The Diatous Wars 1: Rebel Wing (14 page)

Aris set her
digitablet in the port and waited for it to comm up, hoping for a message from Calix. In her last comm, she’d begged him to tell her where he was. She prayed he would, even though he wasn’t supposed to.

Once she’d taken a minute to think about it, it seemed fairly obvious why Dianthe had lied. She’d wanted Aris to stay, after all. But that didn’t make Aris any less angry about it.

“You playing?” Dysis kicked the back of Aris’s chair as she walked past. She joined Galec and Otto, who had already strewn themselves across the more comfortable chairs along the back wall of the rec room. Otto was eating a piece of cocoa his wife had sent him, and Galec was shuffling a deck of cards.

When Otto saw Aris looking, he yelled, “Afraid we’ll have a repeat of yesterday?”

“I
beat
you yesterday. Why would I be scared?” she called back, but her heart wasn’t in it.
Come on, Calix. Tell me where you are.

“Because if you beat me today I’m going to punch you in the face.” Otto grinned.

Dysis and Galec snickered as Aris rolled her eyes. She turned back to her digitablet. “That’s not much incentive.”

“Oh come on,” Galec said, laughing. “We can’t play splots without you.”

“Just a minute.” She tapped an icon on her digitablet and one new comm popped up. Her heart sank as soon as she saw who it was from. Her father. Not Calix. But then she leaned closer, panic seizing her. It was always her mother who wrote, not her father. Had something happened? She skimmed the comm quickly.

. . . Phae looked beautiful at her wedding . . . still don’t understand why you couldn’t come . . . your mother is distraught . . . she feels it’s my fault you won’t visit. Please, Aris. Just a day, can’t you give us that? It’s been nearly two months! I’m sorry I wasn’t supportive . . . I can’t bear that I drove you away. We miss you so much. Perhaps we can come visit next week?

Aris’s breath hitched in her chest, relief overshadowed by a slow, inexorable sinking in her stomach.
Phae’s wedding!
How could she have forgotten? She’d wanted to at least send a comm. She imagined Phae in her wedding dress, dark skin gleaming against the sapphire silk, black hair twisted into the traditional knot. It was all she could do not to cry.

And her father . . . he’d actually
apologized
? She tried to swallow down the guilt, but it wouldn’t go; it just sat there, a great lump in her throat, burning and garlic-bitter on the back of her tongue. How worried must her parents be, for her father to suggest he come to Panthea? He
hated
the city.

Her fingers trembled above the digitablet. She had to write Phae. And her father, too; she had to reassure him, convince him to stay away. But what could she say? She couldn’t promise him a visit, couldn’t promise him anything, not even her own safety. She couldn’t tell him the truth.

She pounded a hand on the table. For the first time since Dianthe had shaved her head, Aris hated
Aristos
. She hated the need for a disguise. If women were allowed in Military as themselves, she wouldn’t have to lie to her parents or Phae. Or Calix. She could at least
tell
them what she was doing, if not where exactly she was. They’d understand, then, why she couldn’t be there—

“Mosquito! We’re dying of old age over here!” Dysis yelled. Galec and Otto were staring at Aris, and now several other soldiers glanced up.

“I have to—”

“You have to get over here,” Dysis interrupted, a warning in her eyes.

“Fine, fine,” Aris replied. “But it’s your burning.” She turned off the digitablet. She needed quiet anyway, to figure out what to say. This wasn’t the time. The room was crowded, all the sagging chairs full, and several other card games in progress. In one corner, a group of soldiers sprawled on the floor watching the news. The noise wasn’t deafening, but it was definitely not quiet enough to think in here.

Otto whistled. “Big words from a little man.”

“And little words from a big man,” Dysis retorted.

Galec groaned.

Aris flopped onto the stained, deep-cushioned chair across from him and tried to keep up with the banter. When Galec leaned closer to deal her a card, he met her eyes. “Are you well, Aristos? Bad news from home?”

Your mother is distraught. 
. . .

Aris locked the words away, did her best to shut off the part of herself that longed for her father’s embrace, longed to have danced at Phae’s wedding. She smiled. “I missed a friend’s wedding, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry. Makes the time feel even longer, when you can’t be home for important moments,” he said. “Was it a close friend?”

She nodded. “Yeah, she—”

“She?” Otto interjected.

For half a second, Aris forgot to breathe. Then she steeled herself to brazen it out. “Yeah,
she
, Otto. Don’t tell me you have no female friends.” She’d learned she could say just about anything without arousing suspicion as long as she made it sound like a challenge.

“None I tell Dori about,” he said, but he grinned, no sign of suspicion in his eyes.

Dysis swatted him with her hand of cards. “You’re a lug. Let Aristos talk.”

Aris sighed. “My friend, back home, she married another good friend. He was Military, too, got sent away when they were Promised. He was injured, though, so he’s back home, probably for good.”

Galec stared at his cards. “Was it bad?”

“Firebomb burned away half his face,” she said, glancing at the older man. “But he’s in pretty good shape, considering.”

“It’s a tough break,” he said, “something like that happening. But at least he’s home. And your friend got to have her wedding day.”

Aris smiled, the pain in her heart easing. “You’re right. That’s the important thing.”

“Can we play now?” Otto flicked his cards at her. “You have a punch in the face waiting for you.”

Suddenly, a disembodied voice echoed from the stationpoint intercom. “All soldiers, report to the briefing room immediately.”

Aris stood as the room filled with the sound of squeaking chairs and thudding boots. “We don’t have a briefing scheduled for tonight.”

Dysis shrugged, her brow furrowing. “Maybe something’s happened.”

“It has,” Pallas said, unfastening his digitablet from its port and moving to join them. “I just saw it on the news. Ward Vadim is out of quarantine. She’s about to give a statement.”

•••

Aris sat with the rest of her unit, eyes locked on the monitor at the front of the briefing room. Commander Nyx, Major Vidar, and the other officers stood at attention along the wall.

“I must thank the people of Ruslana for your patience as I’ve recovered from my illness,” Ward Vadim said on-screen. She was standing before a panel of windows, probably in the lobby of the Ruslana Council Building. Beside her, Amadi Balias, Ward of Safara, stood at a respectful distance. What was he doing there?

“It has been a difficult journey, especially with the loss of my dear husband while I was unwell. I would not have been able to overcome these trials without the expertise of Atalanta’s finest menders and the support and well wishes I have received from all across the Five Dominions. I would like to assure you my illness has, finally, run its course, and I am now able to resume my duties as Ward of Ruslana.” She paused. Applause filled the room.

When her audience, a small group of reporters just off screen, quieted, she said, “I am as aware as you are that these are confusing, dangerous times with much at stake.”

Even bathed in the golden, wholesome lights they’d set up, Aris thought the Ward looked pale and thin. Then she remembered how she’d felt after
her
long illness and was impressed at how well the Ward looked after all, at the fact that she was actually standing.

Ward Vadim continued, “Therefore I felt it necessary to sit down with Ward Balias, as my first order of business, to discuss the reports of abuse to his people and atrocities on the battlefield in Atalanta. As Ward of Ruslana, it is my duty to give each person an opportunity to defend themselves against their detractors.”

Aris found Ward Balias’s expression unsettling; he was smiling a little, his chin held at an arrogant angle. In news vids, he often looked like he knew something the reporters didn’t and was pleased at the knowledge.

She glanced at Dysis. Her sectormate was tense, all of her attention and energy focused on the monitor.

“In our meeting,” Ward Vadim said, “Ward Balias laid out proof that the information my sources had gleaned was, in fact,
mis
information. On each point of concern, he presented me with facts instead of conjecture, with truth to counter the lies.”

There were murmurs from the soldiers watching, so loud Lieutenant Daakon had to hush them. On Aris’s other side, Pallas stared silently at the screen, his face pale.

“As such,” Ward Vadim continued, “I have determined that the sanctions I instituted before my illness are not, in fact, in the best interests of the people of Safara. And indeed, they could be dangerous. I cannot in good faith continue a policy that has endangered the health and lives of everyday Safarans.”

Explosions of “What?” and “No!” sounded around the room. Aris’s own, “I can’t believe it!” blended into the uproar.

“Silence!” Lieutenant Daakon shouted.

Ward Vadim turned to look at the Ward of Safara. “But I am deeply concerned by your actions against Atalanta. I must caution you, Ward Balias, in pursuing this ill-advised war. The access to the Fex River you seek will only cause prolonged suffering and strain your dominion’s resources. With our newly agreed-upon trade terms, surely ongoing fighting is no longer necessary?”

The briefing room was suddenly eerily silent as the soldiers waited to hear Ward Balias’s response. Aris held her breath. Could this be the end of the war?
Right now
?

Ward Balias nodded, smiling wider, and all of Aris’s muscles tightened, as if she were caught between his strong, white teeth. As if she were his prey.

“Thank you, Ward, for meeting with me,” he said. “I applaud your decision and am grateful, on behalf of my people. It is a difficult time to be Safaran. Clean water has become our most precious commodity. We are still struggling to contain the resultant illnesses and starvation. My desire for access to the Fex River is only out of necessity; I cannot stand to watch my people die when I have the means, however unpleasant, to save them. Our new trade agreement with Ruslana will go a long way in sustaining the lives of Safaran children and their hard-working parents. And I will, of course, take your recommendations concerning our current conflict with Atalanta under advisement.”

Reporters began calling out their questions to the two Wards.

“Off,” Commander Nyx snapped, and the monitor went black. Lieutenant Wolfe and the other officers stood frozen, silent, as the room erupted in loud-voiced questions and conjecture. Lieutenant Daakon rubbed his chin, shaking his head in disbelief.

Major Vidar’s eyes narrowed and his lips twisted in disgust, and Aris knew what he was thinking, because she could feel
her
eyes narrow,
her
lips twist into the same expression.

She’d seen Ward Balias’s face. His glee. He’d gotten exactly what he wanted from Ruslana.

And it wasn’t going to stop him.

When Elom came
to release Galena from the bed, he brought her a brush so she could tidy her hair. He also gave her a new white robe and five extra minutes in the washroom. She cleaned up, reveling in the feel of clean fabric against her skin, the pleasing pull of the brush through her tangled hair—wishing she didn’t feel so suspicious of the new routine.

After she ate a meal of brown, tasteless soup and a hard chunk of bread, Elom invited her to sit on the chair by the bed. “It’s time for your statement,” he said.

Galena looked toward the door. Was there a camera crew? She heard nothing; the silence hadn’t changed in all the time that she’d been here. Glancing back at Elom, she narrowed her eyes. If she was the captive she felt like, why would he let a camera crew in? Why would he give her the opportunity to denounce her kidnapper?

“Will you be filming it?” Perhaps he would coach her on what to say, film it himself, and give the vid to that pretty reporter, as if he really were her mender, carefully managing her illness and stress after the death of her husband. What did he want her to say?

Elom bared his teeth in what she supposed was meant to be a smile. His bald head gleamed. “You misunderstand me,” he said. “One moment.” With that, he abruptly left the room.

Galena sat with her hands folded in her lap and awaited his return, because it was the only thing she
could
do. The one thing that kept her going was the very thing that had most assuredly led to her imprisonment—her job. She was Ward of Ruslana. Her absence from her post could only go on so long. They
needed
her. She couldn’t just disappear.

The door hissed open. Elom reentered the room. Galena sat up straighter and looked behind him for the news team. But he was alone, a small black digitablet in his hands. Why was he holding that? Did he mean to record her using the device?

Her confusion mounted when he placed it on her knees, as usual.

“Is it another report? I thought you said we were going to record my statement.”

Elom tapped the screen. “We are going to watch your statement.”

Galena froze. Slowly, the world tilted. What did he mean,
watch
? She hadn’t made any statement. How—

And suddenly there she was, her pale blond hair smoothed back in her habitual style, a flattering pink shirt warming the color of her cheeks.

“But, how . . . I don’t understand.” Galena whispered the words, felt them slip sluggishly though the rapidly closing space in her throat.

Because she wasn’t the only Galena speaking.

“I must thank the people of Ruslana for your patience as I’ve recovered from my illness,” the woman on-screen said. “It has been a difficult journey, especially with the loss of my dear husband while I was unwell . . .”

Galena’s hands and legs were shaking so hard Elom had picked up the digitablet and was holding it for her. He
wanted
her to hear every word, to watch her own mouth form each one.

“I would like to assure you my illness has, finally, run its course, and I am now able to resume my duties as Ward of Ruslana.”

NO
!! Galena didn’t know if she screamed it aloud or only in her mind. She threw herself out of the chair to the door and scrabbled desperately to open it. It didn’t move. From a distance she could hear her voice,
hijacked by that imposter
, faint beneath the words clawing their way from her throat, “You can’t have my life! I won’t let you
have my life
!”

A sting. The cold fire of Elom’s medigun slid through her veins.

This time, she was grateful for the darkness.