The Diatous Wars 1: Rebel Wing (5 page)

“Too small,” the woman snapped, black eyes narrowed as she looked Aris up and down.

Aris’s boots felt like they were melting into the floor, and she worried her knees might soon follow.
No
. She couldn’t let Dianthe see her fear. She straightened her shoulders and said, with as much attitude as she could manage, “I’ve never had complaints before.”

Dianthe ignored her, continuing her inspection. “Your chin will do. Let me see you walk.” She stood aside, gesturing a graceful hand toward the room.

She wants to see me walk? What does that have to do with flying?

“Now.” Dianthe spoke low in her throat, with the rough timbre of a northerner, and her voice held all the fire of a cattle prod.

Aris slipped quickly into the bright, cavernous room, careful as she slid by not to touch Dianthe, who was wearing an ivory tunic over wide-legged, flowing pants of the same color. Aris feared she’d dirty the shimmering fabric just by brushing against it.

As she walked, she took neat, careful steps. The room she entered was sparsely furnished: a black table scattered with sheets of silco and myriad liquid-filled bottles, a large monitor on one white wall, several black, unpadded benches, and, in the center of the room, an enormous wingback chair with heavy purple brocade and carved wooden legs.

Despite the garish chair, the room felt barren. Cold, even with sunlight pouring through the far wall, which was entirely made of glass and provided a beautiful, though vertigo-inducing, view of the city.

“Stop!” Dianthe barked when Aris reached the bench nearest the giant chair. “You have a limp,” she accused, sweeping in a circle to examine Aris from all sides.

Aris raised her chin. “My limp has nothing to do with how well I fly.”

“Ah, so you’re a flyer.” Dianthe waved a hand. “Of course you are. From Lux, aren’t you?”

“I’m not just a flyer from Lux,” she returned, trying to hide her desperation with an indignant scowl. “I’m the
best
flyer in Lux. Maybe in all of Atalanta.” They were the words of a braggart, and reckless, but they were better than the words she couldn’t say:
please don’t send me home
.

Dianthe arched her pale eyebrows, the serpent undulating along her forehead. “That’s quite a claim.”

“Put me in a wingjet and I’ll prove it. Just ask your friend Theo.” Aris crossed her arms over her chest, trapping her trembling fingers against her sides.

Dianthe narrowed her eyes. “
You’re
the one Theo recruited?”

You are strong. You can do this.
“Yes,” Aris said, her voice steady. “He begged me to come here. Said I was wasting my talents in Lux. My
gift
.” She paused. The crimson snake really was disconcerting, but she refused to look away. “He said you needed me. Maybe he doesn’t care so much about silly things like how tall I am or how I walk.”

Dianthe skewered her with a hard glare and said nothing.

Warmth bloomed across Aris’s cheeks, but she kept her chin up. She couldn’t let Dianthe see how intimidated she was. How desperate. If this didn’t work, if she was sent away, back to Lux . . .

No Calix.

At last, Dianthe shrugged, her tunic rippling with the movement. “If you truly are the flyer you claim to be, I might have a place for you within the organization.”

Aris was about to speak when the woman turned, exposing a black rectangle on the back of her neck. The Military brand.
That’s not possible.

Dianthe folded her thin body gracefully into the cushions of the chair. Its exaggerated proportions made hers look more normal. “Sit,” she ordered, pointing to the nearest bench.

Dazed, Aris sat. “Why do you have a Military brand? You can’t be Military, you’re a woman.”

“What exactly
did
Theo tell you?” Dianthe asked.

Aris swallowed. “He offered me a job doing some flying to help with the war, but he didn’t, uh . . .”

“Explain how?”

Aris shook her head. “Just that it was important and I was needed. And I couldn’t tell anyone where I was going if I came to see you.”

Dianthe brushed her fingers over her bald head. “And now that you’re here, can’t you guess?”

Aris shook her head again, slowly.

“Women aren’t allowed
openly
in the Military. But there are women nonetheless. I help them pass for men, so they can fight the Safaran invasion.”

Aris’s eyes widened. Women fought in the war? “But why would they do that?”

Dianthe raised a hand in a gesture of impatience. “Why does anyone fight a war? To protect a way of life, to find or support a loved one. To avenge those lost. Or maybe because it’s a calling. Because someone has to. Because there’s a line no enemy should be allowed to cross.” The way she said it, her voice tight and the words tripping over themselves to be heard . . . it was clear Dianthe had a reason for becoming a soldier, for fighting in this war.

Aris shivered at the fire in the tall woman’s expression. “But . . . but what about the laws? How can the government allow it?”

“
Allow
it? Shouldn’t
women
decide what they’ll allow for their own bodies, not a government acting out an antiquated, unnecessary law?” Dianthe’s black eyes glittered. “Safara is a powerful enemy. It would be imprudent to turn our backs on some of the most talented flyers and marksmen in Atalanta just because they’re women.”

Aris could hold Dianthe’s gaze no longer. She’d never thought about the ban on women in the Military, never thought she’d be in a position to care. “So what Theo was offering—what you’re offering—is a chance to join the Military sector and fight in the war?”

Dianthe stood and walked to the black table against the wall. Several metal chairs were tucked under it, but the clutter of bottles and paperwork strewn across its surface suggested it hadn’t been used for a meal in a while. She poured herself a glass of pale green liquid, leaned a hip against the table, and swirled the liquid around and around.

The silence pressed on Aris’s nerves.

“I’m offering you the chance to become a Military flyer,” Dianthe said finally. “No active combat. But you’ll still have to do physical training. First a month with me, and then regularly with your unit. The Military sector requires a certain level of conditioning. If you can’t meet those requirements, I’ll have to send you home.”

Aris was suddenly very happy to be sitting down. Theo hadn’t said anything about physical conditioning requirements. How could she possibly meet them?

Even her parents thought she could barely function. Her father loved to remind her of all the activities she was unsuited to—including a desk job in Panthea, apparently—and her mother never missed an opportunity to grab her shoulders and tell her how much worse her limp was when she slouched.

Dianthe watched her, sipping her drink. She didn’t pour a second glass, though Aris wished she would; her throat felt drier than the deserts of Safara.

“There’s someone I need to find,” Aris said loudly, trying to forget her parents’ lack of confidence in her physical strength. Trying to ignore the tremble in her knees that suggested they might be right. “If I do this, I want to be placed in his unit. Or at his stationpoint, at least. I want to work with him.”

Dianthe’s expression gave away nothing. “Who is ‘he’?”

“Calix Pavlos. He’s training to be a field mender. He just had selection a week ago, like me, only he was selected for Military.” Even now, the thought of him so close to danger made her chest burn.

The room swelled with silence and sunlight. Aris held her breath.

Dianthe tapped a finger against her glass. “I make no guarantees.”

No guarantees?
No guarantees
wasn’t good enough. If she was going to do this—if she was going to take this massive, ridiculous,
what-was-she-thinking
leap—she
had
to be with Calix.

Aris stood up on legs that only quivered a little and crossed her arms over her chest. “You need me. Theo said so. I’ll be placed with Calix or not at all. These are my terms.”

Dianthe’s eyes flashed, venomous. “
Your
terms.”

Aris stood her ground, caught in the cage of Dianthe’s stare.

The woman barked a harsh laugh. “You foolish girl. We are losing this war, did you know that? Do you think any of us can afford ultimatums?” She slammed her glass on the table. “Is that what Theo promised you? A chance to play at love on the battlefield?”

Aris sucked in a ragged breath.

Without waiting for an answer, Dianthe continued. “This is no game. I disguise you as a man, train you, and get you documents so you can pass as a volunteer for the Military sector. And then you join a regular unit and train with them. A regular unit, get it? With weapons, and war, and danger.”

Aris stared at Dianthe’s blood-red snake tattoo as she stalked the room, feeling like a small, defenseless animal at the mercy of that serpent’s strike. She shivered. “You said no combat.”

“That doesn’t mean it won’t be dangerous. You’ll be a soldier, first and foremost. And you don’t get to tell your family or friends where you are or what you’re really doing. If the government discovers you’re a woman, you’ll be sent to prison for impersonating a soldier. And if you get shot”—she cocked her head to the side—“you’ll be dead.”

Each word hung like the afterimage of lightning in Aris’s mind, sinking slowly into her awareness.

“This cannot be about Calix. Do you understand?” Dianthe, still scowling, studied her.

Aris bit her lip, shamed. Because it
was
about him, even now, no matter what Dianthe said. She would fight wars for Calix. In little more than a whisper, she asked, “Are we really losing? The news vids . . .” Her voice trailed off. The news vids still dealt in small victories. Hope.

Dianthe suddenly looked tired. Even the snake seemed to droop a little as she let out a breath. “The situation is . . . dire. If the Ward of Ruslana had succeeded in persuading the other dominions to impose sanctions on Safara, maybe that would have helped us secure our border. But . . .”

“But Ward Vadim fell ill,” Aris said, stomach leaden, “and there was no vote on sanctions.”

“Exactly. And wasn’t
that
convenient.” Dianthe looked up. “Every single man—and woman—willing to stand up and fight for this dominion can be certain they are making a difference. Including you, Aris.” She drained the rest of her drink and set it back on the table. “Theo was right. We do need you.
If
you can pass the physical training.”

Taking her heart, and her courage, in her hands, Aris murmured, “And Calix?”

Dianthe sighed, sounding oddly defeated. “I’ll see what I can do.”

It wasn’t the guarantee Aris wanted. But something told her Dianthe could make it happen. “Okay. So what now?”

Dianthe led her to the first of three closed doors along the left wall of the apartment. A small circular pad beside the door glowed faintly. “This will be your room. Once you’ve unpacked your things, change into your exercise uniform. It’s on the bed. ”

“Exercise uniform?” Aris passed the handle of her bag from one hand to the other. It was light; she’d brought little with her from home.

“To begin your training,” Dianthe said, walking away.

Aris’s heart gave a sudden lurch. “But don’t you want to see me fly?”

Dianthe turned back to stare at her. “Physical training first. If you make it through that,
then
I’ll see you fly.”

“But . . .” How would she make it on the physical training alone? Her one skill was flying; without that, she had nothing.

At the obvious terror in Aris’s eyes, Dianthe raised her hands. “I told you, this only works if you can pass the physical tests.”

For an instant, Aris considered walking away. There was still time . . . and her father would be pleased. Maybe she could. . . .

No. She tightened her hand on the bag.
You’re doing this for Calix. You can do anything for him
. “I’ll be right out.”

Aris pressed the glowing pad on the wall and the bedroom door slid open. The
room had no windows, just a narrow bed, one small trunk for her clothes, and a doorway that led to a tiny washroom. She dropped her bag onto the floor beside the bed, and changed into the tight black pants and sleeveless tunic of her exercise uniform.

When Aris walked back into the main room, Dianthe was waiting.

“What happens now?” Aris tried to sound professional. Like someone to be taken seriously. Like someone who wasn’t about to collapse in fear.

Dianthe led her to another door. Aris’s stomach sank when it slid open, revealing a collection of frightening machines that gleamed silver in the daylight pouring through the glass wall.

“Each member of Military is expected to run three miles every day. You’ll run one mile today, two tomorrow. And three each day after that. If I feel it necessary,” Dianthe said, “you’ll run more.” She pointed to a dark strip of flooring along the far wall.

Aris didn’t move. The first task was
running
? “You can’t expect . . . I mean. . . .” She hadn’t run more than a few yards since the fever, when she was twelve years old. There was no way she could do this. Pulse pounding in her throat, she turned her gaze to Dianthe’s impassive face. “But I don’t run.” She barely stopped herself from saying
I can’t
.

Dianthe’s expression didn’t change. “You know the arrangement. You run, or you leave.”

Aris gingerly threaded her way through the equipment to the black strip of flooring, which gave slightly as she stepped onto it. Without warning it moved and she fell, the thud of elbow and hip meeting floor echoing in the quiet room.

Wincing, she tried to sit up, still unbalanced and awkward.

“Again,” Dianthe said.

This time when the floor began to move, Aris was ready. Or readier. As she walked, Dianthe tapped a panel on the wall. Gradually, the floor slid faster and faster until she was jogging. The pace was what anyone other than Aris might call leisurely, but she could already feel weakness in her knees and a tingling ache in the backs of her thighs.