Catalyst Moon: Incursion (The Catalyst Moon Saga Book 1)

by Lauren L. Garcia

  Milo inhaled deeply. Bacon... Oh, and honey cakes. Soon the other sentinels would begin to trickle into the mess hall adjacent to the kitchen to enjoy what smelled so delicious. No telling when he and Flint would be free to join them. When had he last eaten? The sharp snarling in his gut was answer enough. With a sigh, he eyed the stack of dirty dishes from last night's supper – his and Flint's “assignment.” At least, that's how the blonde kitchen worker had phrased the task before she'd gleefully switched to bacon-duty.

  “It's ridiculous,” Flint continued, splashing around the basin as she sought the dish she'd cast aside. Neither of them wore armor, only soft pants and boots, and long tunics with the sleeves rolled up. “What in Nox's void were we expected to fucking do about a mage who can fucking fly?”

  “I don't know,” Milo replied, turning back to the stack of wet bowls, cups, and plates.

  Flint handed him a dripping bowl. “I think Cobalt just has it in for us. Dev told me...” She cleared her throat. “I mean, the captain's too harsh. Too...strict. We did the best we could.”

  Milo nodded once but did not look her way as a sudden, hot wave of anger rose within him, startling him into silence. We did the best we could.

  We.

  “There's no 'we,' any more, is there?” he murmured.

  Flint frowned. “What did you say?”

  Only when the bowl slipped from his grasp did Milo realize his hands were trembling. Lucky for him, the kitchen worker had left her bacon to check on the twins' progress. Nimble as a cat, the blonde young woman grabbed the bowl before it hit the floor.

  “Careful, burnie,” she said with a wink as she handed it to Milo.

  Before he could reply, Flint rounded on her. “We're not burnies,” his sister snapped, snatching the bowl from the other woman's grip. “Keep your mouth shut if you don't know what you're talking about, dreg.”

  The kitchen worker's face fell and she took a step back, her hands lifting as if to shield herself from Flint's ire. More anger swept through Milo's veins and this time, he could not keep his silence.

  “Oh, shut up,” he told his sister, adding a glare for good measure. “Act like a sentinel, not a horse's ass!”

  Flint gaped at him.

  Shaking his head, Milo turned to the blonde kitchen worker, whose eyes were wide. “I'm sorry about that, ser,” he said. “Please ignore my sister. We're very grateful for your help.”

  “Always happy to help a sentinel.” The kitchen worker shot a wary look at Flint before retreating to the bacon.

  The moment she was out of earshot, Milo looked back at his twin, who still stared at him as if he'd grown a pair of antlers. Surprise still looked so strange on her face. “I agree that this isn't...the most enjoyable way to spend a morning,” he said to her. “But it is fair.”

  Now she scowled again, once again the Flint he knew so well. “Did the mage addle your mind? It's not fair in the least. The commander–”

  “We lost Mage Echina,” Milo interrupted. “We failed our assignment – and our duty.” He looked back at his drying rag and the bowl in his hands. “Commander Talon was within her rights to punish us.”

  He set the bowl in the stack of clean, dry ones, and selected another, bracing himself for Flint's retort. But she only grabbed the next dirty dish in the pile beside her. Neither spoke. The kitchen continued to bustle around them as breakfast time drew closer. The sound and smell of sizzling bacon made Milo's mouth water, but he ignored his unhappy stomach and focused on the task at hand.

  “Milo?” Flint's voice was soft, almost...hesitant.

  Startled, he glanced at her. “What?”

  The surprise had faded from her face, leaving her expression troubled. She gnawed on her lower lip before looking his way. “Are you...” She grimaced. “Are you well?”

  He dropped his gaze to the plate in his hands. It was the same as the others, sturdy but plain ceramic, with no chip or scratch to be found. There was always enough food to fill it. “If you want me to leave, I'll leave. Just...” He forced himself to meet her eyes; bright blue, just like his. “Just...please stop being cruel to me. I don't know how much more of it I can stand.

  “You're my sister, Mira. I love you, but when you treat me like someone you hate...” Sod it all, but his throat was tight, not allowing the words to come freely. He had to look away again just to speak properly. “I'd rather be cut to pieces by a hundred Canderi.”

  She frowned and he swore inwardly. He'd called her Mira – again. “Sorry,” he added quickly. “I know you hate that name. It just slipped–”

  “It's not that.” Flint's expression smoothed and she shook her head. “Not exactly.”

  “Then what did I do? Why don't you want me around?” Anger swelled again and it was his turn to slam down a plate. This one shattered; the sound vanished in the din of the kitchen. Even so, both twins winced reflexively. “Why do you hate me so much?”

  “I'm not Mira anymore,” she replied sharply. “I earned a new name – a new life. But you'll never look at me like that. I'll always be a scrawny wharf-rat to you, Mi.”

  “No, you won't. You're strong. You've come so far since we were little. We both have–”

  “But that's just it,” she broke in. “We've worked and trained and fought to get where we are. We're not the same children who cowered under our bed when...when she got into the bottle.”

  Memories bubbled to the surface as Flint spoke: a woman's shouts that rolled through Milo's heart with the force of thunder; clattering dishes shattering as they hit the stone floor of their tiny house in the coastal town of Callat; the dull ache upon his face where their mother's fist had often landed. Quick summer storms would blow in out of nowhere and had driven their mother to seek consolation at the bottom of a bottle of ale – or a dozen bottles. Or at least, it was so in Milo's memories. Only the gods knew the truth.

  “We're not the same at all,” he said slowly. “But don't you think we should be...glad we left those days behind?”

  Flint braced her hands on the washbasin's edge and seemed to have to work to keep her voice low. “All I want to do is forget. How she lived. How she died.” Flint tightened her jaw. “How she left us alone.”

  We've never been alone, Milo thought. We have each other.

  “Dev only ever knew me as 'Flint,'” she continued. “When I was with him, I could forget our mother. Dev thought I was strong. And...” Spots of pink crept to her cheeks. “And beautiful. I always wanted to be beautiful.”

  “I think you're strong, too.” Milo paused. “I don't know that I can call you 'beautiful,' though.”

  She scoffed, but he saw how she also fought a grin. “No, you think I'm a horse's ass.”

  “Well, you are,” he said, shrugging. “Sometimes.” She cast him a wry look and he added, “Most of the time. But you're still my blood, relah. I still love you.” He sighed. “Gods help me.”

  Flint's smile was a fragile thing, like a broken limb that had only just begun to heal; she did not seem to have full use of it yet. But the sight made his heart lift. “Gods help us both,” she said.

  A quick glance at the kitchen showed Milo that none of the workers were paying him and Flint any attention. Most of them were scuttling to the mess hall with trays of food and pitchers of milk and honey cider. He knelt to collect the larger pieces of the plate that had fallen to the stone floor, reminding himself to apologize to the kitchen worker for shattering the thing. A second pair of hands joined his. He and Flint gathered the broken bits and set them on the counter beside the washbasin.

  As they did, Milo looked at her again. “I meant what I said.”

  “When?”

  He toyed with a dagger-shaped shard, careful to keep the sharp edges away from his skin. “If you truly want me to, I'll leave.”

  She glanced at the floor. “Oh...that.”

  “I want you to be happy,” he added. “If me not being here will make you happy, then I'll go...somewhere else.”

  She was
silent for a moment. “What about your...happiness?”

  “I'll be fine wherever I go.” He chuckled. “Well, as long as there's enough food.”

  Flint rolled her eyes. “Where in Ea's blessed realm would you go?”

  The last of the broken pieces collected, they both straightened and he picked up the next dish to dry. “Maybe Silverwood. I've always wanted to see Lasath.”

  “You want to visit that cesspool of a capital?”

  “I dunno.”

  “It's a huge city,” she said, shaking her head. “You'd get lost within an hour.” She reached for a new dish to scrub. “You should just stay here, where I can keep an eye on you.”

  Milo frowned. “But I thought you wanted me to–”

  “Well, I've changed my mind.” She shot him a glare, though he could tell her heart wasn't behind it. “I was...upset, before. I didn't mean to...” She sighed heavily and muttered, “Sorry, Mi.”

  'Flint' she may have wanted to be, but she was also 'Mira' in that moment, and probably every moment, even when he wasn't conscious of the fact. She was right. Milo ducked his head in acknowledgment.

  They worked without speaking. Around them, the hum of conversation increased, and he heard a few murmurs of “the bastion.” He ignored them. He'd done the best he could. Whatever was happening at the bastion now was nothing that concerned him – at the moment, anyway.

  “You may have a point about this being sort of deserved,” Flint said, indicating the washbasin and the shrinking stack of dishes beside it. “But even you have to agree that it's torture being stuck in the scullery while the others get to deal with Mage Echina.”

  “It's not that bad. The commander could've sent us to muck stalls.”

  Rather than reply immediately, Flint regarded him, brows knitted. “You didn't sense the mage last night, did you?”

  “I...” He opened his mouth but the words didn't emerge. At last he shook his head. “No. Did you?”

  “Aye. It was strange, but...” She smiled. “Well, I liked it. Dev said it would happen eventually.” Her smile faded and she studied him some more. “Milo?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you...” She hesitated, then said carefully, “Do you like being a sentinel?”

  He froze with a plate in one hand and damp rag in the other, staring at both without seeing either. Did he like being a sentinel? What sort of question was that? It took him a moment to find a smile. “Of course. Why would you ask that?”

  She shrugged. “You don't seem to, sometimes. You don't like fighting–”

  “I can hold my own,” he broke in.

  “Aye, you're good, but you don't...” She sighed as she seemed to consider. “You don't seem to like actual combat. Only sparring. And you didn't want to go after Echina last night, let alone kill her.”

  The very notion made his guts dance a jig. “I didn't want to kill her. I don't want to kill anyone. Do you?”

  “I don't look forward to it, but if it's deserved...” She trailed off, giving him a knowing look. “I do what must be done. Like with those Canderi.”

  Milo took a deep breath, as much to settle his stomach as to collect his thoughts. “Why does it even matter if I like being here? What other choice did we have? It was join the sentinels or hope for the best in the orphanage. And you know as well as I do how that would likely have gone.”

  “Aye, I know.”

  “And even if I didn't like being a sentinel, it isn't like I could just...leave,” he continued, dropping his voice to a whisper. “You know what would happen. You know what they would do to me.”

  That...that was a thought that made the idea of killing anyone, even a mage, almost pleasant in comparison. The scar on the inside of his wrist twinged as if remembering when he'd first been marked; how badly it would burn to be marked again, this time as an oath-breaker.

  Indeed, Flint's eyes widened briefly before she shuddered. “Forsworn,” she whispered. “Outcast.”

  Alone. Even the gods would not help him then. Milo shuddered as well before turning back to the plate in his hand. “No, I'm where I should be. Look,” he added quickly, to change the subject. “We're nearly done.”

  Flint glanced at the few remaining plates before sticking the lot of them into the sudsy water. “I think I could eat an entire cow.”

  Another inhale brought Milo the wonderful, wonderful scents of breakfast, and his stomach groaned with longing. “Aye, me as well... Horns, tail and hooves.”

  “All of it, down the hatch,” Flint agreed, and they exchanged a chuckle.

  Someone behind the twins cleared their throat. Milo straightened, half-expecting the captain or commander for some reason, and turned, bracing himself for another chewing out.

  But it was only the blonde kitchen worker, apron laid oddly across her outstretched hands. At Milo's look, she cast a furtive glance over her shoulder, then nodded to the apron, which, now that he was paying more attention, seemed to be covering something.

  “Here,” she muttered, offering whatever was in her outstretched hands. “Take it, quickly.”

  “What's...?” Milo held out his own hand and trailed off when the weight of a full plate was set within. The kitchen worker pulled the apron back, revealing a plate of honey cakes with a generous stack of crispy bacon.

  She jerked her chin to the clean dishes beside him. “Put it back there so no one will see. And you're welcome.”

  “Thank you,” he stammered, doing as she said, ensuring that the clean dishes blocked view of the plate.

  “By the way, that's for you, Serla Sentinel,” the kitchen worker whispered. “But I guess you can share it...if you want to.”

  Flint's hands rested on the washbasin's edge, but she'd turned to watch the exchange with a hopeful expression. She scowled at this, but Milo pretended to consider. “Hmm...I dunno if I much feel like sharing.”

  His twin rolled her eyes and muttered something unseemly – probably about him. The kitchen worker chuckled, then cast Milo a look that was...apologetic? “Also...well, I'm sorry.”

  He furrowed his brow. “What for?”

  She nodded in Flint's direction. Both sentinels turned to the counter, where a new stack of dirty dishes had appeared as if by magic, piled up almost to Flint's shoulder. It would take them forever to work through those.

  When Milo looked back at the blonde kitchen worker, she shrugged. “Blame it on the breakfast rush.” She giggled. “You sentinels eat three times as much as regular folk!”

  Flint glared daggers. Milo only sighed. “I'm not sure I should have thanked you, now,” he said.

  The kitchen worker laughed lightly, pressing one hand to her mouth, then gave Milo a swift, graceful bow before scurrying off without another word.

  The twin exchanged glances again before Milo reached for the plate of illicit breakfast, sliding it closer so that it rested between them. As they began to dig in, he grinned at his sister. “Well, at least we won't have to work on an empty stomach.”

  Flint sighed deeply. “Sod off, relah.”

  Milo's grin widened.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  I give up.

  Eris pulled off the blanket and slipped her stockinged feet into her boots resting next to the sleeping pallet. Though she was more exhausted than she'd ever been, her hands trembled with pent energy as she tied the laces. As they'd done since she'd returned to the bastion only a few hours ago, her thoughts chased each other in circles.

  When she was tiptoeing to the door, Gid mumbled her name. Eris glanced behind her. “I'll be right back. I'm just going to feed the chickens.”

  He yawned through his reply. “That's terribly...responsible of you.”

  “One of us has to be.”

  “What's that supposed to mean?”

  Sweet stars, she was not up for an argument right now. Gritting her teeth, she reached for her cloak. “Nothing. Go back to sleep.”

  But he sat up, pushed his hair out of his eyes and regarded her. “The chickens ca
n wait. Come back to bed, love, and tell me what's troubling you.” His smile was bright and infuriating in the predawn light filtering through their window. “Perhaps I can make it better–”

  Eris whirled around to better glare at him. “I never should have listened to you. I never should have let you talk me into leaving last night.” Hands trembling with rage and exhaustion, she tried to secure the buttons of her cloak. “The only person more of a fool than you is me. And now we're both royally, utterly fucked.”

  “How?” Gid dangled his legs off of the bed and leaned back on his hands. “There's no way that guard could have identified us with his injury.”

  “He wasn't alone.”

  Gid was silent. “It was nighttime,” he said at last. “We took care to conceal our faces. Besides, we both made it back to the bastion before the hemies came looking, and you collected your clothes by the gate. I don't see what's gotten you so–”

  “We barely made it to the main yard in time,” Eris broke in. “If our friends hadn't kept that dolt of a sergeant distracted...” She trailed off and gave her husband a meaningful look.

  Gideon shrugged. “Well, what's done is done. We can't change anything now.”

  “Will you say that when the hemies comes for us?” Eris asked. “Will you say that when we're locked in a cell and Talon throws away the key...or worse?”

  His reply was sharper than before. “No one can prove we were outside of the bastion.”

  “Aye, I'm sure Talon will give us filthy moon-bloods a fair trial,” Eris said, rolling her eyes.

  “I didn't force you to leave.” He hesitated, then added, “Besides, it would have gone easier if you'd managed to change. I had to improvise at the last minute.”

  A truth, but Seren's light, it stung. Anger bubbled up within Eris' heart, mixing with shame and fear, and she spat her next words. “So it's my fault we were seen?”

  A pained look crossed his face. He rose and came to her, tried to take her hands, but she tugged them out of his grip. “No,” he said, sighing. “No, that was harsh of me, love. But...”