The Diatous Wars 1: Rebel Wing Read online

  This book is dedicated to Andy’s abs . . . because he asked me to, and a girl must honor her promises.

  Especially those made while the man she loves is far from home fighting a war.

  Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  46

  47

  48

  49

  50

  51

  52

  53

  54

  55

  56

  57

  58

  59

  60

  61

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Imitation excerpt

  Every Ugly Word excerpt

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  High above the olive groves and blinding white roofs of the village, Aris danced. She twisted and dove, guiding her wingjet straight out over granite cliffs and the glitter of the ocean. As she did, she imagined its wings were her arms, reaching far out into the blue. Her fingers would knife through a wisp of cloud, and the moisture would linger against her skin, like a kiss.

  Her father wouldn’t approve of such thoughts. To him, flying was a practical pursuit, for dusting crops or traveling from place to place. Their village was built high on carbonate stilts, so wingjets were the easiest form of transportation unless you were working the land or hiking down the steep paths leading to the narrow beach below the cliffs. Most everyone here could fly. But no one flew like Aris did.

  At least Calix understood what flying meant to her.

  She pressed the pedals under her feet and twisted the hand controls, diving in a last tight pirouette before nosing the tiny two-seat wingjet toward home.

  A flicker of light caught at the edge of her vision. She glanced out to sea and steered the wingjet in the direction of the movement.

  Suddenly, the flash became a speeding wingjet. It hurtled toward her, its silver sides reflecting the sun. Aris hovered just off shore, the beach a golden crescent beneath her, waiting for the wingjet to change course or slow to land. Instead, it grew larger, advancing quickly. Surely the flyer saw her? Her hands tightened on the controls. She moved farther from the cliff. The other wingjet shifted too, keeping her directly in its path.

  Aris nearly waited too long. She jerked the controls down, the force of the other wingjet’s passage rattling the bones of her machine as she locked into a downward spiral. Heart beating wildly, she waited until the last second before pulling up and skimming the water. Beneath her, waves rolled from deep blue to white, ruffled by her jet wind.

  The other flyer followed, matching her move for move. Her stomach twisted as the wingjet drew up alongside, giving her a clear view of its needle nose and the Atalanta flag decal stretched across its sloping tail. No solar panels curved above its wings like on her wingjet. Instead the whole thing shimmered a silvery gold, the hallmark of new-tech solar material. Aris had only ever seen Military wingjets on news vids, never up close.

  What was it doing here, so far from the front lines of the war?

  Without warning, the jet shot upward, piercing the cloudless sky like a shining arrow. She slowed to watch its progress, waiting for it to disappear. But with a flash of reflected sunlight, it dove again, straight for her.

  What is he trying to prove? Her apprehension shifted to annoyance. She darted out from under the jet and flipped through the air to face him. It had to be a him. All members of the Military sector were male.

  For a moment they hovered in a strange standoff. Then the other wingjet rocketed forward, forcing her into a series of evasive spins and loops. At first Aris dipped and whirled away in anger and frustration. But gradually, his movements lost their aggression and she relaxed into the dance, pushing farther and twisting faster until it was suddenly her chasing him across the sky. She, who flew the most intricate patterns, she who nipped at his jet wind, whooping as she tumbled toward the flashing waves below.

  Eventually, the other flyer slowed and headed back to the cliffs, tipping his wings in a “follow me” gesture. She watched him land, her heart still hammering, then followed suit.

  As she touched down, the tall, yellow-flowered grass beneath her swept in wild circles. She wrenched the hood-release lever twice before the glass slid back. It always stuck a little—the hazards of a second-hand machine. Not that she was complaining. Her parents had given her the wingjet three months ago for her eighteenth birthday. It was hers, and the only thing she owned that she really, truly cared about.

  Aris slid both hands through her hair, trying to smooth it down. She’d left it loose and curling, the way Calix liked, but her recent maneuvers had given the heavy auburn waves a reckless disregard for gravity.

  The other flyer stood among the flowers, waiting for her. Dressed in full uniform—blunt-toed boots, trim pants, sleek forest-green jacket—the man represented every fear she had for Calix. On the back of his neck was the black rectangular brand that marked him as Military. He could have just as easily appeared in a news vid as in one of Aris’s nightmares. Her breath froze in her throat, and her hands went cold.

  “That was incredible.” The stranger was slight, with a fine-boned face and thin lips turned up in a smile.

  “Thanks?” she replied, taken aback by his enthusiasm.

  “Really, I mean it. I’ve never seen anyone go from a right-hook flutter pattern straight into a flat-nosed full spindrop.”

  With a grin, she said, “I call it the swing zinger.”

  He laughed. “I’d heard you were good, Aris Haan, but blighting hell, that was fantastic.”

  A whisper of unease unfurled in her belly. “How do you know who I am?”

  Instead of answering, he held a hand up as an invitation. “You coming down from there?”

  Her weak leg tensed reflexively. Flying was one thing; getting in and out of a wingjet gracefully was quite another. She eyed him warily. “Why don’t you answer my question first?”

  The man’s friendly smile twisted into a guarded expression. “It’s not important.”

  “And how did you know I was here? Is that important?” she pushed.

  The man shrugged. “I watched you leave your father’s grove and followed you so we could speak privately. And so I could see what you can do.”

  Her mind raced. He’d followed her? How had she not noticed? And more importantly: “Why would you do that?”

  “Because I want to offer you a job.”

  She let out a disbelieving laugh. Not only were women not allowed in the Military sector, they weren’t authorized to take any job, in any sector, deemed “dangerous.” What could he possibly have in mind?

  “Tomorrow, at your selection, you’ll be invited to join the Environment sector,” the man said. “And then what? Work as a duster for your father’s groves? There were only two people in your entire year that scored
even close to you in the aviation trial. That talent would be wasted there.”

  His words sent ice down her spine. “How do you know I’ll be selected for Environment? No one finds out their sectors until the ceremony.”

  “I know more about you than you can imagine,” he interjected. “I know why you won’t get down from that wingjet, for one. And I know you’ll never fulfill your potential here. It’ll eat away at you, settling for this life.” He put a hand on the side of her wingjet. “Listen to me—”

  “Who are you? Is this some kind of . . . I don’t know . . . some sort of trick?”

  He raised his chin. “No. And I don’t offer this lightly.”

  “You’re Military. You can’t be . . . I mean, you can’t offer—”

  “You have a lot of questions, of course. But I’m not the one to answer them.” The man drew a small piece of silco from his pocket and handed it to her. The letters on it were stamped in blood-red ink. “Go to Dianthe. She’ll explain everything. You’ll find her at this address in Panthea. Tell her Theo sent you.”

  Aris took the silco, gingerly, as if it might bite her. “You want me to go to Panthea?”

  He leaned closer, a new urgency in this voice. “Don’t tell anyone where or why you’re going. Tell them you got a job in the city, whatever will keep them from asking questions. We’ll set it up, however you need. No one can know what you’re really doing. It’s imperative that you tell no one. Do you understand?”

  She studied Theo’s face. Understand? He had to be joking. “I don’t understand anything. What kind of job is it? And why do I have to lie to my family?”

  “This is your chance to fly,” he said, his eyes serious. “Not that mindless drudgery you do for your father. I mean real flying. All across Atalanta. You have no idea how useful you could be to the war effort. How many lives you could save.”

  She couldn’t keep a burst of bitter laughter from escaping. “That kind of flying isn’t useful. It’s self-indulgent.” Her father had told her so often enough.

  He made an impatient noise. “I’ve watched you. I know what your life is like here. Why aren’t you jumping at this chance?”

  Anger spilled through her. “You don’t know anything about me. How dare you spy on me and think you know me? I’m happy here.”

  “Really? You’re happy being a duster and never leaving Lux?” Theo stared up at her, his face set in rigid lines.

  “I am.” With Calix, she would be.

  “You’re either stupid or selfish then.” He turned away, as if disgusted with her. “This isn’t just about you.”

  Selfish? Stupid? “If you know so much, surely you’re aware I’m about to be Promised.” She and Calix had already decided. Two years of Promise, then they could choose to marry. And be bound, irrevocably, for the rest of their lives. It’s what she’d wanted for as long as she could remember. “He’s going to ask me tomorrow, after selection. I can’t leave, and there’s nothing selfish or stupid about it.”

  The man turned back to her and scoffed. “A Promise? Don’t count on it.”

  “Excuse me?” Shock painted her words.

  “I assume you’re referring to Calix Pavlos?”

  Her chest tightened. “Tomorrow he’ll join the Health sector. He’s going to work in his mother’s clinic. We—”

  Theo slammed a hand against the side of her wingjet, cutting her off. “Have you not watched the news vids? This war will claim us all, one way or another.” His thin lips twisted with an emotion she couldn’t identify. “Calix will be selected for Military, make no mistake.”

  “You’re wrong.” A buzzing filled her ears. “We’re winning the war. That’s what the news vids say. Calix isn’t going anywhere.” This man was her nightmare after all, come to take everything from her. “His family has been part of the Health sector for generations. There’s no chance—”

  “There is, Aris, and you know it.” Theo stepped back, tipping his head up to look her in the eye. “Please. Consider my offer. You could save lives. Maybe even Calix’s.”

  Then, without another word, he climbed into his shining wingjet and sped away.

  Chapter 2

  Pyralis Nekos studied the enormous painting of the Five Dominions that hung on his office wall. He loved the way Atalanta looked from above, like a brilliant jewel in the center of a gaudy necklace. An emerald caught between the cobalt of the ocean, the golden deserts of Safara, and the diamond ice of Ruslana. To the west, beyond the ocean, Meridia and Castalia formed a shining patchwork of colors, from the white and black of the snow-capped mountain ridges to the pale green of the plains.

  Generations ago, before the Peace Accords and creation of the Five Dominions, that vibrancy hadn’t existed. War had burnt out all the color, nearly all the life, from the world.

  How different would the world look once this war ran its course?

  Not for the first time, Pyralis caught himself wishing he’d been elected sooner. Every five years, Atalanta’s Ward was elected from the five sector leaders. As leader of the Military sector, Pyralis had been elected shortly after Safara declared war, a little less than two years ago. And still, even Military Warded, his dominion struggled.

  “The Ward of Ruslana is here,” a tech voice chirped into the quiet of the office.

  Pyralis tapped the screen embedded in his desk. “Thank you. Send her in.” As Atalanta’s Ward, he was the most powerful man in this dominion. It was a shame he didn’t feel like it.

  With a steadying breath, he stood, squared his shoulders, and ushered Galena Vadim into the room. She sat on the padded bench he indicated. His eyes lingered on the smoothness of her blond hair pulled back in a low knot, the way her lashes made feathered shadows against her pale cheeks.

  “Thank you for coming,” he said.

  “How can I refuse when the Ward of Atalanta asks for a meeting?” She settled her hands in her lap, where they laid peacefully, like two small, sleeping birds.

  Pyralis sank to the bench beside her, but not close enough that any part of their clothing touched.

  “Galena.” The name was little more than a sigh.

  She stiffened. “Ward Nekos, I insist you share the purpose of this meeting.”

  He stared at the rich mahogany leather of his sandals. It wasn’t hard to guess what she thought of him, why she sat suddenly tense and poised to flee. Her hands were not peaceful now.

  “I can no longer deny . . .” he began, the words dragging. Galena made a small noise, as if she meant to speak, but he pushed on, raising a hand to silence her, “that Atalanta will fall. If we are very lucky, we’ll be able to hold Safara another two years. But no more.”

  From the way Galena’s pale blue eyes cut to his, he could tell it wasn’t what she’d expected him to say. “You mean two years until they reach the Fex River.”

  “I mean fall. I don’t expect Ward Balias to stop when he reaches the river.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” She stared at the wall of glass across from them, toward the forest that climbed the hills outside of Panthea. “Why don’t you renegotiate your trade agreements? Agree to some of his terms? He’s just pressuring you for more resources. If he gets what he wants—”

  “Oh, he’ll get what he wants. Atalanta has been led by Enviro and Tech Wards for generations. Our Military sector has always focused on town infrastructure and internal protections; we’re not strong enough to withstand his invasion.” An edge of frustration crept into his voice. “Believe me, I’ve tried to renegotiate trade. I’ve offered tech to help identify deep water reserves, architectural plans for water treatment facilities. Balias doesn’t want any of it. Says he must have direct access to the river, which I’ll never willingly provide. Our dominion’s agriculture and Panthea’s entire water supply depend on the Fex. There’s no way to give him access without risking my dominion’s resources. And he knows it. I believe the river is a convenient excuse for a larger power play.”

  “What’s your evidence? Merely that he
refuses to negotiate?”

  “Isn’t that damning enough?” Pyralis twisted to look at her, wishing she would meet his eyes. “My spies tell me Ward Balias’s designs extend far beyond Atalanta. Ruslana and the other dominions are still too strong for him to attack, but once he has access to our resources, our—”

  Her head snapped up. “What reason could he possibly have to attack Ruslana? Or the others?”

  Pyralis stood and strode to the wall of glass, where sunlight embraced him like a consuming fire. “Safara has been Military Warded for years, building their strength. Why? Why not elect an Environment or Technology Ward and find a solution to the water issue, if it’s so concerning? This war is not really about the river. Which begs the question: What does he really want? What is it about?”

  “And you think . . .” Galena’s voice was sour with disbelief, but a question hung in the air.

  “I don’t know.” Pyralis sighed impatiently, turning to look at her. A stray beam of light caressed her cheek. “But I don’t trust him. And we are failing.”

  Galena paced the open floor between the door and his desk. “What will you do? Select more for Military?”

  “We’ve increased our recruiting efforts. The number of volunteers has been higher this year, but not as high as we need. We’ll have to select more from this year’s class, yes. I’ve also reallocated Commerce sector funding to Military, but it won’t be enough.”

  Galena paused a few feet from him. For the first time she met his eyes. “Why are you telling me this now? Why not wait for the World Council?”

  “Meridia and Castalia have no stake in containing Safara; they share no borders and rely heavily on Safaran energy. But you . . .” He cleared his throat. “Ruslana . . . you’ll suffer, too, as our resources are eaten by the war. If Safaran troops continue to raze our fields, we’ll have no crops to export. No timber, if our forests continue to burn. And, if Ward Balias is indeed aiming to conquer Atalanta, I don’t imagine he’ll stop there. It’s in your best interest to help us stand in this war.”