The first woman who came into view was dressed as a courtesan—all sapphire-toned silk, elaborate onyx hair, pale skin, and carefully applied cosmetics. The dress was blood-splattered. She turned and whispered to another woman with brown skin, dressed in a similar shade of blue. The cut of her clothing was less elaborate than the courtesan’s, a strange imitation of Empire army threads, her hair tied back in a sleek bun.

The third—almost certainly the one over the comm—was a mere girl. Emphasis on girl. She was tiny, with black skin and black hair in an afro of corkscrew curls, her uniform styled similarly to the second woman’s, though less martial in appearance. She looked about fourteen; it must have been her on the comms.

<Novantae?> Clo asked Eris.

<If they are, they were deep undercover. They’re dressed like dona. Offerings to be presented to a planet’s governor as a gift for some service to the Archon.> Her face twisted. <Dona are almost always women of the opifex class. Once given, they continue their duties for the Empire, but unofficially, the governor is free to use them however he wishes.>

<That’s fluming disgusting,> Clo said.

Eris gave a fraction of a nod. A lot of things her father and brother approved of were barbaric. If she’d stayed, she could have changed it.

But she hadn’t stayed.

Regret coiled painfully in her belly, but Eris shoved it down.

The small girl wiggled her fingers at the camera. “Hello. I’m Ariadne. Neither of you were on the manifest. Are you here on official business, or to try and commandeer our commandeered ship?”

Eris ignored the question. “Did you kill those guards? And the Legate?”

“Of course I didn’t,” Ariadne said. “I don’t like killing. That was Nyx.” She indicated the tall, military woman next to her. Then she gestured to the beautiful woman. “And this is Rhea.”

Eris’s mind whirred, trying to figure out how to play this. Whatever she’d been expecting, it wasn’t three women, one of whom was chatting at them like it was a garden party. They should be completely taken over by the Oracle. They should be yelling their love for Tholos, then plunging knives into their bellies.

“Enough with the introductions,” Nyx interrupted. “You should have let me kill them when I had the chance, kid. The Publican probably sounded the alarms already for backup.”

Ariadne tilted her head. “She doesn’t look like a Publican. Doesn’t sound like a Publican, either.” She gasped. “Are you Novantae? Resistance?”

“No,” Eris said, though her heart rate ratcheted up. That little girl sounded very excited. What the fuck was going on here?

“Are you pirates, then?”

“Yes,” Eris lied, then made a ploy. “But if you want the Novantae, I might know how to get you in touch.”