The Skypirate

  Other Justine Davis Books coming soon from Bell Bridge Books:

  The Coalition Rebellion Novels

  Book 1: Lord of the Storm

  Book 2: Skypirate

  Book 3: Rebel Prince

  (Coming 2015)

  Also:

  Wild Hawk

  Heart of the Hawk

  Fire Hawk

  Skypirate

  Book 2: A Coalition Rebellion Novel

  by

  Justine Davis

  Bell Bridge Books

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or locations is entirely coincidental.

  Bell Bridge Books

  PO BOX 300921

  Memphis, TN 38130

  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-61194-524-9

  Print ISBN: 978-1-61194-542-3

  Bell Bridge Books is an Imprint of BelleBooks, Inc.

  Copyright © 1995 by Janice Davis Smith writing as Justine Davis

  Rebel Prince (excerpt) © 2015 Janice Davis Smith writing as Justine Davis

  Printed and bound in the United States of America.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  A mass market edition of this book was published by Topaz, an imprint of Dutton Signet, a division of Penguin Books USA Inc.in 1995

  We at BelleBooks enjoy hearing from readers.

  Visit our websites

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  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Cover design: Debra Dixon

  Interior design: Hank Smith

  Photo/Art credits:

  Planet, ship, sky (manipulated) © Luca Oleastri | Dreamstime.com

  Man (manipulated) © Artofphoto | Dreamstime.com

  :Eswx:01:

  Dedication

  To all the readers who never let me forget how much they loved this book, this new edition is gratefully dedicated.

  Chapter 1

  I DON’T MIND dying, but I’ll be damned to Ossuary if I’ll do it here.

  Not here, not now, and not by the likes of the men who guarded this grim place, Dax Silverbrake thought. No, the way out of this fix was guile, and he’d learned the craft well.

  “I swear,” Dax muttered under his breath as they walked down the grim, narrow hallway, “if Rina wasn’t the best navigator I’ve ever seen, I’d—”

  “—still go after her.” Dax gave his first mate a sideways look; Roxton was grinning at him despite the danger. “And don’t be trying to convince me otherwise, Cap’n.” The grizzled older man, disguised as a servant, tugged on his beard as he went on in a whisper, “Not that I’d blame you, mind, even though she is like your own blood sister to you.” He shook his head in disgust. “Of all things. Gettin’ caught rigging a game of chaser!”

  Dax’s jade green eyes narrowed in warning, and Roxton quieted as the guard ahead of them, who had slowed his pace, got too near to risk further talk.

  They continued down the stone corridor, their way lit only by the guard’s cellight, the dank walls making Dax glad of the heavy, hooded cloak of his disguise. The rustling he heard from the floor made him glad of his knee-high boots; being nibbled at by Carelian muckrats was not his idea of fun. Blast Rina anyway; how could she let herself get caught rigging the dice for chaser? A child could—

  “Here we are,” the guard said as they turned right and stepped into a wider corridor, no less dark, but lined on each side with barred cells that were even danker and colder than the hallway they’d come through. “You’ll find one here to warm even this chilly night.”

  Chilly? Dax didn’t want to know what the man thought was cold. Carelian nights were bleakly cold this time of year, something to hide from, not go wandering about in. The cold made the byways and main concourses virtually deserted, which was both good and bad from their point of view; once they got out of here they could be reasonably certain of going undiscovered, but if they were, they would have a difficult time explaining why they were out on this freezing night.

  “Take your pick, friend,” the guard said.

  Friend? Not likely, Dax thought. But he answered mildly enough. “In the dark?”

  The guard sniggered, a lewd, nasty sound. “Why not? That’s where you’ll be with her anyway, isn’t it?”

  Dax restrained the urge to bury his fist in the man’s round, leering face. He knew the sale of Coalition prisoners, no questions asked, was a common practice among the more unsavory of their guards, but he still found it repugnant. He reined in his distaste; Rina’s freedom could depend on how well he played this part.

  “Not necessarily,” he answered, putting as much of sordid anticipation as he could manage into his voice.

  The guard laughed, loud and ribaldly. “I forgot. A man who’s spent a season mining in the caverns of Boreas wouldn’t want to spend any more time in the dark, would he? Well, I’ve a few worth looking at, even in the light. Come along.”

  Dax followed the man, resisting the urge to straighten his shoulders to relieve the ache. Every crystal miner he’d ever seen walked hunched over from years of working in cramped quarters; if he’d realized what he was letting himself in for, he would have picked another disguise for his tall frame. Not for the first time he wished for a bit more anonymity; he might have been able to simply buy Rina’s way out by paying off the officer she’d tried to bilk.

  He heard the mumble of voices, some rambling crazily, some wailing pathetically, and some strident with anger. The only consistency was that they were all female. The males, equally subject to sale if the price was right, were obviously in another wing. Dax smiled wryly in the shadows. Perhaps it was a good thing that it had been Rina who had gotten caught; he doubted he could work up a credible show of enthusiasm for Roxton. He wondered briefly if the guards ever had to account for the prisoners who were never seen again.

  Not likely, he thought again. There were so many Coalition prisoners that the loss of a mere hundred or so here and there would hardly be noticed.

  The guard stopped, turning the ray of his cellight through a set of bars. “Now here’s a nice one, if you’ll be wanting it a little . . . rough.”

  Dax frowned as a gleam reflected from eyes that looked decidedly pink. “She looks Carelian.” Hard to believe; the natives of this world were known not to survive captivity.

  “She is, but don’t worry. We’ve declawed her. And after a long season on that ice planet, you must be . . . eager.”

  If you only knew, Dax thought wryly. But this was not the time to dwell on his own mating problems. “Not that eager,” he said. “What else have you got?”

  Several cells and rejections later, the guard was becoming irritated. Dax knew it was only a step from irritation to suspicion, and he tried to ease the man’s mood.

  “You were right, you know,” he said unctuously. “After a season buried under tons of ice, mining crystal, I’ve a preference for sunlight. Have you any with that coloring?”

  Placated by the flattery, the guard’s face was split by a grin, distorted evilly by the angle of the cellight. “Ah, so that’s what you’re after. I have just the thing for you. A young one. She just came in today. A Coalition officer caught her cheating at chaser. I warn
you though, she’s a bit stubborn. We haven’t had time to work on her yet.”

  Dax’s amusement at the understatement—Rina, only a bit stubborn?—was tinged with relief at the last words; they hadn’t hurt her yet.

  “I’m not averse to a little spirit,” he said casually.

  “Oh, she’s got that, all right,” the guard crowed. “And except that it’s short, she has gold hair, like a Triotian.”

  Dax was grateful for the dim light then; he was sure his sudden fear must have shown in his face. He felt Roxton stiffen beside him. It was a moment before he trusted his voice enough to tell the man to lead them on. Roxton held back, and Dax slowed his steps to match the older man’s.

  “Do you think he guessed?” the first mate asked in a hushed whisper.

  “No.”

  It was flat, certain, and Roxton lifted a bushy gray brow. “So sure?”

  “If he knew she really was Triotian, she’d be dead.”

  “True enough,” Roxton agreed after a moment, but Dax was already ahead of him, striding after the guard.

  They came to a halt at the last cell. Only a tall, solid metal door remained between them and the end of the corridor. The guard directed his light through the bars. It caught the face of a female, barely more than a girl, who blinked in the sudden brightness. Her face, although dirty, was that of a pixie, a legendary creature of the Triotian woodlands. Big eyes nearly the same vivid green as Dax’s own, and a tiny, pointed chin were topped by a short, tousled cap of hair that was indeed the uncommon color of a Triotian, the same shade as the golden steeds of Arellia. Only the shortness of her hair and the sun-browned color of her skin masked her true origin; with few exceptions, Triotians were the golden children, both in hair, which they never cut, and skin.

  For an instant Dax was unable to speak, his throat tight at the sight of her, safe. Roxton hadn’t exaggerated; this girl was as precious to him as a blood sister. Perhaps more so, since he’d lost his own true sister.

  “She’ll do,” he said, his voice tight with emotion. He heard the husky sound of it, and hoped the guard would take it for the arousal of a long deprived man.

  The guard laughed, pleased, but under the sound Dax heard Rina whisper his name in tones of utter relief.

  “Well, now,” the guard drawled, “this one may cost a bit more than we agreed on. We haven’t had a chance to examine her yet, but it’s quite possible she’s untried.”

  Fury rose in Dax. He heard Rina’s outraged exclamation and motioned her to silence. He well knew she was untouched; he’d fought on occasion to keep her that way. Rina had a hard-learned dislike of most men except the Evening Star’s crew, and none of them would even think of laying a hand on her. The thought of some man the ilk of this grinning knave intimately examining Rina made him want to pull his flashbow right now and put an end to this farce. But with a patience that had been long fought for and hard won, he reined in his naturally hot temper.

  “Fine,” he said to the guard, with a blitheness he was far from feeling. “But if your examination proves her not virgin—quite likely, if she’s been long on her own and running games of chance on the streets—the price is halved.”

  “Halved?” the guard sputtered.

  “Fair enough, for my time and patience. As you said, it has been a very long season.”

  Dax’s tone brooked no argument. The guard gulped, then swallowed as he stared up at the broad, hooded figure that, even hunched over, towered above him. “But you’ll take her as is, at the price agreed?”

  “Only if I take her now.”

  The man made his decision quickly. “Then take her.” He reached to his belt and removed his code key, which he aimed at the lock as he punched a series of buttons. With a click that echoed in the damp darkness, the lock opened. He turned around and held his hand out to Dax.

  Reaching into the cavernous pocket of his cloak, Dax grasped the bag of coins, a motley collection of Arellian Novals, Carelian Ducas, and two rare Romerian Withals. Different coins, from different worlds, but similar in two ways; they were all accepted at face value or more throughout the system, and all had been liberated from their original owners. They clinked satisfyingly as he drew out the pouch. A small price, to walk out of here without—

  “So”—the voice came out of the darkness, clear and ringing—“you will escape, just as you said.”

  Startled, Dax’s gaze darted to the blackest corner of the cell, from which the voice had come. His instincts were slipping, he thought. He hadn’t even realized there was another prisoner here in this gruesome place that was the possible—probable, he amended grimly—future for them all.

  “And here I thought all your bragging about your rescue merely talk.”

  Dax’s gaze shot back to Rina, who looked away, but not before he saw her chagrined expression. Damnation, couldn’t she keep her mouth shut, even here?

  “Silence!”

  It took a split second for Dax to register that the guard had not voiced his own thoughts to Rina, but had barked an order to the as-yet-unseen female. As he spoke, the man moved the beam of the cellight to the dark corner.

  Dax’s brows furrowed. There, standing with a proud, straight posture that surprised him, was another female. At least, he supposed it was, since all others in this wing of the Coalition prison were. But this one was filthy, the kind of grime built up over time, not the surface dirt such as Rina had acquired during her short stay. This one had hair cropped even shorter than Rina’s, hair that was either dark unto black, or so dirty it didn’t bear thinking about. Her face was almost as dirty; he had no idea how old she might be. Her eyes gleamed in the cellight’s glow.

  They were blue, a startling pale blue, the color of the purest ice on the mining planet Dax was pretending to be from. They were fastened on him with a steadiness that made him long more than ever to straighten his aching, hunched shoulders; a man shouldn’t face a stare like that without whatever advantage his superior height might bring.

  Who was she, this prisoner who held herself so proudly? Who was this, holding his intense stare with a coolness he’d not seen in even his fiercest opponents? She was slender, he guessed from the shape of her face, since it was impossible to tell in her grubby, baggy clothes. She was tall. She was—

  She was a slave.

  He hadn’t noticed before, with his fascination with those unusual eyes, but now he focused on the dull glow of gold at her throat. A collar. The collar of Coalition enslavement. He’d heard of them, even seen some of the lower levels, but never a gold one before. It looked almost ornamental, with the sheen of the precious metal and the three jewel-like lights. He supposed that helped the citizens of the almighty Coalition pretend they weren’t truly slaves.

  He’d heard they were referred to merely as “gold collars” or “bronze collars,” or whatever level they were, as if the collar itself was the being. He hoped this was as close as he would ever get to one.

  She didn’t wear it well. It was at odds with her proud carriage, with the force and intensity of her eyes. And most especially, at odds with the ringing tones of her voice.

  “When you told me about the man who would come for you, I didn’t realize you spoke the truth.” Dax caught his breath. Just how much had Rina said?

  “Silence,” the guard roared again, apparently too angry—or too thick—to be suspicious, “or I’ll get the controller and quiet you permanently.”

  “I think not,” the female said. She was, Dax decided, either incredibly brave, or incredibly stupid. Or, he thought suddenly, she had a token up her sleeve. Something to bargain with. Something with a worth of which she was very, very sure.

  “From your bragging of his strength and beauty, I didn’t expect a broken-down hunchback,” the female added scornfully.

  As the guard gaped at the prisoner’s effrontery, Dax’s gaze
flicked to Rina once more. Was she bluffing, or had Rina, in her youthful excess, let slip the identity of the rescuer she expected? There was a healthy price on his head—dead or alive—in this and more than a few other sectors. Perhaps even enough to buy freedom for a collared slave.

  Rina met his gaze, and for the first time since he’d pulled her out of that cave on Daxelia, he saw fear there. And anguish. His jaw clenched. How much did this female know? Only that Rina had expected rescue from her crew, or had the girl let slip his name? Even if she knew only that this was indeed a rescue, not a purchase of a female prisoner for carnal purposes, she could get them all killed. He would have to move fast, or this whole thing could disintegrate on them.

  “She’s not very pleasant, is she?” Dax said in an amused tone.

  “She’s been nothing but trouble since she got here,” the guard grumbled. “She’s on her way to Ossuary, but if they’d turn me loose on her, I’d show her fast enough what we do with crippled Arellian slaves who don’t know their place.”

  “Better men than you have tried, you Carelian blowpig.” Her voice rang with defiance, and Dax felt a grudging admiration for her courage, if not her foolhardiness.

  “They’ve clearly been far too easy on you, Arellian bitch,” the guard snapped, whirling back to glare at her. “It’s time you learned your place, and what that controller is really for.”

  “You won’t dare,” the Arellian said. “Not when I tell you what I know about—”

  “As I said, I’m not averse to a little spirit.” Dax cut in quickly, putting a hand on the guard’s shoulder and leading him away from the female who was apparently about to play her bargaining token—him. “And if one woman is good, two is better, limn?”

  The guard blinked as they came to a halt out of earshot of the cell. “You want both of them?”

  Dax shrugged as if it were of no import. “I would pay extra, of course. Not that she’s worth it, unless you cut her tongue out first.”

  The guard gave a low chuckle. “She’s already marred,” he warned. “Lame. Left leg.”