BooksBarbecue
Back Seven Devils
Chapters (62)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. 1.
  4. 2.
  5. 3.
  6. 4.
  7. 5.
  8. 6.
  9. 7.
  10. 8.
  11. 9.
  12. 10.
  13. 11.
  14. 12.
  15. 13.
  16. 14.
  17. 15.
  18. 16.
  19. 17.
  20. 18.
  21. 19.
  22. 20.
  23. 21.
  24. 22.
  25. 23.
  26. 24.
  27. 25.
  28. 26.
  29. 27.
  30. 28.
  31. 29.
  32. 30.
  33. 31.
  34. 32.
  35. 33.
  36. 34.
  37. 35.
  38. 36.
  39. 37.
  40. 38.
  41. 39.
  42. 40.
  43. 41.
  44. 42.
  45. 43.
  46. 44.
  47. 45.
  48. 46.
  49. 47.
  50. 48.
  51. 49.
  52. 50.
  53. 51.
  54. 52.
  55. 53.
  56. 54.
  57. 55.
  58. 56.
  59. 57.
  60. EPILOGUE
  61. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  62. ABOUT THE AUTHORS

Clo was fine with larger beasts of ships, but these little bullet craft sometimes made her violently ill. It’d take a few minutes for her stomach to catch up with the rest of her body. She hated feeling weak. She was a bogging pilot.

After she finished, Clo wiped her streaming eyes and straightened to look over at Eris. The other woman was standing, hands on her hips. She looked perfect, no trace of sickness. Of course.

<Ugh, I hate you and your steel stomach.>

Eris caught Clo’s message through her Pathos, and she lifted her lips in a hint of a smile. “Do you need the med kit or something?”

“I’m fine,” Clo said, shortly, steadying her ragged breath. Myndalian air was so heavy; it tasted like lead at the back of her throat.

“I’ll bring it anyway. You almost puked on my boots.”

I wish I had, Clo thought to herself as she rubbed at her false knee. The temperature shift affected the metal and squeezed her skin.

Eris’s eyes flickered to Clo’s hand, and her expression briefly faltered. Aha. It seemed the princess felt a little guilty. That was something, at least.

As if hearing Clo’s thoughts, Eris looked away. “Grab your shit and let’s go.”

Clo clenched her jaw and reached into the ship’s side compartment for her tool belt—mostly filled with unscannable weapons, of course—and her Tholosian mechanic’s jacket.

“Oh, and Clo?” Eris reached into her pocket and tossed something at the other woman. Clo caught it. “Take one of those.”

Clo’s eyes narrowed in suspicion at the small blue case. “What is it?”

“Neutralizers,” Eris said sweetly. “Your breath stinks.”

6.

PRINCESS DISCORDIA

Ten years ago

The training academy on Myndalia was a prison made of gold and glass.

“Up!”

A slap across the face jolted Discordia awake. She shook her head to clear it. “Sorry, Mistress Heraia.”

The papers blurred in front of her eyes. She had been awake for four days in this room, with its single desk surrounded by the glass walls of the training academy.

It overlooked the clouds, tinged pink and orange with the rise of the twin suns. Sometimes, Discordia wished she could open these windows, spread a pair of wings, and fly.

Mistress Heraia snatched the book off the desk. “Recite chapter five for me. Precisely.”

Tholosian history—the reign of the fifth Archon. He had expanded his Empire well beyond the Tholosian solar system, ruthlessly conquering planet after planet. It was his idea to engineer a cohort of royal children, each with the potential of becoming his successor. Natural-born male Heirs were too risky. All it took was one spoiled lackwit with more bluster than sense to lose control over the Empire he’d built.