“It looks abandoned,” Etto says, as we make our way out of Takkan’s room. We were delayed by the process of dressing, and regrettably, could so much as kissed once more. The land we view through the window belongs to the ice-side of Veloria, but it is different from the land of the capital. It is heavily forested, large trees reaching up to the sky, their leaves a deep purple that, coupled with the snow on the ground, casts a strange light over the place. We are currently taking up the only dock on the landing zone, with all the other small ships scattered to the side. There are few of them, and even fewer structures visible in the distance. It looks familiar, as though I’ve seen it on a vid-screen, if not in person.

“What is the name of this village?” I ask.

“According to the map,” Sovren says, “It doesn’t have one.”

I lean forward and peer at the map displayed in the center of the cockpit, lit up on the screen in the center of the control console. I stare at our unmarked location and then allow my eyes to find the nearest towns around it. Their names are known to me.

“This is where my cousin lives,” I say, with rising dread. “She may be in danger.”

“Wylt,” Lena questions. “The woman from the gala?”

I nod.

“She lives all the way out here?” Wren asks, staring out at the bleak emptiness of the forest in front of us.

There is anxiety twisting through me, knotting up the contents of my stomach and turning them to brick. I answer anyway, because it is not an unfounded question. I often find it hard myself to understand why she chooses to live in such a place. “My uncle was very… traditional. When my father took the throne, he decided to live a different life. He always seemed very happy out here, and so does Wylt.”

“I wouldn’t have thought,” Wren says. “She seemed to be in her element at the gala. She must be a woman of many talents.” Wren’s voice is soft and kind. “I’m sure she’s safe, Takkan.”

Sovren clears his throat, puts a hand at my shoulder. “If this place was chosen as a slight against you, then they would not have killed her. Perhaps she’s to be used for leverage.”

It is not an altogether comforting thought, but it is better than the idea of a member of my family, a friend since childhood, lying dead somewhere in this forest. “We’ve wasted enough time speculating,” I say. “Let’s see what we can find.”

Sovren, Etto, and I are dressed in a mix of armored clothing and old military uniforms, while the humans have no such precautions. We manage to dig out a few spares from the storage, specially made to alter their size so as to be capable of fitting any species. Wren seems quietly amused with the sight of herself in an outfit that nearly matches mine, while Lena simply remarks on how impressed she is with the fabric’s ability to shift. It is built to trap warmth as well, or to repel it as needed. When at last we descend from the ramp into the village, the humans are safe from both the cold and all but the most accurate of blaster shots.

Internally, I am still a mess of worry, guilt, and fear. If anything should happen to Wylt, if anything has already happened, it is my own fault. I should have been prepared for this possibility. Of course, Sevron and Etto would not recognize the location when there were hundreds of nameless villages like it scattered throughout the furthest reaches of Veloria’s tundra. Had I looked at the coordinates more carefully myself, I would have known—I could have at least anticipated the possibility that Wylt may be in danger. It would have been better had it not been such a shock. With the war—the many deaths and now the lack of children—she is the only blood family that I have still remaining. We have not been particularly close in recent years, but the thought of losing her or causing her some harm is powerfully upsetting.

Nothing waits for us in the village save for silence. The space between the houses and buildings is vast. Even in a place this small, there is no reason for it to be absolutely bereft of sound and movement. It gives the village an eerie effect, as though, as we walk through it, snow crunching underfoot, we’re wandering through the landscape of a nightmare.

“This place is emptier than that fishing village we found the assassin in,” Lena says, squinting into the distance.

Etto makes a considering noise, peering at the ground. “There are no tracks that I can see.”

“Maybe they’re all inside,” Wren suggests. She has stuck close to me thus far, and looks up at me as we walk. “Maybe they’re scared of something.”

It is not the worst suggestion. The looks Etto and Sovren give me confirmation that they experience the same worry I have. It feels the way the eve of an ambush felt during the Xzerg wars—a sense of building dread, so thick that it seems to press on my lungs, making it progressively more difficult to draw breath.

“Let’s check out a building then,” I say, and begin steering us toward the closest one. The distance between them is so great that it takes several minutes to walk there. Lena and Wren stand back, as the rest of us check the first cabin, deploying the same formation we used to when sweeping Xzerg ships many years ago. There is not a soul inside. It is a small cabin, and easy to know this without doubt. Etto waves Wren and Lena inside.

“Maybe they’ve all left for one reason or another,” Sovren says. “Or been driven away?”

“Search the place,” I say. You never know what you might dig up when you start looking, and in a building this tiny, it shouldn’t waste much time.

It doesn’t. The five of us turn the cabin upside down, rummaging through drawers and beneath the single bed. We find a compartment in back of the closet filled with various weapons. There are far too many to belong to a modest village.

“What does this mean?” Lena asks.

“It means nothing good,” Wren says. “Either they were afraid of something or…” she hesitates, looking to me.

“Or they were plotting something,” I offer. I wonder exactly what my cousin has gotten herself caught up in. I wonder if she is caught or if she is less trustworthy than I hoped. I try to shake such thoughts from my head, but they persist and grow stronger as we search a second abandoned house. In this one, we find the manifesto—a vid-screen mounted on the wall, out of place in such a rustic home, with a document already pulled up and waiting.

“That’s not normal,” Lena comments.

Etto must feel the same dread that I do, as I see him check the blaster at his hip. “What does it say?” he asks, having already turned away, watching the doors and windows for danger.

It is Wren who steps forward to stand beside me, who has the voice to read the words aloud, even when my own falters with a mix of shock and grief. “It says that Takkan is not fit to rule,” she says. “There’s no time to read the whole thing—it’s massive. But there are paragraphs listing their grievances, listing policies that they disagree with, blah, blah, blah, and it’s—“ her voice catches as she scrolls to the bottom. Her hand finds mine and gives it a quick, apologetic squeeze. “Wylt’s name is at the bottom.”

“Takkan,” Etto says, his voice sharp. “You can feel it later. We’ve got company.”

I push the betrayal to the furthest corner of my mind and join him at the door. “Movement in the trees,” he says. Beside me, Sovren removes the high-powered blaster from his back. It is similar to the one thatshot me, though this one prizes quick bursts of fire over accuracy. I remove my own weapon as well.

“Wren, Lena,” I say. “Stay inside the cabin. If there’s shooting, find cover. The bedframe is metal. If you flip it and crouch behind it, you should be safe.”

Wren shakes her head, even as Lena grips her arm, trying to rein her in. “I’m sure there’s something we can do to help as opposed to just hiding.”

Sovren nods. “There is. Try to extract the data from the vid-screen, or else find a way to detach the entirety of it without corrupting the data. Lena—“ here, he pauses, smiles. “Did you bring your camera?”

She grins.

“That doesn’t negate the fact that you take cover if there’s shooting,” I reiterate, hoping the words don’t fall on deaf ears. They both nod, at least pretending to humor the order. I do not allow myself to think of Wylt and the looming, growing possibility of her betrayal, as I step out of the cabin and into the waiting snow.

A small group of Velorians approaches, dressed in armor that has seen better days. They are not military, or if they are, they wear no such uniforms. They move in tandem, the same way my guards and I have mastered, but nothing about them broadcasts any sign of professional training. They are a militia, I realize, or part of one, and have been using this secluded location to train. There are only six in this small group, but it would not surprise me if there were more scattered throughout the village, watching the events play out.

“Prince Takkan,” one says. “You’ve followed the trail, just as we hoped.”

I choose to ignore the tone in which he says ‘prince,’ as though it is an insult or a lie that I have told him.

“Where is Wylt?” I ask. “What is her part in this?”

That is all I want to know.

The Velorian shrugs. “She created us.” He takes several steps forward as he speaks. Etto holds up his hand, issuing a silent warning that the Velorian does not move closer. “She plans to revive our planet, to restore us to our former reputation of brutality, to—“

Etto fires his weapon, the blaster fire knocking the speaker back a good ten feet, where his body slams to a halt against the trunk of a broad tree. After that, things happen quickly. Etto, Sovren, and I work seamlessly together, old maneuvers memorized so well that I could have done them blind. The militia fighters are not hopeless, but they are inexperienced and angry, two things that make a bad combination in a fight. Half of them are down in mere seconds thanks to quick shooting on the part of my men. The other three have the sense to take cover.

We pick our targets. I advance on my chosen Velorian, taking shots at him from where he kneels behind a fallen tree. My first three shots miss, simply knocking bark off the tree in frostbitten shards that are likely as dangerous as shrapnel. My fourth shot strikes true, driving through a weak spot in the makeshift armor, and knocking my target to the ground. Before I have time to find my next one, I hear the sound of air leaving a pair of lungs, and turn to see Etto on the ground, a Velorian with a gun standing over him.

All the others are down; Sovren and I stare at him, slowly lowering our guns, as it seems he expects us to do. I catch his eye as he catches mine. However well we know each other, it is difficult to form a plan without knowing definitively what he is thinking.

“Hey asshole!” a voice yells—Lena’s voice, I realize.

The Velorian turns, having obviously not noticed the presence in the cabin, and is met with a hard-packed snowball that hits him square in the face. Several others follow, some careening wildly to the side while others hit on target. He fires blindly in the direction of the cabin, one hand swiping at his face. It is the opportunity we need. Both Sovren and I raise our guns and shoot. We are both on target, and he goes down severely injured, unconscious, and bleeding on the snow.

I leave Sovren to tend to Etto, heading back toward the cabin where both Wren and Lena are standing outside. Wren has another snowball ready to go, the cold snow gripped in the bare skin of her hand.

“That,” I say, “was incredibly dangerous on both your parts.”

“I believe a thank you is traditional,” Wren says, slipping her gloves back on, while Lena attempts to look apologetic. “Is Etto alright?”

“Fine,” Etto says himself, standing a bit unsteadily. “I’m not hit or even stunned. The bastard’s gun was out of juice, so he snuck up and clocked me in the head with the stock.”

“I hope you’re not too concussed to pilot,” I say. “We need to get out of here. It doesn’t seem that Wylt is here, and the way they spoke makes me think something is brewing elsewhere—probably the capitol.”

The words have scarcely left my mouth when the sound of a ship taking off rocks through village. Each of our heads turns up in turn, focusing on the sight of our ship as it rockets away without us. The aim of the ambush had apparently been distraction, leaving us stranded.

“Well,” Lena says, “shit.”