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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

The courtesan gently pressed powder to Discordia’s shoulders and arms, something that made them glisten with different colors in the light.

“You’re very brave,” this woman whose name Discordia didn’t know whispered in a voice barely above a breath. “No matter how this turns out, I had to say this to you.”

Discordia’s head hurt. Everything hurt. She could barely concentrate on the other woman’s words, but she heard them. She heard them, and they meant everything.

The courtesan reached into a wooden box and pulled out a headdress. Curved, like a crown of antlers, studded with dark, glimmering jewels. Fire opals. Common on warm, desert planets, like Nova. When she placed it on Discordia’s head, the weight of it made her head bow.

The courtesan pulled away and studied her work with a flicker of sadness in her gaze. “All done,” she said.

Before she turned away, Discordia reached out for her arm, but was too slow. She only grasped the woman’s sleeve. The movement hurt. Everything hurt.

At the courtesan’s questioning look, Discordia pressed her fingertips to the courtesan’s chest, then her own.

Name, she mouthed.

The other woman let out a breath. “Katala, Your Majesty.”

Discordia nodded. She wanted to know the names of the people who had depended on her to lead them once. The people she had failed.

Wordlessly, she followed Katala into the hall of the ship. The weight of the headdress made her see stars.

—

The path from Damocles’s ship to the Laguna Palace had been paved over with gleaming jewels. They hurt Discordia’s eyes as she walked—or tottered. Damocles kept a grip on her arm that would leave bruises on her skin. Her tongue was still a throbbing fire. Her arm was sore from a dose of the ichor antidote and from the drug injections they’d been giving her. If death was coming for this planet, she’d witness it all. Damocles wanted her to live with her failure.

When her head cleared enough that she managed to pull away, her brother turned her roughly toward him.

“Look at me.”

Discordia met Damocles’s harsh gaze. He put his hands on her face and drew an eyelid open. “Her pupils aren’t enlarged enough,” he said to someone behind her. “Give her another dose.”

The medic cleared his throat. “Any more might be too much, General. She could collapse.”

Her brother’s smile was harsh. “Oh, I think she’ll fight not to. Won’t you, Discordia?” She didn’t respond—couldn’t—and the realization seemed to please him. “Dose her,” he told the medic. “I don’t want her to even think without my command.”

Discordia couldn’t move as the medic grasped her arm and pulled it taut.