The Diatous Wars 1: Rebel Wing (13 page)

Pyralis didn’t realize
he was drumming his fingers on his knee until Bett reached for his hand.

“Nearly there, Ward,” Kellan said from the front seat.

The driver guided the long, silver terran up the winding, steep street on the outskirts of Panthea’s mountainside. Pyralis’s thoughts were just as twisty.
Josef, dead.
How long was it after Josef stormed into his office that he had died? A few days? A week? Galena’s husband had been overwrought, wound so tightly with desperation that heart failure wasn’t a difficult truth to accept.

But
was
it the truth?

Pyralis stared blindly at the vid embedded in the terran’s glass partition. The daily war update played, showing footage of burned wingjets and flattened dwellings. Every day a new village was evacuated, more soldiers killed. He had his war strategies, his secret military maneuverings. And still Safara pushed farther into Atalanta, leaving destruction behind.

Meanwhile, rumors swirled. A Ward in quarantine, her husband dead. Conspiracies . . . conjecture. . . .

What if Josef was right? What if someone had tried to hurt Galena?

The terran glided to a stop outside the back entrance to the small, private clinic. A black-robed man stood guard at the door. Ward Vadim’s quarantine was scheduled to be lifted tomorrow. But Pyralis had waited long enough.

“Meet us out front, Kellan, if you would,” he said as he emerged from the terran. He didn’t wait for his assistant to open the door. “I’ll give a statement to the reporters as we leave.”

Kellan nodded. He reached in to help Bett; she teetered on her high red heels as her matching fingernails dug into his hand. Taking her other arm, Pyralis steadied her. Today she’d highlighted her Tech brand with swirling gold make-up to match her shimmering dress. Every time she moved, the multicolored bangles piled to her elbows jangled.

“Thank you, Kellan,” Pyralis said, as he walked Bett to the entrance of the clinic. The guard bowed and stepped aside as they approached. With a hiss, the frosted glass door slid open.

“This way, Ward.” A tall man in mender’s white led them down a long, empty corridor. “This wing has been closed since they brought Ward Vadim here. She’s had her privacy.”

“Has anyone been given access to her, beyond her menders? Anyone tried to speak with her?” He couldn’t keep the edge from his voice.

The mender lifted his chin. “Absolutely not. The quarantine would not allow it, even if she had been strong enough for visitors.”

“And how is she now?” He glanced along the blank hall, silent except for the click-clack of Bett’s heels and the thud of his boots. The mender’s shoes shushed against the floor with a whisper.

“The Ward is still quite weak, often drifts off when you’re talking. Her memories are a little hazy.” The mender paused by a closed door at the end of the hall. “Don’t be alarmed. It’s quite natural for someone with her condition.”

“I’ve been told she’ll be moved to Ruslana by the end of the week?”

“That’s correct, Ward Nekos. She would like to return home as soon as possible.”

“Thank you,” he said, and the man stepped away, to stand a respectful distance down the corridor. Close enough to be within earshot if he was needed but not so close that he could appear to be listening to their conversation.

Bett reached out to open the door.

“Stay here, love,” Pyralis said, catching her arm. The movement set her bracelets jingling. “I need to speak to the Ward alone.”

Bett turned, eyes wide. “But I thought—”

“Dominion business. It’ll just be a moment. Then you can wish her a speedy recovery, if you wish.” He was sure she’d come for appearances, not from any real concern. He had the impression Bett and Galena disliked one another, though that assumption could have arisen from his own awkwardness at Galena’s reappearance in his life.

Bett stepped out of his way, tossing her black curls over her shoulder. She was excessively proud of her hair and the fact that it didn’t yet show any hint of gray. He looked old beside her now, though they were born only a few years apart. Watching her slink to one of the chairs that lined the hallway, he felt stooped, creaking, ancient. She raised her brows, her eyes asking why he was still standing there. And why was he?

He took a deep breath as he moved into the room and tapped the panel to close the door.

“Ward Nekos.” Galena’s voice sounded just the same, high, with that girlish whisper that had once driven him mad with wanting. Now, it filled him with relief.

He studied her. She looked almost the same as he remembered. She’d been ill for a long time, and it showed in the lavender shadows beneath her eyes, the paleness of her lips. Her face was thinner, her body more angular. But she was Galena, the Galena who still, even now, haunted him.

As much as he wanted to run to her side, he held himself rigidly by the closed door, hands clasped behind his back so they could not betray him. “Ward Vadim. I am happy to see you are recovering.”

Galena smiled pleasantly. “I am grateful for the superb care your dominion has provided.”

Pyralis dared to take a step closer. “And you’ll be returning to Ruslana soon?”

She inclined her head. “That’s what I’ve been told. I am eager to be home again. It has been a long time.”

“I’m sorry about Josef.” Moving closer, he let the tips of his fingers drift along the very edge of the bed.

She dropped her gaze to her hands, which were clasped demurely in her lap. “Such a tragedy. I can’t help thinking if I hadn’t fallen ill, he might still be here.”

“You mustn’t think that.”

A tear made its slow passage along the curve of Galena’s cheek. Instinctively, he reached for her hand. As their fingers touched, she glanced up, her shock apparent. He paused, but he took her lead, backing away before making his official speech. “Ward Vadim, I know you are still very tired. On behalf of Atalanta, I am overjoyed at your return to health and am grateful, as always, for your support. May Atalanta and Ruslana ever be allies.”

Galena nodded gracefully. “I thank you, Ward Nekos, for your hospitality in my time of need. May our dominions ever prosper.”

The words were appropriate, everything as it should be, except for that blank politeness in her eyes. No anger, no chill, no warmth. Just . . . nothing.

With a slight bow, Pyralis left her, eager now to get away.

“How is she?” Bett asked anxiously, when he emerged from the room. She was already standing, hovering just outside the door.

“Recovering,” Pyralis replied, striding down the hall.

He berated himself silently for being so foolish. For touching her. Of course she’d recoiled. How else did he expect her to act? Her husband had just died. And their past was just that. The past.

“Heard you put
on quite a show yesterday,” Otto said around a half-chewed chunk of roasted goat. He was like a camel: skinny everywhere but that giant belly.

Aris grinned but said nothing as she forked up her own—more reasonably sized—bite of meat.

“And now he’s modest.” Otto rolled his eyes. “This is the time to tell your tales, son. You don’t want anyone to remember your combat skills. Believe me.”

“Oh, leave Hann alone,” Galec interjected. “We’ve got enough ego at this table with you sittin’ here. A little humility never hurt anyone.”

“I figure I’ve still got a ways to go in the ‘impressing people’ sector,” Aris said. “I mean, after the third time tripping over my own feet in hand-to-hand this morning . . .”

“It was only twice. The third time
I
tripped you,” Dysis said.

“Well, you should have seen
me
yesterday. Nobody might be talking about it . . .” Otto paused to swallow, “but I retrieved our sim victims faster than anyone.” He patted his belly, which strained against the slim fit of his military jacket. “Well, faster than any of the other porkpies.”

Galec snorted. “You
are
a porkpie. You better watch it or they’ll make you run extra laps at phys training.”

“At least I know I’d catch Mosquito, here,” Otto said, punching Aris in the arm. “He might be able to fly, but he can’t run worth shit.”

Dysis smirked. “Oh, I bet he’d run pretty fast if
you
were chasing him.”

“Specialist Haan.” The voice rang through the room and silence followed, abrupt as if someone had flipped a switch.

Commander Nyx stood in the wide doorway, hands clasped behind his back. His blood-red scars stood out in the bright light of the mess hall.

Aris stood quickly and rushed to the hallway.

Nyx gave her a curt nod. “Major Vidar told me about your training session yesterday.”

Her stomach tightened. “Yes, sir. And?”

“And?” Nyx’s eyes glittered. “I hope you’re ready for your first mission. Suit up and report to the landing pad.”

•••

For a second, Aris just closed her eyes and breathed. She’d made it. Her first mission, her first chance to find Calix.

Major Vidar’s deep voice spoke directly into the headset embedded in her helmet. “Haan, Pallas, as the search team, you’ll go first. Radio back when you have visual confirmation of the targets. We’ll be right behind you in the transport.” There was a hiss of static after Major Vidar finished speaking. Aris gripped the controls tighter and double-checked the coordinates on the navigation panel.

“You ready, Mosquito?” In the tight quarters of the wingjet, Dysis’s voice was too loud.

Aris nodded. Her helmet tipped forward a little. With a gloved hand, she pushed it back. She took a deep breath. She could do this. It was just her and the wingjet, just a little dance. No problem.

“Now,” Major Vidar ordered.

She lifted off beside Pallas, who was flying the other recon. Green dots on her nav panel showed the position of the two transports behind them. Soon they were all speeding through the clear afternoon sky. They were headed toward a tiny, nameless hamlet near the border, in a part of Atalanta that had been evacuated weeks ago. Soldiers had been fighting to keep control of the region, but daily skirmishes meant frequent rescue missions.

Dysis pressed a button on the side of her helmet, so they could talk without broadcasting to the whole team. “Let’s go over our orders again.” She stared intently at the nav panel, her hands already gripping the gunner controls.

Aris could feel the same tension in her own arms and willed the muscles to loosen.
Relax
.

“We’re fine. We know what to do,” she replied. But in her head she went through their instructions one more time.

Fly over the east and north portions of the village, while Pallas takes south and west.

Use the heat-seeking tech to assess the threat and locate the injured soldiers.

If we’re targeted by the enemy, Dysis will take them out.

Aris checked the nav panel; not much farther. She couldn’t forget the last step of the mission: radioing back to the transports the exact coordinates of the soldiers and status of the enemy, so they could perform the retrieval.

Aris didn’t let herself consider what would happen afterward. Once they’d made the rescue, after the danger had passed . . .
then
she could think about seeing Calix. Right now she had to concentrate.

“Can you believe we’re doing this?” Dysis glanced at her.

Aris shook her head. “Never in a million lives.”

For a few minutes they were silent, watching a bank of clouds grow along the far horizon. Then, softly, Dysis said, “When Jax and I were kids, we’d hide out in the forest behind our house and make believe we were soldiers or spies. We’d pretend sticks were our solaguns and sneak up on each other.” She laughed a little, shaking her head. “He always found me, no matter where I went. I’d start crying because I’d get so deep in the woods, so turned around, I didn’t know how to get home . . . and he still found me. ‘Dys’ he’d say, all serious, ‘you’ll never really be lost so long as I’m around.’”

She didn’t have to say the rest, that now that he was lost,
she
was lost, too. That she was afraid he’d never be found. Aris could hear the words, feel Dysis’s despair, as if she’d spoken them aloud. She leaned into her arm, trying to offer some small comfort, but Dysis drew away.

“Is ‘Dys’ your real name?” Aris asked, to say something.

Dysis shook her head. “Nah. That’s just what Jax calls me. I was named Dysis for my father. He died a few months before I was born. Jax says the midwife tried to persuade Mother it wasn’t a fit name for a girl, but she didn’t care. Strange little gift, now, not having to change it. Holy knows what Mother would think of all of this if she were still alive.” She gave a twisted little smile.

Aris didn’t know what to say. To lose both parents so young . . . her parents drove her half-mad, but she couldn’t imagine a world without them. Even now, thinking of them made her heart ache. She glanced at Dysis and was relieved to see some of the sadness gone from her eyes. She was staring at the nav panel, checking their progress.

“My real name is—” Aris started.

“Don’t tell me,” Dysis interrupted. “If I don’t know, I can’t make a mistake.” Before Aris could respond, she added, pointing to the nav panel, “Look. There’s the village.”

Aris took a deep breath and tightened her hands on the controls.

“Here we go,” Dysis muttered, the hard edge back in her voice.

Aris pressed the comm button on her helmet. “Recon One has visual on the village.”

“Copy that,” Pallas responded. “Recon Two also has visual.”

The nav system started to pick up red and purple blotches of heat. It looked like parts of the village were still on fire.

Major Vidar’s voice crackled over the line. “Approach with caution. Any sign of—”

An earsplitting whine drowned out his words. The nav panel erupted in panicked beeping. Aris threw them into a dive, her heart beating madly. Dysis shouted something she couldn’t make out.

Another whine howled through the small cabin. Dysis fired on the incoming missile. Just beneath and to the east of them, a bright, golden light blossomed. The roar of the explosion reached them a couple seconds later.

Aris wheeled away, skimming and dodging, desperate to figure out where the firing was coming from. Then she saw it. There, in the ruins of a building, a tight circle of big guns pointed toward the sky. A bright flash signaled another shot being fired. She dove, as Dysis took out the second missile. Another explosion swelled orange beneath them. Partially shielded by the smoke, she skimmed closer to the ground, and set Dysis up for a clear shot on the gun emplacement.

Dysis spoke quickly, “Sir, permission to fire on enemy position?”

“Granted.”

Just as Aris swept over the half-destroyed building, Dysis fired. The world below them burst into flame.

Minutes passed. No more missiles were fired.

In the scratchy static of their headsets, Pallas cheered.

“Holy hell,” Aris choked out, her heart still pounding. She sat back a little but couldn’t seem to relax her hands on the controls. Her eyes kept skimming the nav panel and what she could see of the sky and the land below, bracing for more incoming fire.

“Target acquired,” Pallas’s voice carried over the line a few seconds later. “I’ve got a hot spot. Looks like three soldiers, possibly four.” He gave the coordinates to the transports, and they moved in.

Aris kept sweeping the village, looking for more flashes of weaponry or the reddish-purple blobs on the nav that indicated living bodies. Their request for retrieval hadn’t included an exact number of injured soldiers. They didn’t want to miss anyone.

Beside her, Dysis took a shuddering breath.

Major Vidar’s transport moved in first, followed by the second jet, while the two recons stayed in the sky.

“Is that . . . it?” Dysis said. “That was . . .”

“Easy?” Aris wiped her damp palms one at a time on her knees, eyes still glued to the nav panel, not quite believing it was over.

“Well, quick anyway,” Dysis mused. “I don’t know . . . I was expecting . . . something else. Something more?”

“Yeah. Me too.”

“Four soldiers rescued,” Aris mumbled, scarcely believing it. “So we’ll be going to the mender point.” Adrenaline still surged through her system, accentuating the hum of the diatous veil. She felt like she was about to shiver right out of her skin.

Could it really be only a matter of minutes now, before she saw Calix?

“You think he’ll be there?” Dysis asked. “You don’t even know where we’re taking them yet.”

Aris shrugged. “We always go to the same mender point, don’t we? He’s stationed at whichever that is.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works, Aristos,” Dysis said slowly. Almost apologetically.

Aris stared at her. “What do you mean?”

Dysis didn’t have time to reply. Major Vidar’s voice rang over their headpieces as the transport wingjets joined them in the sky, “Retrieval complete. Recons, set your coordinates for Feln Stationpoint.”

Aris’s breath caught in her throat.
Feln
? “Dysis, what did you mean?” she asked again, urgently.

Dysis shrugged, brow furrowed in sympathy. “I’m sorry. It says in the manual, you know. Didn’t you read it? We go wherever’s closest. There are lots of field mender points.”

“But—”
Oh holy nightmare. How will I find him now?

“It’s still okay,” Dysis said, obviously trying to reassure her. “You know the name of his point, right? I’m sure we’ll get there eventually.”

In a daze, Aris shook her head. “But I don’t,” she murmured. “I was just told it’d be the only mender point we’d go to.”
Dianthe promised . . .

Dysis patted her arm. “Can’t you ask him? Don’t you have any idea?”

“Because he’s in an area of active fighting, he can’t share his location with civilians,” Aris murmured. If only she could tell him she
wasn’t
a civilian.

Revening. Mekia
. The words pounded in her head as Aris flew to Feln. How long would it be now, before she found him?

Why did Dianthe lie?