Bishop to Queen by Lexy Wolfe (The Emeralis Synth Chronicles #2)

ALSO BY LEXY WOLFE Doom and the Warrior The Emeralis Synth Chronicles

Ravenhawk THE SUNDERED LANDS SAGA

The Raging One The Knowing One The Timeless One The Fallen One The Unforeseen One

Editor: Amanda Lewis

BISHOP TO QUEEN Copyright Š 2020 Lexy Wolfe All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, please write to the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published by BHC Press Library of Congress Control Number: 2020933554 ISBN: 978-1-64397-079-0 (Hardcover) ISBN: 978-1-64397-112-4 (Softcover) ISBN: 978-1-64397-113-1 (Ebook) For information, write: BHC Press 885 Penniman #5505 Plymouth, MI 48170

Visit the publisher: www.bhcpress.com

ONE

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uards, bring the prisoner,” the bailiff ordered in a booming voice. His words echoed from walls and ceilings covered in the grime of age and neglect that stained a once pleasant tan. Only one man sat in the audience section, dressed in a crisp military uniform, the symbols of his rank glittering from his collar. His pale blue eyes focused on the pair of doors that opened. Sounds of scuffling echoed from beyond the shadow of the door. Belligerent swearing soon followed, the vitriol so creative the man covered his mouth as he feigned a cough to hide a small smile. The smile faded to grim criticism as he saw the source of strife.

The difference in body masses between the two guards and the young man they dragged made the prisoner appear to be a tall child.

His pallor was not only from the region’s typical lack of sun but an obvious lack of nutrition.

Despite that, his eyes flashed with intelligence and a mixture of anger and fear. “Why are you in such a damned hurry? You have a hot date waiting to watch my execution? Hope you did not have to pay too much for her, Ivanov.” He grunted as they forced him into a 11

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circular, cagelike structure in front of the judge, slamming into the rail. He scowled at the guards, then looked at the judge, straightening with resignation.

The older woman looked down from the tall bench and watched with a droll expression. She rested her chin on her palm as she watched the spectacle with a patience uncharacteristic in the Bangladeni court system. “Are you quite finished with your tantrum, Mr. Viktor Chernovich?”

The young man crossed his arms, his glower at the judge dark. “I will not go gentle into the night.”

The judge straightened, pushing her spectacles up as she glanced at the papers she tapped on the table to align. “You are surprisingly literate for a gutter rat and criminal gang member.” He clenched his jaw, glowering at her in silence; she dismissed his behavior as she focused on the documents before her. “Ah, yes, forgive me. Former gang member. The Knife’s Edge gang is one of the more virulent pestilences in the city. There have been three arrested since your incarceration who have attempted to gain access to you.”

Viktor’s belligerent expression turned into sickly shock as he understood. “You mean Marizah sent—?”

“Assassins,” she finished for him, meeting his eyes. “It appears the typical sentence for convicted smugglers, which would net the same outcome for you, does not satisfy her.”

“Yeah,” he replied in a tight voice, running his fingers through his matted hair. “She is like that. The state killing me would rob her of revenge. She gets rather pissy when people go against her like I had.”

“Ah, that would explain your unusual form of suicide. Stick it to her one last time, I gather?” Her thin smile met his guarded, curious expression. “I have studied your case with more attention than I normally would accord. The details are rather atypical of what I have normally seen in men and women in your position.” She laid the papers down and crossed her arms, leaning forward. “Most smugglers 12

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move more lucrative goods. Weapons, drugs, slaves. But you were moving…food and medicines.”

He flushed, looking away. “Only since I parted ways with Marizah,” he replied, voice sullen. “She ordered me to do that other shit.”

“And starting at fifteen years old. I have to say that is rather impressive, ignoring the crimes you were committing.” He flicked a look at her. “You are what? Seventeen now? I find it hard to imagine someone with that much experience with the underground markets got careless enough to be caught.” She focused her silvery gray eyes on his, keeping him from looking away. “You allowed them to catch you. Opted for a quick death by execution instead of a typical gang vengeance death.”

“Yeah, so can you get on with it please? Ivanov paid a lot of money for his post-execution blow job.” He dropped to his cage’s floor instinctively; the short-tempered guard’s bullet grazed his back.

A second shot rang out and everyone stared as Ivanov fell to the floor in a heavy thump. A dark hole in his temple began seeping blood. All eyes were drawn to the officer standing with his pistol still held out, so steady some might have argued he was inhuman. He holstered his weapon with a calm motion as he addressed the judge.

“Forgive my interference in your court, Judge Travinka. I have little patience with such a blatant lack of self-control.”

Travinka inclined her head and replied, “We need no apologies, Major Rusakov. I had warned Ivanov before that I would not tolerate his behavior. I appreciate your help in lessening the paperwork required to remove him.” The major nodded and resumed his seat.

“Yeah,” Viktor muttered as he got to his feet, grimacing in pain as the hot line across his back oozed blood. “Thanks.” He looked at the judge. “So, as I was saying, could you get on with it, please? This waiting is getting worse than what Marizah has planned for me.”

“In such a rush to die.” Travinka sighed with a tsk. “It would be such a waste of your talents to kill you, Mr. Chernovich.” A faint 13

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smile touched her lips at his suspicion as she stood, waving a hand in dismissal to the remaining guard and the bailiff. “Court will resume in ten minutes.”

Viktor watched the judge, bailiff, and remaining guard leave with consternation. “You will leave me in here all alone? What if I need to take a piss?” he yelled after them.

“From the reports I have read,” the low voice of Rusakov stated from behind Viktor, “you are resourceful enough to figure out something to deal with such a situation.”

Viktor spun, eyes wide as he pressed himself against the bars on the side furthest from the officer. “Uh. You heard about me?”

Rusakov crossed his arms, leaning against the table on the courtroom side of the divide between the audience section and the main room. “Judge Travinka is an old friend of mine. I have only recently become acquainted with your case. You intrigue me, Chernovich. Enough I am considering requesting they suspend your death sentence.”

“For what reason?” Viktor asked, still keeping as far away from the man as he could manage, regarding him with suspicion.

The major smirked. “Not for the reasons running through your head.”

“You are a high-ranking officer of the military,” Viktor countered. “Why do you think I left the gang? Marizah wanted to get her hooks in by providing ‘catering services’ to perversions you all have.

I got to see the results. I have seen what military officers are like.” He paled at the dark look leveled on him. “Uh. Present company excepted?” he offered in meek tones.

“I am well aware of Base Commander Kozimoy’s…tastes. And his influence on other senior officers.” He stood straight, fists at his sides. “Never equate me to that man. Ever.”

“Y-yes, sir,” Viktor responded out of terrified reflex, dropping his eyes.

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The dark rage subsided and Rusakov returned to his casual posture, watching Viktor. “I will make this offer to you once, and you must decide now whether to accept it.” He waited until the young man looked up at him. “Conscription into military service. Each wing at the base handles their own civilian training. I want you for Razor Wing’s companion program.”

Viktor stared for several heartbeats. “I do not understand. They only allow children into that program.” He made a sour face. “Children not from the slums.”

“There are exceptions,” Rusakov replied as he waved a dismissive hand. “But not enough. While the program succeeds in grooming young people to serve as companions to the combat pilots, there is the unfortunate side effect of producing individuals with very similar traits.”

“Like cloning without the incubators.”

The man blinked, then smirked at him. “An interesting point of view, but yes.”

Viktor scratched behind one ear. “I would love to take you up on whatever offer you think to make, sir. But I doubt I would fit in enough to last very long.” He shrugged, crossing his arms. “I am not stupid. I am well aware washing out of your program would just land me back on the executioner’s block, and I am a slum rat criminal. No amount of good behavior would change that, and no one would let someone like me succeed. It would ruin the corporate narrative that the poor are not worth taking care of.”

Rusakov arched an eyebrow. “You are turning down the chance to live?”

“Feh. No. I am turning down the delay to my execution.” He shrugged. “I realize I am not long for the world, but I cannot bring myself to do myself in, you know? Sure as hell do not want Marizah getting her hands on me. Figured the government has to be good for something and they love executing people like me.” He scowled, look15

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ing toward windows opaque with grime. “It is certainly not known for taking care of people not in favor with the corporate elites.”

“I see. Consider this.” The two met gazes. “I will tolerate a certain amount of…misbehavior.” He gave Viktor a small smile at his shocked expression. “You are barely old enough to be considered an adult, but I need someone like you in my companion program. Given time, we find you some place more suited to your temperament. Until that time, my hope is that your…unique personality helps the other trainees develop their own. That those uniquenesses will give them the best chances to pair up to the pilots and survive.”

“You will not punish me if I break rules?” Viktor stared with incredulous disbelief.

“Oh, I would punish you. If you get caught. Standard trainee punishments, such as extra duties in the mess hall, longer physical training beyond the expected standards, pay getting docked now and then.”

“Wait. You will pay a conscript?”

“Of course,” Rusakov replied with the ‘that is a stupid question’ tone. “Why would I not pay you?” “…Because I am a criminal?” Viktor replied, saying each word with uncertainty. Or an expectation of physical punishment.

“And how would not giving you pay serve any purpose?” The man outright grinned wolfishly at the younger man. “What would be the point in docking your pay for misbehavior if there was nothing to dock?”

“Okay, let me phrase it this way,” Viktor responded with a snappish tone. “The corporate bean counters in charge of the military would let you pay a conscript?”

“The last corporate bean counter that attempted to dictate how I spent the money allotted to Razor Wing ended up like him.” He gestured to the dead body still laying on the floor. “The one after that who thought to demand my budget decreased to control me or force 16

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me to grovel required a cybernetic hand to replace their original. After I shot the third replacement hand, they removed him.”

“Surprised they let you live. Corporations dislike uppity people.”

Rusakov smirked at that. “Uppity people in charge of the most deadly wing of pilots in Bangladen cannot be easily replaced. Had you ever heard what happened when they replaced a sniper unit’s major with a corporate selected jellyfish?” Viktor blinked at him.

“The replacements for the fifteen executives killed by sniper fire decided it was best to not interfere with actual combat units. The cost for the funerals for the executives and their immediate families impacted their profits for three years.”

Viktor stared at the man in horror. “They killed…children?”

Rusakov shrugged. “In the snipers’ minds, it was a strategic decision. And the most humane one. Is there any scenario you can envision that children of murdered parents and siblings would end well?”

Viktor frowned. “But children, sir! That is—” “I am not saying it was right, Viktor,” the man stated, all levity gone from his quiet voice. “I would never authorize such an action.

But they also instill absolute loyalty in those trained for combat to those who command them, and those of us who command must earn our combatants’ respect. Razor Wing is the best because to attack one is to attack all. And they meet attacks with a response that outstrips that attack to serve as an example to anyone fool enough to consider another attempt. They train every Bangladeni military unit that way.

The exceptional ones exemplify it.

“The corporation saw one, replaceable person. The sniper unit felt they ripped their heart from their chests. Even after they returned their major, it took several weeks until their companions were able to assure with certainty the snipers would not seek further retribution.

Abject obedience comes from absolute loyalty, Viktor Chernovich.

The corporation with the majority claim over Bangladen’s military learned that lesson the only way they could not dispute or blow off.”

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He paused and added, “If you give your loyalty to Razor Wing, I assure you, we will give our loyalty to you.”

Viktor swallowed at that, looking away as his heart thumped with an aching pang. “Fine. I…will give it a shot. I already lost my family to a fire. What is the worst that could happen?”

Rusakov smiled faintly. “Good.” He stood, tugged his immaculate jacket straight, then walked toward the door the judge and her court officers had left through. “Though you better make the hours of paperwork to waive your death sentence for conscription into Razor Wing worthwhile, Chernovich. I only despise arrogant accountants more.” Viktor did not see the major’s grin at his weak, uneasy chuckle.

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TWO

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I

do not get you.”

The unexpected voice out of the darkness startled Viktor, already halfway in the window he was sneaking back into the trainee barracks through. His muffled yelp ended up a squeak, and he fell on his head. He muttered several cuss words as he rubbed the lump already forming, squinting up at the feminine silhouette standing over him.

“You should be in bed, Alma,” he grumbled.

“At least I am in the barracks,” she replied in a tart whisper. She crouched down, the moonlight illuminating her features. “You have not been here over three weeks and they have already caught you going off base five times.”

He flashed a roguish grin at her. “I have left base every night since my first week here. Not bad only getting caught five times.”

Alma rolled her eyes as she stood, offering him a hand up. “Why do you do it? Are you one of those strange perverts that enjoy punishment?” She leaned up close to him as they walked down the hallway.

“I mean, if you do, we could—” 19

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Viktor stopped to stare at her. “What? Oh, hell no.” He pushed her away with an almost panicking haste. “I want none of that shit with you. Go away!”

Alma took no offense, tilting her head in puzzlement. “I am sure Nikita would not object. He likes men, too—” “Oh for ever-loving gods, no!” Viktor’s face turned so red it was noticeable in the dark. “You guys are family, all right? I do not ‘do’ family. It is just…no.” He went into his personal quarters, a closet of a room containing only a desk, a bunk, a locker, and a nightstand. He shucked his backpack onto the bed with care. Shielding his eyes for the impending change from near total darkness to light, he turned on a tiny lamp. It shed enough illumination to see by but not alert the night sergeant that anyone was awake.

The young woman sat on his bed, watching has he rooted through the bag. “Well, if you are not into punishment, why risk it?”

She looked confused when he pulled out a small, wrapped bundle with a triumphant expression and held it out to her. “What is this?”

“Just take it.” He watched her as she untied the string binding the small box and opened it.

Her eyes lit up with shock and surprise. “Sylvan candies! These are my absolute favorite!” She took one out and popped it in her mouth, sighing in bliss. “Oh, I have not had any since my brother and his family moved away.”

“I remember. You mentioned that when we talked once.”

She stared at him. “I cannot believe you remembered that! It was nonsense trivia that the trainers say is meaningless to our future duties as companions.”

He snorted at that. “Nothing is meaningless.” He shoved the backpack under some laundry in his locker and shut it. “I thought it would make you happy, so I got some for you.”

Alma stared at him, then looked away with a blush, holding the box close to her heart. “Thank you. It means a lot.”

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He leaned close, kissing the top of her head before he sat beside her. “I do not always break rules. Some of them have damned good reasons. But the supply sergeants are stingy, so it is worth it to break the inconvenient rules. Like going off base without permission.” He gave her a toothy grin. “Who knows? Maybe when you get assigned to a pilot, I can help you get things that will help make him happy.”

She sighed heavily. “If I get assigned. There is no guarantee my personality will match a new pilot. If I do not make it within the year, they will kick me out. Companions are not civilian compatible.” She hugged herself. “And I do not want to become some old fart’s sex toy.”

He frowned and put his arm around her shoulders. “Do not worry. I am sure they will match you up with someone. Or-or maybe Major Rusakov will find you some other job. I am—” He broke off, looking up with a frown, sniffing the air. “Do you smell smoke?” The pair flinched when the building’s main lights came on, banishing the darkness with a flood of cold light.

“Fire in the pilot barracks!” a stentorian voice bellowed over the speakers. Alma shoved the box she held under Viktor’s pillow as he gestured to her to hurry and the pair ran out with the rest of the trainees.

Most of the young people stopped only a few paces out of the building. They stared in horror at the inferno engulfing the apartment building serving as the home for Razor Wing’s pilots. The firefighting teams stood motionless. “Fucking hell,” Viktor breathed before he bolted for the barrier fence.

He grabbed the nearest firefighter that stood gawking like his fellow companion trainees. “Why the hell are you not trying to put it out?” he demanded, the fire giving his eyes a terrifying look.

“The fence,” the man began.

“To hells with the fence,” Viktor snarled. He snatched the ax out of the other man’s hands and headed to the nearest gate. He swung 21

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with desperation until at last the latch shattered and the gate swung open. Back lit by the flames, he yelled, “Now do something!” He did not wait, turning and running toward the building with full intention of busting that door, too.

The door exploded outward under the assault of several of the pilots using their shoulders as battering rams. Their coughing companions followed, leaning on each other for support. Others emerged carrying others. The difference between pilot and companion became clear. The pilots, no matter the amount of injury, moved as if they had nothing more than mild sunburns. Several companions hovered near death, if not having crossed that grievous threshold.

“Over here!” Viktor yelled at the confused pilots, waving the ax he held to draw their attentions. “Give the fire crews room!”

The rest of the trainees made their way to the cluster of pilots and companions. Some more tentatively than others moved to assist while Viktor directed a few to go back and grab supplies from the nearby storage building. All the while, his hand remained locked around the shaft of the commandeered ax. He brought a canister of water and some rags over to Alma and the pilot and companion she had settled by. She frowned up at him as the fire reflected off the tear streaks that covered his cheeks. “Viktor?” She reached up to touch his cheek. “Are you okay?”

He rubbed his cheeks with impatience, averting his eyes. “No. Yes. Just…take care of them. I am not important.” She obeyed, but her expression spoke her worry for him.

Viktor yelped in shock and jumped when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. The owner’s other hand grabbed the ax, stopping the younger man’s reflexive strike. “Major Rusakov.” Surprise soaked his greeting as well as gratitude…and guilt for nearly attacking his senior commanding officer. He let the man draw him away from the group, shoulders hunched as he awaited his expected punishment.

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“I saw what you did,” Rusakov stated. “Did you forget the barriers around the various buildings have defenses?”

Viktor blinked at him, then looked over the other man’s shoulder at the gate he had broken. “I…honestly cannot remember what I remembered or forgot, sir. All I could think was…” He swallowed and turned away. “Another fire threatened to take everything I had away again. I had to do something.” He gave the major his attention again.

“Why were they gawking like it was the first fire they ever saw?”

“I do not know, Chernovich.” His hard gaze swept the firefighters, his rage sparkling in his eyes. “They should be aware the barrier’s security goes down for emergencies like this.” He gave the younger man his full attention. “It was foolish of you. Do not make a habit of forgetting or ignoring details that might get someone killed.” He handed the ax back to him. “Also not being aware of your surroundings and reacting before assessing the situation is bad form. You do not want to kill your allies.”

Eyes dropped and shoulders sagged. “Sorry, sir.”

Rusakov almost smiled. “The fact you did not freeze and took action makes up for what more training can improve for you. Now you have a reason to focus.”

Viktor managed a wan smile. “Thank you, Major.” They looked at the inferno, subsiding under the efforts of the fire crews, joined by others around the base. “This was not an accidental fire.” He could sense the silent, questioning look. “The fire that took my family…the building was a death trap. The entire structure was flammable, and it was old, so when it went…” He rubbed his eyes, taking a deep, shaking breath. “It went fast. Few living there were able to make it out.”

He waved at the pilot barracks. “I have seen the construction used for most buildings around here. They design them with fire walls to keep them from spreading like this.” He gestured toward the cluster of pilots. “From what I learned about their abilities, they should have noticed the fire before things got out of control. I am not 23

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a math genius, but the odds of so many fires starting at the same time and growing so rapidly cannot be high.”

“You are not wrong. But.” The man caught Viktor’s eyes, holding his gaze. “Keep your thoughts about it to yourself, Chernovich,” Rusakov warned, not threateningly, but with concern. “If that rumor spreads, whoever was behind this might go after anyone they consider a threat to them.”

He swallowed. “Yes, sir.” He looked over at the cluster of pilots, companions, and trainees as medical crews arrived, whisking the injured away to the wing’s infirmary building. “Hey, sir? I know right now is a terrible time to ask, but…”

“Go on,” Rusakov replied in a brusque voice. “You earned the right to request something.”

Viktor offered a weak smile. “Not for me. For Trainee Alma. If, uh, she doesn’t make the cut to get assigned to a pilot…do you think you could find something else for her so she could…stay?”

The older man sighed, closing his eyes a moment. “I doubt she will wash, considering the impending losses. But surviving a grieving pilot will require a great deal of strength. But you, now.” He offered a lopsided smile to Viktor. “If you would just behave yourself long enough, I could get you into the supply area.”

Viktor blinked. “Me? Supply?”

“Yes. You. Supply. Your antics are not unknown.” The younger man turned red, averting his eyes. “Yet morale among the trainees has improved in your short time here.” He gave Viktor a hard poke in the chest. “Improve your stealth or temper the frequency of your excursions, all right?”

“Uh. Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. I will…uh.” He hedged around and said, “…work on it, sir?”

“See you do, Chernovich. I have already wielded all the influence I have to give you this second chance. I have no choice but to punish you when others catch you breaking rules.” He gave the young man a 24

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weary, stern look. “You have the luxury of flaunting rules and regulations because your rank is next to nothing.”

Viktor looked away. “You cannot because you are Razor Wing’s major. You have more to lose.” The heavy hand Rusakov put on his shoulder drew his attention back to him.

“I have more to protect, Chernovich. Which includes you.

I cannot do that if I give my superiors just reason to remove me.

That would cause a shitload of other problems.” He considered him.

“Would it ease some of your need if I permitted you to leave base?”

He blinked. “You would allow me to leave base?”

Rusakov smirked. “With restrictions, of course. I cannot have a trainee with a criminal history and under the shadow of a death sentence wandering the city unsupervised.”

“Eh.” Viktor crossed his arms, adjusting his hold on the ax so its edge did not angle toward his commanding officer or his own neck.

“Will not know until I try it, sir.”

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR Lexy Wolfe is a fantasy and science fiction author from Lebanon, PA. Her previously published works are Doom and the Warrior and the five-book series The Sundered Lands Saga. After many years focusing on fantasy worlds, a writing drought was relieved after delving into a futuristic, alternative Earth where Ravenhawk was spawned. She is currently working on the continuing story in the world of Ravenhawk.