Death waits beneath the waves as two estranged lovers face their demons…

Sergeant Nix Marr left her dark past buried beneath the sea. Then Kessandra, the people’s favourite princess and Nix’s much-loathed ex, recruits Nix for a covert mission. Their goal – to investigate a massacre in the under-water city of Fall. Nix refuses, but still finds herself boarding a luxurious submersible as Kessandra’s bodyguard.

As Nix battles to deny their connection, Kessandra reveals the chilling truth. They aren’t investigating a massacre, but the trigger that caused it – a sickness that turns victims into mindless killers. And when a royal passenger is murdered, it’s clear the infection is on board – and no one on the submersible is safe.

Now survival hinges on trust, which would be a hell of a lot easier if Kessandra didn’t keep lying. Injured and fighting for both their lives, Nix must decide if she can believe in Kessandra again . . . and what she’d lose this time if she does.

This Gilded Abyss is due for publication from Tor on 20th November – you can pre-order your copy on Bookshop.org

Chapter One

Sergeant Nix Marr knew she was screwed when she stepped into the locker room amidst murmurs of visiting royalty.

The Valkesh Army’s spirescraper—one of the tall, circular buildings that stretched into the sky like stalagmites—was built in the shadow of the royals’ Grand Palace. But despite their proximity, despite all the honors and gratitude the Valkeshian government proffered its military, the royals continued to enjoy existence elsewhere.

All but one, at least.

And that one happened to be a pain in Nix’s ass.

“—come to watch us train.” Garith, a kid on her squad, had their head buried in their locker. They only wore briefs and a tank top, their olive-toned legs on full display, but their excitement was unaffected by their physical state of dress.

No one had noticed Nix enter, which meant her squad would be working on situational awareness next. She crossed her arms, her camera tucked under one elbow. “Who’s watching us train?” Her voice was sharp, and all twelve soldiers snapped to attention.

It would have been satisfying if cold dread hadn’t tightened her chest.

Garith resurfaced from their locker, clearing their throat. “Uh, S-Sergeant. Didn’t see you there.”

“I noticed,” Nix replied. “Who’s visiting?”

“Subarch Kessandra,” an older ensign, Leon, said. He was close to making sergeant himself—and was arguably the nearest thing Nix had to a friend. He flashed a wry smile and gestured at the camera. “Find anything good this morning?”

She barely heard him. A sudden roaring in her ears drowned him out, and a flash of an unbidden memory: Quian, laughing a little, shoving her shoulder as they lounged in a utilitarian recreation room. “Kessandra is just a person, Nix. I think you should go for it.”

She shouldn’t have listened.

“Sergeant?” Leon asked cautiously. They all had moments like this, brief instances where they’d zone out, where their hearts would pound a bit harder. But normally, Nix had better control. Normally, she could detach, shake off the panic, and handle the here and now.

She drew a trembling breath, scrambling for calm. “Found a cardinal in the snow. Images might be blurry, but a few should turn out.”

The camera in her hand—an Autographic Prime LZ, which cost enough of her salary that most days she felt guilty looking at it—was folded into a compact box, easy enough to tuck away in a locker during drills. A brass clasp at the top ensured the lens stayed compressed until needed. She fiddled with it as she stepped to her locker.

Her squad watched mutely. Once she set the camera on a shelf and peeled off her jacket to prepare for their drills, noise picked back up. Unfortunately, so did the conversation.

“I just can’t believe the Kessandra is coming here. She’s the best royal.” Garith sounded starstruck. They finally tugged on their trousers, hopping on one foot to pull them over their boots.

Nix watched the debacle out of the corner of her eyes. Could have just taken the boots off first, but whatever.

“That’s because Kessandra is the only royal who’d bother to visit.” Beside Garith, Claire patted deodorant under her arm- pits, her voice heavy with sarcasm. “Everyone else is required to commit their firstborn for the army, but not them. Eighteen subarchs, forty-three tertiarchs, and of course, Our Esteemed Primarch—and she’s the first to join. That automatically makes me like her.” “You’d better watch your tone about the rest,” Leon said, warning in his voice.

Claire clamped her mouth shut, eyes sweeping to Nix.

“He’s right,” Nix said begrudgingly. She was already wearing her uniform, and tossed her sergeant’s jacket into her locker. As always, she tucked her camera behind it—none of these kids would mess with her stuff, but she didn’t want to open the invita- tion. Other squads used these lockers too. “Plus, she only served for three years—she’s been discharged for four. Hardly a glowing career.”

She pushed the words through gritted teeth, but couldn’t help the sarcasm.

“That’s because she moved into PR.” Claire gestured at the sepia-toned photograph mounted near the training room’s entrance. It was Kessandra posing with a serviceman’s pistol, offering an encouraging smile to the camera. Underneath, a placard had been mounted with heavy golden bolts: don’t be afraid to draw blood, soldier!

Nix stared at the poster longer than necessary. Kessandra was undeniably attractive, but unease churned in Nix’s gut. She wanted to be the vindictive, anger-bound person who’d kill Kess, given the chance. She curated fantasies of it: a knife to the throat, maybe. Carving out her fancy ichoron eyeball. Or possibly just shoving her off a spirescraper’s balcony and watching her fall, fall, fall.

But they were just fantasies. In truth, the anguish of Kess’s betrayal hurt more than any blade. And the memories of her touch . . . they kept Nix warm most nights.

Garith glanced her way, oblivious to her thoughts. “Come on, Sergeant. You have to admit even those three years were impressive. Five deployments to the front lines—”

Sure, deployments spent in cushy intelligence meetings while the Triolans massacred my friends, Nix thought darkly.

“—before she requested an assignment to the ichoron mines.

The only voluntary assignment in the army, and she took it willingly!” Garith stole the jar of deodorant from Claire, patting some under their armpits. Claire gasped indignantly, and they flicked some in her face. The white powder did little to hide the freckles on her ivory skin. She spluttered, coughing, and it dissolved into a scuffle.

Deodorant dusted the floor, obscuring marble-like swirls of rose gold that normally gleamed under the locker room’s incandescent light. None of them could afford ichoron accoutrements themselves, but this close to the Grand Palace, the spirescrapers were practically painted in it. The entire building was absurdly ornate: crafted with towering ceilings and sky bridges and rose- gold windows. Frivolous displays of wealth, considering most of the soldiers here were from the lower shortscrapers—the slums. Nix heaved a sigh at the mess. They’d have to clean that up later, but for now, there were more important matters. She clapped her hands to regain attention.

“You know what lurks in the ichoron mines?” she asked. “The Crypt Keeper isn’t real,” Zarl grumbled.

Nix set her jaw. “Why take your chances?”

A few of her squad rolled their eyes—they’d heard that before. Ichoron was the rarest substance in the world: a viscous liquid extracted from tunnels deep below the ocean floor. When properly refined, it enhanced anything it touched. Plated on buildings and ships, ichoron protected from assaults of nature and man. A single drop inside a bottle of wine could get a heavyset man drunk for days—while a bandage soaked in it could heal him after a nasty battle.

Ichoron was the rose-gold prize of their war with the Triolans. It propelled Valkesh’s entire economy, and they paid for it in blood.

Some people understood that better than others.

Beside Nix, Leon slicked his dark hair with some gel, lips pressed into a thin line. 

“Something to say?” Nix demanded.

“I’ve considered that deployment. To the ichoron mines.” He cast a cautious glance her way, anxiously rubbing his arms. His sandy brown skin was marred with scars, same as Nix’s—parting gifts from the Triolans on the front lines.

Nix tensed, slamming her locker shut. It stopped the scuffle between Garith and Claire, earning everyone’s attention.

“What I’m saying isn’t a joke, or some magical haunt to laugh off. Stay away from the mines—all of you.” The words alone summoned more unwanted memories: restrictive dive suits, craggy underwater tunnels, darkness so absolute it felt like a crushing weight. Despite her best efforts, the horrors lingered, a shadow lurking over her shoulder.

Always.

“There are safer ways to find glory, and easier ways to make money. Do you understand?” Nix glared at them each in turn, her squad, her kids, hers to protect. But she hadn’t been able to save Quian. Not from the mines. Not from Kessandra.

It felt like Quian’s ghost lingered in the corner of the locker room. Her memories of him in this space were so vivid: how he used to grunt as he yanked on his boots, how he’d twirl his practice sarrant and accidentally smack people as they dressed. She’d been an ensign too, then.

It felt like so long ago.

Leon frowned. “The mines can’t be that bad. You survived, didn’t you?”

Her squad only knew about her first deployment—the easy one. Not the second, where everything went wrong.

They’d never basked in the grandeur of the Luminosity, the luxurious airtight ship that descended into Valkesh’s unforgiving ocean. They’d never befriended soldiers on the isolated upper decks, spent the three-day journey to Fall forming lifelong bonds. They’d never marched beneath the domed utopian city, where rose-gold ornamentation and rich people gave way to damp, icy tunnels and a military base so far underground they called it “the Crypt.”

They’d never watched those lifelong bonds fall away one by one. Even if they survived in body, only a few survived in spirit.

Her squad couldn’t know. Even Leon, her closest friend, had no idea what the mines were really like.

Nix scowled. “Don’t start waving me around as a reason to get yourself killed. The primarch has to promote that deployment. The call of danger, the patriotism of retrieving ichoron, the payments your family earns afterward—it’s a media campaign, one carefully constructed to entice new recruits.” Her eyes cut to the poster again, to Kessandra’s smiling face. “But there’s a reason no one returns to the mines.”

The words hung between them, lethal as a bullet.

“That’s why Kessandra is a hero,” Garith dared to say. “She saved seventeen soldiers from the mine collapse.”

Nix’s chest was tight again. She wrenched her long hair into a ponytail, tied it off almost aggressively. It was deep brown and wavy, braided to her scalp on the right side. A strange hairstyle for the military, where most preferred to keep their hair short. Less to grab in a fight, after all.

Nix wanted them to grab her hair. Get in close. Meet her blade.

“I heard she pulled soldiers out one by one,” Claire said, dusting the white powder off her shirt. She shot Garith a warning look as they reached for more deodorant.

Zarl, Claire’s sometimes-boyfriend, puffed his chest. “My cousin is stationed in the royal tower. He said the primarch was livid that no one caught the tunnel weakening before the collapse—he ordered it closed immediately.” He cast a glance at Claire, as if that information might impress her.

Nix, meanwhile, barely suppressed a shudder. Rocks shifting, mutely raining around them. Dust blurring the water, limiting already terrible visibility. The shove of a current too powerful to fight. And a dark shape lurking in her periphery, looming over her as she struggled to swim up, get out of the mines—

“Nix?” Leon said quietly.

The conversation had dissolved into chatter about Kessandra, about the mines, and about simpler things like their upcoming leave and what the cafeteria might serve tonight. She hadn’t even noticed them lacing their boots, preparing for drills like normal. They were acting like Kessandra wasn’t lurking on the edges, poisoning everything.

“I’m fine.” But her tone was distant, pained. Leon was taller than her—most people were—and she tilted her head to meet his gaze. Desperation clawed at her soul. “You aren’t really con- sidering the mines, are you?”

He hesitated. “We can talk about it later.” Nix swallowed past the sand in her mouth.

Leon tossed her a small bronze lock. It was a luxury not many bothered to spend money on, but he’d bought one last year and shared whenever she didn’t have time to drop off her camera be- fore drills.

Nix caught the lock, but didn’t meet Leon’s gaze. “Line up. Western mat.”

“But Subarch Kessandra is here.” Garith still couldn’t seem to get over that. “Aren’t we putting on a show for her?”

Nix narrowed her eyes. “We’re training so you survive our next skirmish with the Triolans. Unless you want your corpse pre- served in the ice at Sveltal Point?”

Garith shivered. “No, Sergeant.” “Western mats. Move it.”

They hustled out the door to the adjoining training room. Leon only cast her a careful glance before following, leaving Nix alone in the locker room. Silence lingered in their wake, and she lifted the jacket off her camera, running a finger along its square shape.

It was the exact camera Quian always talked about buying. He used an antique of a thing, back when they’d spent their days in the Marr casten—something four times as big that took pictures half as nice. “It’s an heirloom,” he used to say proudly. “The things this camera has seen, Nix. You couldn’t even believe it. But someday, I’ll get something smaller.”

He died, and Nix bought his fucking camera. And every time she used it, she thought of him. After all, photography was his hobby, not hers. She never really cared to wait for a photo to develop, not before . . .

Well. Before.

Mutely, Nix covered the camera with her jacket again, then clamped the bronze lock over the locker’s door.

Her eyes slid to the poster of their beloved subarch, and a surge of anger swallowed her. Because Kess wasn’t visiting them: the army, some random squad. Subarch Kessandra Marie Vendermere Biltean III wouldn’t waste her precious time watching a group of ensigns spar.

No, Kess was visiting Nix.

She’d sworn to leave Nix alone—and she couldn’t even follow through on that promise, could she?

Well. Nix wasn’t some starry-eyed twenty-one-year-old any-

more, swept up in the glamor of a romance with a royal. What- ever they’d found together on the Luminosity, cultivated in the darkness of the mines—it died down there.

Nix’s breaths were steady now. Cold determination settled over her shoulders.

This time, Kess would be the one to lose.

This Gilded Abyss is due for publication from Tor on 20th November – you can pre-order your copy on Bookshop.org