Bayne Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover Page

  Title Page

  Copyright Information

  Other Books By Misa Buckley

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  About The Author

  Champagne Books Presents

  Bayne

  By

  Misa Buckley

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Champagne Books

  www.champagnebooks.com

  Copyright 2012 by Misa Buckley

  ISBN 978-1-77155-044-4

  May 2012

  Cover Art by Misa Buckley

  Produced in Canada

  Champagne Book Group

  #2 19-3 Avenue SE

  High River, AB T1V 1G3

  Canada

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Champagnebooks.com (or a retailer of your choice) and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Other Books By Misa Buckley

  Eleanor’s Heart

  Tin Cat

  Dedication

  To my husband, who keeps me believing.

  One

  A grunt froze Malia halfway to the door. She waited, barely breathing as she listened to her uncle shift in his chair. Her fingers wound her gray woolen dress into knots. Please don’t wake up.

  Someone must have heard her silent prayer—the darkened room filled with broken snoring, the pungent smell of alcohol heavy on the air. Malia let out a shuddering breath and unlatched the door, then slipped out into the cool, fresh morning.

  Dawn was little more than a smudge of blue on the eastern horizon. No one else in the city had woken and all was still. Malia trod the familiar streets on soundless feet, tracing her well-worn path along the smooth pavement, past houses and industry buildings to the outskirts where the old town crumbled into the sea. She was not supposed to come out here, but she’d spent most of her life doing things she’d been told not to do, and that wouldn’t change any time soon.

  She was the only person who dared to venture across the walkway. She remembered asking her uncle who’d made it and the station it led to, and she also remembered the beating he’d given her. Whatever the metal was, it creaked under her slight weight, flexing as she walked across. The first time she’d stepped on it, the motion scared her half to death and only sheer stubbornness enabled her to cross to the other side. These days she was glad for the walkway’s apparent danger—it meant no one would come after her.

  The station itself was old, yet held a level of technology unseen in the city. Alien technology, or perhaps belonging to an ancient civilization. She’d know if her uncle had bothered to teach her anything other than how to avoid his fists. But a girl had no need of learning—all she was good for was marrying off and bearing babies. She wrinkled her nose at the recollection of her uncle’s ravings and pushed the large, black metal door open.

  A smile curved her mouth as she looked around. A wide entrance room spread out before her, filled with console banks of what looked like workstations, lined up in rows like the pews in church. Malia walked between them, arms stretched out so that her fingers brushed the black metal constructs, and toward a second, much larger door.

  Clear panels, like glass but much stronger, were set into black frames and looked out onto a long, wide pier. There had to a reason why such a structure was necessary, why it had been built over the sea and not the land. She had found some writing, but she could only read a few words and those were food stuffs—things she needed to be able to read in order to cook for her uncle. She longed to understand more, but had found no one willing to teach her.

  She stared out for a moment longer, then turned and pulled the silvery gray cover off one of the consoles. Beneath lay a variety of devices in various stages of disassembly. Denied a more formal education, Malia had come to the station almost every morning for the past year and, once she’d discovered the devices, had used the precious few hours away from the drudgery of cooking and cleaning to teach herself how they went together. In doing so, she found she had a natural talent for mechanics. Too bad that talent went to waste at home.

  With a sigh of frustration, she picked up the device she’d been working on most recently. It was smaller than the others, fitting into one hand, and had a dial on the front of it. There was also a round section covered in latticework. It buzzed when she turned it on, and every so often she swore she could hear faint voices. A few days ago she had pressed the button and spoken into it. If it worked and carried her voice to wherever the others came from, she’d no idea. They had not replied, though. Perhaps she was wrong about the device’s purpose.

  Thunder rumbled. Malia frowned and glanced at the large doors. Outside, the sky was lightening with the onset of dawn and there were few clouds in the sky. Yet the thunder came again, louder and closer. Putting down the device, she wandered to the door, her gaze fixed on the sky. A dark shadow fell over the station and the rumbling shook it to its very foundations.

  That was no cloud—it was a spaceship.

  Malia gaped as it descended. The end facing her angled back, while wings spread out and down, to give the craft a hunched appearance. It was easily half the size of the city; a great bird built from gray metal and lit by a thousand points of light. Windows—there were people aboard that thing.

  Excitement flooded her, and she ran forward to watch the spaceship land on the pier. The wings wrapped around the structure, fitting as if it had been a missing part. Tremors shook the station, showering dust and debris on her. Malia covered her nose and mouth with the sleeve of her dress, keeping her breathing shallow until the dust settled.

  The front of the spaceship opened and two lines of figures emerged. In the increasing light of the rising sun, she could make out gray uniforms slashed with black markings and weaponry that made her step back several paces. Fear clenched her stomach. What did she know about these people? What if they came not in friendship but in enmity?

  Her rump collided with the hard edge of a console. Her console. She reached back, not taking her eyes off the approaching force, and grasped the first device she found. Holding it in front of her like a weapon, she watched the doors slide open. Air rushed in, smelling of exhaust and salt, ruffling her hair as her father had done so many years ago. The soldiers trooped in and took up positions around the room, uncovering consoles and switching them on. A soft hum rose as the station came to life.

  Malia looked around. None of the soldiers paid her the slightest attention. Feeling distinctly foolish, she put down the device and wiped her hands on the skirt of her dress. She chewed at her lip, having no idea as to what they were doing. In moments, they had achieved more than she had in months. Her stomach sank. How could she have ever believed herself to be a technician? She truly was the foolish child her uncle often claimed she was.

  Silence fell like a blanket as everyone stopped what
they were doing. All their attention focused on the wide opening between the doors. In the center stood a man, physically unremarkable, but he exuded an aura of power that rose gooseflesh on Malia’s arms.

  She shivered and he looked at her. His uniform was black and edged in white, his dark hair loose around his sharply angled face. A neatly trimmed beard framed lips thinned in a taut line. On his left hip hung a scabbard, the handle of his sword banded red and black.

  He stepped into the room and every soldier snapped to attention. One moved forward, a silver gray rectangle in his hands. “My lord Bayne.”

  There was more, but Malia didn’t hear it over the rushing of blood in her ears. Bayne? This man was Bayne? She stared, unable to tear her gaze from his unassuming face. He appeared to be no more than thirty; much younger than she’d imagined him. Much younger than anyone with the epitaph ‘Destroyer of Worlds’ had any right to look. Why was he here?

  Lord Bayne looked at her. Stared. She realized she’d spoken that question aloud.

  “I am here as Overlord of Sytharion, the system to which this world belongs. I am here because this world owes its Lord tribute.”

  Cold knifed down Malia’s spine. It had been years since they’d last paid tribute—so many that she barely remembered the event, as she barely remembered her mother’s face. How much would Terranis owe him now? More than they had spare, that was certain, and Lord Bayne only had one way of dealing with worlds that defied him.

  He destroyed them.

  Panic flooded her. Before she thought the notion through, she knelt at his feet. “My lord, we cannot possibly make so many years of tribute to you. Not at such short notice. I beg that you give us time.”

  “Tribute will be made by sunset, otherwise I will eradicate the city.”

  “No!” Malia grasped the hard leather of his trousers. He lifted an eyebrow and the soldier at his side aimed his weapon at her. She flinched and released her grip. “I’m sorry,” she said, voice hoarse. “But please, I beg lenience of you.”

  “My lord, let me deal with this,” said the soldier, charging his weapon.

  Bayne stared down at her. She swallowed but held that dark, penetrating gaze. He laid a hand on the soldier’s arm. “No, I will hear this.” Still staring down at her, he continued, “Give me a reason for lenience and I shall consider it.”

  What reason could she give? What could she offer? She had nothing, other than… “Take me. I offer myself to you willingly in return for your gracious leniency and patience.”

  The soldier at the lord’s side frowned and muttered, but Bayne held up his hand then dropped to the hilt of his sword. A shing echoed around the station as he drew the blade. He pressed the flat of the tip against her chin. Malia held herself very still; she had little doubt he could end her life with the merest flick of his wrist.

  “You give yourself freely and willingly?” he asked.

  “Yes, my lord. In return for you staying your hand long enough for my people to collect your tribute.”

  “And once they have?”

  “What happens then is at my lord’s discretion.”

  Silence stretched. Her knees protested against the hard, cold floor beneath them. Her neck ached from being tilted back. But she dared not move, not with the sharp edge of the blade against her neck, so she waited, eyes on Bayne’s face as he gazed down at her. His bland expression gave no hint of the thoughts he entertained.

  “Stand,” he said after a long moment.

  The sword moved just enough to give her room. Malia pulled herself upright, straightening her spine at the soldier’s sneering look. She held Bayne’s gaze, then lowered hers to stand there, hands clasped over her stomach to settle their shaking.

  Bayne walked around her. Would he warn her if she were found wanting, before he ended her life? Did she want him to? She gripped her hands tighter and kept her head bowed and prayed he would be kind and kill her quickly, if that was what he chose.

  Two

  Never in all his years had Bayne met a woman—met anyone—like the young thing quivering before him. Despite her fear, and with little idea as to what she’d agreed to, she offered herself in exchange for a half-forgotten world at the edge of his territory. It was a thing that piqued his curiosity. He could not remember that having ever happened before.

  “Name,” he demanded.

  Her hands clenched one another, the knuckles white. Yet her voice remained steady, though soft with respect. “Malia, my lord.”

  He smiled and walked around her again. The drab gray dress did her few favors, but she had enough curves to intrigue him further. Her hair was tied into a rough plait, held back from a face that was aesthetically balanced if not actually beautiful. Bayne stopped in front of her and lifted her chin with one gloved hand. Eyes as blue-green as the ocean outside the station blinked at him, trepidation in their watery depths.

  “And why, Malia, would you sacrifice yourself for this world?”

  A flicker of sadness crossed her face, then she blinked again. “This was my parents’ home,” she replied. “They were happy here, my lord, and I… I would not have those memories destroyed.”

  Grieves made a rude noise. Bayne stared at the captain until the man looked away with a mumble of apology. No, the idiot would not appreciate that statement—he lacked the finesse—but Bayne himself did. He understood.

  “I see.” His reputation was one of uncompromising hardness, and yes, he held onto his position, his power, with an iron fist. That did not mean he was an unreasonable man. “Very well, Malia. I accept you as tribute.” He motioned at his captain. “Grieves, escort her onto the ship and to my chambers. Extend her every courtesy. She is not to be harmed.”

  The soldier’s mouth was a flat line of disapproval, but he bowed his head. “Yes, my Lord Bayne.”

  She offered no resistance as the captain took hold of her arm, but did not move. “Will you tell them, my lord? Will you assure them there is time to make tribute?”

  He held her gaze. “I will.”

  Something went out of her then, some strength or spirit, and her eyes lost their brightness. Her head lowered as the captain led her toward the spaceship, though her spine remained straight. Bayne watched until the dark mouth of the ramp swallowed them, then turned back to the other soldiers in the station.

  “I require you to remain behind,” he announced. “Ensure these people prepare for my return. I will send a further contingent of soldiers to…ah, encourage them further.”

  A murmur of assent rippled through his men. He nodded and sheathed his sword. He was a hard man, but not unfair. He took no pleasure in enforcing his rule and was glad to return his weapon without having to spill blood.

  Satisfied his reclaiming this world could wait, he headed back to the ship.

  He had a deal to seal.

  ~ * ~

  The chambers Malia was taken to left her speechless. The exterior of the spaceship was all sharp-angled edges and flat planes of metal—cold and soulless. She’d expected more of the same inside but, while the corridors and passageways were clinical, Bayne’s chambers were anything but.

  Her uncle’s house was a shambles of old, broken furniture and worn fabrics. In contrast to that hovel, and the stark exterior of the ship, her surroundings were rich and luxurious. Soft carpeting covered the floor, tapestries and paintings hid the cool gray of the walls, and the polished wood of the furniture glowed under the ambient lighting.

  Nor was it, as she had thought, one room, but rather three connecting ones. The soldier delivered her into a living room with a low table for eating and a desk where the Overlord must do whatever work he had. Wandering the chambers, she found a bathroom that was bigger than her own bedroom, then his room. She stared at the wide bed and tried not to think about what she’d agreed to.

  She sincerely doubted Bayne had accepted her offer merely to have someone to talk to.

  Though she wasn’t a virgin, she wasn’t greatly experienced either. Of course, her uncle
would have beaten her seven shades of blue had she become pregnant. Not that he ever gave her much opportunity. The only time she ever left the house was to buy supplies, but she’d carved out time for two affairs, both brief and rather unsatisfactory.

  Malia wandered the living space, unsure of what she ought to do. She’d been given no time to collect any personal belongings, though short of one photograph of her parents, there wasn’t anything she wanted to return home for. I will disappear, and there will be no sign I ever existed. Will Uncle even mourn my loss?

  Her depressed train of thoughts derailed as the door to the chambers slid back. Bayne paused on the threshold, seeming surprised by her appearance. Surely he had not forgotten? His lips twisted and he stepped in fully, allowing the door to close behind him.

  “I have informed your government as to the terms of our agreement, and how long they have before I return.”

  Well, hello to you too. “Thank you.” She licked her lips. “H-how long will that be?”

  “Fifteen days.”

  Her knees trembled. “Fifteen? You can’t be serious! That’s no time at all!”

  “That is all I am prepared to give.”

  He stared at her, and she tried to get herself under control. How stupid of her not to have ensured the details of the arrangement. But it was done and agreed on, and there was nothing she could do.

  “I have only asked for half of what I am owed,” Bayne said then. “I’m not an unreasonable man.”

  “Half?” It was still so much. She’d no idea if that was possible in the time allotted. “Did they agree to that?”

  “Yes.”