Storm Fall Read online

  For Jody, one of the strongest women I know

  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

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Portal 24 excerpt

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  The swish of a wingjet, close overhead, sent Aris Haan to the shadows. She crept along the rough stone wall of her parents’ home, her ears picking up a rush and then silence as the jet landed nearby. No doubt it was someone visiting the neighbors, or her mother returning early from work. But Aris needed to see for herself. It didn’t matter that she was in the lazy seaside village of Lux; war had taught her that danger could find her anywhere.

  Aris reached the arch that led to the landing pad and froze. A second wingjet perched next to hers. But unlike her mother’s, this jet was needle nosed and a pale shimmering blue.

  A Military wingjet.

  She was caught between the desire to run away—away from the memories of her time as a soldier and the injustice that had sent her home—and the urge to fling herself toward the man she hoped would emerge.

  With a hiss, the shield opened.

  Short golden hair shone in the glare of the sun. Pale skin, with that knife-thin scar along his cheek. Two clear blue eyes locked onto hers.

  “Milek.” Her heart lurched. She’d almost resigned herself to never seeing him again, and for a short moment, her life as Aristos wasn’t so far away.

  It had been almost a year since Aris had been recruited to be a flyer in Atalanta’s all-male Military, which was close to buckling under the Safaran invasion. Almost a year since she’d first met Dianthe, the terrifying, snake-tattooed woman who’d trained her and programmed the holographic diatous veil that had transformed Aris into Aristos, a “male” soldier.

  And it had been two months since Aris had woken in the blank, white room of a mender clinic to find Milek Vadim, her commanding officer, gone, with no message or goodbye, and her place within her unit revoked. Worse, her part in the rescue of Ruslana’s Ward Vadim, Milek’s mother, had been erased. Because she’d done it as a woman, not as Aristos. Her diatous veil had broken, and her life along with it.

  Even though it was her actions that spurred the new policy allowing women into Military, a confidentiality agreement and the threat of imprisonment kept her silent. She’d spent her time at home watching news vids discussing the change, but her name was never mentioned. She’d been determined to volunteer anyway, when she was ready. Aris was a soldier in every way that mattered, politics be damned.

  But ready was proving elusive.

  She could barely bring herself to fly, haunted by her final mission—by the dead faces of her fellow soldiers, the blank, dead eyes of the Safarans she’d killed. By the Safaran operative, Elom, who had kidnapped and tortured Ward Vadim.

  Aris had spent less than ten minutes in that tiny cell with Elom, and yet he still stalked her nightmares. Every time she caught a glimpse of her own face in the mirror, she saw the red slash of scar he’d given her, and she could feel his fingers trying to rip out her throat. Every time she climbed into a wingjet, her stomach would cramp, and panic would close her throat.

  Now Aris watched Milek close the distance between them. He wore his proper Ruslanan uniform, the sky blue complimenting his pale skin. Like Aris, he’d been in disguise, a Ruslanan soldier secretly embedded in Atalanta to aid the war effort.

  Aris fought the urge to turn away from him, to hide the scar that swept from one side of her face to the other. Instead, she forced herself to meet his eyes squarely. With him, she shouldn’t have to wear her old life like an ill-fitting jacket.

  His gaze was filled with an intensity nearly matching the glare of the sun. “Hello, Aris. It’s been too long.”

  She bit back the who’s fault is that that rose in her throat. For the last two months, she’d felt like a dirty secret being kept hidden. “I’m surprised to see you here at all, sir.”

  “I . . .” Milek squinted into the sun for an instant. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”

  With a nod, she led him to the courtyard, where a wooden pergola draped in ivy provided some shade. Her mind churned with questions and her hands trembled.

  He stopped behind the nearest chair, his large hands clutching the delicate wrought iron.

  There was so much tension in Aris’s body, she felt in danger of shattering. She tried to keep her voice as professional as possible. “Please tell me why you’re here, sir.”

  “Of course.” Milek cleared his throat. “Specialist Aris Haan, I have been authorized by the dominion of Atalanta to offer you a place in Military sector as a flyer. I have also been tasked with giving you a field promotion to Lieutenant, if you choose to accept it.”

  “Excuse me?” Her heart gave a giant thump.

  The lines of his face relaxed slightly. “I know the last couple of months have been difficult. It’s taken longer to change the laws than my mother expected—she had to practically coerce Ward Nekos into it—but they’re finally starting to process the women who’d already been a part of the sector, hidden as men. I’m sure you’ve seen on the news.”

  Aris nodded, mouth dry. Just yesterday there’d been footage of two women rejoining their unit without their diatous veils. Their former comrades had jeered at them as they took their place within the ranks.

  Milek added, “I wanted to tell you right away, so you’d know how important you are. How much we appreciate what you did.” He cleared his throat again and glanced at his boots before continuing, his voice gruff. “But my mother wanted you to have time with your family, without reporters hounding you. She didn’t want you to feel pressured. This offer is just that, an offer. A choice. You are welcome to decline it and stay, if you’re happier here. No one ever has to know what you did, if that’s what you want.”

  Aris sagged into a chair. All this time, they’d left her alone out of respect.

  Milek sat too, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. “Are you happy here, Aris?”

  No. The word didn’t quite make it past her lips. How could she be happy, when her neighbors stared at her scar like it was the mark of some unknown shame? Their eyes slid away when she passed, the same way they had when she was a young, awkward, limping girl. Back then she’d had Calix Pavlos, her first love, to build her back up. Now she had endless questions from her friends about why she never spoke about him. Why she’d given up on him.

  She couldn’t tell them it was the other way around.

  Aris had been in love with Calix for years. They’d planned their whole lives together, until he was selected for Military sector and sent to war. That’s why she’d joined Military in secret. But when she’d finally found him, when she’d asked him to accept who she’d become, he had turned his back on her. Her own response to his rejection haunted her; she hadn’t cared nearly as much she should have.

  “Has Calix forgiven you for helping to rescue my mother?” Milek’s question, so closely mirroring her own tho
ughts, made Aris jolt upright in her chair.

  “I don’t know,” she replied a little hoarsely. “We haven’t spoken.” It still surprised her how little that bothered her now.

  “He shouldn’t have asked you to choose.” The conviction in Milek’s voice sent a tremor through her.

  “You’re right,” she agreed, her voice level, though her heart pounded. “He shouldn’t have.”

  “Join me at Spiro as my flying expert.” Milek slid his hands across the table, almost as if he wanted to reach for her hand.

  “You’re still at Spiro, then?”

  “For now. All Ruslanans have remained at their posts. I’m still leading search and rescue missions, but we have another task as well.”

  “Which is?” she prompted, when he didn’t continue.

  “Finding Elom.” The name fell from his mouth like a stone.

  Aris fought down a shiver. “I wish your mother had let me kill him when I had the chance.”

  Milek lifted his hand and gently traced her scar with this finger. His voice fierce and protective and vengeful all at once, he said, “Elom will pay for what he did to both of you.”

  Aris’s breath caught. The air between them thickened until she could hardly breathe. It was suddenly very difficult to forget their one, fleeting kiss. The single moment they’d shared just before they’d broken into the Safaran prison camp and rescued Ward Vadim.

  She jerked to her feet and walked to the edge of the landing pad. He was offering her exactly what she wanted. To leave Lux and be a flyer again, as herself. To find Elom. And yet . . .

  She shook her head. “I don’t fly anymore. I’ve been trying, but . . .” But the nightmares won’t let me. The worst were the ones where she was flying with Galec and Talon and Wolfe, the men who’d died in that last mission. They would crash over and over into the side of the ravine, their faces twisted into rotting skeleton smiles as they’d scream for her to save them.

  Milek’s footsteps crossed the courtyard behind her. So gently she barely felt it, he ran his fingers down her arm, until he was holding her hand.

  “The first time you ever flew for me,” Milek said, “you became a different person. Until then you’d skulked around point, jumping at every noise, looking over your shoulder as if you expected to be kicked. You stumbled. You fell. You didn’t meet anyone’s eyes.” He tightened his grip on her hand. “Then you climbed into the wingjet, and you looked like you’d never been so happy or comfortable in your life.”

  Tears built behind Aris’s eyes.

  Without saying another word, he drew her into his arms. Her cheek rested against his chest. For a long time, he held her, even when she began to weep.

  It dawned on her, slowly, that here, in the circle of his arms, she could safely remember all she had endured. And begin to forget. Because he, out of everyone, really knew. He understood.

  Eventually, her breathing slowed and her fingers relaxed their death grip on his jacket. She opened her eyes, stared at the wet spot on his uniform made by her tears, and came back to herself. His embrace was a comfort, but he was still an officer. Her superior.

  “Sir . . .” Aris pulled away, but Milek wouldn’t let her go.

  He squeezed her hands. “Look at me.”

  “I’m so sorry, sir.” She met his eyes reluctantly.

  “There is nothing you need apologize for,” he said firmly. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you woke. And I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to come here.”

  Aris tried to wave him off, but he wouldn’t let go of her hands.

  “Aris . . .” He paused, as if considering what to say. “I’d like you to come back. I hope you will, when you’re ready.”

  “Thank you.” She hoped he could see how much she meant it. His warm hands engulfed hers, sending tingles along her skin.

  “When you’re ready,” he repeated, as he released her, “we’ll be waiting.”

  He was still standing very close. For an instant, she thought the space shrank, that he was leaning toward her. But by the time she’d lifted her head, he was through the archway, heading to his wingjet. He glanced back at her, once, with a grin. “It was good to see you, Lieutenant.”

  Lieutenant.

  Aris took a deep breath as she watched his shimmering wingjet lift away. In seconds, he was a speck of silver in the distance. Above her, the clear blue arc of sky looked so close, so welcoming. Like it was waiting there just for her.

  Without letting herself think, without letting herself breathe, she scrambled into the cabin of her own wingjet. Aris closed her eyes, feeling the hum of the machine in her bones. The pedals hung, perfectly balanced, under her feet, and the controls felt smooth and familiar in her hands. Home. This is home.

  She ignored the nameless swirl of emotions that surfaced at the thought of Milek’s smile, the warmth of his hands. She didn’t want to identify, acknowledge, or explore them.

  She just wanted to fly.

  Chapter 2

  While she waited for the Ward of Atalanta to arrive, Galena Vadim stared through the glass at the wind-whipped trees outside his office. There was something so graceful about the curving tree limbs. The way they bent but did not break.

  A shadowed reflection appeared next to her. She turned to face the man she’d once loved, his body trim beneath his pale-green tunic. “I understand why you spend so much time here, instead of at the capitol,” she said. “Any small peace is welcome these days.”

  “I am fond of the quiet.” Pyralis Nekos’s warm brown eyes didn’t waver as he looked at her, though most people still winced at the sight of her scarred face. The redness hadn’t faded, though the edges of each slash had paled to a silvery pink. “It’s a pleasure to see you again so soon,” he added, the formal words sounding like a genuine welcome.

  “How does the fighting look today?” She smoothed a hand over her blond hair, neatly collected in its knot at the nape of her neck. Usually they conducted these meetings over vids, but she’d been staying in Atalanta for longer and longer stretches recently, meeting with Atalantan and Ruslanan Military commanders.

  And because Pyralis is here.

  Her gaze shifted, taking in the warm wooden paneling, the ivory cushioned benches, the giant colorful painting of the Five Dominions that hung above Pyralis’s desk. He rolled a projection table away from the wall and pressed a button to call up the map. The entire western half of Atalanta lifted into a glowing hologram above the table.

  Galena crossed the room to get a better look. Current battles with Safaran troops were marked with red spirals. A black dotted line showed the forward positions of the Safaran enemy in Atalantan territory. The enemy line was farther away from the Fex River—and Panthea, Atalanta’s capital city—than she had ever seen it.

  “That’s encouraging,” she said, nodding toward the line. “The influx of Ruslanan troops seems to be helping.”

  Of the Five Dominions, Atalanta was the smallest, nestled between the golden deserts of Safara and snowfields of Ruslana. Little more than two years ago, Ward Balias, Safara’s leader, had led an invasion into Atalanta, ostensibly to reach the rich resources of the Fex River.

  Pyralis pointed to a spot in Atalanta’s Mittaka region, where many red spirals hovered in a tight cluster. “We’ve made a lot of progress, but we can’t seem to hold Mittaka. There aren’t many villages here, but if Safaran troops breach this final stretch of forest, it’s a straight shot to the river.”

  “What do your commanders say?” Galena asked, studying the area more closely. “Do they want to send in more troops?”

  Pyralis sighed. “They, like me, suspect this area of fighting is a diversion.”

  Galena glanced up at him. “For what?”

  He ran his fingers through the streak of gray hair at his temple and shook his head. “We don’t know.”

  She swept her hand across the region, distorting the image. “Not sending more forces to the area is a gamble.”

&nbs
p; “Oh, we’ll deploy the soldiers.” Pyralis turned off the table and rolled it back to its place against the wall. His mouth tightened as he looked at her face, not with pity but with determination. “I just wish I knew Ward Balias’s next scheme.”

  Given the intricacy of Balias and Elom’s plan to capture Galena, she had no doubt they’d try something else. Something equally treacherous.

  Galena suppressed the shiver that ran through her. She still woke up in a sweat almost every morning, convinced she was trapped in that tiny cell with Elom looming over her. She could feel the restraints biting into her wrists, the fire of Elom’s weapon cutting into her flesh. Even now, her heart raced just thinking about it.

  With an effort, she steadied her nerves. “I’ve had more than enough of Safara’s schemes. The war alone is quite enough to deal with.”

  Pyralis spared her a small smile.

  So often these days, Galena found herself missing the simplicity of her shared history with him—their secret romance decades ago, when the only thing to worry about was his Promised back home. Now, Pyralis’s wife, Bett, was in jail for selling the veiling tech to Safara and conspiring to abduct Galena. And Galena’s husband, Josef, was dead, most likely murdered.

  Galena and Pyralis stood shoulder to shoulder in a war that gave them no time to explore their history—or their future.

  “If we could get Meridia or Castalia on board, it would help.” Pyralis sounded about as confident at the prospect as Galena felt. The Wards of the western dominions would arrive in Panthea for an informal council in little more than a month, but neither was showing signs of support for Atalanta’s war efforts.

  “I do have some good news,” she offered.

  “Oh?” Pyralis leaned against his desk with his arms crossed. “That’s a rare thing.”

  “I got word from the head of Ruslana’s Tech sector before I came over. The prototype’s finally done.”