A Prison Unsought Read Online Free PDF

end.”
    Montrose recollected the desecrated body, preserved in vacuum,
and dropped his gaze.
    Jaim said softly, holding his finger to the control so that
the door wouldn’t close, “But she is gone. Once we believed our spirits would
be forever united, but there is no sign of her. And so, for me, the Flame has
burned out.”
    Montrose nodded slowly.
    Jaim continued in that soft, cold voice. “One day I shall
exact a price from Hreem for that murder. That vow is part of my present path, the
Path of the Warrior. But my purpose, as sworn on Desrien, is to guard Brandon
Arkad.”
    Jaim’s mind flickered back to the quiet cathedral on
Desrien. Eloatri, the religious leader who seemed to understand the Path in all
its variety, had said that Brandon would have need of him.
    Montrose said skeptically, “It might have made sense if we’d
been dumped back on Rifthaven. But now Brandon’s got the entire Panarchic Navy
to babysit him. What’s left of it.”
    Jaim acknowledged, then walked toward the galley. “True,”
he said. “But.”
    He considered his words as they traversed one of the
pleasant, if utilitarian, servants’ corridors under the Enclave. The Navy had
been relatively decent, the Marine solarch, Artorus Vahn, who’d been assigned
as guard to Brandon, readily answering questions and even undertaking to teach
Jaim something about the bewildering intricacies of nick life. In specific, the
Tetrad Centrum Douloi, elite among the elite.
    “But?” Montrose prompted as they
entered the galley.
    Jaim considered their stay so far. The inmates of the
Enclave had been left to recover—officially, it was mourning—though Jaim was
beginning to perceive the discrepancies between official words and fact.
    Another ‘so far’: Brandon did not appear to question the
fact that Solarch Vahn or his team accompanied him everywhere, insisting that
security required a schedule with search-and-sweep beforehand. He had not tried
again to visit the Telvarna ’s crew,
housed in some detention center, after being politely told that security was
still being arranged, though he’d sent back to Ivard the two Arkadic dogs
they’d rescued from the Mandala, and he’d made a request for daily reports on
Ivard’s well-being.
    Jaim understood this much: although Brandon was the highest
ranking civilian on the station, it was a Naval station. The Navy could not
command civilians—neither could Brandon command the Navy.
    “But today, everything is going to
change,” Jaim said.
    At that moment—as Montrose was reaching his hand out to pour
a cup of freshly ground coffee for Jaim—the alert toned, and on Montrose’s
galley console, the vid flickered to show a spare, elderly woman in a subdued
uniform. An ID floated above her head: Vice-Admiral
Damana Willsones .
    “Hello, I suspect those changes are
happening right now,” Montrose said. “Here. Take these sandwiches I was making
for lunch. And the coffee. Whatever is going on, there is always a need for
refreshments.”
    Jaim carried the tray to the inner reception chamber where
Brandon was dealing with the tailor.
    As yet Jaim didn’t know what the huge party the Tetrad
Centrum Douloi were throwing in Brandon’s honor really meant, and Brandon
hadn’t told him. They talked about many things as they drilled in Ulanshu
kinesics every day and then sparred, or shared meals, but never the future. Or
the past before they met at the hideout on Dis.
    Jaim had set the sandwiches down when Solarch Vahn led
Damana Willsones to the inner reception chamber.
    Willsones had never been in the Enclave before, and looked
around with curiosity. The little she saw had been designed with Tetrad Centrum
Douloi style and attention to comfort, but with maximum security in mind.
    “Thank you, Solarch,” she said,
appreciating how silently and efficiently the Marine jeeved. He managed to seem
nearly invisible as he took up a stance in the least significant corner of the
room, from which he had clear