Traitors, p.1
Traitors, page 1
Also By KRISTINE KATHRYN RUSCH
THE FEY SERIES
The Original books of The Fey
The Sacrifice: Book One of the Fey
The Changeling: Book Two of the Fey
The Rival: Book Three of the Fey
The Resistance: Book Four of the Fey
Victory: Book Five of the Fey
The Black Throne
The Black Queen: Book One of the Black Throne
The Black King: Book Two of the Black Throne
The Qavnerian Protectorate
The Reflection on Mount Vitaki: Prequel to the Qavnerian Protectorate
The Kirilli Matter: The First Book of the Qavnerian Protectorate
Barkson's Journey: The Second Book of the Qavnerian Protectorate
Incident at Serebro Academy: The Third Book of the Qavnerian Protectorate
Unexpected Hero: The Fourth Book of the Qavnerian Protectorate
(Coming 2025)
MORE FROM THE FEY
Destiny: A Story of The Fey
Lessons From The Writing of The Fey
THE RETRIEVAL ARTIST SERIES
The Disappeared
Extremes
Consequences
Buried Deep
Paloma
Recovery Man
The Recovery Man’s Bargain
Duplicate Effort
The Possession of Paavo Deshin
Anniversary Day
Blowback
A Murder of Clones
Search & Recovery
The Peyti Crisis
Vigilantes
Starbase Human
Masterminds
The Impossibles
The Retrieval Artist
THE DIVING SERIES
Diving into the Wreck: A Diving Novel
City of Ruins: A Diving Novel
Becalmed: A Diving Universe Novella
The Application of Hope: A Diving Universe Novella
Boneyards: A Diving Novel
Skirmishes: A Diving Novel
The Runabout: A Diving Novel
The Falls: A Diving Universe Novel
Searching for the Fleet: A Diving Novel
The Spires of Denon: A Diving Universe Novella
The Renegat: A Diving Universe Novel
Escaping Amnthra: A Diving Universe Novella
The Court-Martial of the Renegat Renegades
Thieves: A Diving Novel
Squishy’s Teams: A Diving Universe Novel
The Chase: A Diving Novel
Maelstrom: A Diving Universe Novella
Writing as Kris Nelscott
THE SMOKEY DALTON SERIES
A Dangerous Road
Smoke-Filled Rooms
Thin Walls
Stone Cribs
War at Home
Days of Rage
Street Justice
And
Protectors
Writing as Kristine Grayson
The Charming Trilogy, Vol. 1
The Charming Trilogy, Vol. 2
The Fates Trilogy
The Daughters of Zeus Trilogy
Acknowledgments
Thanks on this book go to Paul B. Higginbotham for his enthusiasm about an early draft, to Nina Kiriki Hoffman for her valuable advice, to Dean Wesley Smith for forcing me to think about setting and history, and to Deborah Beale for her insightful rewrite suggestions.
Traitors
Kristine Kathryn Rusch
Contents
Author’s Note
Part I
Part II
Fifteen Years Later
Part III
One Year Later
Part IV
One Year Later
Part V
Six Months Later
About the Author
Author’s Note
Most Kingdom names have Spanish pronunciations. Diate, for example, is pronounced Dee-ah-tay, with the accent on the second syllable.
Part One
Chapter One
Class-C ocean-going cruise ships had large under-the-seat storage compartments. Diate’s sister had told him that when she signed onto her post almost two weeks before. A bit of training, and she would have been on the ship instead of him. She would have ridden up front or in one of the booths, entertaining passengers, instead of lying in the storage compartment itself.
He hated it in there. The interior was made of an unfinished wood. Splinters dug into him. His shoulders spanned the width only when he remained on his side, with his knees pulled up to his chin. The first day he suffered leg cramps so bad that he could hardly keep quiet. The second day the pains subsided, but the ache remained. This morning, the cramps had started again, but his training had taken over. He didn’t utter a sound. It probably wouldn’t have mattered if he had. Silence was the least of his worries.
He needed food.
The slit between the seat top and the storage bin sent light into his little prison. Sometimes he watched the shadows pass, and sometimes he listened to the low hum of the ship. Occasionally the choppy ocean added a rocking rhythm to the ship’s gentle forward movement, and gave him something new to concentrate on.
Each time the ship had docked at a small island, he had worried that someone would find him. But so far, no one had.
He had picked a seat storage unit in a back room, thinking no one would use it. The lack of use had been a blessing. He had been able to sneak to the bathroom just off the storage compartment several times without being seen. Each time, he got a little worse: dizzy, unable to stand quickly, but at least he was stretching his cramped muscles. Once, as he peed, he heard another passenger in the corridor, and he hid in one of the stalls until the passenger left. No one else had come close to him.
But he hadn’t realized that the lack of use was also a problem. He got bored. He examined the compartment in minute detail to keep himself awake. When he slept, he talked. He had done that since he was a small child. He was afraid of doing it here, and only allowed himself to nap when the slit between the lid and the bin had gone dark.
Sometimes he reviewed the ship’s plan in his head, just to keep his memory fresh. A Class-C cruiser was large and capable of carrying three small Vorgellian air shuttles on its main deck. The passengers haunted the upper decks, and the lower decks were reserved for storage and engineering. He was glad the storage was down low. It kept the traffic in this part of the ship to a minimum. He wouldn’t be able to sneak out of the storage compartment at all if he were on an upper deck.
He slid an arm to the water stash near his head. At least he brought enough water for the journey. He kept the water in goatskin bladders he had stolen from a house near the port. He had tucked the bladders into his duffel, along with his paints, dance clothes and extra toe shoes. He had hung on to the duffel throughout the entire long trip.
Diate permitted himself a small sigh. Three more days until Rulanda. Then he would have to sneak off the ship and somehow explain his presence to the Rulandan authorities. Maybe they would grant him asylum. They certainly wouldn’t send him back. Rulanda was a luxury resort, and would do nothing to offend potential guests. The incident would be hushed and he would be safe until he thought of his next step.
Slowly he brought a goatskin to his lips and sipped the wooden straw he had left in the opening. The water’s warmth eased the dryness in his throat, but made his stomach rumble. He had eaten all his rations, even though he had tried to do so sparingly. He had to get food.
He needed a plan.
He had to be careful. This far away from the Kingdom, he might be safe, but he doubted it. The captain could do anything to a stowaway. He had heard stories about the ways stowaways were treated. Most were indentured. Vorgellian captives became little more than servants. If he got caught, he wanted to be indentured because his other choice was worse.
The captain would imprison him, and send him back. Home. To the Kingdom.
The copper stench of blood rose from the house. His father’s body, in pieces on the path, led the way like grotesque bread crumbs. His sister, sprawled on the porch, arms and legs extended, and inside, his brothers, his mother, and the baby, eyes open, their blood mingling into the copper river sopping his toe shoes…
He twisted his head, wishing he could move. Wishing he had left the memory behind when he snuck on board the ship. Hard to believe he had come home to that only a week before. Only a week since Myla had tried to warn him, since he had left her dance studio without removing his shoes, since he had run the short distance to his home.
He had been running ever since.
The dance had served him well. It had given him stamina when he thought he would collapse, strength when he needed one more push, agility to crawl into the smallest spaces to hide.
For six days.
When it got dark, he would search the other bins. If he didn’t find food there, he would risk going into the kitchen. He had to keep himself awake, and somehow, he had to stretch before that. He had managed to keep the blood flowing in his legs, but the cramping when he stood would be unbearable.
Footsteps outside made him breathe shallowly. He tried to lean farther into the wooden side of the bin as if that would protect him. Splinters pierced his back. A thin trickle of warm blood ran down his skin.
“…do not believe in Kingdom magic,” a male voice said behind the creak of the double doors. “It is not a true Talent. It has no biological base.”
“Outsiders don’t determine Kingdom Talents,” a female voice said. “Besides, magic sells as
“This is not Rulanda.”
The footsteps, ringing on the metal floor, grew closer. The storage bin shook each time a foot went down. Diate thought ships had to be sturdier than this. Didn’t the Vorgellians build them to last?
“Then you should have no fear of checking if her predictions were right.”
The voices were directly above him. Diate believed in Kingdom magicians. He was six when the Queen’s read him. This boy is a great Talent, the magician had said. And within him, he carries the seeds of destruction.
She had been right. He had destroyed his entire family.
The man and woman blocked the light coming in through the slit. The floor creaked, as if someone had shifted weight, and then a hand covered the slit in front of his eye.
The lid flew up and Diate blinked at the brightness. Perfume and musk mingled in the dry air.
“Shit,” the man hissed. His slender build and almond eyes marked him as a Vorgellian. His dark, work-stained uniform indicated he was a lesser crew member, not one of the captain’s personal staff.
The woman standing beside him was not much older than Diate. She was taller than the Vorgellian, and she wore thigh-high suede boots, tight black pants and a loose, ruffled white shirt. The red caste mark on her right temple marked her as part of the Kingdom. A Trader. With enough power to get a Vorgellian crew to do her bidding.
“Get out,” she said. It took Diate a moment to realize that she was talking to him.
Diate pushed himself up on his arm. It shivered beneath him. He sat up, and a wave of dizziness washed over him. He clutched the metal lip of the bin.
Her gaze had already taken in the thin blue lines that marked Diate’s forehead. Talents did not stow away on cruise ships. Only runaways did. Runaways whose entire family had been slaughtered.
“Not much of a dancer now, are you, boy? See what a Talent comes to when it mingles with traitors?” She knew who he was. His heart started pounding rapidly.
“My father was not a traitor,” Diate said. His voice sounded raspy. It hurt against the back of his throat. He had not spoken in nearly a week.
“No.” She crossed her arms in front of her, her light eyes mocking him. “He was a minor Talent. A poet, if I remember right.”
“He didn’t like what the government was doing to my sister.”
The woman shrugged. “She didn’t have your gifts. The system can only provide for Talents.”
Diate’s eyes were finally adjusting to the brightness. The room was smaller than he remembered. The six long, padded seats were spaced evenly apart and on the shiny metal walls hung costumes, clothing and shipboard entertainment packs. Double doors led out on each side, except behind him.
“You know this person?” the Vorgellian asked.
“I know of him,” she said. “Remember the documents security gave us when we boarded? He’s the missing rebel.”
The Vorgellian let air through his teeth and sat on a seat across from Diate. The padding wheezed under the Vorgellian’s weight. “We have never had a stowaway. I thought it was not possible.”
“The boy’s smart,” the woman said. “You don’t get to his level of proficiency without some kind of brain.”
“The captain will not be happy.” The Vorgellian stood. “I will bring him here.”
He rose, spun on one foot, and marched toward the double doors. He struck them with the heels of both hands, the gesture betraying the anger that his stance had not. The doors swung back and slammed against the outside wall.
Diate’s body shook, but the dizziness had retreated a little.
“Get out,” the woman repeated.
Her tone brooked no objection. He gripped the edge of the bin so hard the metal dug through his fingers. He took a deep breath and pulled himself forward, willing his body to work as he instructed. His muscles ached, a tight, painful ache he had never felt before. Each movement added to his dizziness. He swung one leg over, then the other, and stood before her.
He was taller than she was. The crown of her head revealed a thousand different hair colors, blending into one. She managed to watch him without tilting her head up. Her nose was small and upturned, her features delicate. With half an effort, he could knock her aside and run.
But he had nowhere to go.
“You realize stowing away violates the International Trade Agreement the Kingdom has with the Vorgellians. You no longer belong in our jurisdiction. You belong in theirs.”
Diate had known it. He had hoped he wouldn’t get caught.
“But you’re a Talent,” the woman said. “And I don’t think the Kingdom wants to give you up. I’m going to contact the Queen, and see what she wants done with you.”
The Queen. Diate closed his eyes. He had been her favorite, even after his father had begun his campaign. She would put her hand on Diate’s head and smile at him. You’re not crazy like your father, Emilio. You will bring a great glory to my Kingdom. Tearing his body to pieces and leaving those pieces on a path wouldn’t be good enough. She would do something else, something even crueler to show the other Talents what happened when one betrayed her.
His knee buckled beneath him and he collapsed on the floor. His body had never betrayed him like this before. Spasms ran through both legs. He leaned forward, clutched the backs of his knees, and stretched. Cries rose in his throat and he stifled them, but he couldn’t stop the tears of pain from coursing from his eyes.
“Look how pathetic the rebel’s son,” the woman said. She watched him for a moment, then walked away. He watched the fringe on her soft boots move to its own personal rhythm. She opened the doors gently, and pulled them quietly shut behind her.
The metal floor was cold. He remained in the pike position for a long time after the spasm left, stretching his body. The ship gave him no more cover. They would search him out, find him, and torture him. He would have to do what they wanted, until he thought of something else.
With an agility he didn’t feel, he rolled up, and extended one leg out behind him. He put his knee down, and his other leg forward, stretching his Achilles tendon and his back. He brought his arms up, and his back leg in, feeling the pull on his muscles. They hummed. The tight ache was easing. He was regaining control. He stepped into first position as the door opened.
The Vorgellian who had found him entered, followed by another Vorgellian. The new man was taller and huskier, with a darker suit, darker skin, and the trademark almond eyes. He waited in the door frame.
“The stowaway,” the Vorgellian said. His words were clipped. Lillish was not a language he knew well.
The other Vorgellian came into the room. He walked around Diate, grabbing an arm, poking his ribs. Diate did not move under the physical onslaught.
“You are quite thin,” the Vorgellian said.
His Lillish was better than his companion’s, but it still lacked the flow of a native Kingdom member.
“I would like to eat,” Diate said.
“In due time.” The Vorgellian nodded to his companion, and spoke in a language Diate did not know. The companion left, closing the door behind him.
The Vorgellian sat on the bench and patted the seat beside him. Diate sat down, wincing as his partially stretched muscles tightened up again. The padding felt soft after those long hours trapped in the bin. The Vorgellian stared at him, and Diate stared back. He had never seen one up close. The Vorgellian’s skin was smooth and had no facial hair. His eyes had an extra fold in the outer corners to give them the almond shape. His nose was as delicate as a woman’s. Diate had heard Traders complain that Vorgellians were impossible to recognize, impossible to read. But this Vorgellian wore his emotions like a shield. Beneath the curiosity was a lot of sadness.
“What purpose does a Talent have aboard my ship?”
