“He isn’t part of your world anymore,” Cy says in a calm voice. “If you want my opinion, leave it alone and let the chips fall where they may.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” All I wanted were answers, and I got those from Astra. I surge to my feet. “I’ll never leave Oren to that kind of fate. Never.”
He breaks eye contact with a heavy sigh. “Suit yourself.”
“Thanks for your permission,” I spit.
As soon as I’m through the front door, I feel it. An eerie stillness, tight and ready to burst. It locks my knees in place when I know I should turn around and run. I should hurry back to Cy and pretend I never came. But the door to the war room flies open and it’s too late.
Theo looms over Astra, his body shaking from head to toe. “Get out,” he booms. “Now.”
“It’s—”
“Out!”
The windows rattle and I dart into the far corner, wedging myself between the wall and a silver suit of armor. Astra peels out of the room. Her shoes slamming against the marble floor. Fear writhes at my core and I cover my mouth. When she sees me, she gives a small shake of her head and barrels outside. Cy pauses on his way under the arch, but that’s all I see through the window before Theo slams the door behind her. It quakes on its hinges, and I press myself harder against the wall.
“What?” he shouts in my direction.
If I look back at this moment and remember that I cowered in a corner, I’ll hate myself. I step away from the knight and swallow hard. “I didn’t say anything.” I’m impressed with how steady my voice sounds.
He stares me down before spinning away. Maybe he’ll change his mind about Oren when his temper cools down, but I don’t have that kind of time. Every day my brother is in that camp is another day he’s at the mercy of ruthless Volks. Each second is a second closer to death. He’s already been there too long, and for what? Following orders?
“Goran!” Theo shouts.
My body jerks. Cy was right about one thing: I can’t ask Theo for help. I swallow the lump in my throat as I consider my only other choice. My brother’s life in exchange for my pride. It’s worth the price; it has to be. I might be the only one who knows he’s alive, and I’m definitely the only one who cares. I’m the only hope he has left.
Pebbles skitter down the mountainside ahead of me in a chorus of clicks. It’s the only sound other than my rapid breaths. No birds chirp, no animals rustle through the brush. It’s as if they sense the danger lurking beneath their feet as keenly as I do. The bomb Volkana created, filled with antimatter, ready to be loaded on a bomber within the hour.
The hair on my arms stands on end. This has been a long time in the making. The amount of antimatter my new spy reported doesn’t crop up overnight—but no one knew. Or I didn’t know. Volkana had to be working on this long before Timun was drafted, but my lack of power blinds me. My sibling’s eyes are wide open, though. None of them said a word. They may want an end to the war, but not like this.
I lock my shield in place as I reach the base of the mountain. The hangar’s bay door is open, beige painted cement a bright spot among the gray stone. It’s not very subtle for a secret bunker, but the four brown and green uniformed soldiers standing at the entrance with assault rifles don’t seem concerned. I squint across the runway, the only thing that manages to blend into the mountain pass. More soldiers linger inside, less poised, like no one would be stupid enough to try stopping them. And if they did, they wouldn’t get past their comrades.
I draw the blueprints from my back pocket and unfold the thin paper as I walk amongst them. My finger traces the stairwell. It’s an easy shot down four levels to the basement, then I need to turn right at the end of a long hallway and enter the code into the keypad. Simple. But I can’t help the empty feeling in the pit of my stomach. This is more powerful than anything I’ve disabled before. I have no idea how they’ve harnessed the antimatter, which means I don’t have the slightest idea how to take it apart.
Waltzing between soldiers, I make my way farther into the hangar. Hot air blasts down from a vent in the ceiling to mix with the early winter chill. I look up as I pass beneath the wing of the plane and skid to a halt. A bright yellow sun glares down from the smooth metal. The blueprint crinkles in my fists.
Thieving bastards.
They’re going to drop this thing out of a Kisken bomber. It’s doubtful there will be anyone left to identify the plane, but, if there is, the blame will fall on the island. I fold the blueprint into something resembling a square and shove it back in my pocket without looking away from the sun. I never meant for this war to go so far. I thought I could do this. Prove myself. Finally. Finally. But my hands are bound too tightly.
A woman in a khaki jumpsuit strides through the heavy door leading to the staircase. Her head is bent to the clipboard in her hands, her dark hair wound into a tight braided knot. “Is the flight plan programmed?” she asks in Volk.
“All set,” says a voice from inside the cockpit. “We have to do the walk-around and check the oxygen masks, then we’ll be ready to load it up.”
I tear my attention away from the pilot and charge for the open stairwell. This thing has to be disabled before they’re ready for takeoff. Once the explosives team moves the bomb into the elevator, my only option will be to go along for the ride. If I mess this up, I’d prefer to do it in a fortified underground bunker instead of near a large population. War is messy. Lives will always be lost, but I do have limits.
The metal stairs give slightly under the pounding of my feet. I barely have time to register the sharp smell of ammonia before I’ve made it to the final landing. Red signs cover the door, their white block letters giving various warnings: Authorized Personnel Only, Danger, Explosives in Use. I drag in a breath and let it out slowly, pushing my shield forward to encompass the door. The shield throbs around me, almost a living thing, and I pass into the hall unnoticed.
Bright fluorescent lights bounce off stark white walls, blinding me for a moment. There’s one guard halfway down focused on his phone. The shield buffers my footsteps as they echo through the corridor, and I clench my jaw. The passage turns exactly where the blueprint said it would. The solid door looms at the end of the hall. A red light glows on the keypad over the handle. Two, seven, five, one, three. I repeat the code over and over until I’m standing in front of the door. My finger is stiff as I enter the sequence. The light switches to green and I slip inside. Motion lights flicker. Once. Twice. My breath catches and I stop mid-step.
A long gray cylinder hangs from the ceiling, suspended by a dozen heavy cables. On one end, four fins split diagonally. From the other end comes a long, needle-like point. But it’s the eight tubes branching off at even intervals that render me immobile. Gold Penning traps are held taught with wires at the center of clear containers. Another cord, thicker, trails from the bottom of the hourglass traps into the body of the bomb.
My chest constricts around a frantic heartbeat, but I force myself closer. At least the antimatter is in plain sight. If I remove the cylinders, perhaps there’s nothing else inside to cause an explosion. I run my hand over the smooth steel, feeling each screw, each weld mark. When I rap a knuckle against the belly, the sound is short and heavy. Not hollow.
The band of my ring twists around my finger as I rub my thumb against it. If I’m wrong, if this goes badly, the ring will take me back when the final flicker of life flees my body. Not that I want to be blown to bits and pieced back together, molecule by molecule through dimensions, but it’s better than what will happen to the people of Volkana. Or this part of it, anyway. Women, children, the elderly. Not every Volk has the soul of a bloodthirsty conqueror, even if they are a seedy lot.
I scrub at my cheeks as I circle the bomb. To do this, I need to calm down. Going at this with shaking hands could get everyone killed. The caps to the clear containers appear to screw on. The antimatter should be safe as long as it stays within the golden hourglass. I nee
d to get it somewhere remote before the charge runs out and blows everything to bits. I grip the cap but my sweaty palm slips.
Stepping back, I take a deep, steadying breath. I need more time. There’s no way to guess what’s inside the main bomb when nothing like this has ever been achieved before. Concentrate. I can do this, control this. It’s just a bomb.
I circle it again and rub my hands against my jeans. This time when I touch a cap, I twist harder. The steel shifts but maintains its seal. Voices rise in the hallway and I tense, holding my breath. I have to get the Penning traps out before they come through the door.
The container cracks as I twist again. I leap back but nothing happens. Then, as I’m about to reach inside and retrieve the antimatter, hissing begins in the belly of the explosive. It’s barely noticeable at first, but it doesn’t take long for the sound to grow. The rest of the canisters vibrate and a high pitched whistle fills the cavernous room. The breath I was holding back breaks free and I tear across the room, whipping the door open. There’s no time to think. No time to be smart. It’s too late to stop the blast. The only thing left to do is run.
My shields drop as my concentration shifts to escape. I barrel into the hall, through a crowd of Volks in armored suits. Their shouts of surprise quickly turn into something primal as the whistle spills into the corridor after me, but I’m already at the staircase. Their feet hammer behind me in a frantic, irregular pattern. I lose the sound beneath the thundering in my head.
I pummel back into the hangar in time to see the wheels of the plane shift between their blocks. The cement floor tilts. I shove my way between soldiers—some running in, some out. Some stand still with their fingers over triggers. The screeching reaches an octave higher than I can hear for half a second before a deafening boom shatters the silence. I’m already across the tarmac when the blast slams into me. The bone shaking shove thrums through my body in waves. The mortals won’t be able to withstand it; everyone in that bunker is dead.
They did this to themselves.
I have to believe that as I race across the sinking ground. If it wasn’t a Volk mountain erupting, it would be an Asgyan city. They never should have tried something this dangerous; they had to know the risks. And yet, I’m sorry I failed them.
Trees groan and topple with heavy cracks. The path back to the temple crumbles in on itself, swallowing everything in its way. A metallic creak rings through the air, a whining cry, and the suspension bridge leading to the capital snaps. I take a sharp right. Boulders rain down, trying to sweep me along in their race to the gorge. Some nearly miss me. Others slam into my side. My ribs howl in protest. Broken. Blood runs hot over my skin, soaking through my clothes.
I’m not going to make it.
I have to make it.
The ground bucks again. My head is full of faraway screams and sirens, rumbles and booms. I wince against it all. The soil heaves under my feet, and I fall headfirst into a new crater. I shove to my feet. A fist-sized rock ricochets off my temple. I fall backward into the fresh dirt. I have to get up.
Get up.
One more step. Get up and take one more. Then another and another.
My vision blurs. Thick fluid flows into my eyes, blinding me. I stumble to my feet and search for something to pull myself from the corroding ground. My ears ring. The rich scent of clay fills my senses. Each attempt to inhale is blocked before it reaches my lungs. Darkness creeps over my mind, shrouding all rational thought.
Focus!
Home.
Goran.
Cassia.
The flashlight slips in my hand as I direct the beam of light around Theo’s bedroom. It’s plainer than I expected—bare stone walls with bulky, hand-carved furniture similar to what was piled in my room when I arrived. A rust colored comforter is pulled and tucked neatly over a massive sleigh bed. A rich mix of spices lingers in the air with a strong undercurrent of steel, of Theo.
Time is running short, so I swallow hard and move farther into the room. It took two hours to seep enough clovlan moss from the woods to lace Goran’s wine and another hour for it to knock him out. Theo could be back any second.
My hand shakes as I pull open the thick wardrobe doors. A stack of T-shirts runs down the center with dress shirts, jackets, and the like hanging on either side. Batting the fabric out of the way, I shine the light over every inch. Then I move to drawers full of pants and underwear, sifting through each precise pile.
Nothing.
I run a hand along the hangers until everything looks as it did before and puff a piece of hair from my face with a shaky breath. Theo can never suspect I was in here. It doesn’t matter what was in the back of the book on the Ostran War or how much it left my head spinning. There are awful things behind that leather cover—things Theo never should have let happen. The end numbers are higher than any historian ever recorded, and for no other reason than power. Theo’s and the Ostran Empire’s. If it weren’t for the pages at the back, every fiber of my being would be too repulsed to do what I need to for my brother. I could never pretend to like Theo, let alone allow him to touch me.
But those pages.
The regret, the doubt, the self-deprecation. The pain in each ink stroke as Theo acknowledges his brother was right about ending the war, and that, in defending his territory, Theo took things too far. He admits he deserved to have his power stripped, but he wanted his siblings to trust his judgment. And he’s sorry. Sorrier than he ever thought possible.
The wardrobe shuts with a thud and I freeze. My ears prick as I wait to hear heavy footsteps rushing down the hall. When they don’t, I exhale and tip-toe to the nightstand. There has to be something here to help me, to tell me how to move forward with my plan. We have to have something in common to use as a springboard, or at least something I can fake an interest in. The pad of paper, pen, and handful of hard candy tell me nothing.
I kneel and sweep the flashlight under the bed. Nothing again. I lift the black and brown area rug, slip my hand between the mattress and box spring, and squint behind furniture.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
It’s like he doesn’t live here at all. Like he’s a guest in his own home.
The shaking in my hands spreads up my arm, quivering. I flex my hands to bring feeling back into my fingers. There’s no more time. Theo may have another side hidden under all that bitterness, but there’s no trace of it here. I certainly won’t see any sign of it if he catches me snooping through his things after drugging his adviser.
Flicking off the flashlight, I ease back into the hall. I cringe at the soft click of the handle and back away from the door. My fingers skim over textured wallpaper as I feel my way through the dark to the stairwell.
Nothing. The word clangs through my head. My lungs seize. They constrict more with each step until my bare feet hit cool wrought iron. I’m not sure I can save you, Oren. I barrel down to the entryway instead of back to my room, gasping for air. It feels as if someone is compressing me into a tight ball. A cold sweat breaks out all over my body and my vision tunnels to the front door.
I sprint across the marble and into the moonlit courtyard. Gravel digs into my soles but I don’t care. All I care about is air. Precious, precious air. My legs threaten to give out. Without the strength to convince them otherwise, I sink to the ground and bury my head in my knees.
I’m not sure how long I sit, rocking, in the shadows. When I finally lift my head, nothing is different. The mansion, the Wall, the moon and stars, all of it is the same. Everything except me. I’m light, yet heavy. Weary, yet wide awake. Pins and needles continue to assault my limbs. I’ve aged a thousand years but somehow feel younger than ever.
This is more than I know how to handle, but I have no choice. Just like I had no choice when Oren was arrested or when bombs turned me into an orphan. All I can do now is the same thing I’ve always done—pull myself up and deal with it.
A soft groan drifts through the courtyard. I leap to my feet and squint through the
darkness in time to see a figure collapse against the arch. One arm wraps around his abdomen while the other hangs limp at his side. His knees knock together in an attempt to stay upright.
“Theo?” I call. The figure straightens slightly but doesn’t answer. I shift nervously between my feet. “Theo? Is that you?” I ask, taking a step back. It’s too dark where he is—I can’t be sure.
“Were you expecting someone else?” he wheezes.
Relief flutters in my gut but it doesn’t last. Theo’s body slides across the stone as his knees buckle. He catches himself before hitting the ground, and I step forward. A ripple vibrates along his silhouette.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
Theo pushes off the Wall. His feet drag across the ground, his ankles twisting and bending under his weight, as he staggers from the shadows. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end, and I inch further back.
Is he drunk? Can gods get drunk?
The closer her gets, the more I’m torn between helping and hiding. Then he looks up. Moonlight reflects off his blood-soaked features, and I gasp. The sleeve of his jacket is ripped open from shoulder to wrist. A wide slash stretches from his side toward his chest, the fabric hanging limp. His jeans are in tatters. The few places untouched by blood are caked with dirt and leaf fragments. His breath rattles as he passes me on the way to the mansion. I watch him with my jaw hanging open until he pauses at the bottom of the stoop. He bends at the waist and spits red into the gravel.
I take a few tentative steps toward him. Drunk I can handle—avoid—but this…I don’t even know what this is. “What happened to you?”
“Where’s Goran?”
I hesitate. “Sleeping in the war room.”
Theo exhales, glaring at the three wide steps before him. His nostrils flare as he hoists himself up and falters through the front door. I follow behind, raking him over for the source of so much gore. There should be cuts, holes, missing limbs, something based off the amount of blood I’m looking at, but I see nothing.
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