“Doesn’t matter. I’m going to take what you know and build on it by showing you Zeahiri weaknesses to exploit.”

That’s exactly what she does for the next couple hours. She shows me every weakness, where to aim my hits, how to use my lower center of gravity to take her down. I might be shorter and weaker, but there’s no shame in fighting dirty to stay alive.

I’m a sweaty mess by the end. She drops down beside me on the floor and pulls her pant leg up to release her prosthetic. I watch as she cleans the grains of sand that managed to work their way into where it attaches. I want to ask her about growing up with that in a society that values physical strength so deeply, but I keep my questions to myself. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable or be ignorantly rude.

“Do you really think I’ll have to defend myself here?”

“If the wrong people find out what Raiz is doing? Yes,” she answers seriously. “But you’re safe here. Everyone on Raiz’s house staff is trained and has orders to protect you.”

I wince. “That’s embarrassing. To be seen as some weak female, in need of protection.”

“Don’t think of it that way.” She reattaches the prosthetic. “We grow up beating the hell out of each other. Violence is in the marrow of our bones. You are smart, far more intelligent than most of our species. That’s dangerous on an entirely different level. Out of thousands of systems in the galaxy, Raiz soughtyouout. That says a lot.”

“When you put it like that.” My lips lift in a small smile.

“And you’re not completely helpless, physically. I didn’t know you’d be quite so strong when you look so soft.”

“Thanks,” I say sardonically as I knock my shoulder into her.

We stand and brush the sand from our clothes. I tell her I’m going to take a quick shower before dinner. I’m sure I smell awful, plus standing beneath the punishingly hot spray sounds incredible for my already beginning to ache muscles. Maybe I’ll ask Uzold to show me how to work the tub later tonight.

After my shower I find even more clothing options have been added to the armoire in my room. There are even a few cloaks hanging inside, lightweight and heavier. It makes sense I’d need warmer clothing considering the temple where the text is on the dark side of the planet.

I find Vynia in the kitchen, sitting on the counter talking to an irritated-looking Breval. “Please make the sweets, Breval. No one does them like you.”

“Because I’m the best.” She answers as if there’s no other option.

“Exactly. I’ve traveled the galaxy and haven’t found anything better. I know you hate making them but look at Neev. She’s barely eaten food with any taste before. Think of the joy on her face when she takes the first bite.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, fighting a smile at the look of exasperation on Breval’s face.

“Breval used to make us these sweets when we were little. I can’t think of a human equivalent, but they’re sweet and delicious. It’s been forever since we’ve had them.”

Breval was cooking for Raiz’s family when he was a kid? How old is she? She doesn’t look much older than him or Vynia.

“Go bother someone else,” Breval dismisses us. “I need to cook, and I can’t do that with you taking up all the space on my counter.”

“Only because I love you,” Vynia slides off the counter and then tucks her arm through mine leading me out of the kitchen. “And I want those sweets.”

“What is Altis doing tonight?” I ask as we settle into chairs on the balcony.

“He’s with Raiz. He’s not only his second on the ship, he also serves as an advisor to the High Lord.”

“What exactly does all that mean? Raiz gave me a very brief explanation of the hierarchy but no details.”

“Did he explain the Houses?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, each house encompasses a different part of the Terminus and the Lords of each house enforce the rules of the Sovereign. They’re also charged with protecting the citizens, collecting taxes, and mediating issues between families.”

“How was the Sovereign chosen? And the Lords?”

“None of them were chosen. The Sovereign has held power for so long, I don’t even know for sure his history. Lord is the title passed from the strongest to the strongest in a family line.”

“They don’t teach you any of that when you’re young?”

“They teach us what they want us to know, the truth as they need it to be to retain power.”