Broken Glass (Glass Complex Book 1) by John Hindmarsh Page B

the intruders offered, “and my lady, please accept our apologies.”
    The other officer had stepped forward, almost belligerently, at Steg’s sharp reprimand and was held back by his companion.
    The first speaker continued. “We were checking rooms that we thought were unoccupied.”
    “Your explanation—although barely adequate—is accepted. Now leave.”
    The spokesman turned his attention to the young woman. “My lady?”
    “Yes, your explanation is indeed puerile, and you may withdraw. Before I report your rudeness.”
    The two intruders withdrew, closing the door as they turned away. Steg turned to his companion, his accusations unvoiced.
    “They are Imps. Perhaps what they said was true, that they were just checking rooms.”
    “Or else they had their suspicions raised?”
    “Oh no, I didn’t—”
    “So having me escorted across the reception hall did not raise anyone’s suspicions? Very well, it appears you have just earned the pleasure of my company for the remainder of the evening.”
    “But—”
    “No, you listen to me. You had me brought here in the most conspicuous way possible just because of your mistaken suspicions. It did not occur to you that you may have been in error. If I leave you now, and exit by myself, those bloodthirsty amateurs are going to try to challenge me, or worse, take me off to undergo some unnecessary questioning. I would end up so full of ‘scope and so deep in their dungeons I would not see daylight for years. And that will happen without guilt on my part—you know Imperial Security approach is to assume everyone is guilty.”
    “I am sorry, you must believe me. I thought—oh, now I am so confused. Just who are you if you are not—and what did you do to the workstation—?” She broke off as Steg took her arm and led her towards the door.
    “We need to leave here, and join the thronging guests. Before we leave, however, you had better tell me who you are—people will think it strange if I stay by your side for the evening, yet I do not even know your name.”
    “I—I’m afraid to tell you—”
    He articulated each word with measured care. “Tell me who you are—let’s start with your name.”
    “I am called Lorraine, Lorraine of Jurian.”
    “Jurian? And your home?”
    “I live here on Althere.”
    “That is not what I mean.”
    “My homeworld is Denixx.”
    “By the—” Steg swore. The banked flame of revenge flared and surged through him. He gripped her arm. “You are related to that murderous bitch—” He broke off as he saw realization dawn on her face. “Yes, if indeed de Coeur was my name, your life would now be in jeopardy. Convince me, Lorraine of Jurian, why I should permit you to leave this room alive.”
    Steg noted with approval her apparent calm, although he could see a flicker of fear in her eyes. She tried to speak, swallowed and tried again, this time with success.
    “We—the Jurian do not approve of her.”
    “Ha!” he interrupted.
    She met his stare, challenge replacing fear. She continued. “Yes, the Lady Gaetja is of the Jurian. We have not—do not condone or support her actions.”
    “And this is reason for a de Coeur to forego revenge?”
    “You need me alive in order to leave here safely,” she reminded, softly.
    “Why do you think leaving here will be such a problem?”
    Lorraine rubbed her arm as Steg released his grip. “You said it yourself. The Imps will be more than curious, especially if you are alone. If you are with me, they will not do anything.” She stopped, understanding the implication; if Steg left the room alone, it would be because she was indeed dead. She struggled to order her thoughts. “A de Coeur, here—at an Imperial function. Why, what are you after, what do you need?”
    Her leap of intuition was impressive, thought Steg, as he silently saluted her presence of mind. He decided to offer her the truth, doubtful she would believe him and optimistic she would not give him away.
    “Simply