An Exile Aboard Ship (Shieldmatron 1)

ONE MOMENT A QUEEN, THE NEXT... OUTCAST!

Surela Silin Asaniefa was convinced she could rule the Eldritch people better than her enemy, Liolesa Galare, and for ten whole days following her coup, she made the attempt---and failed. Resigned to her death as a traitor, she was given a choice by the Queen's newest protege, Reese Eddings: to be executed, or to accept a commuted sentence and attempt to rebuild her life and make amends for her crimes.

To die would have been the act of a dramatic maiden, and as a woman of more sense and years, Surela chooses instead to see what she can make of herself among aliens and mortals. But what begins with cargo runs on an old Terran freighter soon involves pirates and slavers and intergalactic war... and the actions of a traitor might be the salvation of the people she once wronged.

An Exile Aboard Ship kicks off the redemption arc of the villainess from the Her Instruments series. Can Surela earn her wings in the Alliance? Come and see...

Genre (setting): space opera (Pelted)
Tags: politics, space elves; multicultural; fish out of water, redemption arc
Rating: PG-13 for references to violence and abuse

An Excerpt From Chapter 1

“Here are your clothes,” said the creature in the hideous mortal tongue, setting a folded stack not even the height of her palm on the seat by the door. “Would you like help dressing?”

The question slammed into Surela with the force of a blow, scattering memories like drops of blood. The smiling face of her handmaiden. The gentle hands that would never rise again to guide her into her elaborate costume. The tender fingertips that would linger on the inside of her wrist. The sweetness of the head resting on her shoulder when the toilette was done, and their excuse for being together evanesced.

And she… she would never see Thaniet again. No one would, because Thaniet was dead, and it was her fault.

The creature had paused, waiting, those animal ears twitched toward her. The thought that her pathos might be obvious to anyone, much less aliens, was so abhorrent it goaded her into speech. “No.”

The creature nodded. “I’ll get your shoes while you change.” A smile. “I bet you’ll be glad to be on your feet.”

As if she had anywhere to go. And what did it matter anymore? But she had made a promise, so she answered, mechanically, “Yes.” This must have satisfied because she was left alone to replace the sack-like gown she’d been wearing since her admission to the alien clinic with her meager new garments. She didn’t know how many days had passed… nor could she find it in herself to care. To dwell too deeply on her immediate past and all the deserts she had earned with her arrogance and ignorant pride….

A heart-shaped face intruded into her thoughts, and she pushed it away. So did a different face, the alien one that had said that evidence of her pregnancy had proved inconclusive, and that she had been reprieved, who had asked for none.

The aliens had given her a shirt, pants, and a shapeless pullover: a menial’s attire, but she would never again wear the gowns which she had once deserved. Now she deserved this, and only barely, because a human had dared to intercede for her. At least she would never come face to face with one of her kind, who would see her in servants’ garb and know her humiliation. Granted that, the garments were at least practical. It galled her to admit they were also more comfortable and easier to don than anything her world had ever produced.

Was it strange that it was her hair that fanned her misery to rage? Her floor-length mane had been dressed daily into coiffures as complex as a piece of filigree. The utilitarian braid worked by some alien hand while she’d been unconscious struck her as incongruous. Who would care for it now that she was a friendless exile? Even the task of washing it would be an immense burden, and a constant reminder of all that had been stripped from her.

The weapon left her by her human benefactor was lying on the table beside the bed. Her motions were jerky with emotion and clumsy with unfamiliarity, but she did the deed quickly for all that… far more quickly than her life had fallen apart, just when she’d thought she’d grabbed the brass ring, the way she was grabbing her braid only to find it connected to nothing. The weightlessness of her head shocked her—but briefly, only briefly. Then, like a girl still in leading strings, she plaited what was left and tied it off. It swung behind her shoulders as she stood to await the creature’s return, and her shoes.

It was the least of what she would leave behind, forever.

* * *

The woman who’d once been known as Surela Silin Asaniefa stepped out of the alien’s clinic, expecting to be delivered into the hands of Eldritch guards, men who would not bother to hide their contempt as they shepherded her, formally and definitively, into exile in the nearest non-Eldritch facility in space. Instead, her exit inspired a stranger to stand up and smile at her, flicking his ears forward like an eager dog… which is what he looked like. Someone’s cull, because who would have kept a creature of such unhandsome colors and unfortunate conformation? With pelt an awkward mix of gray and red and ginger, and a build too lanky for strength and too thick for speed, the best that could be said for him was that he was well-groomed, his fur trimmed and hair combed neatly. That, and she was forced to admit he had friendly eyes, if in a common shade, the same brown of every loyal hound depicted in the illustrations of countless books.

“Hello, alet,” said this newest creature. “I’ve been waiting for you. My name’s Saul Ferry, and I’m here to escort you to the Earthrise.” When she didn’t immediately reply, he indicated the corridor. “This way, please.”