“Excuse me, gentlemen.” Pyralis headed for the desk Galena indicated. Embedded in its surface were ear buds for auditory comms. As soon as the bud settled into his ear, the comm fizzled on.
“Commander Nyx? This is Ward Nekos,” he said.
As she spoke, his face drained of color. “You can’t be serious.”
Galena hurried over as he ended the call. “What is it? Is Milek okay?”
His voice hoarse, he murmured, “Lieutenant Haan has been shot down over Safara.”
Galena’s eyes widened with shock. “No,” she breathed.
Behind the desk, they linked hands, a silent, secret support.
Chapter 14
Dysis shoveled a bite of olive salad into her mouth without tasting it.
“Specialist Latza, I’d like a word, please.” Daakon stood just over her shoulder, appearing out of nowhere. His quiet voice cut through the laughter and conversation like a knife. Heads turned toward her. She glanced up at him, then away. Quickly.
None of the officers had said anything about the punch she’d thrown the night before, even though it had started a cafeteria-wide brawl, but she’d known a reckoning was coming.
She slanted Otto a look as she stood. His face was mottled with bruises, but he still grinned at her as she followed Daakon from the room. Unfortunately, Aris was still out on her special secret mission and would be of no help.
As soon as they were in the hall, Dysis turned on Daakon. “You know it wasn’t my fault. That guy was insulting an officer.”
Daakon kept walking. His frown transformed his boyish face into a sharp-edged mask.
Dysis’s steps faltered. Oh Gods. She must really be in trouble.
He turned then and waited for her to catch up, and the bright lights of the white hallway caught against his dark skin and for an instant she saw something . . . something else in his face. Not anger or frustration.
Sorrow.
Her heart plummeted.
He led her to a hallway she’d never been down, to a room she’d never entered. It was full of comfortable furniture—a couple chairs, a couch with a worn blanket thrown across it. Two standing lamps at either end of the couch provided a dim amber glow.
“What are we doing here?” Dysis asked.
Daakon didn’t answer. He withdrew two cups and a bottle from a cupboard along the wall. Dysis stood in the middle of the room, shoulders hunched, aching with tension. What the blighting hell was going on?
“Sit.” He held out a cup full of rosy liquid.
Pushing the blanket out of the way, Dysis sank onto the couch. She sipped the liquid suspiciously. Her gaze flew to his face. “Vutzo? No thank you.” She’d only tried it once before. She still remembered the pounding headache she’d woken up with the next morning.
“Drink it.” He sat beside her, hands tight around his own cup. With a swift movement, he knocked the liquid down his throat, hissing after he swallowed.
Dysis took another sip and tried not to gag. She stared at the bright red carpet. “You’re kicking me out, aren’t—”
“Lieutenant Haan was shot down this morning.” His words fell against hers with the force of a firebomb.
Dysis became a statue. No breath, no beating heart, no brain to process what that meant.
“I’m sorry, Dysis. I thought I should be the one to tell you.”
Aris had said it was just a quick recon trip. Surely a mistake had been made. Surely—
“Did she survive?” The words grated against her throat.
His silence said it all.
She gasped a breath, then sucked the rest of the liquor down her burning throat. She stood on shaking legs and grabbed the bottle Daakon had left on the counter. The liquid sloshed onto the floor as she poured another cup. Strong hands reached out to steady hers.
She yanked herself away, the cup crashing to the floor between them. The room filled with the sharp scent of apricot and ginger.
“I’m fine,” she snapped. “You don’t need to hover. Or comfort me. Or whatever you’re doing.”
He just stood there, too close, a dark shadow eating up every bit of light.
“Why did you even tell me? Why didn’t you wait for the briefing?” She pulled herself up to her full height, meeting his gaze head on.
“I knew you’d be upset. I thought I could—”
“You thought you could what?” Every bit of herself was threatening to explode into agony, but she couldn’t let it. She would not break in front of him.
“Help,” he said, sighing. “I thought I could help.”
Energy buzzed under her skin, like she was going to split apart. “I’ve got to go.”
She whirled, but he grabbed her wrist, pulling her back to face him.
“Dysis, stop it. It’s me. Please let me help.” He grabbed her other hand. Drew her closer. Too close. They hadn’t been this close since that day, nearly a year ago, when they’d almost kissed.
She yanked against his grip once, twice, the pain and the panic building inside her. And then it happened.
She broke.
With a hoarse cry, Dysis buried her head against Daakon’s chest and sobbed.
He held her tightly, his arms heavy and secure around her. They were almost the same height, her face wedged into the space at the base of his throat. His scent, lemon and spice, assaulted her. She curled her arms around his neck.
Aris is gone. Aris is gone. Aris is gone.
Dysis strained closer, deeper into Daakon’s arms, trying to hide from the truth. Eyes closed, buried in his skin, his scent, she could almost forget.
Daakon ran a hand over her head, smoothing her short hair, sending shivers down her back.
The vutzo was warming her, inside out, loosening her joints and her heart. Hardly aware of what she was doing, she pulled his head down to meet hers. She’d already lost her best friend, why not lose herself this last, little hope?
When her lips touched his, Daakon froze, his whole body rigid against her. Her tears fell faster.
But instead of pulling away, telling her he was sorry but he didn’t see her that way anymore, he kissed her back. His lips tasted of her tears and the apricot ginger vutzo. She melted into him, her heart breaking open with sorrow and joy.
***
Eyes closed, Dysis stretched until her hands brushed the edge of the carpet, until her shoulders popped, and the tension in her lower back eased.
Carpet?
She sat up, heart pounding. A soft, worn blanket fell to her waist.
On the floor next to her, Daakon still slept soundly. The blanket had fallen off his shoulder, exposing his well-muscled chest and the large tattoo of a Ruslanan ice dragon that snaked along his torso. Its wickedly sharp claws stabbed toward his heart.
As she stared at the grim tattoo, flashes of memory overwhelmed her. The spicy vutzo burning her throat. Daakon holding her, so tightly, as she cried.
And then . . . and then . . .
At the memories, her cheeks warmed, along with all the places that he’d touched. She pulled the blanket up to cover her body.
Daakon opened his eyes.
“Hi,” she whispered. “I think we fell asleep.” The thin blanket and a whisper of air was all that separated them.
“Hi, Dysis.” For a long moment, he stared into her eyes, searching her face. She almost leaned closer, almost pressed her lips to his. But then he rolled onto his back with a sigh. Not the good kind.
An edge crept into her voice. “So, was that the official protocol for comforting a subordinate? Or did you decide to improvise?”
“It wasn’t like that. You know that.” He got up, yanking his pants off the edge of a chair and his shirt from where it dangled over one of the lamps.
Dysis swallowed hard, but when she spoke her voice was strong. “What was it like then? Were you taking advantage of me or leading me on?” She swore with every fiber of her being that she would not cry.
The words made him wince, as if they’d been p
hysical blows. He finished dressing and slumped onto the couch.
The couch where we—
“I didn’t take advantage of you,” he said, rubbing his temple as if he had a headache. “I wouldn’t. If anything—”
“Don’t you dare say I took advantage of you,” she growled. Her stomach churned.
He leaned forward, his face hardening into uncharacteristically rigid lines. “It wouldn’t be the first time, would it? You know who I am. You knew when you were first here at Spiro, playing with me to get information on your brother.”
Tears filled her eyes. She raised her chin and turned away, her naked spine as straight and stiff as an iron rod. She couldn’t deny his accusation. “You should go.”
“Look, I’m sorry,” he said, his voice softening. “I really am. I care about you, Dysis. You were so sad, and the vutzo. . . . But I made a mistake. I can’t be what you want me to be.” Daakon’s voice cracked.
Her heart broke in a thousand new ways, pain slicing through her like shattered glass. “I get it,” she said, not looking at him. She couldn’t let him see how his words tore her apart. “You are who you are.”
“I could wish to be different, I could wish . . . but . . .”
“But wishing is what children do,” she mumbled, agony lining her words. “And we know better.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
She raised her chin, though she still couldn’t bring herself to look at him. “You didn’t.” Liar. “But I need to leave now. I told Pallas I’d meet her for dinner.” Liar.
He didn’t move, and she couldn’t bear to wait for him to go. She wrapped the blanket around her and stood up, searching for her discarded clothes with as much dignity as she could muster. Her hands shook as she pulled on her uniform.
It was so much worse getting what she wanted once, knowing it would never happen again. And there’d be no talking about it with Aris, the only one who could possibly understand how she felt. Aris, her best friend.
Aris, who was dead.
Dysis’s heart pumped sluggishly, pounding in her temples, as if it, too, were about to forsake her. She was zipping up her jacket when the door slid open. Daakon jumped to his feet. She didn’t have time to react.
Milek stared at them with red-rimmed eyes, a flash of shock flitting across his face. After a beat, he cleared his throat. “Both of you, in my office. Now.”
Chapter 15
The funeral pyre clung to the edge of the cliff, high above a golden crescent of beach and the vast blue of the ocean. Surrounding the platform, tall wooden columns were draped with black streamers that snapped in the wind.
Dysis stood at the edge of the crowd, close to the line of trees. She couldn’t bear to watch Aris’s parents weep as they placed handfuls of yellow pixypots on the still, silk-swathed body. She couldn’t handle the sound of the wild-haired girl up front sobbing. She couldn’t stand the sick pounding of her own heart.
Major Vadim had made her come, as part of the official contingent from the Atalantan Military. Other soldiers from other stationpoints were there as guards, circling the mourners as a protection against would-be protestors, callous reporters, or Safaran attackers.
Dysis had wanted to stay in Spiro. She’d wanted to do something. But Major Vadim had insisted.
She could see him, barely, through a gap in the crowd. He stood near the pyre with a handful of flowers. His face was pale and still as chiseled stone. He hadn’t spoken a word the entire flight to Lux. Even from this distance, Dysis could see the tension in his clenched fists, the stiffness of his shoulders. Beside him Dianthe’s head was bowed, the blood-red snake tattoo that circled it drooping, as if in mourning, too.
The bracing ocean wind brought a soft voice to Dysis’s ears: Aris’s mother saying goodbye. It was almost time.
A man entered the clearing not far from where Dysis stood. “No . . . I don’t believe . . . oh Gods.” His voice cracked and stuttered.
Like Dysis, he wore an Atalantan Military uniform. His dark-green eyes and warm, tanned skin sent a shock of recognition through her.
Calix. Of course he would come.
He didn’t notice her. When his eyes widened, Dysis followed his gaze to the pyre; the platform had disappeared beneath a blanket of flame.
Calix crumpled to his knees, head in hands.
“This is all my fault.” His hoarse whisper carried on the sharp, smoke–scented breeze.
Something twisted deep in Dysis’s gut. “Oh. You’re a Safaran gunner then?”
Calix’s head shot up as he tried to identify who’d spoken. It didn’t take him long; Dysis was the only one near him.
“Were you talking to me?” he asked, his voice still rough with emotion.
“It’s not your fault Aris died,” Dysis said quickly, looking back toward the pyre. She should have let him have his moment to grieve.
He cleared his throat. “It is my fault. Aris and I . . . If I had asked her to Promise on Selection night, like we’d planned, she would have stayed in Lux. She would have been safe.”
Dysis moved closer, holding her hands at her sides with an effort. She suddenly wanted to throttle him. “Safe? Aris didn’t need to be safe. She needed to live. You didn’t understand her at all. You didn’t even try.”
“Excuse me?” Calix stood up, advancing closer himself. “Who the hell are you?”
“I was Aris’s sectormate. And I know exactly what you did to her, Calix.” Dysis tried to keep her voice down, but the anger spilled out anyway. A few of the other mourners glanced in her direction.
Calix glared at her, eyes burning. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell her that I made a mistake. That I am trying to understand. That I . . . that I still . . .”
Love her.
The unspoken words hung in the air.
“Well, it’s too late.” What else could she say?
“Yes. Clearly. Thank you.” His face crumpled as he looked back toward the fire. He swallowed reflexively, as if his regret might actually choke him.
Dysis snapped. She was so sick of too little, too late. “Oh for Gods’ sakes. Get it together. You’re mourning a girl you abandoned, don’t forget.”
“I didn’t abandon her.” He kept his eyes on the pyre. “She’ll never know it, but I gave up everything to be here today, with her. I wasn’t strong enough before, but I sure as hell am now.”
Dysis glared at him. “What could you have possibly given up to be here?”
Calix looked at her with a strange resignation. “I lied. I broke the rules. The law, actually.”
Dysis laughed outright, earning horrified looks from the two women standing closest to her. She yanked Calix closer to the trees. More quietly, she murmured, “You don’t break the rules. Aris has always been very clear on that point.”
He shrugged. “When I heard about her death, I couldn’t get permission to come here today. Not being Promised, I had no claim. So I just . . . left.”
Dysis’s mouth dropped open. “You left? Like, left your stationpoint? But that means—”
“I’m a deserter.” Calix glanced toward the crowd, which was now singing a slow, mournful lullaby. The music eddied around them, hiding their conversation within its eerie melody.
He’d deserted, risked jail, just to say goodbye. To bear witness to a corpse. Dysis shook her head. “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
“And it is none of your business,” he said stiffly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time I pay my respects.”
“Listen,” Dysis said more gently, as she reached for his arm again. “You need to get back to your unit. Tell them you’re sorry. If you go back now, you’ll hardly be punished.”
“I can’t.” The sadness in his eyes was exruciating. “Aris’s parents are devastated. They’ve been getting hate mail. There are reporters and protestors stalking them. I need to stay here in Lux and help them through this. I wrote them a comm this morning
saying that I’d received a fortnight’s leave. I’ll go back to my unit and face the consequences when I know Aris’s family and friends are okay.”
To Dysis’s horror, tears pricked her eyes. It was the last thing she had expected him to say. But she couldn’t let him do it. “You’re not Aris’s Promised, Calix. That’s not your job. It isn’t worth jail time, believe me.”
He pulled from her grip as his face flushed an angry red. “Stay out of it. You don’t know a damned thing about who Aris was or how her family is suffering. I’ve known her parents since I was born. That history didn’t just disappear when Aris chose to become a soldier and risk her life. I know how to help them.”
He turned his back on her and wove into the singing mourners.
“Blighting hell,” Dysis swore under her breath as she dashed after him. Of all the idiotically noble reasons to break the law. She couldn’t let him go to jail. Not for this, anyway.
She caught up to Calix and slipped in front of him, forcing him back a few steps. His hands twitched with his obvious desire to move her forcibly out of his way.
“You have to go back,” she hissed into his ear. “Whatever you think is going on, whatever gesture you’re trying to make . . . it’s not the right move.”
He glared at her, surrounded by the tapestry of people that made up Aris’s life.
Major Vadim is going to kill me.
With a resigned sigh and a roiling stomach, Dysis did what she knew Aris would want her to. “That’s not Aris, up there on the pyre,” she whispered, so only Calix could hear. “We think she’s still alive.”
“What?” Calix froze, his gaze still fixed on the edge of the cliff, where the flames blackened the white shroud. They were close enough here that the wind blew the fire’s heat against Dysis’s cheeks. The body on the pyre—a Safaran soldier who’d been left to rot on the battlefield—could so easily be the lie.
The diatous veil, hastily configured by Dianthe, had been enough to convince Aris’s parents and friends. It wouldn’t have withstood more than a passing glance, but it didn’t have to, now that the body was shrouded and the fire was doing its work.
Storm Fall Page 8