The Last Knight (An Awakening the Lightforged Novel)

Prologue: Othaashle

C. 7 years, 2 months until projected Exodus Date.

C. 14 hours since the assassination of rebel leadership

Othaashle Mestari, Champion of the Imaia and First of the Redeemed, smiled as she stopped before the door to her office in Mjatafa Mwonga's High Command building and punched in her passcode. She had only returned yesterday from breaking the rebel leadership, but prided herself on how much she could accomplish in a forty-hour day. The binders and folders under her arm were the results of months of preparation, and she was eager to get started on them.

The electric door hissed as it slid open, and Othaashle frowned beneath her mask at the two unexpected individuals waiting inside her office. Beyond them, her adjuncts, Itese and Yndlova waited with Taizak, one of the Redeemed she often tasked with training and orienting new additions to their ranks.

"Epekoro, Mnene," Othaashle said, stifling a sigh as she strode into her office. "This is unexpected."

Othaashle walked over to her raised desk and set the folders down, then pressed the button that lowered the surface to the seating height she'd programmed into it. She remained standing as she did so, studying Mnene and the Redeemed.

Mnene Folonja was one of Vizier Skadaatha's people, a tall, handsome Samjati with a full gemcrest sparkling at his brow. His mask hung at his waist, clipped to a thick belt he wore over stiff red trousers. A long coat, reminiscent of a military uniform, complemented that, and several medals shone over both sides of his chest.

Othaashle frowned under her mask at the color. She understood the need for a uniform appearance in the military, but she'd never understood red for the Imaia's Samjati personnel. It worked on some of them, but Mnene's particular coloring did not mesh well with Imaia scarlet. Mnene wasn't on duty, and therefore not required to wear a uniform or anything resembling it, but he was a career soldier. Othaashle imagined he would feel as uncomfortable without a uniform as she did.

Beside him, Epekoro stood tall and imperious, wicked silver antlers reaching even higher than Mnene's. Othaashle's fellow Redeemed scanned the room from beneath their mammotaboar-styled mask, arms folded over their chest. Their uniform was pristine as always, and the light flooding in from Othaasle's window that overlooked the city made their armor shine bright.

Othaashle did not want either present as she discussed her plans, and while Mnene didn't look too comfortable—few did in the presence of so many Redeemed, even Skadaatha's people—Epekoro's posture indicated they wanted something.

Once Othaashle's desk was at the proper height, she sat. Yndlova walked over, beaded braids clicking as they swished with her step, and set down a cup of steaming tea. Othaashle wobbled her head at her adjunct, smiling beneath her mask, and brightened her clearnodes in a moment of indulgence. She breathed in deep, filling her head with the blend of cinnamon, cloves, lemon peel, and the black tea leaves—a mix called Scarlet Delight after the color of the brew when seen in a glass rather than a mug. Othaashle smiled—no honey to cut the bite or distract from the natural taste. She'd had a cup of tea before leaving her rooms this morning, as she did most days—it was easier to drink without her mask in the privacy of her rooms—but that was one of the plain, standard fare distributed to everyone. The cup before her was also hot enough that Othaashle had some time to get Epekoro and Mnene out of here before it would be too cool to drink.

Glancing around the room, Othaashle noticed that everyone except Epekoro and Mnene had a beverage nearby. Her enhanced senses confirmed another cup of Scarlet Delight for Itese, and kaffa for Yndlova and Taizak.

Did they refuse? Or was there no offer?

She would have to speak to Yndlova and Itese about that. Though she appreciated their little dig at the uninvited guests, it wasn't polite or befitting of their stations.