“Is the lift safe?” Aris asked. Even as the words left her mouth, the end of the next hallway came into view. People were crowding into it, jostling for position. A man slipped and fell, his head dipping below the water.
Aris pointed to a door halfway down. The stairwell.
Dysis led the way.
As far as Aris could tell, the lowest level of the prison had been left unguarded. No one accosted them as they slowly made their way out of the water and up the iron stairs. The building shivered, wounded in some deep, unseen way by the quake. She hoped the prisoners crowding into the lift made it to safety.
Otto grunted under the weight of Milek’s legs. The other soldier, still wearing Aris’s face, kept moving slowly but steadily up the stairs, hands under Milek’s arms.
Milek’s head lolled with every step, his skin pale. She walked beside him, her hand drifting along his bare shoulder. She was afraid to take his pulse.
Dysis led them up four levels, and by the time they reached the door, they were all panting. Aris’s broken ribs screamed now that she wasn’t so focused on keeping Milek’s head above the water. She hadn’t eaten or drunk anything in at least a day, and the shakiness in her knees was ceding to an ominous rubbery feeling.
“Otto, give Aris your solagun,” Dysis said, pausing at last outside a solid metal door. “Your hands are full with Major Vadim.”
Aris took the gun and reluctantly moved away from her post at Milek’s shoulder.
Behind her, a faint groan.
“He’s waking up,” Otto said. “We’ve got to hurry. I need to secure him and assess his wounds. I don’t want him wiggling!”
He’s alive. The knowledge strengthened Aris’s resolve. She nodded at Dysis. With a grunt, Dysis forced open the heavy door.
Immediately, the air filled with the hiss of solagun fire. To the right, the air was murky with smoke. A group of Atalantan soldiers had taken cover behind a heavy metal table someone had dragged into the hall. All of them looked exactly like Aris.
Beyond the table, at the far end of the corridor, an endless parade of Safaran black pushed ever, inexorably, forward. In the space between the two armies, the humps of fallen soldiers dotted the floor. Immediately, the Safarans adjusted their aim, targeting Aris and the others in the doorway. Aris and Dysis ducked back into the stairwell. As Aris snuck another glance, two of the Safarans collapsed, taken down by the soldiers behind the table.
She glanced back at Otto and the other soldier. “We’ll help the others cover you. The landing pad’s to the left, a hundred yards down the hall. We’re aiming for the nearest wingjet, Safaran or Atalantan. Doesn’t matter. I can fly it. Just get Milek inside safely, no matter what.”
Her own face nodded back at her. Otto shifted his grip on Milek’s legs. “We’re ready.”
Aris shot a look at Dysis. “This isn’t going to be fun.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve been stuck in the sick bay for weeks.” She had the nerve to grin, though her eyes held the weight of what they were about to do.
With a last deep breath, and a fervent prayer, Aris led them into the fray.
They made it the first few feet before the Safarans got lucky. Aris bit back a scream as a shot sliced her arm. Dysis took down three soldiers before they had time to re-aim their weapons.
The Atalantan fighters behind the table shifted backward with them, to help protect Milek. Slowly, so slowly, they made it down the hall.
At some point, if they survived this, Aris was going to ask why there so many people with her face running around, but for the moment she focused on making her shots count.
When they finally reached the landing pad, the sight was dizzying. A full-scale air fight raged above them, with black and silver wingjets diving and spinning, filling the dawn sky with flashes of fire and the caustic smell of smoke. As Aris watched, a Safaran jet exploded before plunging into the ocean.
“Look!” Dysis pointed. “Do you see that?”
Big red wingjets flitted around the fiery scene above. Aris couldn’t believe it. “Castalia reinforcements!”
There wasn’t time to celebrate. Beneath them, the building heaved, and a giant crack appeared where the tarmac extended over the water. Aris searched for the nearest wingjet; so many were already engulfed in flames. But there, teetering along the rim of the pad, just over the crashing waves . . .
She pointed. “That’s where we’re heading!”
Most of the Safaran fighters were inside the building, far above in wingjets, or dead. There was little resistance on their route to the wingjet, but the building continued to groan and shake. The tarmac cracked and crumbled, huge chunks falling to the ocean.
Aris and Dysis led the way, with Santos and Otto carrying Milek in the middle, and the surviving Atalantan soldiers who’d covered them in the hall bringing up the rear.
Halfway to the jet, a flash of movement caught Aris’s attention. It took her a moment to process what she was seeing.
Ward Balias was sprinting across the tarmac. He was a good runner, fast, his sandy hair and tan skin lit by the fires of dead wingjets and the flashing weaponry above. He was flanked by a handful of soldiers, and his destination was clear: the only wingjet still intact.
The wingjet Aris was aiming for.
Behind her, even amid the noise and confusion, she heard Milek groan.
The world slowed, and sounds faded as Aris skidded to a halt, straightened her stance, and raised her weapon. Through the chaos, the only thing static—the only thing clear—was Balias’s face. He saw her an instant before she fired. He didn’t have time to evade her. No time to hide behind his entourage. Only enough time to know who pulled the trigger.
It took three shots for him to fall, but each one struck its target. In as few seconds as it took him to kill Alistar, Aris took Ward Balias down.
Chapter 40
“Come on, Aris, come on.”
The world sped up again, so abruptly Aris stumbled. Dysis grabbed her arm and dragged her forward. “Come on,” she said again. The ground shook beneath them, pitching sideways.
The men with Balias were still running toward the wingjet. Aris turned away from the still form of the ward, alone on the cracked tarmac, and ran.
The Atalantans made it to the wingjet first.
Aris was relieved to see it was a big one—a Safaran transport. She hit the passcode into the pad over the wing, praying it hadn’t changed in the months since she’d last flown a Safaran jet. To her relief, the glass slid open. She climbed into the jet and flipped the switch to open the cargo hatch. Otto and the whole group of Aris-faced soldiers hurried Milek into the bay, several backing in, weapons spitting fire at the last of the Safaran soldiers.
Dysis leapt into the front of the wingjet just as the tarmac buckled and the jet began to slide. “Hurry, hurry!” she yelled.
Aris flew through the start-up sequence, desperate to get up into a hover in time. “Get on comms! Find the Atalanta frequency. Let them know who we are, so they don’t shoot us out of the sky.”
Dysis nodded, even as the wingjet shuddered, one wheel skidding off the edge, pitching them toward the sea. “Aris!” she shouted warningly.
“Hold on, everyone!” Aris yanked up on the controls, and the wingjet held them in a hover, just as the chunk of tarmac they’d been sitting on crashed into the water with a giant, roiling flash of white.
Aris took a last look at the landing pad. The prison was collapsing, slowly but inexorably, the landing pad going with it. Ward Balias’s body joined a host of others sliding toward the sea. In seconds, he was gone.
The nav panel started a panicked beeping. Aris spun out of range of the missile. “Get on the comms before our own people shoot us down,” she shouted again.
“This is Specialist Latza, of the Atalanta military,” said Dysis a few seconds later. “We’ve commandeer
ed a Safaran jet, ID number 2648. Do not shoot. We’re friendly. Repeat. We are friendly. We have Lieutenant Haan and Major Vadim on board.”
“Message received. Good to hear your voice, Dysis.” Jax’s voice filled the cabin.
Dysis let out an audible breath. “Likewise.”
Aris sped away from the worst of the fighting. With the Castalian reinforcements, the Safarans were on the run as it was. “How we doing back there?” she called, with a quick look over her shoulder into cargo.
Otto popped his head into the pass-through. “Patient is resting comfortably and has regained consciousness,” he said brightly. He rubbed at his forehead. “The rest of us were a little less prepared for the acrobatics. But no major injuries.”
“Sorry,” she said, relief spilling through her. “And Milek . . . is he going, I mean, are his injuries—”
Otto grinned and reached across the pass-through to pat her shoulder. “Nothing a vacation won’t cure.”
“A vacation!” Beside her, Dysis laughed, and for the first time Aris could remember, there was no lingering darkness, no anger, hidden in the sound. “That’s an idea.”
Vacation. It had a pleasant, alien ring to it.
Aris smiled as she steered the wingjet toward Atalanta and the brilliant glow of the rising sun.
***
It wasn’t until she landed at Mekia that Aris discovered Otto had lied. As soon as the Safaran jet touched down and she opened the cargo hold, he rushed onto the tarmac and called for menders.
A flurry of white-garbed men whisked Milek into the building before Aris could extricate herself from the wingjet, her own injuries slowing her down. Dysis rushed off to find Jax, her dark, spiky hair weaving through the returning soldiers.
Otto approached Aris, the concern in his eyes clear enough. Her heart beat sluggishly. “Milek . . .” She trailed off, unable to say the words.
He put an arm around her shoulders and they stood still for a moment, while the remains of their team shuffled into the building. “I do believe he’ll be okay. But he needs surgery, and I didn’t want to worry you when you were working so hard to get us out of there.”
Aris sagged against Otto’s sturdy frame. The memories of Balias’s prison still clawed at her. She’d never be able to forget Vik’s knife slicing into Milek’s skin. The noises Milek made as the Safaran soldiers beat him. The instant when Balias realized Alistar’s deception and shot him through the throat. The flash of green as Pallas killed Vik and the other guards.
All the blood.
“How long do you think it will take,” she asked, “before it actually feels like we won? Did we win? Was it enough?”
Otto squeezed her shoulder. “Who knows? But I do know what will help, and that’s rest.” He pulled her toward the building. “Get yourself to the sick bay, have your own injuries tended, and then sleep for a while. Major Vadim won’t be out of surgery and up for visitors for hours. You’ve got time.”
“What are you going to do?” Aris’s mind was fuzzing around the edges. She knew she should be frantic with worry over Milek, but her own body was close to collapse.
“Oh, I’m going to celebrate,” Otto replied, with one of his jaunty grins. “Comm Dori, tell her how instrumental I was in saving the day. See if I can find Santos and persuade him to share his stash of vutzo.”
Something about his aggrandizing humor bothered her. Aris gripped his shoulders and held his gaze. “You were instrumental, Otto. You saved my life, and Milek’s, too. You helped us end this war. Tell Dori the right way, not like it’s a joke, so she knows the truth.”
Two pink spots appeared on Otto’s cheeks. “Uh . . . alright, then.” He cleared his throat. Then, with a roll of his eyes and a little smile, he pushed her toward the door. “Now go on, Lieutenant.”
Aris limped into the building. After the menders patched her up and she got some rest, she needed to find Jax and Commander Nyx. And Dysis. There’d be debriefings. Endless meetings. But maybe, just maybe, this really was the end.
Maybe, when she woke, Milek would be okay and the war would finally be over.
Chapter 41
Aris knocked softly, bracing herself. The door slid open.
Milek sat in a med-bed, white sheets covering him to his chest, propped up on pillows. One arm rested outside of the sheet in a sling. A black line of stitches ran along his forehead. Aris knew that if she lifted his shirt, there’d be more angry black lines along his chest and stomach. After all, she’d seen Vik’s knife cut him, again and again.
Milek smiled when he saw her, his teeth unusually bright against the dark, swollen bruising of his face. “Aris.”
She limped to his side. Her own stitches made her skin feel tight and unfamiliar. Thick bands encircled her torso, holding her broken ribs in place.
On the other side of the bed, a mender studied Milek’s data on the monitor, but Aris hardly noticed. She felt every individual beat of her heart as she carefully slid her hands around Milek’s uninjured arm and lowered herself to sit beside him on the bed.
“You’re wearing your ring.” His fingers slid against hers. Both of their hands were battered and swollen, but Aris’s Promise ring still fit. It glowed bright and blue against the stark white sheets.
“I couldn’t bear not to. Not anymore.” Tears slipped unnoticed down her cheeks.
Milek leaned forward and kissed her nose, wincing a little. “You didn’t drop the bomb.”
She closed her eyes and shook her head, her face still close to his. “I was never going to.”
Whatever evils Pallas had done, Aris was grateful for the woman’s final act. She didn’t want to think about how close she’d come to losing this, how final their goodbyes had felt.
“Have you spoken to your mother yet? I’m surprised she isn’t here to oversee your care in person,” Aris said.
“She vid commed me the second I was conscious.” Milek relaxed back against his pillows. “She’ll be here tomorrow, I think. She wants to be with Ward Nekos when he announces the end of the war. All the wards are scrambling, trying to figure out what to do with Safara.”
Aris had slept for almost twenty-four hours after the menders had patched her up. She was pretty sure she could sleep for another week and still feel tired. “I guess there are a lot of things for us to figure out, too.”
Milek pulled her slowly down beside him. “Not right now.”
Aris thought about arguing, but instead she snuggled into him and closed her eyes.
When she woke, Commander Nyx was standing over her. Aris sat up too quickly and her body jangled, all her hurts twinging into wakefulness. Milek continued to sleep soundly, though his brow was furrowed and his breath hissed a little as he inhaled, as if his injuries plagued him while he slept.
“What is it?” Aris whispered. She swung her legs slowly off the side of the bed but didn’t stand up.
Commander Nyx stared at her impassively. “There’s a rumor floating around that Ward Balias was killed during the battle of the flaming scorpion. Seems someone thought they saw you shoot him. Is this true?”
Aris could read nothing in Nyx’s face, no clue as to which was the “right” response. So she stuck with the truth. “It is.”
Nyx’s lip hitched up at the corner. “Good. Ward Nekos will be pleased to hear that. He’s about to give a statement and wanted confirmation.” In an uncharacteristic move, she reached out to help Aris down from the bed.
“They’ll want to debrief me, right?” Aris flexed her feet, stretching her calves. Her impromptu nap had left her creaky and stiff.
“Of course. Hours of debriefing. They’ll talk you ‘til you’re hoarse.” Commander Nyx headed for the door. “But not right now. Most of the base is gathered in the rec room to watch the ward’s announcement. You should join them.” It was less of an order than usual, but even a suggestion from Nyx felt like
an imperative.
Aris kissed Milek’s cheek, smoothed a hand over his short hair, and followed the commander into the hall. Nyx peeled off down the hallway that led to her office, and Aris continued on, running her fingers along the smooth, white wall.
When she arrived at the rec room, Aris headed over to a table in the corner, where Dysis sat with Otto, Lieutenant Santos, Mann, and Nyal. A few menders were present, but she didn’t see Calix.
“Nice to see you back,” Aris said as she approached Mann, knocking a fist into his arm. It was an overly chummy move, but she didn’t know how to act around someone she’d accused of treason.
Mann shot her a mild glance. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”
Otto stood up and swung an arm around her shoulders, his feet unsteady beneath him. “Think they’ll throw another ceremony for us?” The sharp tang of apricot and ginger clogged her nose.
“Celebrating already, I see.” Aris grinned.
“Join us,” Lieutenant Santos said, handing her a poorly hidden bottle in a rolled-up shirt. His dark eyes danced.
Aris sank into a chair next to Dysis. All around the room, the din was increasing, barks of laughter drowning out the quieter conversations.
“Why not?” She grabbed the bottle from Santos and knocked back a healthy gulp.
Otto whooped, bumping into Mann in his enthusiasm, and Nyal hiccupped a laugh, and suddenly everyone was laughing, big heaving gasps of mirth.
When the soldiers got themselves under control, Dysis scooted her chair closer to Aris’s and asked, “How’s Milek doing?”
“Much better,” Aris replied. “Still pretty banged up, but he’ll be okay.” Just then, she noticed a newcomer at the door. “Excuse me,” she said, standing. “I’ll be right back.”
She wove her way through tables overflowing with white-clad menders and soldiers in Atalantan green, everyone waiting to hear Ward Nekos’s announcement.
Torn Sky (Rebel Wing Trilogy, Book 3) (Rebel Wing Series) Page 19