Catalyst Moon: Breach (Catalyst Moon Saga Book 2)

by Lauren L. Garcia

  “Gid will help,” Eris said firmly.

  Kali managed a smile at her friend. “What did he mean when he said you haven't talked to her? And what was that about the sol–”

  Eris silenced her with a stern look and a jerk of her chin toward a pair of mages walking toward the main building; Kali recognized the First Mage and an older woman named Wylie. Another question rose on her lips, but she held her tongue.

  They continued along, more slowly than before, for Eris moderated her stride so Kali could keep up. The necessity of such a thing was frustrating, but Kali had long since grown used to it, and tried to ignore the pain and embarrassment as best she could. Instead, she savored the cool air and the scent of autumn, and the fading rays of sunlight that crept along the bastion walls.

  When they reached the chicken coop, Eris cast a careful glance around, eyes narrowed, then ushered Kali inside the gate surrounding the coop. A cluster of rust-colored and white speckled hens picked their way through the grass. When they caught sight of the black-haired mage, they trotted toward her, eyeing her empty hands first with hope, then resignation. Smiling, Eris knelt among them, stroking the nearest hen, which had more white speckles than red. As she did, she cast another look around.

  Kali looked as well. “There's no one else,” she said softly. “Eris, what in the void is going on?”

  Eris rose slowly and stood close to Kali, keeping her words quiet. “We're leaving this place.”

  “What do you–”

  “There's a huge festival during the solstice,” Eris went on. “Nothing like at Starwatch. Here in Whitewater, thousands of people come to the city for a week or so, and celebrations on the night of Heartfire last well into the morning. The wine flows freely. People get rambunctious.” Her eyes gleamed. “The city guards have their hands full...and call upon the sentinels to supplement their numbers.”

  Something hard and cold formed in Kali's gut. “You want to escape during all of that.”

  Eris nodded, then, as if on a whim, took Kali's hands and met her eyes. “Aye. And I want you to come with us.”

  Kali stared at her friend without quite seeing her. Memories played in her mind: strong arms, holding her close; a solid chest, where a steady, stalwart heart beat in perfect time with her own; the warm kiss of his breath against her ear as he murmured her name; a rare smile, coaxed like a seedling from cold earth.

  Stonewall.

  “We shouldn't be held prisoner because of abilities we were born with,” Eris was saying. “Especially if those abilities could help your fellow mages.”

  Kali grimaced. “As I said, I don’t know if I could do any more than,” she glanced at Eris’ collar, “what I did the other night.”

  “Anything is better than nothing.” Eris squeezed Kali’s hands. “You’re wasted here. You know that.”

  The right words were impossible to come by when his name echoed throughout Kali’s entire being. After a moment, she managed to put her thoughts in some sort of order. “How will you leave? How can you?”

  Eris shot another glance around, and then urged Kali around the chicken coop, ostensibly showing her the hens. “Gid's friend has made arrangements to help us leave the city,” she whispered. “He's the reason we snuck out before – though we got caught.” Her voice hardened. “It won't happen again. Provisions have been made. The hemies won’t be as much trouble this time.”

  “But what about…?” Kali swept her hands out, indicating the surrounding wall. Even from here, she could see the skeletons of the vines she'd experimented upon.

  “We have a way around the wall. Rather,” a thin, dangerous smile curved Eris' mouth, “through it.”

  “Through it? How…?” Suddenly it was difficult to breathe, so Kali turned away from her friend in an effort to collect her thoughts – and her composure. Leave the bastion? Was it truly possible? She could hardly imagine such a life, but could not deny the allure. She had known freedom, of a sort, for a few days not so long ago. How would it be to wake up every morning knowing she could go wherever she wanted, whenever she wanted? She could travel to the great archives in Lasath, read every book and scroll ever written. She could follow the thread of her magical inquiries wherever they would lead; she could learn everything about the thralls, including a way to stop them.

  But those were dreams. Reality, as Kali had seen on her journey to Whitewater City, was messy and complicated, and many people did not like mages. Even if Eris and her friends managed to escape, what sort of life would they have outside the bastion? No doubt they would be hunted every day, every hour, every second, until the sentinels found them again.

  Yes, freedom was a dream, but it lingered. Kali’s words to Stonewall, spoken in jest on their journey here, rang in her ear. “I suppose we'll be renegades another time.”

  Would he come with her, if she asked? Could she ask him such a thing?

  A sharp pain in her left knee pulled her from her thoughts, and she glared at the stone she'd stumbled over. Eris was at her side again, poised to help her if she fell, though thankfully Kali kept her footing. Their eyes met and Kali was startled at the confusion in Eris' normally self-assured gaze.

  As if sensing this, Eris' face smoothed and she took Kali's hands again, squeezing once. “What do you say?”

  Kali managed a weak laugh. “I only just got here. It seems rude to leave so soon.”

  Her friend did not smile at the joke, but then, it was a poor one. Instead, Eris studied her a moment more before releasing her hands. “Think about it.”

  A chilly wind blew, tugging strands of Kali's dark hair loose from its braid. “I will.”

  Thirteen

  It was full dark by the time Stonewall pulled the carriage horses to a halt in the garrison courtyard. Cobalt's squad moved toward the carriage to extract the prisoner, but Stonewall ignored them as he went to Flint’s horse.

  “How is she?” he asked Milo, who sat behind his sister on the shared mount. Stonewall’s mount, Frost, was tethered behind the carriage while he drove.

  “Fine,” Flint replied sharply. “Well enough to not have to be slung about like a sack of potatoes.”

  Beacon had dismounted as well and hurried over. “You were very nearly a human pincushion. Thank the One for hematite, otherwise we'd be building your pyre.”

  “It wasn’t that bad,” Flint said.

  The mender continued as if she'd not spoken. “Ea knows what you jolted loose on horseback. I should have insisted you ride in the carriage. That arrow missed an artery—thank Mara—but a wound that deep can cause a lot of grief. The tip could have been poisoned as well.”

  Milo paled at this, but recovered quickly and handed his reins to Beacon so he could dismount and help his sister down. “Ferret's got a smooth gait. And we took it really easy.”

  “Aye, I thought we'd never make it here,” Flint groused. “Walking the entire way from Oreion… fuck me sideways.”

  “Charming, as ever,” Beacon replied, adding something about “burnies” and “invincible” under his breath.

  “Sergeant.” It was Cobalt, standing beside the carriage.

  “One moment, ser,” Stonewall called back. In the flickering torchlight of the yard, he watched Flint's unsteady dismount. Beacon had removed the armor on her left leg and spots of blood wept through the linen bandage around her thigh. When her boots touched the ground, her face went white and she swore beneath her breath as she leaned her weight on Milo.

  After passing all the reins to Rook, who'd agreed to bring the horses to the stables, Beacon glanced at Stonewall. “We'll get her to the infirmary, ser. I'll have her stitched up in no time.” He paused, then dropped his voice to a near-whisper. “Good luck.”

  The mender's calm tone made some of the tightness ease from Stonewall's guts. He nodded. “Thanks. I'll come see her as soon as I can.”

  “I'm right here,” Flint muttered. “I can sodding hear you!”

  “I know it hurts
, relah,” Milo said gently as they helped her to the garrison. “But you don't have to make the rest of us suffer, too.”

  Flint gave a weak laugh. “Aye, but yelling at you lot makes me feel better.”

  “Sergeant.”

  Stonewall ground his teeth at the edge in the captain's voice, braced himself, and strode to the other officer. Cobalt stood before the closed carriage door, hands resting on his daggers. At Stonewall's approach, he removed his helmet, frowned at Stonewall, and then jerked his chin at the carriage. “What did you find?”

  Stonewall unlocked the carriage door, allowing it to swing open.

  “Where's the prisoner?” Cobalt said.

  Stonewall straightened and met the captain's eyes. “We found a group of civilians in deep discussion with some Sufani, and managed to,” his jaw clenched, “collect one of them. Flint was injured during the skirmish, so I sent her off with Beacon and Milo, while I had Rook scout the way ahead, to ensure they would not run into trouble.”

  “Fine,” Cobalt replied, frowning. “But you didn’t answer my question.”

  Here goes nothing. Stonewall took a deep breath. “The prisoner escaped, ser.”

  Cobalt stared at him. “Escaped?”

  “Yes, ser.” During the journey back, he had considered this part of the story, but had been unable to come up with a more suitable excuse. Short and simple would have to do.

  When Stonewall did not offer further explanation, the captain’s frown deepened. “You’re going to have to do better than that, Sergeant.”

  “I sent the others off to get a head start back, while I secured the prisoner,” Stonewall said. “I searched her, but neglected to find one of her daggers. The next thing I knew, she had a blade to my throat and a handful of cloud dust in my eyes.” This, at least, should be obvious, given that he was still covered in the wretched stuff.

  The captain opened his mouth to speak again, but Stonewall cut him off, trembling with the effort of keeping his voice calm. “If you'll excuse me, ser, I must join my squad in the infirmary.”

  “Sergeant, you are to report to Commander Talon–”

  “I will, ser,” Stonewall broke in. “As soon as I see to my squad.” Without waiting for Cobalt's reply—or dismissal—he hurried in the direction the others had gone.

  ***

  Before Stonewall stepped into the infirmary, he took a few deep breaths, as much to calm his racing heart as to collect his wits. No doubt his hasty, less-than-protocol exit would stir the captain's ire, but what was done, was done. His squad was the priority now.

  The infirmary was laid out much like the barracks, though canvas partitions were erected around several of the beds to grant privacy when needed. Lamps flickered across the room, candles surrounded by mage-made glass, and the air smelled of sweet thalo and the bitter, astringent herbs used to clean wounds.

  Flint, now divested of all but her tunic and breeches, sat up in one of the beds, gritting her teeth as Beacon examined her leg. Milo sat at her right side, face tight with worry despite how he chattered to his sister. Another sentinel, a mender named Mica, stood beside Beacon, prepping an assortment of medical tools.

  At his approach, Milo looked up. “It looks bad, ser, but Beacon and Mica say she's going to be fine.”

  The lad wasn't kidding. The attack had been chaotic, so by the time Stonewall had dealt with their—the word made bile rise in his throat—prisoner, he hadn't seen the extent of the damage. Nor had he examined Flint’s wound too closely when they'd stopped in Oreion, as he’d wanted Beacon to bandage the young woman. Now, though, Stonewall had to fight back another flare of anger at the deep gash on Flint's pale skin.

  This should not have happened.

  Beacon was wholly focused on his work. As he threaded a needle, his words were soft. “We're lucky the arrowhead came out so easily.”

  “Aye, and she'll have a shiny new scar to intimidate people with,” the other mender, Mica, said with a chuckle. He was slender, with dark skin and eyes, and his voice was gentle, in the way of most menders that Stonewall had met.

  Flint glared at them both, then flinched as Beacon leaned over her wound. “Easy,” Beacon murmured, needle poised. “Just hold still.”

  “It'll be over soon, relah,” Milo added, though he looked away as Beacon began his work.

  “It's not that bad,” Flint said through gritted teeth. “Just like I said.”

  The copper-haired mender's voice was still very calm. “Be grateful you're still a burnie, Flint. You might not have come through this so well, otherwise.”

  “I'm not a burnie.”

  Mica's dark eyes flashed with good humor. “Maybe in your mind, girl, but your body seems to think otherwise. I'd take Beak's advice and thank the gods for hematite.”

  “Speaking of which… where's my dose? I'm about to crawl out of my fucking skin.” An older female sentinel Stonewall did not recognize called out from a few beds off.

  “We've an emergency, so you'll have to wait a moment, Red,” Mica called back. “And mind your own business.”

  “But–”

  “He said 'shut up,'” Flint snarled.

  A soft touch at Stonewall's shoulder made him turn to see Rook, her freckled face covered with dirt and grime. Well, she was not alone in that, though he was the only one who'd been pelted with the sodding purple cloud dust that he'd probably be scrubbing from every nook and cranny in the days to come.

  “The horses are in the stables, ser,” she said by way of a greeting. “Ferro will look after them and their tack; I wanted to get back here.”

  “Good. Thanks.” Stonewall nodded to Flint, whose face had gone white as she gripped Milo's hand. She was breathing deeply, steady and slow, and Milo was chattering away. “Beacon says she'll be fine,” Stonewall added.

  “Thank Mara.” Relief colored Rook's voice, but she still looked apprehensive.

  “What is it?”

  “Talon's coming. I saw her and Cobalt heading here on my way over.” Rook hesitated, then met his eyes. “Neither of them looked pleased.”

  Anger tightened around Stonewall's heart. So, Talon wasn't pleased? She was not the only one. The entire mission had gone sideways, starting with the commander's none-too-veiled threat to his squad and ending in the sodding infirmary, with Flint getting stitched up like a rag doll.

  As for the mission itself…

  Heat swept through his veins as if he'd just taken a dose of hematite. Wrong. It had been wrong to ask this of his squad, and suddenly he welcomed the prospect of getting to share this sentiment with Talon and her scowling, scarred captain.

  “Thank you,” he told Rook again. “I think I'll spare them the trouble of tracking me down.”

  But he'd lingered too long.

  “Sergeant Stonewall.” Talon's voice fell flat against the infirmary walls. She strode toward him, brown eyes dark with anger. Cobalt trailed in her wake, clearly pleased with something. Stonewall fought the urge to roll his eyes and met the officers several paces away from Flint's bed.

  “Ser?” he asked, standing at attention.

  Talon did not spare anyone else in the room a look, only narrowed her eyes at him. “I don't take insubordination lightly, Sergeant.”

  “Of course, ser.” Stonewall motioned to the door. “May we please step outside? I don't want to disturb the menders.”

  But the commander held her ground. “Since you were so keen to come here, here we shall stay.” She glanced at the only other sentinels in the room aside from Stonewall’s squad and the menders; the pair of cinders watched the unfolding drama with unconcealed interest. “Redfox, Slate: are either of you unfit for duty?”

  The two older sentinels tensed, then shook their heads, though Redfox shot a hopeful look at Cobalt, whose squad she was a part of.

  But the captain gave her a warning look. “Find someplace else to be,” he said. “Mica, that goes for you, too. Beacon can handle an arrow wound on his own.�
��

  Once the mender and two cinders had left the infirmary, Talon looked back at Stonewall. “Were there any mages?”

  “No, ser.” Stonewall took a deep breath to shore up his resolve, firmly placing himself in the moment. He gave Talon his mission report: thorough but concise. Just as she liked it. He left out knowing the Jessamin's innkeeper, as well as the hallucination of his dead brother’s ghost. Kali and Drake; both were matters of his heart, and no sodding concern of Talon’s.

  At the mention of the cloud dust, Talon swept her eyes over him, noting the purple powder that still covered his jaw, neck and most of his upper body. “Again?” she muttered, interrupting him.

  “Ser?” Stonewall asked.

  She shook her head. “Continue.”

  “As I said, ser, the Sufani fled the area before we arrived, but we managed to… apprehend a civilian woman who was at the scene.”

  Talon frowned again, but the expression held more consideration than annoyance. “Was she with the Assembly?”

  “I don't know, ser. She appeared to be in collusion with the Sufani, whom you said were working with the Assembly. Furthermore,” he jerked his thumb in Flint's direction, “she may have been the one to injure one of my team.”

  “There's risk involved in every mission,” Cobalt said. “Even your burnie knows that.”

  Stonewall ignored him and kept his gaze on the commander. “Since there were no mages, our orders were to detain a Sufani in hopes of learning about the Assembly. The woman we captured was with the Sufani, but as I told the captain, she escaped when I neglected to properly check her for weapons.”

  Though he did not drop his gaze from Talon’s, he felt his squad's stares as surely as the beads of sweat trickling down his back. Don't speak, he silently urged them. Stay out of this, and gods willing, she'll leave you alone.

  Sure enough, Talon seemed to have eyes only for him as she said, carefully, “Sergeant, are you telling me that your target escaped because you didn't search her well enough?”

  “Yes, Commander,” Stonewall said. “But aside from my negligence, my squad followed your orders to the letter.” Someone behind him sucked in a breath, but before Talon could glance over, Stonewall cleared his throat. “Ser, I must formally register my objections to aspects of this mission.”