Schism of Blood and Stone (The Starfield Theory Book 1) Read Free

the short walk to the conference room. It made a sharp retort every time it hit the floor. He still kept the Sørensen blade in its sheath at his hip. As House Master he had the right to the sword and kept it honed and polished, though it had not been drawn in anger in decades.
    He straightened his gray uniform and steeled himself for the storm before opening the door. Both siblings had taken their seats at opposite ends of the table and stewed. The surprising silence led Dietrich to believe, hopefully, that the storm had blown itself out.
    The conference room was typically reserved for high level meetings of the station's staff and ruling nobility. A massive bay window looked out over the shipyards and polarized when the rotation brought Remmington's star into view. A large ornate teak table polished to a dark sheen dominated the room, adorned by thick leather and teak chairs. The room's walls were decorated with images of Remmington's third planet, an A-class beauty that served as the system's capital and House Grayson's seat of power. With its sweeping plains, vast oceans and thick forests, it was the envy of lesser houses.
    He left his cane to lean against the table and laid his sheathed blade on its surface as was traditional in such meetings to keep weapons in plain sight. Damien kept his blade at his side, he noticed. He is nervous. Salena carries no blade, but her words are her weapons. They are always kept hidden until the perfect time to strike.
    He slowly sat himself into the chair left for him and he felt every bone and muscle creak with his movement. I am too old for this.
    He laid out on the table three folders and kept them closed, though each sibling regarded them with cold anticipation.
    Sørensen offered a strained smile. “My friends. First, let me express my sorrow for the loss of your brother. He was a great leader, a great man, and a personal friend of mine for many, many years. The entire Commonwealth is mourning his passing, and we shall struggle to find one who can lead as nobly as he. As you know we have been very busy at work these few weeks and we have recently concluded that work.”
    “What about rumors of assassination?” Damien asked suddenly.
    “Rumors are words in the void, meaningless,” Dietrich said more quickly than he intended. Damien's question had been debated extensively by the Sørensen nobility, but no evidence had been recovered to support such a theory and no dissident groups claimed responsibility. Despite the lack of evidence, they could not ignore the fact a healthy sixty-year-old, middle-aged, man would simply die in his sleep without some assistance.
    “My brother deserved better,” Damien replied sternly.
    Salena seethed silently. Damien knew her impatience might get the best of her if he delayed Sørensen's announcement by seeming sincere about his concern for Peter. Which, in a sense was not entirely fake, Dietrich realized. Damien and Peter had shared a strong bond being both male and close in age. When young they had often romped around the palace, reenacting old battles or generally causing mischief for their minders and palace officials. Damien knew early in life that, despite his seniority in age, Peter had been groomed for the throne. He was a back up to be used only if the preferred heir did not survive, which had allowed him more freedom to pursue other interests. Few knew about them and those that did wisely kept tight lipped, though Dietrich had heard many rumors of secret contacts and odd religions. When Peter's son, Arthur, was born and Damien was bumped down the list of possible claimants, he focused more heavily in his duties as Lord General, the ranking Commonwealth military commander. Dietrich had long suspected that a rift had formed between the two brothers and their relationship cooled significantly. The throne was out of Damien's reach so he found a challenge that would occupy his entire adult life: fighting the Dominion.
    Life on the border