Birthright of Scars by Laurisa Brandt

Birthright of Scars by Laurisa Brandt

Author:Laurisa Brandt [Laurisa Brandt]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Laurisa Brandt
Published: 2023-01-09T00:00:00+00:00


The drive back to Koti’s was twice as long, yet it failed to erode the pain. Disrel scrubbed the filth from his shoes behind the house a while longer, while Koti went in ahead to unlock the basement door from inside. Disrel stepped in and pushed the flute against his friend’s chest.

“Give this to Solla for me. Please. I can’t—“

Koti pushed it back. “Take your time. I’ll make sure no one comes down here.”

“I’m going to need more than time.”

The pain must have been glaring from his face, because Koti actually took the flute. Disrel didn’t regret going, but he regretted underestimating how it would affect him. He shook his head and turned a circle, raking his fingers through his hair.

“I’ll probably sit here until Doni leaves.”

Koti headed up the stairs. Muffled voices discussed his absence for a moment, then dropped away on a note of sadness.

Disrel tottered around the edge of the pool, rubbing his face, feeling like the world’s greatest coward, and trying to wash Pyron suffering from his mind. The faces of starving children burned in his mind’s eye like afterimages, grotesque and neon. The young woman’s cries haunted him. He wanted to jump on his corecycle and drive all the way back to search for her, to fight for her, but was she even alive now? The men would be gone. He didn’t blame Koti, either. There was nothing either of them could have done that wouldn’t have resulted in their deaths. He scratched his chest and sighed, feeling like the blind elder’s touch was still there, comforting somehow.

He pulled the chip from his pocket and stared at its grooved edge. It seemed made for glass and light, like a holoposter chip. Then he remembered that Koti had a screen in the reading room.

Disrel went into the next room, pushed the chip into the port at the base of a glass mounted on the wall, and dialed up the light. A vibrant portrait filled the entire glass surface, bordered by streams of text. Five words seemed out of place from all the rest, glaring, contradictory one to another: “His Supremacy, Lord Callon Gault.”

Disrel’s face pinched. This wasn’t Cinnabar’s visage. Wasn’t this the name and face of the empire’s highest-ranking military officer? General Gault? His jaw loosened as he stepped back, understanding the poster with fresh eyes. Of course. The reason five sables were condemned to hang. Cinnabar’s general was preparing to announce his ascent to the throne via billboards and holoposters. The dip-shouldered man must have been one of Gault’s henchmen, picking up a Pyron-made assassination weapon. Disrel rubbed his coarse jaw. So Pyron was to be blamed for Cinnabar’s assassination.

But what if this news was released earlier than scheduled? What if Cinnabar kept his throne and remained unable to trust anyone?

Mored needed to know. Disrel plucked the chip from the screen and plunged out the basement door to the open garage. He donned his helmet, mounted his corecycle, and pushed off down the long drive.



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