“Look,” Scar breathes. “It’s happening again… .”
I blink furiously as the pulse runs up the cable toward the station—an arc of dark energy blazing fiercely against the deeper darkness. The crystal in Scarlett’s necklace is burning too, the black light making my eyes ache.
“Why is it doing that?” Nari demands.
“Excellent question,” Zila replies.
Glancing at the flickering overheads, I mutter, almost to myself, “You know, I sure hope the gravitonic shielding in this sector is still intact.”
“Why?” Scar looks up from her glowing cleavage. “What happens if the gravitonic shielding isn’t still intact?”
Then two things happen at once.
First, the quantum pulse reaches the station, arcing over the hull, through the unshielded section we’re standing in, and right through our bodies.
And second, Nari Kim learns that Scar wasn’t kidding when she said dying was painful.
ZAP.
10
TYLER
I’m marching down a corridor bathed in gray light, Saedii’s First Paladin behind me. The engines shifted tone two minutes ago—we’re at full thrust now, on course to rendezvous with the Unbroken armada. Those news feed headlines are flashing through my skull—all those tiny sparks of conflict being stoked into flame by the Ra’haam and its agents. A theater of mass distraction. A veil to hide the threat until it’s too late.
My head aches—I’m still not recovered from almost dying in that escape pod explosion. I’m unsteady on my feet, my fingers are tingling, and whenever I close my eyes, I can still feel that dream in my skull.
That voice, imploring me, over and over.
… you still have a chance of fixing this …
I’m supposed to be good at this. Tactics is my thing. But I’m trapped aboard an enemy vessel with hundreds of Syldrathi fanatics, and every moment I waste here is another moment the Ra’haam gets to gestate beneath the surface of Octavia and its other nursery worlds.
I don’t know where Scarlett is. Auri. Zila. Fin. Kal. I don’t know if they’re alive or dead.
And Maker, this headache …
“Stop.”
Erien speaks behind me, bringing me up short beside a heavy plasteel door. The corridor is lined with them, and glancing around, I’m guessing I’ve been brought to the detention level.
I do as I’m told, turning as Erien presses his palm to the pad beside the door. It cycles open, revealing a dark room, thin cot, bare walls.
“I thought your Templar ordered you to put me in appropriate quarters.”
“These are appropriate quarters. You are a prisoner here, half-breed, not a guest.” He nods into the room. “Move.”
“Listen,” I say, trying to ignore the pounding in my skull. “I know you think we’re on different sides. But I watched you on the Andarael. Saedii respects you, Erien. She listens to you. And I’m guessing a First Paladin of the Unbroken is smart enough to see when he’s being played. Why would the GIA abduct Saedii if not to provoke a war? Why would—”
His raised hand cuts me off. “I am as interested in your conspiracies as I am in your flatteries. Get inside.”
I grit my teeth, temper rising with my desperation. “I need to talk to Saedii again, we have to—”
“Were it up to me, you would already be dead. Despite the clear blind spot she has for you, Saedii is my Templar, and I will obey her command to see you safely situated. But I warn you—do not insult my honor again.”
I blink. “Blind spot?”
His cool eyes flicker to my throat. The bite marks Saedii left there.
“Look, I don’t mean anything to her,” I assure him. “We were in a tight spot together, she was letting off some steam. It’s nothing.”
Erien tilts his head. “Nothing.”
“I’m just a plaything. She practically tore my head off when she kissed me. You’ve got nothing to worry about. I mean … if you’re worried at all. That other Paladin called you be’shmai, so I figured you and he were—”
“You are a fool.” Erien puts one hand on the sleek black grip of the Syldrathi pulse gun at his waist, setting it to hard Stun. “Get in the cell.”
“Great Maker, will you just think for a minute!” I hiss, my headache flaring again. “Earth dodged war with the Unbroken for years! Why would the GIA suddenly attack the Andarael unless—”
Erien grabs my arm, squeezing tight.
And that’s it.
I don’t like to lose control. That’s why I don’t drink, don’t smoke, don’t swear. But the desperation of it, the knowledge we’re all being played, the fear for my squad and my sister, the revelation of the Syldrathi mother I never knew, and this damn headache …
I snap my arm from his grip, hissing, “Don’t touch me, you s—”
Erien moves faster than my eyes can follow. One hand snaps tight around my wrist, the other seizes my throat, and hooking one leg behind mine, he slams me down into the ground, bending over me with his hand still on my throat. Stars burst in my eyes as he leans in with all his weight, choking me.
My kick finds his jaw, snaps his head back on his neck. Erien stumbles, his grip slipping. Lashing out with my other foot, I take his legs out from under him, rolling away and to my feet. He’s back upright in a moment, moving like water, reminding me a little of Kal, just as fast, just as strong.
“Kii’ne dō all’ia—”
He reaches for his pulse gun and I slap it away. He grabs my hand, drags me forward as he raises his knee into my gut, my breath exploding from my now-bleeding lips. Pirouetting, he slams me back into the wall, slaps the comm badge on his chest. “Sēn, vin Erien, sa—”
The heel of my hand meets his nose, and there’s a crunch and squirt of warm purple blood. My pulse is pounding in my temples as I grab a fistful of braids and slam my fist into his face again, spreading his nose all over his cheeks.
He hooks his leg around mine, and we crash to the ground, white light bursting behind my eyes. Scrambling for his fallen pulse gun, I roar as he twists my arm behind my back.
My fingers slither on the weapon’s grip as my shoulder screams, my elbow close to snapping. Erien draws one of the kaat blades on his back with his free hand. But my fingers finally find purchase, and I grab the gun, twisting and unloading into his chest.
The muzzle flashes, the Stun blast lighting up the shocked expression on his face. He tumbles back, a smoking scar scored across the black breastplate of his Paladin’s armor. Wincing, I gasp for breath, still gripping the gun tight as I stagger to my feet and—
The walls around me washed with rainbows.
The ground shaking beneath my feet.
I can hear screaming. The air in the corridor turns the color of dried blood and the blue of midnight, dotted with shining stars.
And then I see it, hanging in the dark in front of me, glittering like fireworks on Foundation Day.
My heart surges at the sight of it—more than my home for the past six years. More than the place I grew up. A symbol of hope, a light in all that darkness, burning bright against the night.
“Aurora Academy … ,” I whisper.