“Me too. And I’m not going to let Pavi strand me in Elda territory.” Linné eyed Pavi and Galina skeptically. “And did you see Katya’s last flight? I thought she was going to go straight into the side of the mountain.” She paused for a moment to glare at Katya. Katya had found Linné’s dark-haired soldier, and they were dancing together. “I might as well stick with you.”
Yes, that was Linné. Entitled and miserable, like Magdalena said. But she wouldn’t sell out Revna just because she didn’t like her.
Progress.
Linné and Tannov walked into the ever-lightening early morning. The clouds opened up to release slow-falling flakes that kissed her jacket and settled in her hair. She breathed in the cold, clean smell. The stink of the engineers’ experiments had hung over Intelgard for far too long. “Where’s Dostorov?” she said.
A little messenger skidded to a stop in front of them. It opened its bowl-like top, and Tannov plucked out the message inside. He scanned the note, then with a flick of his spark he ignited it, dropping it into the snow as the paper turned black. “He’s here,” he said. He fished his cigarette case out of his pocket, retrieved two cigarettes, and lit both before passing one to her. Then he pressed a hand to the messenger and sent it off with a flash of spark. “Coming?”
“Won’t people talk?” Linné said.
“I highly doubt they’ll talk about me.” He offered her his arm.
She shoved it away. No need for him to start with all that. They walked. “I’m surprised you’re leaving the party so soon.”
“I collected the information that was relevant to me. Perhaps I’ll be back when my work is complete.” He paused. The heaviness of his silence surprised Linné. “Your flying partner seems rather lovely.”
She’d seen them dancing and wondered at his game. “I suppose. Why do you care?”
Because he was a Skarov, that was why. Tannov chose not to answer. He exhaled a bluish puff of rascidine smoke with a sigh. “Revna Roshena,” he mused as they passed the last building and set off toward the edge of the compound.
Linné snorted. “Truly, you are a great detective and secret agent. Did you really have to dance with her to find out her name?”
She heard rather than saw Tannov’s smile. “I think you’re jealous of her,” he said. “For dancing with me.”
A flush of spark worked down her arm. She put her hands behind her back so he wouldn’t see the way it lit the end of her fingers. “Yes, and the gods will rise from their God Spaces and save us all.”
The smile slid out of his voice. “Don’t say things like that,” he said. Sour smoke puffed around his face. “Even if you’re joking.”
“What are you going to do, report me?” Linné winced inwardly. She hadn’t meant to say it out loud. In case the answer was yes.
Tannov sounded irritated. “I’m not the only Extraordinary Wartime Information Officer on this base.”
“Yeah, but Dostorov has a better sense of humor than you.”
She’d thought it would bring his smile back, but Tannov only shook his head. “You walk by agents every night, and you don’t even know it. Not all of us wear flashy coats.” He touched her shoulder briefly, squeezing with his gloved fingers until she felt the pressure. “Be careful, Linné.”
Before she could say more, Tannov spotted something at the edge of the base, raised his arm in a salute, and strode toward the compound gate. Linné followed.
Between the inner fence and the outer fortifications squatted a long prisoner transport. Its living metal legs shivered in the early-morning air. Dostorov waited next to it, puffing a cigarette and stroking its side contemplatively, watching the sun rise. Next to him, an enormous dappled white cat lounged on the open driver’s seat. Its tail flicked over the side. It watched Linné with large amber eyes as she followed Tannov through the gate. The cat twisted its head toward Dostorov; he looked, in turn, to Linné.
“She knows what it is,” Tannov said. “Don’t be such a stick.”
She’d heard the rumors, but she’d never seen a Skarov in its shifted form before. It looked—well, like a cat. It yawned, showing off canines as long as her little finger.
Dostorov shrugged. “It’s your head,” he said. Then, to Linné, “You’d better not be selling army secrets.”
That would be the day. She opened her mouth to tell Dostorov that she didn’t think he was so funny, after all. But Tannov’s warning, Don’t say things like that, still hung in her mind. They were Skarov now. Skarov got respect and fear and obedience. She shouldn’t be out here in the first place, and not because of some “army secrets” bullshit.
Tannov frowned at the trembling palanquin. “Can it go on in that condition?”
“Sure,” Dostorov said. “We got spotted by one of their Skyhorses, took a little fire. It’s frightened, but it’ll calm down the farther north you get.”
“We can have the mechanics look it over anyway,” Tannov said.
“We’re behind schedule,” Dostorov objected. “Now that the—”
This time, Tannov was the one to shoot a warning look. Something’s changed, Linné realized. And Tannov didn’t want her to know what it was.
Tannov steered Linné away from the palanquin. “Will you be flying every mission with Miss Roshena?”
Why such an interest in her pilot? “For now.”
“Linné, you have to stay clear of her,” Tannov said.
I’m a person, not a liability. “She’s a good pilot, and she’s a good soldier. She can fly as well as everyone else, and better than Katya and Pavi.” Shame heated the back of Linné’s neck. She forced herself to meet Tannov’s eye. “I’m lucky to fly with her.”
Tannov didn’t seem to be paying attention. He looked at Dostorov, then at the shifted Skarov. “Roshena’s father has a life sentence on Kolshek.”
Kolshek, the icy prison island. Where the inmates slaved in poorly dug mine shafts, excavating the living metal that the Union needed so badly to win the war. “Impossible. She’d have been demoted to secondary citizen.” And secondary citizens couldn’t serve in the army. “Or,” she added, hoping desperately that it could somehow be true, “maybe he’s on Kolshek, and she did something to get reinstated.” Secondary citizens were reinstated only for acts of the highest bravery or sacrifice. If Revna had managed that, then she deserved her fresh start.
“She has her Protector status because she’s here,” Tannov said softly. “Tamara Zima personally requested her reinstatement.” His eyes glittered with contempt.
Linné swallowed her nerves. “I trust my commander’s judgment.” She was pretty sure that was only half a lie.
“You should trust mine more. Roshena’s father is a traitor to the Union. What did he teach her before he got arrested? If she defects, I don’t want her taking you with her.”
“Someone has to be her navigator,” Linné said.
“Not you.” His eyes searched her face, but what he looked for, she did not know.
“Why not?” she asked, afraid of the answer.
“Weave magic has been decriminalized only for the duration of the war,” Tannov said. “Zima says the tangles you make won’t be permanent, but what if they are? She’s not half as safe as she tells you she is. Someone like Revna could be arrested in seconds. Don’t affiliate yourself strongly with her.”
“I decide who I fly with,” she snapped before she could think better of it.
The big white cat lashed its tail. Dostorov removed his cigarette, raising a brow at Tannov. And Tannov’s jaw worked, the way it used to when Koslen told him something he didn’t want to hear.
They were arguing. And they were doing it in a place where she couldn’t hear them.
So the telepathy rumor was true.
She couldn’t follow the debate, but she knew two things. First, it was more than likely about her. Second, it was one more thing that separated her friends from the boys they’d been. From the people she’d cared about for years.
But they were still Do
storov and Tannov, and she couldn’t bring herself to give them up.
“Eight successful runs,” she said. “Congratulate me.”
For a moment she thought the argument was still going, and they’d ignored her. Then Tannov said, “Congratulations” and turned away. He didn’t sound as if he meant it. He grabbed Dostorov’s arm, knocking the cigarette from his hand as he began to walk away.
“Hey,” Dostorov began, but something shuttered behind his eyes. He followed Tannov, pausing only to call over his shoulder. “Congratulations, Alexei.”
Linné didn’t bother to correct him.
Linné watched Tannov and Dostorov go into Zima’s office. She didn’t need to be a mind reader to guess what they were doing in there. Maybe Tannov thought he was helping. She hunched her shoulders against the snow. She should never have gone for a smoke with him. He’d only pulled her away from the Night Raiders, and they were the ones she was stuck with, for better or worse.
She drew closer to the office. Though the walls were cheap and thin, she could hear nothing but a low murmur inside. Could Tannov really order Zima to make the switch? Could Linné beg her not to? Linné would look like a buffoon; then again, she was one.
This is such a bad idea, she thought. She had no plan. She couldn’t knock, but pressing her ear to the door would be worse. Hiding until Tannov and Dostorov left would work only if they didn’t spot her. But if she walked away, she wasn’t sure she’d be brave enough to come back.
The door swung open and the boys stepped out. Tannov halted in the doorway when he saw her. Then he shook his head and passed her without a word.
Dostorov had already gotten a cigarette out. Linné had never been intimidated by him before, but as she looked up—and up—at his broad shoulders and thick arms, she couldn’t help noticing that he wasn’t the scrawny boy who’d signed her up for service. “You’d better watch yourself,” he said. “Your father can only keep you out of some kinds of trouble.”
Before she could think of an answer, he was gone.
She was in her commander’s office before she realized her feet were moving. Tamara Zima sat at her desk, a blank sheet in front of her and a pen in her hand.
“What did they talk to you about?” Linné asked.
The creases around Zima’s face deepened as she took in Linné. “Nothing to do with you,” she said in a voice colder than the air outside.
“Would you tell me if it was?”
Zima’s mouth drew tight. Her nostrils flared. “Out of bounds, Linné.”
“Is it about Revna?”
The flat of Zima’s hand slammed the desk, spraying ink over her paper. “I don’t want to hear it. Not tonight. I don’t want to hear you demanding what you have no right to know. I don’t want to hear you begging for a different pilot or complaining about your regiment. The only words I want to hear from you are good night. Is that clear?”
Linné started to take in what she hadn’t seen in her flustered entrance: Zima’s red-rimmed eyes. The smudged handkerchief on the edge of the desk. Something bad had happened. Something very bad, something that Zima couldn’t change.
“Good night, sir,” she said, and fled as fast as she could.
Far across the field, she could see the palanquin and two figures beside it. As she squinted against the dawn, one of the figures began to move, faster and faster. Far too fast for a man. Then he was a blur on four legs, disappearing past the trees outside the base.
She should have kept her mouth shut around Tannov. Now she was going to wake up and Revna would be arrested and it would be Linné’s fault and she’d be stuck on the ground. And she would forever be the snitch who gossiped freely with the Skarov.
But when Linné woke that afternoon, Revna slept soundly in her bed. It was Pavi and Galina who were gone.
14
VICTORY COSTS
The elation of a successful first mission was marred when the regiment discovered that they’d lost Pavi and Galina yet again. The Night Raiders didn’t chat much, and whenever they did, the words were halting and whispered, as though they expected someone in a silver coat to jump out and arrest them for seditious behavior.
“Of course it’s them,” Nadya muttered as she, Revna, and Katya folded laundry in the barracks. No one said Skarov, in case one of them was in earshot or had some kind of little messenger hiding around a corner. Revna wouldn’t put that out of the realm of possibility.
“The nearest prisoner facility is in Eponar.” Katya got out her sewing kit and started on Nadya’s frayed cuff. “It would take them three hours to get there, three hours back. And that’s if they didn’t stop for anything.”
“They could be on a special mission,” Revna said.
“Their plane’s still on the field,” Nadya said. “Besides, they went missing in enemy territory. Those are the rules. You fall behind the lines, you might be a defector—ow!” Katya had stabbed her with a needle.
Katya didn’t apologize. “That’s what they get for risking their lives?” she asked. “What’s the point?”
Revna watched her for a moment. What kind of Union girl was Katya, really?
And what kind of Union girl was Revna?
The good kind. Until her family was completely safe, she was the Good Union Girl. “The Union doesn’t make mistakes.”
Katya’s blue eyes filled with hurt. “No,” she said. “Of course not.”
Tamara refused to speak of it when she briefed them for their new mission at nine bells. “Pavi and Galina need their rest,” she said. “They’ve been taken to better hospital facilities at Eponar.”
Eponar. How convenient.
“I need you to turn your attention to a special task, soldiers.” Something in her tone made them all sit up a little straighter. Last night they’d been on the brink of a breakthrough in Goreva. Why abandon it?
Tamara read off a typed sheet. “The Elda have launched an attack on the western front, and all available air forces have been requested as backup for the defensive. We need to help our men reach safety. Your primary objective will be to make sure the Elda cannot use any facilities that might be surrendered out of necessity. Your secondary objective is to immobilize any large Elda equipment that you may encounter. You’ll be directed via semaphore signals and flares. Do not attempt to engage with the Elda aircraft, particularly their Dragons, particularly if you’re in an isolated situation. Retreat if they try to engage.”
The girls gaped at her. Katya slowly raised a hand. “I don’t understand,” she said. Her voice lilted up like a question. Was Tamara really saying what they thought?
Tamara set the sheet down. “I don’t like it, either,” she said. “But this operation is under the direction of Commander Kurcik and his orders are quite clear. He and his aviators will direct you. I’ll be coordinating on the ground with both Kurcik and your engineers, so listen to them when you return to stock up. Remember what you told me. Remember what I need. When you see an order, it must be followed. Clear?”
“Yes,” they chorused, though some voices lagged behind.
“Good.” She checked her watch. “Best of luck, ladies. I expect to see all of you back by dawn. Navigators, come to me for your flight plans.”
Revna watched them shuffle out as she adjusted her prosthetics, shaking her head when Magdalena offered to walk with her to the plane. Linné hurried off without waiting for her, flight plan clutched to her chest. Revna tried to breathe deep and remain calm. Pavi and Galina—surrendered out of necessity—remember what you told me. She couldn’t think about Pavi and Galina right now—about where they were, about what was happening to them, about whether she might be next. Pavi and Galina’s situation only proved how tenuous her own was. Guilt still burned in her from the way she’d spoken of her father so callously to the Skarov. She’d betrayed his memory to protect Mama and Lyfa.
She had to keep pushing forward, keep doing what the Union said had to be done.
She finished with her legs and crunched through
the snow to her Strekoza. And when she reached it, she nearly turned around and went right back to Tamara’s office. Linné and Magdalena faced each other under the starboard wing. A bomb lay in the snow.
“Do your own job before you tell me how to do mine,” Magdalena spat.
“At least we’ve proved I can do mine. What if that bomb had fallen off midflight, or hit the plane when we banked?”
“Well, if it hit you, we might have achieved some kind of victory!”
Everything stilled. “That’s out of bounds,” Linné said softly.
“Great. Tell Tamara all about it. The Skarov can find me in the laboratory.” Magdalena stooped and grabbed the bomb, then hefted it easily up to the release trigger. It hooked in with a snap. She stalked over to Revna. “I hate her,” she said. “I hate her, and I’ll never not hate her, and tonight I hate her more than ever.”
“What—”
“Come back safe,” Magdalena called over her shoulder as she stomped away.
Revna pulled on the Weave and levered herself into the cockpit. “So?” she said, tapping the inside of her gloves.
Linné’s voice dripped with false uninterest as she fumbled half a cigarette out of her case. “So what?”
Maybe Revna should let it go. She had enough to think about on the flight, and when she got back she’d hear Magdalena’s side of the story anyway. “What happened?”
“Her mood could curdle milk while it’s still inside the mare. Everyone’s on edge tonight, but she’s abominable.”
Revna pulled her goggles down. “I’ll talk to her.”
“I can fight my own battles.” She took one drag, then sighed and stubbed the cigarette back out.
“We’re a team. We should be working together.”
“I said I’ll deal with it.” Linné climbed into her seat and sat with more force than necessary, kicking the back of Revna’s chair as she did.
Would she deal with it by reporting to Tamara, or by complaining to Tannov? “Power up,” Revna mumbled, and tried to ignore Linné in favor of the welcoming feel of the Strekoza as it awoke.
We Rule the Night Page 19