Only Cold Depths

ONLY COLD DEPTHS
CHAPTER ONE
VESPER

Sometimes in life, you must hide who you really are to survive.

Like slink through a marketplace in the morning, avoid bounty hunters at noon, and escape from a planet before midnight.

I had been hiding who I was for the last few weeks. I might be surviving, but I wasn’t any safer now than when I started—

A woman with wavy, dark red hair bumped into me. The sharp, unexpected motion knocked me off-balance, and I staggered to the side of a narrow, cramped aisle. My shoulder smacked into the corner of a polyplastic booth, and the trinkets on the display table rattled in an ominous warning, like vipers about to bite me.

My heart kicked up into my throat, and I whirled around, expecting an attack. My hand dropped to my black leather belt, reaching for my stormsword, but my fingers only skimmed over empty air. I silently cursed my own forgetfulness. I hadn’t wanted to wear such a distinctive weapon, so I’d slid the sword into the long, oversize shopping bag hanging off my left forearm.

My right hand darted down into the bag, and my fingers curled around the three eye-shaped sapphsidian jewels embedded in the sword’s silver hilt. Smaller pieces of sapphsidian winked along the silver crossguard, which curled out in opposite directions, although the two end points perfectly aligned like the halves of a yin-yang symbol. More prongs of silver curled up to touch the lunarium blade, which glimmered with an opalescent sheen.

My fingers tightened around the sword, but instead of attacking, the woman kept going. She didn’t even glance back, and her red cloak streamed out behind her like a long scarlet ribbon. The woman quickly vanished into the bustling crowd roaming through the marketplace.

I hissed out a breath, released the sword, and rubbed my throbbing shoulder. No one had noticed my awkward landing except the booth’s owner. I ignored her angry glower and glanced around, my gaze skipping from one person and booth to the next.

This marketplace on Tropics 44 was as bright, vibrant, and colorful as the rain forest that covered the planet. The booths ranged from tall and wide to short and squat, and each one was painted a different color, from ocean blue to flamingo pink to electric purple. Even the hibiscus-shaped cobblestones underfoot were painted with brilliant hues, making me feel as though I was walking on a bed of blossoms.

Large, stiff plastipaper pennants topped many of the booths. Some bore cutesy graphics of bananas and coconuts, while others featured images of clothing, jewelry, and tools. In between the booths, food vendors cooked everything from brown-sugar-crusted pineapple chunks and juicy mango kabobs to spicy chicken wings and balsamic-glazed filet mignon bites over open flames. The sweet smells of caramelized fruits mingled with the deeper, smokier scents of the grilled meats, and my mouth watered at the delicious aromas.

“Well?” the booth owner demanded in a sharp voice. “Are you going to buy anything? Or are you just going to stand there gaping like a fool? You almost knocked all my lovelies off my table!”

I turned to apologize and caught sight of myself in a glass mirror standing on the table.

Dirty-blond hair, purple eyes, a long lumpy nose, a thin white scar slashing across my chin. I blinked a few times, not recognizing the face staring back at me. Then again, it wasn’t really my face.

My hand crept up, and I traced my finger over the small, eye-shaped bobby pin nestled in my hair. The polyplastic pin was a miniature colorizer that changed someone’s hair without the need for messy dyes. One of the many inventions I’d been working on at Quill Corp before I’d been forced to abandon my company, leave everything behind, and go on the run.

Still staring at myself in the mirror, I kept tracing my finger over the bobby pin, and the ends of my hair darkened from their colorized dirty blond to their natural brown. I dropped my hand. The colorizer was still a work in progress, and fiddling with it drained the solar charge. Plus, the purple contacts and the sculpted bits of plastipaper that made up the rest of my disguise were itching. Time to get back to the ship.

I hoisted the straps of my cloth bag onto my left shoulder so both my hands were free. I’d already bought fresh mangoes, tomatoes, and cucumbers, along with beef jerky, potato hash, and other freeze-dried staples.

“Well?” the booth owner demanded again. “Are you going to buy anything?”

I didn’t want to buy anything, but the woman was pissed, and I didn’t want to give her any more reasons to remember me, so I studied her goods.

The woman was selling rose quartz, amethyst geodes, and other pretty stones. A few silver-framed mirrors perched on the table, along with white velvet trays bristling with jewelry. Nothing useful or edible like the food in my bag, but I needed to buy something . . .

A tiny rainbow of blues caught my eye, and I leaned down and focused on a butterfly brooch nestled among a row of necklaces and bracelets. Unlike the rest of the chunky jewelry, the brooch was made of delicate, curving swirls of silver. Blue opals gleamed on the butterfly’s wings, while sapphsidian chips formed the creature’s eyes and antennae.

I picked up the brooch. The midmorning sunlight made the blue opals spark with inner fire and brought out the true, deep blue of the sapphsidian chips. The brooch reminded me of the mammoth butterflies lazily flapping their wings in a netted petting zoo I’d passed earlier.

“I’ll take this.”

The booth owner’s anger melted away, replaced by a sunny smile. “My lady has excellent taste! That piece was designed to match a hairpin that Lady Vesper Quill wore during the recent Regal midnight ball.”

I flinched at the sound of my own name. My fingers went cold and numb, and I almost dropped the brooch.

The booth owner frowned, suspicion crinkling her face. “Is something wrong?”

I forced myself to shrug. “Of course not. I just didn’t realize the brooch was modeled after . . . her.”

“Oh, yes,” the woman chirped. “Everyone follows the Regal trends, but items from that night have been particularly popular. I can barely keep them in stock . . .”

The woman prattled on about Regal fashions, gesturing at several other pieces of jewelry, along with a rack of gowns stuffed into the booth. I tuned out her words and studied the brooch even more carefully. It was a replica of the butterfly hairpin I’d worn during the midnight ball, although the original hairpin had been more of a small dagger.

That hairpin had been a bit of good luck. Maybe this brooch would bring me more of the same. And if it didn’t, well, I could always pry out the opals and sapphsidian chips and melt down the silver and use them in my inventions.

I held the brooch out to the booth owner. “Will you wrap it up for me, please?”

She took it from me. “Of course! House Zimmer is always happy to serve its customers.”

This time, my entire body went cold and numb, as though I’d been transported from this warm Tropics planet to an icy Frozon moon. My head slowly lifted, my neck cracking with the motion. I stared up at the booth’s gray plastipaper pennant, which was emblazoned with a large stylized ice-blue Z—the sigil for House Zimmer.

Tropics 44 was officially controlled by the Erzton, although it was on the border of Erzton and Imperium territory and featured a mix of people and businesses. More than one booth boasted a sigil for an Imperium Regal family, although I hadn’t noticed the House Zimmer symbol until now.

House Zimmer was run by my, well, family, if you could call them that. Beatrice, my grandmother, was the head of the House, while my father, Wendell, was her second-in-command. And then there was Zane, my older brother, who was also the head of the Arrows, the Imperium’s elite warriors.

Nerezza Blackwell, my mother, had abandoned me when I was seven, and I’d never had any clue as to my father’s identity until a few weeks ago. Ever since I’d discovered that Wendell was my father, I’d been struggling with my simmering anger and deep disgust at the Zimmers for hiding my existence for the last thirty-seven years.

“Here you go,” the booth owner chirped again. “I wrapped it up all neat and pretty.”

I mumbled my thanks and used my tablet to transfer the appropriate credits into the booth owner’s account. She charged me an outrageous amount for the brooch, far more than what it was worth, but I paid without complaint. The second the transfer went through, I snatched the tiny ice-blue box out of her hand, shoved it into my bag, and hurried away.

I moved past booths filled with everything from porcelain tea sets to fresh flowers to swords, blasters, and other weapons. A few people shot me curious looks, clearly wondering why I was wearing a long gray cloak over my dark blue jacket, shirt, cargo pants, and boots instead of the colorful short-sleeved shirts, shorts, and sandals most folks were sporting in the sticky heat. I ignored them and kept going, hefting my bag onto my shoulder. Maybe it was my imagination, but the House Zimmer butterfly brooch felt heavier than all the food stuffed inside the cloth.

Vesper? What’s wrong? a deep voice murmured.

I flinched again at the sound of my own name. My heart galloped up into my throat, and my gaze zoomed from side to side like an out-of-control spaceship. Then I remembered the voice was only in my mind and no one here knew I was Vesper Quill, Regal lady and Imperium fugitive.

You feel . . . upset, the voice continued.

For the third time, I flinched, although my expression quickly morphed into a small, rueful smile. I was still getting used to Kyrion Caldaren telepathically talking to me, especially when a considerable distance separated us.

I was in the marketplace, but Kyrion was in the nearby spaceport, on board the Dream World, his blitzer, waiting for me to return with the supplies.

Vesper? Kyrion asked again, concern sharpening his voice. What’s wrong?

Nothing, I finally replied. I just spotted a House Zimmer booth. It took me by surprise.

Ah, I see. The words rumbled through my mind, and a wave of soft, warm sympathy washed over me as though I was standing in a Tropics ocean that was the perfect temperature. Even without our truebond, the psionic connection that let us share thoughts, feelings, skills, and more, Kyrion still would have known about my conflicted emotions regarding my long-lost family.

I should have been the one to go to the marketplace, Kyrion continued, his crisp Corios accent becoming more pronounced.

My smile widened. He always worried whenever I left the ship. After being on my own for so long, it was nice to have someone who cared, especially as much as Kyrion did.

We’ve talked about this a dozen times. You were the leader of the Arrows and have been a staple on the Regal gossipcasts for years. You are far more recognizable than me, even with a disguise.

We’re both pretty recognizable now, thanks to Holloway and his bounty, Kyrion replied, a sour note creeping into his voice.

The sticky cobweb that was Kyrion’s psionic presence in my mind bristled with anger, as though the strands had morphed into tiny spears, and the same sensation prickled my skin with its tingling intensity. Our truebond was still so new that it was often difficult to tell whether some of the emotions I experienced were my own, Kyrion’s feelings, or a combination of the two.

Don’t worry. I’ll be back soon, and then we can make the final pinpoint jump to Sygnustern. I paused. And eat a meal that doesn’t come out of a plastic wrapper.

Soft laughter drifted through my mind. I’ll be waiting, and so will my taste buds.

Good, because I bought some delicious-looking fruit for dessert.

Oh, I had something else in mind for dessert. Something far more pleasurable and satisfying than fruit. The low, silky purr of Kyrion’s voice made anticipation skitter down my spine.

An image bloomed in my mind: Kyrion and me in bed, my hands digging into his back, pulling him closer as he thrust inside me. Once again, I wasn’t sure if it was my thought or his or a shared memory of all the things we’d done last night, but heat flooded my cheeks, and desire spiked through my body.

Dessert for two is a marvelous idea, I replied, my voice husky with longing.

A satisfied rumble echoed through the bond, along with a light, feathery touch, as though Kyrion was trailing his fingertips down my spine. More desire spiked through me, and my steps quickened. The sooner I got back to the ship, the sooner we could forget about the rest of the galaxy and focus on each other again.

Kyrion didn’t telepathically speak to me again, but I could still feel his presence in my mind, just as I knew that he could feel me in his. When our truebond had first formed when we’d been trapped together on a broken ship, I’d hated the feel of him, all those tight, tiny knots that tied us together, and Kyrion had despised the unwanted connection just as much. But now, after everything we’d been through, his presence comforted me, like an anchor that was always there to steady me. The bond also added another level of heady sensation to the already amazing chemistry we shared.

Still smiling, I reached the edge of the marketplace, which sprawled across an open square lined with palm trees. I stopped and glanced back over my shoulder. The last thing I needed to do was lead someone back to our ship—

A pop of neon pink caught my eye, and a woman with short, spiky pink hair and pale skin stepped out of an aisle, her head swiveling back and forth as though she was searching for someone. She was dressed in a tight tactical tank top, cargo pants, and boots, all in a dull, durable brown. A blaster was nestled in a holster on her right thigh, while a shock baton and a pair of polyplastic handcuffs dangled from her metal belt.

A blaster, a shock baton, and handcuffs—all the tools of a bounty hunter.

Given all the near misses Kyrion and I had had with bounty hunters over the last few weeks, I’d gotten good at recognizing them. Just looking at the woman made the hair on the back of my neck stand up, and my seer magic whispered an extra warning, adding to my screaming instincts. I stepped to my left to duck behind a tree out of her line of sight.

Too late. The woman’s dark brown gaze settled on me, and she lifted her hand to her ear and said a few words, talking to someone through a comms device. Then she dropped her hand, yanked her shock baton off her belt, and strode in my direction.

I muttered a curse. Somehow the woman had seen through my disguise and locked on to me like a heat-seeking missile.

Forget hiding. It was time to run for my life—again.