of the girl.

People pressed on her on all sides, pain shot up her left leg and she was knocked in the stomach yet again. Her hair was caught abruptly and she cried out. She could barely breathe, chest crushed from the front and back. The smell of hundreds of bodies suffocated her. She couldn't separate a single voice or sound from the writhing tidal wave of noise. The heat in the room was unbearable. All her eyes registered was the pitching mass of grey but all she could see in her mind was that Enforcer's club becoming redder and redder as it swept through the air.

The crowd was changing direction. She was pushed to the right, entering a corridor off the east of the hall. It was futile to resist. They accelerated slightly and Aliya found herself near the back. Only when something cold and hard struck her left shoulder did she realise they were being shepherded from the hall by Enforcers. She too strove to move farther from the back of the throng, mind reeling. It was several moments before she realised she was roughly pushing people aside. Like a coward.

They found themselves shoved into a large storage room, empty ration canisters lining the walls. As the metal door slid shut, Aliya glimpsed a red line of Enforcers stationing themselves outside and another crowd of slaves being driven onto the next chamber. She imagined it was the same throughout the complex. The crowds in the Sigma eating hall would have been broken apart, driven down every passage before being separated further into the high security cells, storage compartments, and mass holding rooms. Prisons within a prison.

Aliya limped over to a canister, sliding onto it in relief. She knew she had at least pulled a muscle, but the pain in her left leg was unbearable. Her entire body ached, and it was a different ache to the one following a mining shift. Her lip was bleeding.

But many had suffered far greater injury. She watched helplessly as a woman not far from her curled over her right arm, which was twisted unnaturally over her knees, clutching her black hair in one shaking fist.

Aliya leant her head back against the canister, refusing to waver under the pain, burying the panic deep down inside her out of reach. But it was still there. Festering. She had to stay conscious.

ii. Advena

Aliya shifted restlessly, the song of the dying imprisoning her mind. She was starting to shiver. Two men limped past her, hauling another younger man between them. They laid him gently across two canisters as they tried unsuccessfully to revive him. The suffering was everywhere.

And there was no sign of Sitara or Malik.

She shrugged the heavy jacket off her shoulders. All slaves wore the same. The heavy, high-necked jackets had a folded overlap that fastened at the right shoulder, made of an itchy, coarse material. Up on the surface, they made the heat almost unbearable as the merciless sun watched their labour, the great silver drills roaring with a sadistic mockery. Beneath the jackets were grey, long-sleeved vests that laced up to the neck with black cords, equally uncomfortable and difficult to keep clean as they were only supplied with two or three a month. And the black boots had thick soles for the harsh rock, leading to permanent blisters, cloying sweat, and hardened skin.

Aliya hugged her knees weakly, eyes flicking round the vast room. Emergency lights pulsed along the perimeter, transforming each gaunt figure into a ghostly apparition. There must have been four hundred slaves packed into the area, most, the inhabitants of level Sigma:2. Most, wounded badly. The hostile stench of blood was everywhere, crouching in the sweaty air like a pride of Ignian Leech Jackals, reeking of death.

Lost. Perhaps that was the feeling? It was one she had been exposed to all her life. She had not been born on Ignis. That much she knew. And that set her apart, the cold fact that had always isolated her. They were subtle differences, yes. But this subtlety did not escape her notice. Her skin was lighter. She was taller. Her hair was paler. Her eyes were not brown, but a frosty grey. And she had never quite adopted the jagged, Ignian accent. She had been abandoned, that much she knew . . . Yes. An orphan. All she had were the objects safely hidden in the bag under her cell bed, and the shuddering memories that so eluded her.

Frightened. Another feeling. Up until that very morning she had never witnessed a revolt. Nineteen years enslaved on the irate, searing world, and she had never seen such united fury claim the minds of the people. There was always unrest around the quarterly ritual of the sacrifice to the Blood Lake, when one slave was selected supposedly at random, and executed on the surface altar beneath the full moons. But this was something entirely different. A revolution. Surely that was what it had been?

There were forgotten legends of a resistance from the days when Ignis was first colonised almost two millennia ago. The human race was new to the system, following the thousand year odyssey across the galaxy. The odyssey. It was a thing she had only heard about in stories, in forbidden rumours.

The stories of that forgotten home . . . Earth.

It had been an escape, a desperate flight in the face of extinction. The Civil War between the Western Empire and the Eastern Alliance had raged for centuries. But it all suddenly ended with the induction of the supernova that consumed Earth, the blue and green planet where humanity had been born.

The discovery of antimatter. The most dangerous and fateful in human history. It had secured their destiny. But it had not been the Empire's discovery. No, it had been that of the Eastern Alliance, and it annihilated them. The several million left alive endured the odyssey under the Empire's oppression, and when they finally reached their new home, it seemed they were to be left alone, struggling for survival on the three smallest planets. And they prevailed.

But it would not last. The pretence of freedom had shattered. A mere one and a half centuries later, the invaders came. They came in search of the Empire's Arcanum ore with huge drilling machines and great weapons. Thousands were murdered as the Validian Army created the Enforcer factions from their Imperial Cohorts, enslaving the countless millions into a regime of hatred and corruption.

The invaders stamped out what was left of the Ignian language, one that had survived from the time of the Eastern Alliance. And they denounced the religions that still lived on as sacrilege against Vindex. Their entire culture was destroyed. One thousand prison complexes had been dug into the red rock across the planet, and Ignis had become a slave colony.

Incarceration made for a bleak existence. But to be a part of such violence had been unimaginable until those few hours ago. And what had induced it? Surplus Day had been cancelled. The Enforcers had come in greater strength, and rations, instead of doubling, had been withheld entirely.

She peered at a group of men by the door locked in argument. All she could discern was a single, fluctuating muttering. One of them broke off, hurriedly picking his way towards her.

'Aliya,' he murmured, crouching. It was Harith Nayar, six years her junior. His family's cell was near Malik's, a few sections along from her. Harith's face was swollen and bloodied, but his russet eyes were glinting.

'Aliya, there are a few of us who want to organise . . . something.' He shifted his weight, throwing a frenetic glance over his shoulder. 'But - Father's furious. He doesn't think we should fight. Nadir Simha's on our side, though. He thinks we should move now because something's happened out there. He thinks there's been some sort of mass revolt on Atrox or Ruina and the Marshal's ordered an increase in the military presence. And stopped our rations. And if that's true, we shouldn't wait. Maybe the balance of power is shifting.'

Aliya blinked, trying to process his words. There were nearly three hundred thousand people imprisoned in the four hundred story underground complex. They had virtually no means of communication. They were perpetually monitored by the Enforcers. They were no army.

'Harith-'

'We're trapped Aliya. Vindex damn them. It's time. Now. Right now.' He leaned forwards and suddenly she felt cold inside. 'We want to overthrow them Aliya, we want to take over the entire complex.'

'Harith, calm down,' she urged him, gesturing towards the group still deep in argument by the door. 'The others?' He glanced behind him again.

'Like I said . . . Father.'

Aliya studied his face for a moment. The small crumpled form of the girl, the Enforcer looming over her, flashed behind Aliya's eyes again. She got unsteadily to her feet and followed Harith over to the huddle, her left leg throbbing.

'Malik'll agree with me,' he whispered to her over his shoulder, 'I'm sure he's fine by the way, we'll find him later.' Aliya managed a curt smile. She suspected he had run from the danger as usual.

'Where's Jagan?' she hissed at Harith's back.

'Over here,' he murmured as they reached the group. Nadir Simha was whispering frantically with Kuval Nayar, Harith's father, easily the most respected slave in section Sigma. Aliya spotted Jagan towering at the back of the small gathering. Heavy, dark brows overshadowed the fierce eyes.

'What's going on?' she whispered, moving to his side. She couldn't help feeling calmer as her shoulder brushed his, that iron gaze catching her fast, so much more powerful than Malik's. She barely noticed she had made the comparison.

'They're planning another attack,' he murmured, his voice twisting with tension. 'Simha wants - well, many others do too, they say we must act now, while the momentum and spirit still burns. But Father . . . he won't condone unnecessary violence. He-' Jagan frowned, 'he wants to negotiate, as I understand it.'

'And you?' Aliya said quietly, following his anxious gaze towards his father. Kuval shook his head firmly at Simha and walked slowly away, back rigid. Simha turned to mutter to his supporters, dominated by the hulking Tandon twins. Also hovering nervously were Simha's wife, Madura, and his two daughters, plus the Johar and Verma families. They moved off quickly and the heated atmosphere dissipated marginally. But its embers were salvaged almost instantly around the room as others began to stir.

'We must fight.'

Aliya nodded, seeing no other alternative. She suddenly felt very small.

'I saw something, I-' her voice faltered and died. Jagan straightened, taking in the horror creeping over her face. He searched her eyes as she tried to form words to tell him about the girl and the Enforcer. But they all seemed to have fallen from her mind. His fingers gently touched beneath her eyes and she stared at the wetness on them, suddenly furious. Cold anger curdled within her mind, and for the first time she wanted to find the Enforcer, she wanted to make him suffer. Shock laced itself down her back. She wanted him dead.

Jagan moved to place a hand on her shoulder but she stepped back, glaring at the ground. A strange confusion stole through her.

'It will all begin soon,' Jagan hissed.

'What?' She looked up at him.

'They'll arrest a small group of slaves.'

'You don't know that.'

'But I do, Aliya.' She could almost see the pain in his eyes. 'They'll blame it on a handful of extremists. So it doesn't look like they lost control. That they had a full-scale revolution erupt right beneath them.'

Dread clamped round her gut as she blurted, 'Who-?'

'I need to talk to my father,' he said, voice frighteningly steady. She opened her mouth to offer a reply, her stomach lurching, but he just strode past her, circling around the crowds.

Aliya staggered to the nearest canister behind her, stiffly lowering herself to the cold floor. Jagan knelt next to Kuval and Harith. Even from that distance she could almost reach out and touch his writhing anxiety, looming above him as though alive, sentient.

Several minutes crawled by as she closed her eyes, wracked by weariness. Her leg was aching. For a moment, it was as though a pretence of tranquillity had crept over her. She felt as lost as a thin insect held by a pool of water. So fragile.

It was then that she became vaguely aware of a soft voice carrying across from somewhere to her right, among the canisters. It was an ethereal, melancholy humming. A simple tune, no more than four or five notes, but unsettling in its sadness.

It ceased. There was a sharp intake of breath, then a manic shuffling. Someone was moving closer. They suddenly emerged from around the side of the canister she was leaning on. A lined, waxen face hovered before her, hosting a twisted nose, thick brows, and a tired, silver beard. A snaking, white scar curved down from his left eye, past his nose to his upper lip. And the eyes, not dark, but a fierce, icy silver, like steel. She had never seen such eyes. Like hers.

'Excuse me?' His voice was slightly unsure, but it held a faint shadow of something, a delicate hope. 'Are you Aliyanca-Thrin Soter?' He lowered himself into a crouch, glancing around nervously. A large bruise ringed his left eye, crossing over the frightening scar and throwing the searing silver eyes