The Diatous Wars 1: Rebel Wing Page 3

  “It doesn’t matter,” her eyes burned with unshed tears. “Distance won’t change how we feel. I’m Promised to you. I am.”

  He let out a mournful sigh. “I don’t want you to feel trapped.”

  “Our love isn’t a trap.” It was the only thing, besides flying, that actually made her feel free. She leaned her head against his chest. “I have loved you every day that I can remember, and I will love you all the days I have left in this life. We should Promise right now. Tonight.” She raised her head to meet his eyes, so he could see the truth. Her truth. “I’ll be waiting for you either way.”

  “I’m sorry, Aris. You know I can’t.” His voice was low and rough, like he was trying not to cry. “Not when I won’t be here. Not when we can’t be together. It wouldn’t be right.”

  Holy, why did he always have to follow the rules? His sense of justice and fairness was something she loved about him, but right now she wanted him to be passionate, impulsive. She wanted him.

  “It isn’t fair.” The words came out plaintive and needy. She hated them. She hated the burning hole in her chest that made her say them. But it was too late to take them back.

  Calix’s arm tightened around her. “I wish we had more time. I don’t want to leave you.”

  She leaned up to kiss his temple, sliding her fingers into his soft, shadowy hair. “Tell me you want to be with me,” she murmured.

  He nodded and when he spoke, his breath was warm against her skin. “Yes, Aris. I want you.”

  She turned and pressed closer, until she was sitting on his lap. Cradling his face in her hands, Aris kissed him with all the longing and fear she felt. She unzipped his jacket and pushed it off his shoulders. Underneath he wore a slippery shirt that fit him like a second skin. It was made of a slick, new-tech fabric impervious to the elements. She yanked on it, but she couldn’t rip it if she tried. He raised his arms and let her pull it over his head. She wanted to throw the shirt in the ocean, bury it in the sand so he couldn’t find it, so he couldn’t leave. As if a missing shirt could keep him.

  His hands slipped under her tunic, his fingers warm and gentle on her bare skin. She pressed closer, willing him to hold her tighter. He was always like that: careful, as if worried she could be easily hurt.

  “I’m not a doll,” she whispered against his neck, trailing kisses along his collarbone. “You can’t break me.”

  His arms tightened until she nearly lost her breath. She tipped her head to kiss him. His tongue snuck between her lips as he ran his hands down her sides, brushing the curves of her breasts, and she arched against him. Desire rolled in slow, heavy waves from her cheeks down low into her belly.

  For a while, Aris didn’t think. She lived in the heated space between their bodies, in the slick warmth of Calix’s mouth. Every thought, fear, memory faded, and the world was reduced to the wildness of the ocean throwing itself to shore, the fathomless swish of rain against sand. To the hardness of the rocks that enclosed them, the hardness of his body beneath her.

  The ripples of desire flashed hot beneath her skin. She didn’t want to wait. Not for a Promise. Not for him to come home.

  Tonight. Now. What if they never got another chance? She moved to unfasten his belt.

  As soon as he realized what she was doing, he grabbed her hands and stopped her. For a long moment they sat without speaking, their quick breathing a counterpoint to the distant crash of waves. Eventually she slid off his lap and curled up against his side.

  “You said you wanted me.” She felt no bitterness or rancor as she said the words. Only sadness. Longing.

  “I do,” Calix replied. “So much. You can’t even imagine.” She could feel the tremble in his hands on her back. “But . . .”

  “But it would be wrong.” She sighed.

  He ducked his head, staring at their legs, pressed close together. Almost as if convincing himself, he repeated, “But it would be wrong.”

  “No one would know.” The way she felt when he kissed her—like she soared, her body full of air and sunlight.

  He didn’t answer right away, as if considering, then he regretfully shook his head. “We would know.”

  Maybe that should have mattered to her.

  For a long time they sat in silence, pressed close, listening to the lapping waves.

  When the gray light of dawn eased up from the horizon, Aris laid a hand on his chest, over his heart. “I love you, Calix. We’ll make this work, no matter what happens. You know that, right?”

  “I know, Aris.” He kissed the top of her head. They both stared out of the cave entrance at the endless, weeping rain. “I know.”

  Chapter 6

  As soon as Aris slipped through the doorway of The Toad, Echo pounced on her.

  “Aris!” The petite girl threw her arms around Aris, enveloping them both in her hair. The crystals on her slinky silver dress pricked Aris’s bare arms. “I didn’t know you were coming!”

  Aris tried to catch her breath. “I hadn’t planned to. I just . . .” I just was tired of replaying Calix’s last kiss in my mind. His last “I love you” as he said goodbye. I was tired of sitting alone in my room crying. “You know. I thought it’d be good to get out.”

  “We’ve all been so worried about you.” Echo pulled back, studying her in the dim light. “Was this morning totally wretched? How are you doing? You look terrible.”

  A rueful smile lifted the edges of Aris’s mouth. “Thanks so much.”

  Echo rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. But seriously, are you okay?”

  Aris’s smile faded. “Watching Calix get on that transjet was the worst moment of my life. So yeah, wretched about covers it.”

  “Well, don’t worry, doll. You’ll be your old self in no time. Have you seen the men here tonight? Watch out, Calix!” Echo winked, but her face fell into a pout when Aris didn’t smile. “I was only trying to cheer you up. Don’t look at me like that.”

  Aris sighed.

  Echo pointed to the far side of the dark, cave-like room. “Rakk and Phae are over there. I was just getting us some drinks. What do you want?”

  “Just a pineapple fross, please. Do you need help?”

  “Nah. Go sit down.” With another stifling hug, Echo was gone, her dress sparkling in the dim light. Heads turned to watch her from all around the bar. Aris sighed in envy, not at the looks Echo got, but at the way she moved: smooth and liquid as the lines of paint in the art she hoped to sell in galleries all over Atalanta. Being around Echo made Aris feel even more clumsy and awkward than usual. Her only consolation: Echo was a terrible flyer. Aris could pilot a wingjet just as gracefully as Echo could move. Maybe even better than she could paint.

  Aris made her way to a table wedged in a dark, smoky back corner, where Phae and Rakk were sitting with their heads together. When they saw her, they waved.

  A faint curl of bakka smoke drifted between them, filling her nose with its nutty, spicy scent. It reminded her of the last time she’d been at The Toad, with Calix. She blinked, eyes stinging.

  “On your own now, aren’t you,” Phae said, standing up to give Aris a hug. Her dark skin glowed velvety and smooth against her red dress.

  Aris slid onto an empty stool, grateful for the sympathy in Phae’s eyes. “I can’t believe he’s really gone.”

  Phae patted her hand. The motion set her thick wooden bracelets rattling against her wrist, revealing glimpses of her Commerce brand. Aris glanced at the vines twining up her own arm. The Environment sector’s ivy was the largest of the five sector brands. But it was also the nicest, according to her friends. Phae often wore bangles to hide the small blue barcode on her wrist.

  “I’m sure you’ll hear from Calix soon,” Phae said. “Rakk had time to comm up almost as soon as he arrived at training.”

  Rakk nodded. “It won’t be long. Don’t worry.”

  Aris tried to meet his gaze, but her eyes kept drifting to the red, ridged scar that covered the side of his head and neck. Much of his ear
and the hair around the scar was gone. He was still handsome—rich brown eyes, full lips, thick dark hair—but the gruesome scar overshadowed his features.

  The thought that Calix could be in danger, could suffer like Rakk had, made Aris’s stomach clench and her heart race.

  “Maybe the war will end soon,” Phae added, trying to sound reassuring. “You never know. Calix might not be gone that long.”

  Just then, Echo appeared with four frosted, wide-mouthed glasses. She tossed her gravity-defying hair as she placed them on the table. “Am I the only one who thinks she needs to forget about Calix?” Echo’s words fell into the loud bar like an anvil.

  Aris reeled back. “What did you just say?”

  “Echo!” Phae said disapprovingly.

  “What?” Shooting a quelling look at Phae, she reached for Aris’s hand. “Doll, I’m sorry. I know you don’t want to hear this, but I just have to say it. Calix didn’t Promise to you. He didn’t give you anything. He’s gone, and who knows when he’ll be back? I’m worried you’re going to put your whole life on hold for him.”

  Aris yanked her hand free, pressing it against the knotted, variegated wood of the table. “Calix believes in following the rules, and that means Promising when we can actually be together. We decided to wait because it was the right thing to do, not because he didn’t ask!” Okay, so that wasn’t entirely true. But it might as well have been.

  Rakk stood and slipped around Phae, his hands on her shoulders. “I think I’ll have a smoke. Pardon me.” He made his way to the bakka bar without another word.

  Phae turned her reproachful frown on Aris. “Why’d you have to say that?”

  “I’m sorry!” Aris raised her hands. “I wasn’t commenting on your Promise, I was just—”

  “Let it be, Phae. I’m sure he just wanted a smoke. You’re too sensitive.” Echo leaned against the table, cutting her eyes to a group of men a few tables over who were openly staring at her.

  “Now I’m too sensitive?” Phae asked. “This isn’t about me! You were the one who said Aris should just forget Calix, like that would ever happen! She follows him around like a blighting puppy, and you think—”

  “That’s enough.” Aris got to her feet, ignoring the weakness in her legs. “You think whatever you like about us. It has been a very, very long day, and I don’t have the energy to argue.”

  Phae held up a hand. “I’m sorry, wait—”

  Aris turned away. The air was suddenly thick, the bakka smoke choking. She pushed toward the door, knocking into tables and shadowy figures indiscriminately, desperate for fresh air and the sky’s embrace.

  Travelers often suffered vertigo when visiting Lux; the milky walkways that connected the buildings, built high on carbonate stilts, were translucent, and the impenetrable chest-high walls transparent. Aris had lived in Lux all her life. Tonight she was dizzy, but not because she could see shadowy trees below her feet.

  Rakk emerged from the darkness of the bar. “Aris,” he said. “Wait for a second.”

  “Tell Phae I’m sorry.” She glanced toward her wingjet on the landing pad. “I just can’t handle it right now, okay?”

  “It’s not that. I know you don’t feel like talking. I get it.” He scuffed a boot on the glowing pathway. “It’s just . . . for what it’s worth, I respect what you and Calix are doing. Waiting, I mean.”

  Aris raised a brow in surprise. “But you didn’t wait.”

  “Yeah, I know.” He lifted a hand as if to run it through his hair, but when his fingers touched the scarred skin at his temple, he dropped his arm to his side. “The thing is . . . I wish we had.”

  Aris’s mind balked. “But—”

  “Look at me.” Rakk gestured to his face, grimacing. “This is not what Phae signed up for.”

  “Phae loves you,” Aris replied forcefully.

  He sighed. “I know she does. And I love her. That’s why I didn’t break the Promise.” He leaned against the translucent wall. “But I would have done things differently if I’d known. You and Calix are smart to wait. Anything could happen. Sometimes I think about . . . if my sectormate hadn’t shoved me out of the way just before the firebomb blew, Phae’d be mourning me right now instead of planning our wedding.”

  Aris’s stomach dropped. He’d never spoken about what happened. “Did your sectormate—”

  “He lost his leg.” Rakk looked down. “He just about died trying to protect me.”

  You could save lives. Maybe even Calix’s. Theo’s words echoed in Aris’s mind.

  “Thanks, Rakk.” Aris gave him a hug.

  “Good luck.” He released her and made his way back inside.

  Aris scrambled into her wingjet and let the familiar start-up sequence calm her shaking hands. She drew the jet into a hover, then shot straight into the air, moisture streaking the glass dome as she moved through a patch of cloud. Tears burned her cheeks.

  She couldn’t stay here, knowing Calix was out there risking his life. Not when she had a chance to help. She thought about what she would say to her parents, her friends . . . when she would leave. Smiling grimly through her tears, she planned her escape.

  Chapter 7

  The darkness spun, endless shadows twisting through a featureless night. A whispered word and a murmured command cut through the haze like strands of silver woven in black velvet. Galena Vadim didn’t recognize the voices, couldn’t understand the words.

  No . . . cover her . . . in here . . .

  When she blinked, the world transmuted from gray to brilliant white. Too bright. She closed her eyes, opened them a slit until they could adjust. The ceiling above her glowed.

  She blinked again, catching whispers of black and brown at the corners of her eyes.

  Where am I?

  For a moment she thought she might still be at the World Council, crumpled on the cold floor, but her body had already begun to register the cushion of a mattress beneath it.

  The brown shadows gradually resolved themselves into a huge, hulking man leaning over her, his shaved head gleaming mahogany in the harsh light. Startled by his presence, she tried to draw back, but the bone-white sheets tucked tight to her collarbone restrained her.

  She opened her mouth to scream.

  “There’s no need for that,” the man said. He loomed closer and placed something cold and metallic against her neck.

  “What happened? Where am I?” Galena asked, and in so doing realized she had very little voice with which to scream.

  “You are ill, Ward. You shouldn’t speak. And don’t try to move.”

  Ill? As her eyes adjusted to the light, Galena saw that the man wore a sleek white mender’s tunic, a tight undersheath, and white pants. An official ID was clearly visible on a chain around his neck. She relaxed slightly. She must be in a clinic.

  “Where is Dima?” Even if Galena were still in Atalanta, her personal mender would have come to supervise her care. As Ruslana’s premier mender, Dima was responsible for the health of the dominion’s highest officials. Galena squinted at the man’s ID. “Elom?”

  “Dima isn’t here,” he replied, moving the cold thing to a place just above her collarbone, against her skin. “Take a deep breath, please.”

  She did as he asked. In the quiet of the room, a machine beeped softly, in time with her heartbeat. Gradually, the beeping slowed.

  “Why isn’t Dima here? Where am I?” The words scratched her throat as she voiced them, as if clawing their way out.

  “See for yourself.” He stepped away long enough to retrieve a small digitablet, which he propped up on her lap. When he tapped the monitor on the wall beside her, the top half of the bed slid smoothly upward, until she was sitting. She was still trapped by the sheets, even her arms held immobile.

  “Can you free my arms?” Galena’s vision remained a little hazy; small black dots huddled in her periphery, the darkness waiting for its chance to claim her again.

  Elom settled a large hand on her shoulder. “It’s best if you
don’t move, Ward. Please relax.” He pressed a button on the digitablet. The screen shimmered to life and showed a news report, dated four days after her last memory. She couldn’t tell if the footage was live.

  A woman in a sleek gray dress gazed into the camera. “There is still no word on Ward Vadim’s condition. The newly elected Ward of Ruslana fell ill during last week’s World Council, after announcing that Ruslana had imposed sanctions on Safara. A vote on whether the other dominions would follow suit was abandoned when Vadim lost consciousness. She was rushed to a local Atalantan clinic, where she’s been ever since.” The woman gestured to a graceful, glass-walled building behind her. “We’re awaiting confirmation that Vadim has regained consciousness and will make a recovery; her menders have not spoken with the press since shortly after she was admitted.”

  Elom tapped the digitablet screen, cutting off the reporter’s voice. The room was silent, save for the faint beeping that echoed her heartbeat. The tall man stared down at her; his dark eyes held all the condescension of royalty, but his broken, pugnacious nose spoke a rougher language.

  “My husband?”

  “No visitors yet.” Elom turned away.

  Galena cleared her throat, and the world tilted, the black specks swirling up to blur her view of Elom’s broad shoulders. She waited until her vision steadied, horrified at her own weakness. “So I am in an Atalantan clinic? And you are my mender?”

  Elom nodded.

  “Tell me then, Elom,” she croaked. “What illness do I have? What is wrong with me?”

  Elom didn’t answer. When he returned to her side, she flinched without meaning to.

  “You said no visitors. Why?” she asked. “Am I contagious?”

  Elom didn’t respond.

  Beneath the restraining sheets, she squeezed her hands into fists. She still felt weak, fuzzy-headed, but not particularly ill. She cast her thoughts back . . . had she been feeling poorly the day of the Council?

  She’d been nervous, yes. The night before the first meeting she’d paced more than she’d slept, gone over her argument for sanctions, and reread the reports her spies in Safara had provided her. That morning, she’d been tired when she’d brushed her hair back into a sleek knot and drawn on her heavy, ice-blue robes. But by the time the meeting had begun, the fire of anger at the other Wards’ ignorance had fueled her.