Torn Sky (Rebel Wing Trilogy, Book 3) (Rebel Wing Series) (12 page)

When Dysis got to the cafeteria, Otto was sitting at their table, alone, surrounded by empty chairs wrapped in black ribbons. Dysis paused, not sure breakfast was a good idea after all.

But she couldn’t leave him there by himself.

“We were too late,” Otto muttered over his porridge, his jovial demeanor buried beneath layers of guilt and grief. “We heard the ruckus over the comms. If we’d just gotten there a little sooner . . .”

Dysis put her spoon down, bowl untouched. “There was nothing you could do,” she said gruffly. “At least Lieutenant Santos made it at all. Pallas and Tekla would be dead if it weren’t for you.”

Otto didn’t look up. “Tekla’s as good as.”

Seren Tekla was in a coma from which she would likely never wake. Pallas’s hand required surgery, and there was a chance she’d never fly again. And
she
was the lucky one. Just the thought sent fury scorching through Dysis.

“Have you heard how Pallas’s surgery went?” Dysis asked. “I was going to go see her.”

Otto looked up, but it was obvious he hadn’t really heard her. He glanced to the left and the right, at all the empty chairs surrounding him. “I’ve lost almost every soldier I’ve flown with,” he said dully. “All of my comrades. It won’t be long before it’s my turn.”

Dysis’s breath caught painfully in her lungs. This wasn’t Otto. This . . . defeat.

She reached across the table and punched him in the arm, hard enough that he rocked back in his seat and winced. “Ow. What the blighting—”

“You’re a pot-bellied lug, Otto,” she said. “And I’m a grumpy invalid. The Gods don’t want us.”

A little spark filtered back into his eyes as he looked at her. “Grumpy, huh? I could think of another name for it.”

She grinned as they bantered to beat away the dark. When their meal was done, Dysis squeezed his shoulder before heading down the hall toward the sick bay. She stopped abuptly when she reached the small waiting area outside of Pallas’s door. Calix was slumped into one of two chairs pushed against the wall, his mender tunic rumpled and his eyes bleary.

“What are you doing here?” she blurted. She wasn’t sure if the porridge was disagreeing with her or if a flock of fanax had suddenly taken up residence in her belly.

Calix stood up, hands clenched at his sides. “I wanted to talk to you. They’re saying Aris was taken . . .”

“They’ll find her soon,” she said, hoping her words were true.

In two long steps, he reached her, his hands grasping hers. There was a gulf between them: what Aris had meant to him, and what she continued to mean to Dysis.

Calix opened his mouth to speak.

Dysis tore her hands from his. “I need to see Pallas. That’s why I’m here.”

For a second, Calix paused. Then he pointed to a door. “She’s in there. They were able to save her hand, but she’s had severe nerve damage. It’s unlikely that she’ll regain feeling in her last three fingers.”

Dysis nodded. That was bad, but it could have been a lot worse. She knocked softly on the door before entering.

Pallas was stretched out on the med-bed, her injured arm resting on her hip. Thick white bandages ran the length of her forearm and engulfed her hand. When she saw Dysis, she struggled to sit up.

Dysis held up her hands. “Please don’t try to move. That looks uncomfortable enough to begin with.”

Pallas released a ragged sigh as she slumped back against the bed. “Dysis, forgive me. I didn’t think I’d have visitors yet.”

Dysis sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle her friend. “I had to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine.” Pallas wouldn’t meet her eyes. “They even said I’ll be back in the air in a day or so, if you can believe it.” She almost sounded unhappy about that. Dysis would have been jumping for joy if she were allowed back into combat so soon. As it was, she still had at least three weeks before she could return to a normal schedule. Probably even longer for full combat training.

“It’s not your fault, you know,” she said, noticing the guilt tightening the corners of Pallas’s mouth. “There’s nothing you or anyone—”

“It’s my fault Baksen is dead,” Pallas practically snarled, her voice thick with self-loathing, “As surely as if I’d pulled the trigger. I . . . I’m the responsible party. If I hadn’t . . . if I’d only just—”

Dysis squeezed Pallas’s knee through the sheet. “You are
not
responsible for this, Pallas. Don’t even say that. You’re lucky
you
survived.”

A few tears trickled down Pallas’s cheeks. “And Lieutenant Haan and Major Vadim . . . I can’t believe they’re . . . they’re gone.”

Before her sniffles could become full-blown sobs, Dysis leaned closer. “They’re gone
for now
. Just for now. Not forever. We’ll get them back.” She said the words as much to convince herself as to convince Pallas.

Pallas raised her uninjured hand to wipe the dampness on her cheeks. “I don’t know, Dysis. I don’t think we can come back from this one.”

Dysis had never heard her sound so hopeless. First Otto, now Pallas . . .

This time, no flippant response came to mind. But all the same, she couldn’t let the dejection stand. “The whole thing is a blighting disaster, I’ll give you that. But there’s hope, you hear me? We’ve got ways to find them. We
will
find them.” She patted Pallas’s arm awkwardly.

They had
one
way. Alistar.

***

Dysis slammed her hand on the table.

Nothing.

Alistar hadn’t spoken in hours. No one had visited him, and he’d issued no orders. If it weren’t for his steady breathing, she would have thought he was dead. What the blighting
hell
was going on?

At last, when she was near mad with frustration, a loud knock echoed across the feed.

“Come in,” barked Alistar.

There came the hiss of a door and the thud of footsteps.

Alistar gasped. “Lieutenant—what are you doing here? And where did you get the Safaran uniform? I was expecting the man who’s supposed to drive me to the palace. Ward Balias has requested a meeting with me.”

“I need you to listen to me. I have about three minutes before the guards at the gate realize why my face looked so familiar.” Dysis immediately recognized the voice.

Jax.

Her heart thumped in her throat. Alistar was in a Safaran stationpoint outside of Zayo, Safara’s capital. The place was crawling with Safaran troops. Any one of them would relish killing her brother.
How did he even get as far as Alistar’s office?Was he veiled?

“Did you get the bomb?” Alistar asked, his voice ticking up at the end, full of hope.

Dysis slumped back in her chair.
He doesn’t know.

“Has Balias shown any indication he can’t trust you?” Jax asked, without answering the question.

Alistar replied, “You’ve heard everything said in my presence. I know as much as you do. Why?”

There was a short silence. It seemed so strange that Alistar knew nothing of what happened the night before. He’d been diverted off course and Balias didn’t even tell him why? That wasn’t a good sign.

At last, Jax said, “We think the warehouse may have been a setup. They knew we were coming. There was no weapon there, or not one that we saw, just soldiers lying in wait for our troops. Lieutenant Haan and Major Vadim were captured, and nearly the rest of the team was killed.”

Alistar’s sudden intake of breath spiked on the monitor. Dysis gripped the edge of the desk with white-knuckled hands. “I don’t understand. How could that happen?” he asked.

“Run me through your orders again,” Jax said. “When were you told to abort?”

“Ward Balias himself commed me and said there’d been a threat and we’d transfer the weapon later. I had hoped the threat was you successfully retrieving the flaming scorpion.” A hint of reproach crept into Alistar’s voice.

“They knew we were coming. But Ward Balias didn’t want you there. Why?” Dysis could clearly picture Jax’s furrowed brow. He’d bite his lip, as he always did when he was working through a particularly thorny problem. She wanted to tell him to hurry up already. Each second that ticked by was one more when he could get caught.

Clothing rustled, as if Alistar had shifted or shrugged. “I’ve no idea. Tell me what you need me to do.”

Footsteps echoed across the feed. One of them was pacing. “If the Ward is on to you, it’s no longer safe for you to be here. Your next move would be to come with me back to Atalanta.”

“Not an option,” Alistar snapped.

“If you’re compromised, you’ll be killed. You—”

“I don’t care.” The words, in Elom’s voice, came out with a force even Dysis found intimidating. “Playing this part has cost me too much. I’ve tortured dissenters with the very same beliefs I hold. I’ve been asked to kill . . .” The word was cut off by the sound of a ragged breath. “I cannot leave until I see this through. Not unless you have indisputable, incontrovertible evidence that Balias knows.”

Dysis stared at the blank wall before her, straining to hear Jax’s reply. Her respect for Alistar grew; he’d been offered an easy out, and he wasn’t even remotely interested in taking it.

“Your other option is to storm into Balias’s office and yell at him,” Jax said, at last, with a sigh.

Dysis’s mouth dropped open.
That
was Jax’s solution?

“Excuse me?” Alistar sounded equally shocked.

Jax elaborated. “If the real Elom had been forced to change course and there’d been a mission he wasn’t privy to, if he’d felt distrust from Balias, he would confront him.”

“Okay . . .” Alistar began.

The footsteps stopped. Dysis could imagine Jax rubbing his jaw, his mental gears turning. “You weren’t aware of
why
the mission was changed. Elom wouldn’t stand for that. He’d demand to know. You have to get Balias to tell you he’s got Aris and Milek. And when he does . . .”

A spark ignited in Alistar’s deep voice. “I demand to see the girl who put me behind bars. I make him let me take my revenge.”

“He tells you where to go,” Jax confirmed. “And we get Aris and Milek’s location.”

Would it work? The plan had merit, but it was dangerous. “Risky, risky,” she mumbled under her breath.

Alistar said, “If he suspects I’m a spy . . .”

The word hung in the air for a moment. Then Jax sighed. “Then he’ll probably kill you. Or lock you up and torture you for information.”

A rhythmic tapping sound filled the room, and Dysis pictured Alistar drumming his fingers on the table. “What do I do if he won’t let me see them? He could order me onto some other project.”

“You said he’s asked to see you. Maybe that’s good news. Maybe he’s already planning to send you to interrogate them,” Jax said.

A sudden knock drowned out the sound of Alistar’s knuckles against the table. “Elom, sir?” came a faint voice through the feed.

Dysis stood up.
Oh Gods.
What if Jax was caught? There’d be nothing she could do.

She was
useless.

“That’ll be the terran for the palace,” Alistar said. “I’ll do what I can to get you the location. What about the bomb?”

Jax’s voice deepened. “According to initial time projections, we should have at least a month. Our window is closing, but we have some time. Find Aris and Milek first. Then we’ll deal with the bomb.”

“Get out of there, get out of there,” Dysis chanted.

Jax’s footsteps crossed the room. “Kick me out of your office. I’ve just delivered intel you’re very angry about.”

Dysis heard the hiss of a door opening, and then Alistar’s chilling growl. “Out of here. If I see your face again, I’ll send you back to your commander in pieces!”

Dysis listened to her brother’s departing footsteps in agony, waiting for shouts or solagun fire. Her chest pulsed with a tangle of conflicting emotions: fury at her brother, or at whoever had sent him, for the danger he was putting himself in. Concern for Alistar, who might be walking to his death. And hope that their stupid plan would work and they’d find Aris.

As she listened to the swish of Alistar’s terran moving through the city, his deep voice silent for the moment, she leaned back in her chair and tried to work the knots of tension from her neck.

She couldn’t stop thinking about Jax, deep within Safaran territory. How long would it take him to get back over the border? What if he was caught? She’d already lived through months of not knowing whether he was alive or dead. She wasn’t sure she’d survive another round of that.

The sound of a door opening caught her attention. Alistar had arrived at the palace. Still, he said nothing. She listened to his footsteps, quick and deliberate, and prayed that he could pull this off.

Ward Balias’s voice slithered across the feed. “Ah, Elom. Thank you for coming.”

Dysis shivered as she waited for Alistar’s response. Jax had told him to yell.

But when Alistar spoke, it was little more than a hiss. “You pulled me off my mission. Why? If there was a threat, I would have neutralized it. You know that.”

Dysis held her breath.

“I deemed this a threat I didn’t want
you
to handle.” Balias remained mild. He might as well have been sitting on a silk divan drinking tea. For all she knew, he was.

“And why is that?” Alistar growled, his voice holding a warning.

There was a faint rustle of fabric, as if Balias was shifting position. “This is a threat I’ve trusted you with once already. You disappointed me.” A hint of steel sliced through the man’s calm.

The sound of Alistar swallowing filled Dysis’s small room.

“You have that flyer. Aris Haan.” Alistar played the beat perfectly. Disbelief paired with hunger. Even knowing it was an act, Dysis fought the urge to scream at him to leave her friend alone.

“You lost your chance with her,” Balias said. “I won’t be disappointed again.”

There was another swish of fabric, and the faint sound of a footstep—Alistar moving closer to Balias. “I don’t care. Just tell me that the bitch is going to burn.”

Chills raced down Dysis’s spine. For a split second, she wondered if they’d put their faith in the wrong person. If, somehow, Alistar
did
want to hurt Aris. If he wanted to destroy them all.