by Anna Bowman
Alarm bells sounded as the enemy airships continued to bombard the city. Dazed, Sol kept moving.
They can’t all be dead, they can’t be!
“Sol!” Ivan’s voice rose over the harrowing noise of the Pandora.
“Ivan!”
Solomand waded his way through the rubble, tripping and stumbling until he found his way to the voice. He grabbed ahold of the Slav’s arms, dragging him close enough to see through the smoke. “Are you hurt?” He searched him for signs of bleeding.
Ivan pulled away, eyes frantic with a horror that made Sol’s stomach turn. The Ice Wolf was never shaken.
“Tristan is hit!”
The words nearly made Sol’s heart stop.
Not Tristan!
The highborn son of a surgeon was different. Tristan gave up everything to follow his conscience, they had nothing to lose. He didn’t belong here like they did. He was unthinkingly loyal to them all, and if anything happened to him, Sol would blame himself forever.
“Where is he?” Gripping Ivan’s collar, he shook him and repeated the question when he didn’t immediately answer. “Ivan! Where is he?”
“By downed ship.” Ivan pointed to the shadow form of a smoking airship in the distance.
“Shit.”
Solomand gritted his teeth and ran, ignoring the occasional bullet whizzing past. The fog lifted enough that he could duck beneath it and make out which of the limp forms sprawled beneath the scraps of a gunship was Tristan. He went numb and didn’t feel the bullet that tore through his shoulder, or the shards of glass embedded in his knees as he crashed to the ground at Tristan’s side.
Hands shaking, he threw the metal aside revealing the damage. There were nasty gashes all over Tristan’s chest, glass and smaller shards of metal still sticking out.
Ivan reached them but quickly turned away on sight of Tristan, swearing repeatedly.
“Ivan—I need your help!” Sol practically screamed, digging through the rubble for a med-kit. He finally found one and tore open the contents looking for anything useful. “Ivan!” His heart raced as he clumsily tried to repair his friend, oblivious to the blood gushing from his own wound. Ivan did not come. But Will did.
“There’s an airship evacuating the wounded to Cierne,” he said, scooping Tristan in his arms. “If we hurry, we might make it.”
Sol nodded and started to run after him.
Ivan.
He whirled around and dragged the burly Slav from the ground.
“Move!” he barked, pulling him along as he sprinted after Will.
They clambered up the deck just as the airship was taking off with the wounded who were lucky.
Ivan stared with a glazed expression as the only surgeon did his best to work on Sol, but he was not known for success. He sank to the floor and began to mutter in Slav. Sol could only understand a few words of what he was saying.
“He is dead.” He was talking about Tristan.
Something inside of Solomand snapped, and he spun around, jerking Ivan to his feet.
“Ivan!” he bellowed. “Don’t say that—ever!”
He reared back and punched his friend in the face. His hand instinctively flexed recalling how much it hurt.
Ivan fell back, holding his nose and fixing a stunned expression on Sol. Solomand knew he had injured more than his nose, but at that moment in time, he didn’t care. He gave Ivan an icy glare and turned and collapsed on the airship floor.
The medics had managed to save his life, and Tristan’s as well, but Ivan never forgave him. They made it to Cierne, and he only ever called Solomand ‘Captain Black,’ reminding him with no minced words what happened was his fault. Sol had puzzled over his reaction at times—not understanding how someone like Ivan could hold a grudge for so long over the cheap shot he’d taken. If he could have swallowed his pride sooner, he would have asked. But he waited too long. Ivan left. Then he got hooked on Furi. One more thing Sol held himself responsible for.
A hawk crying in the forest brought Sol back to the present moment, the damage of the memory already done. He leaned forward, sweat trickling down his neck as his lungs constricted.
“I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” He pulled at his collar, fighting to hide the fact he felt suffocated. “I’m not asking you to forgive me.” Sol’s voice cracked. “I just want you to know, you were right. And, I’d take it back if I could.”
There.
He’d said it. The Slav could do what the hell he wanted now.
Ivan’s glare intensified. He flicked the remains of his cigarette over the railing.
A gust of wind tore at the trees. Cicadas buzzed loudly in the bushes. Solomand thought it might make him feel better, getting at least one thing off his chest, but the gnawing sense of loss remained. It felt like a knife was thrust into his ribs. Dragging a hand through his hair, he left Ivan, struggling back up the hill, the remains of the cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. He didn’t see the white of the Slav’s knuckles as he gripped the rail or the mist accumulating in his gray eyes.
Chapter 43
Rayn
A bonfire burned in the circle of tents, flames flicking and weaving in the warm air. Logs popped and crackled. Drums and chanting swelled over the buzz of crickets as the Kree danced around the rising flames. Beaded bracelets on their ankles clanked together. Rayn sat at the fire, sipping dark tea from a wooden mug. Will and Ivan carried crates of tobacco and dried meat back to the castle, while Zee ran through the fields, chasing fireflies.
Rayn breathed in the oaky scent of smoke that burned around her. She could see why the Kree liked the old ways. They were more straightforward, less cluttered. Time seemed to stand still. It was easy to imagine being content here. She watched Sol from the corner of her eye. His restless gaze looked past the flames and the dancers to Zee, and he breathed on his cigarette like it was air.
What’s wrong?
She wanted to ask him. Instead, she nudged him with her elbow. “Zee seems to like it here.”
Looking jarred from a dream, his gaze met hers.
“She does,” he murmured.
Flames danced in his eyes. His hair, sticking up from the bandage on his head, looked smokier in the fire light. The strange feeling in the pit of her stomach returned. She squirmed, wanting to look away but unable to.
An old woman with long, gray braids stood up and began speaking the old language, her face shadowed by the flames. All the children fell silent, sitting wide-eyed to listen to the voice that was clear and smooth.
Rayn leaned over to Sol.
“What’s she saying?” she whispered.
Solomand tensed.
“It’s an old story.” His eyes closed and he began to translate for her. “A Falcon, a Crow, and a Bear set sail for Tir Eadon. The Crow could not find his way, so the Falcon gave him a drop of her blood. The Bear could not fly, so the Crow carried him. When they found the place, it was guarded by a great black panther. The Bear killed her so all three could pass through the dawn…” His voice trailed off and Rayn saw that the old woman’s eyes were fixed on him even as she spoke to the others.
“What is Tir Eadon?” Rayn asked.
“Tir Eadon. Legend says that the Kree were explorers and when they first found this planet—it is the island they landed on.” Solomand scoffed and glanced around as he flicked the remains of his cigarette into the fire. “It’s just a stupid story.”
He motioned for her to follow him, brushing close enough she could smell the smoke from the fire on his shirt. She set the mug down on the dirt and followed him away from the crowd of people.
Zee laughed, running up to a Kree girl her own age, holding her hands out to triumphantly show her a firefly. Then, the two darted off again, chasing another swarm of blinking lights. It caught Rayn off guard when Solomand started to talk again.
“When I found her…” His voice was unsteady. “She was alone. I don’t think I saved her so much as she saved me. God knows what I woul
d have become back then without her.”
She saw his dark expression in the silvery light of the half moon. Solomand was telling the truth now. He didn’t have the guarded look he usually did. The same had been true last night. Grishtanburg and S. L. seemed like a distant memory which was no longer important.
“Your uncle wants you to stay,” she said.
“He does.” Sol sighed, his eyes closing. He looked tired. He dragged a hand over his face.
“Why don’t you? Is revenge so important?”
His eyes shot open then, and the storm had returned. His hands clenched at his side, but he avoided looking directly at her. “Staying with the Crow Clan would only bring danger to them. LeFrost will catch up eventually. He always does.” He looked tired. He cleared his throat. “Besides, what I told you is only part of it.” His face darkened, and his hand trembled as he clenched it. “Nothing would give me more pleasure than tearing that man’s head off with my bare hands!” The fury softened when he added, “But revenge is not our priority. It’s not even really on the list, to be honest.”
Rayn tilted her head back to gaze at the stars. “What is on the list, then?”
Solomand’s unbuttoned his collar and tugged on the chain around his neck.
“There is an airburst minefield covering the southern border. To get away from LeFrost for good, we have to make it through that field. LeFrost has a map code which will get us through.”
“How do you know?”
His face clouded. “Let’s just say I have a friend with connections.”
“Is that why you needed that map thing from Blackpool?”
He nodded. “Yeah. We’re going to steal the code from him, along with whatever amount of money we can get out.”
Was he really just running away?
Rayn wasn’t sure she believed him.
“Where will that leave me, then?”
“Stuck with us forever.” He grinned, the roguish glint in his eye for a second, but she imagined what he was thinking.
I tried to help you, Rayn. I tried to send you where you wanted to go.
He hesitated before putting his hand on her shoulder.
“Unless…you could still go with the Kree. Iminho would see that you’re kept safe.”
Safe. Port Ashbury was safe, too. Rayn shoved his hand from her shoulder.
“No.”
The hopeful light in his eyes went out. “Well, it was worth a shot anyway.”
“Mm-hmm.” She punched his left arm playfully. “Besides, you’re not going to renege on your promise. You still owe me a rifle. Almost got out of it once, not letting you do it again.”
Sol laughed then, shaking his head at her.
“I guess we’re stuck with each other for a while then.”
“Yeah, Jank said something like that.”
Sol rolled his eyes.
“He would.” They started back toward the bonfire. “Well, there’s always the chance you’ll find the answers you’re looking for in Corcyra instead of Grishtanburg.”
The grass crunched beneath her boots, and she shoved her hands in her pockets, thinking about S. L. and wondering, if she didn’t remember him, did it really matter? After all, whoever he was, he hadn’t come looking for her.
Chapter 44
Solomand
Give your words to the wind, your tears to the earth. May stars see you home.
Iminho’s farewell lingered on Solomand’s mind as he stared at the crisp lines of gold and pink streaked across the dawn sky. By the time they returned, if they managed to not get killed, the Kree would be gone and would not return to the valley. There were no goodbyes for his people, for they were under the same sky, always. Sol liked the thought, even if he thought it was a childish concept. Death had a way of turning goodbye into something very final. It was best not to dwell long on such thoughts, especially where they were headed.
“That’s everything.”
The airskiff was staged and ready to go. Not meant for long distance flights, it looked like a watercraft might—with two masts and sails on a small, open deck. The firebolt engine compartment was below deck and difficult to get to. Tattered sails were attached to the mast and stretched over wing-like airfoils meant for steering. There was no hiding in this craft. If they were hit, they would go down without much of a fight.
Jank climbed on board the skiff, his sketchbook tucked under his arm, a torn satchel on his shoulder. Ivan leaned against a wooden crate secured by ratchet straps. He wore a waist-length coat of a blackish-green color. Stitches in the shapes of circles were on either sleeve where patches had been ripped off. He seemed lost in sharpening his menacing looking dagger Sol had returned to him.
“Sharp enough yet?” Sol tiptoed around the point of the knife.
Ivan bit off his thumbnail and spit it aside, continuing to run the stone along the glistening blade.
“Not possible.”
“Here, Sol.” Jank tossed him a bundle of thick, navy-blue material that resembled his overcoat. Sol unfurled it, his eyes lighting up.
“My coat!”
Cross-stitching with leather cord bound the two halves of the overcoat together tightly where it was severed. Sol shook it out with his hand, scowling for a moment at his inability to move his right arm.
“Nice work, Jank.” He slung it over his uninjured shoulder. “Looks better than before Ivan mutilated it.”
Ivan stuck his chin up.
“Next time I leave your coat intact, uh?” He slid his knife back in the sheath before tucking it in his boot.
“Thanks. I’d appreciate it.” Sol pretended not to catch the threat. He awkwardly managed to slip his good arm into a sleeve and hang it the rest of the way over his shoulder, leaving it unbuttoned.
“I guess that’s it.”
He leaned against the pilot’s seat and passed out cigarettes to Jank and Ivan. Before Jank lit his, he carefully tucked his sketchbook and satchel in the compartment. Sol sniffed, hoping the metallic smell was nothing to worry about.
“How’s the engine?” he asked casually.
“It’s good to go.” Jank yawned, massaging his left ear. “Provided we don’t have any run-ins with the 201st. Their cannons will tear us apart, you know.”
Cannons.
“Speaking of which…” Sol glanced around the skiff, searching for the anti-aircraft gun.
“It’s below deck,” Jank said. “With any luck, we won’t need the damn thing, though.”
“Yeah, well, we all know how that goes.” Sol rummaged in his pockets. “Is it fixed?”
“It was repaired ages ago.”
He looked up as Rayn answered his question. She climbed onto the skiff, wearing her tan overcoat. Her deep-red hair was tied back in a haphazard braid underneath her hat. “All that was wrong with it is someone never cleaned it. Ever,” she retorted.
Her head tilted slightly to one side as she pulled her gloves on and slipped into her overcoat.
Solomand’s throat tightened. He found himself grinning at her snappiness.
“Haven’t changed your mind, have you?”
“What?” She held a hand to her ear, feigning confusion. “Sorry. I can’t hear you.”
Sol forgot himself for a moment, drowning in the sea-green of her eyes. Of course, she would never change her mind.
“Oh.” He remembered himself and reached behind the ammo boxes. “I have something for you.”
He held up a sleek lever-action rifle in his hand and waited for the stunned look on her face before holding it out to her.
Her eyes raised, Rayn hesitated before taking it from him. Her hands ran along the deep-red stock, tracing the plated blue steel of the receiver.
“Like it?” He already knew the answer.
“An original Drakon, chambered in 7.62 by 54 with a Slavik optic.”
Rayn ran her hands along the barrel, opening the lever action and inspecting the chamber. Pushing her broad-rimmed leather hat back, she closed one eye and shou
ldering it to look through the scope. She brought it down and glanced at Ivan.
“The best rifles come from the Northland.” Her eyes shone.
Solomand noticed the corner of Ivan’s mouth turned up in a grin. He cleared his throat, gesturing to the Drakon.
“I figured you have to be good with a rifle if you have one such as the Medved. It might come in handy.”
Rayn’s eyes narrowed, and she brought the Drakon down to her side.
“Just so we’re clear, this doesn’t replace the Medved.”
Solomand laughed. She really did love that damned black rifle, even though it was nearly as tall as she was. “A promise is a promise. I’ll replace it.”
Rayn’s expression returned to one of delight, and her hands tightened around the Drakon. “I’ll take it then.”
A tingling sensation ran up Solomand’s spine when Rayn smiled at him. He would have stolen a thousand Medveds if it would make her smile like that just once more.
“Tristan!” Jank hissed a warning, stomping out his cigarette. Sol joined Ivan in flicking the remainder of his over the side of the skiff as Will helped Tristan up the ladder.
He gave Sol a sour look.
“Did it ever occur to you, I actually can smell the tantalizing scent of Kree tobacco, even though you have cleverly distinguished its source?”
Ivan stooped over and helped him the rest of the way on board. His heavy grey coat looked too big, but his color was better—less pallid. His piercing eyes fixed on them all with a hint of grudging.
“A gentleman would share with their friend.”
“Sorry Tristan,” Solomand patted him on the shoulder. “You ought to know by now, the only gentleman here is you.” He put on a mock look of bravery. “But we shall suffer with you.”
“Comforting.” Tristan sat in one of the four seats, looking strained. Sol pretended not to notice.
Hang in there, Tristan. Just a little longer.
Will pulled Zee on board. The girl was wearing shoes for once but still looked small in her baggy clothes.
Solomand dragged a crate over next to Tristan and produced a browned paper from his pocket. He unfolded it, smoothing it out over the rough wood. The others crowded around. He pointed to an X marked next to an inky ribbon marked ‘Red River.’
