The Diatous Wars 1: Rebel Wing Read online

  For a long time Galena said nothing. She moved to the window. Pyralis watched as she bit the corner of her lip, a habitual gesture he recognized even after so many years. It meant she was thinking, chewing over the problem in her mind like a tough piece of meat. He took a step closer, almost placing a hand on the small of her back, almost leaning close enough to catch the hint of roses in her perfume. But he caught himself, just in time.

  When she finally spoke, she didn’t look away from the window. “I can’t support you outright. We need peace along our border with Safara. But there are other ways, other things Ruslana can do. Perhaps.”

  It was a diplomatic answer at best. She said nothing more, but by the determined set of her chin, Pyralis knew she’d offer what help she could. He desperately hoped it would be enough.

  So far, he’d been able to keep the truth of Atalanta’s precarious position from the news vids, but tomorrow, at the selection ceremony, the people would know. Although it was customary to select more citizens to join the Ward’s sector, this year’s imbalance would be extreme. Nearly a third of the graduating young men would be stamped with black Military brands.

  “Thank you, Ward Vadim,” he said softly. “I am in your debt.”

  At that Galena turned and faced him. “You owe me nothing. This is not about you or me. Do not suppose, for a second, that I will be doing this for you.”

  She stalked toward the door.

  Before Pyralis could stop himself, he grabbed her wrist, drawing her to a halt.

  “Galena, please.” This time he couldn’t hide it, the regret. It weighed down his words, ran in lines of pain to where his fingers brushed her skin.

  She pulled her arm from his grasp. “No, Pyralis. You don’t get to touch me.”

  In the twin flames of her ice-blue eyes, he could see her true meaning. What was broken between them would ever remain so.

  Bowing, he said, “I understand, Ward Vadim. Atalanta is grateful for your support.”

  He didn’t raise his head as she left; he couldn’t. Quite suddenly, he could hardly bear its weight.

  Chapter 3

  Lux’s selection ceremony was held in the airy, vaulted main hall of the Council Building. The room—indeed, the entire building—was a marvel, the most imposing structure in all of Lux, built through a partnership of Technology and Environment engineers many generations ago. It was made of gleaming, polished wood, with massive columns of sparkling golden stone that supported the arched ceiling. Vast expanses of glass let in sunlight along with a view of the cloudless blue sky and the endless green of the groves.

  Aris searched the crowded room for Calix, trying to keep calm, but it was difficult to smile and joke with her classmates. She was wound so tightly she could barely breathe, her eyes red from trying to wipe away her nightmares.

  It’s a lie, she told herself. Everything Theo said was a lie, it has to be.

  “Oh holy, I’m so nervous I could die!” The voice hurtled toward her, along with a small, determined body. Warm arms and a starberry-scented cloud of dark curls engulfed her.

  Sputtering, Aris drew back. “Echo, your hair is a menace.”

  Echo giggled and tugged on Aris’s arm. “Can you believe it? Our selection day. Finally. Phae’s been Commerce for ages. I hope I get Commerce, too. I want to work in an art gallery, hopefully in Panthea. More men to choose from.” She tossed her mass of hair and winked at a nervous-looking boy beside her. His brown eyes widened. Echo smiled and leaned toward him, opening her mouth—to speak, probably, but to Aris it looked like she was about to swallow him whole.

  “Have you seen Calix?” Aris asked, worry edging her words.

  Echo shook her head, abandoning her conquest for the moment. “Not yet. Didn’t you come together?”

  “We said we’d meet here.” Now she wished they had met beforehand. Her parents had wanted to have a special breakfast, just the three of them. But even her mother’s buttery, spiced peshka couldn’t dislodge the stone in her stomach.

  In a daze, she left Echo and continued her search through the milling crowd. Finally she saw him, standing at the edge of a group of boys. When he caught her looking, Calix smiled.

  Her heart skipped and raced ahead, as if it could burst from her chest and beat her to him. She forced herself to take slow, steady steps. It had been six years since the fever, but she was still unsteady on her feet, especially when she was nervous or tired. Now was not the time to risk a fall.

  He didn’t wait for her; in two long strides he was at her side, meeting her in the middle of the room. “Finally!” he said. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  “Same.” She tried to smile.

  He pressed his lips softly against hers. When he drew away, his brow furrowed with concern. “You look pale. Are you well?”

  She nodded, her voice caught in her throat. For a moment, she considered telling him what she feared. But he’d try to reassure her, and right now she didn’t want that. She just wanted to look at him, touch him, and confirm his presence. His reality. Their reality.

  She’d never tire of his face, darkened by the summer afternoons they spent walking along the beach together. His nose was a little crooked, his calm green eyes bordered by two straight sweeps of brow. She loved the way his untidy brown hair curled softly, like a shadow, against his cheek.

  “I love you,” she said, wishing for a lifetime together to show him how much.

  He put his arm around her, drawing her close. “I love you, too, Mosquito.”

  It had been her nickname for years. When he’d first called her it, she had asked, “Why do I have to be a mosquito?” with an exasperated eye roll. “Why not a bird, a fanax, maybe? Something a little more intimidating?”

  He had smiled down at her. “Nothing is more agile than a mosquito. When you’re flying, the way you flit in and out of the groves . . . you’re better than a fanax. Being small and nimble is your greatest asset.”

  Now, as the wide vid screen bloomed into color on the wall, Aris felt very small. She tried not to cling too tightly to his side.

  On the vid, Ward Nekos sat in a sleek white chair, his wife, Bett, and his advisors standing behind him. As the leader of Atalanta, it was his task to begin each year’s ceremony with a speech. Today his brown eyes looked flat, and his lips curved stiffly, as if his face were a mask. His hair showed more gray than Aris remembered from past news vids.

  “Welcome to this year’s selection.” He paused for the inevitable cheers. “In each of Atalanta’s villages and cities, there are young, hopeful faces like yours. You have all worked hard in your lessons and distinguished yourselves with your ready minds, your willingness to help others, and your enthusiastic support of Atalanta.

  “Today, in the tradition of the Five Dominions, you will be invited to join the Health, Commerce, Technology, Environment, or Military sector based on the areas of study in which you have excelled. In these dark days of war with Safara, your hope, ingenuity, and diligence will mean the difference between success and failure. A dominion is only as strong as its citizens, and by this measure, Atalanta is strong indeed.”

  Aris wished the Ward had sounded more confident when he’d said strong.

  Applause filled the pause as he drew breath. “To all of those brave young men who wish to volunteer for Military sector, you have my respect and thanks. We need your strength, your heart, and your perseverance to overcome the challenges of this difficult time.”

  A shiver shook Aris. Even Calix’s arm around her couldn’t protect her from the chill of Ward Nekos’s words.

  He ended his speech with a smile. “I offer you my congratulations on this important day. Blessings and best wishes.”

  The vid went black and the room filled with more applause as the curtains opened, spilling sunlight across the people packed into the room. In the center, those participating in the ceremony milled in small, tight groups, whispering and laughing with their friends. Their families sat on long benches at the back of the room,
colorful in their best clothes.

  And below the giant vid screen, officials stood behind five tables, one for each sector. In a matter of seconds, the vid would brighten once again, with a listing of all the students graduating and the sectors for which they’d been selected. Then they would all line up to receive their sector-specific brands—a key for Technology, a twisted green vine for Environment, two stylized wings for Health, a blue barcode for Commerce, and that harsh black rectangle for Military.

  Aris turned to Calix and wrapped her hands around his waist. “Your father’s friend,” she said, “the one who works for the Council. He said you’d be selected for Health, right?”

  “Right.” Calix dipped to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “There’s no need to worry. I’ll join the Health sector, and tonight we’ll Promise. This is it. This is when it all begins.” No fear clouded his gaze. He smiled down at her, confident that their lives would proceed as planned.

  She tightened her arms around him, pressing closer, as if this one embrace could somehow cleave them to their hopes, to each other, and bind them to the path of their shared future.

  But her hands kept shaking. Oh holy, please let Theo be wrong.

  A hush fell as the massive screen blinked white. Aris’s throat closed. When the names appeared, she didn’t waste time looking for hers. Her eyes darted across the letters, all meaningless, until she saw it.

  Calix Pavlos.

  And there, beside his name . . .

  Military.

  Her legs wobbled and her vision blurred with tears. No.

  Chapter 4

  Despite the war, the World Council was held in Atlanta as planned. Panthea’s soaring, needle-thin glass capitol building gleamed in all the news vids, as reporters and the people of Atalanta speculated on whether this year’s Council would put an end to the conflict with Safara. No one was allowed in the building, no vids were released from within the opulent Council chambers, just terse statements read by Panthea’s mayor. This was protocol to protect the political process.

  It was also to hide the fact that this year, the Council was not held in the capitol building, but deep below it.

  Seated at a round table in the firebomb-resistant room, Galena Vadim remained quiet as the four other Wards argued. Their voices fought like an angry flock of birds above the woodpecker tapping of the mediator’s gavel.

  Besides Galena, the only other woman in attendance was Sera, the Ward of Castalia. Thick gray hair was piled atop her head, bound with heavy gold ropes in the traditional Castalian style. Her cobalt and cream robes were bleached pale by the bright solar light that illuminated the room.

  “While I sympathize with the plight of Atalanta,” she was saying, “Castalia has traded peacefully with Safara since before Ward Balias was elected. In good faith, I can’t support a move that would jeopardize the mutually beneficial relationship that exists between our dominions.”

  “And you’re up for election this year, are you not?” Hal, Meridia’s Ward returned, his golden eyes gleaming beneath heavy dark brows. He wasn’t supporting sanctions either, but he never missed an opportunity to needle his southern neighbor.

  “Now, you know perfectly well that has nothing—”

  Bang, bang, bang! The mediator, a tired, sallow man in white ceremonial robes, interrupted Sera’s retort with the pounding of his gavel.

  “With all due respect,” Galena interjected in the brief silence, “we cannot, in good faith, let Ward Balias run unchecked either.” She cut her eyes to Balias. “Atalanta is a peaceful dominion, a target only because of its abundance of natural resources and position along Safara’s border. Ruslana, at least, feels it necessary to strongly urge, by imposing the sanctions I suggested, that Ward Balias and his army stand down.”

  Ward Balias’s brown eyes glittered as he met Galena’s gaze across the table. He was young for a Ward, younger than the rest of them, with sandy blond hair and a broad face worn to leather by the hot Safaran sun. Military trained and hard-muscled from years in the field, his whip-thin body fit awkwardly into the finely patterned tunic he wore.

  “Ward Vadim,” he said, the long-suffering weariness of his voice at odds with his bright eyes, “perhaps I have not yet fully presented my case. The people of Safara are dying from the lack of clean water. Our irrigation has failed. Our crops have withered. My people are starving. The current trade agreements with your dominions do not offer enough resources.” He jerked his head toward Pyralis. “Ward Nekos has refused to renegotiate our agreement each of the last three years we’ve met at this World Council. He has refused to allow life-saving access to the Fex River for my people.”

  Pyralis slammed his fist on the table. “You know well that the trade agreements you offered were in no way advantageous for the people of Atalanta! They were barely—”

  “And war is advantageous for them, Nekos?” Ward Balias said, one brown eyebrow raised. The insult of using Pyralis’s name without his title shocked the room to silence.

  Galena glanced at Pyralis. His dominion was under siege, his soldiers dying at the hands of Safaran assassins, and yet his weary eyes softened when they met her gaze. She frowned. Streaks of gray lined his temples. The stress of war had dug grooves along his forehead and the edges of his mouth. He looked different. Older.

  There was a part of her, a mean, bitter part, that wanted to let his dominion burn.

  She glanced down at her hands, as the bickering of the other Wards clamored around her once again. But she couldn’t—wouldn’t—let Atalanta fall.

  A glass of water rested on the table before her, beads of condensation clouding its surface. She drew it to her lips and took a sip. If they’d just work together, if Sera would just listen—

  The thought slid into blind panic as she suddenly wobbled in her chair, clutching her throat. Pyralis’s face blurred, then disappeared as a wave of darkness crashed over her. The glass slipped from her nerveless fingers and shattered on the floor, and then there was nothing but the black.

  Chapter 5

  It was just before midnight, a week after Calix had been selected for Military. Aris lay in bed, listening to the rain pound against the roof. Usually the sound soothed her, helped her slide into soft-focus dreams. But tonight, each ding was a knife driving into her chest. All she could think about was how different everything would be if it rained like this in Safara. If the desert didn’t suck its people dry.

  Finally, Calix tapped a fingernail on the window. Aris slipped silently into the waterlogged night and straight into his arms. The time for casual greetings, for words, had passed. She threw herself against him, her hands snaking into his hair. His mouth found hers in the rain and the dark as he pressed her against the side of the house.

  She ran her hands along his cheeks, his ears, his closed eyes, touching, memorizing. The slickness of his wet hair beneath her fingers, the sensation of his strong arms around her, the warmth that pooled in her belly when he pulled her closer, running his hands down her back. She found the hem of his Military-issue jacket and slid her hands underneath, paying attention to the smooth heat of his skin, vowing she’d remember the way his flat stomach felt against her fingers.

  “Mosquito,” he whispered against her mouth. She shook her head and kissed him harder. She wasn’t ready for this moment to be over. Not when they had so few left.

  His hands tightened on her waist. Finally, he pulled away. “Let’s get out of this rain,” he said, his voice hoarse.

  He took her hand and led her down the glowing walkway, suspended high above the ground. Her bare feet slid along the wet surface but he kept her steady. When they reached the steep, rocky path that lead down to the beach, he insisted on carrying her, so her weak leg wouldn’t send her tumbling. He moved as swiftly and sure-footedly as the village donkeys, and soon enough they were ducking into their cave, a secret place they’d found years ago.

  “I can’t believe you leave tomorrow,” Aris whispered as they sank to the cool sand. “It’s al
l happening too fast.” Her voice broke.

  He sighed, wrapping an arm around her. “I know. I wish I didn’t have to leave so soon. Or at all.”

  “You’ll write me as soon as you get to the training grounds?”

  He squeezed her gently. “Of course. My digitablet is already packed. You can’t worry, though, if it takes a little while. I don’t know when I’ll have free time, if they’ll let us comm up right away. There might be rules. But as soon as I can, you know I will.”

  “I don’t want you to go.” Such a useless thing to say.

  “I don’t want to leave you.” He kissed her forehead.

  “Please, Calix. Let’s Promise. We can do it right now, just the two of us.” The words were out before she could call them back. When he’d told her the night of the ceremony that he didn’t think they should Promise after all, she’d barely protested. She’d still been reeling from all the shocks of that day. But now . . . now the thought of him leaving without a Promise was a gaping cavern tearing open her chest.

  “I want to, Aris.” Calix dug his toes into the sand, his eyes downcast. “But we said we’d wait. The point of a Promise is to be together, learn everything we can about each other.”

  “We already know everything about each other.” She drew his hand into her lap. It was soft, with a patch of thicker skin along his right middle finger, from holding countless mediguns.

  Calix rubbed his other hand down her back. “My field mender clinic is close to where the fighting is. I probably won’t even get leave for nine months or even a year. And who knows when I’ll be able to come home for good? That’s no way to prepare for a marriage.”