He cupped her face, met her eyes. “Go to the station. I’ll deal with this.”
It did not take him long to catch up to Cian. He crept along the side of the alley with the easy, sloping gait of an urchin who knew his streets. Yassen followed, feet quick and light like a cat, like a shadow.
Still, some instinct must have caused the boy to glance back. When he caught sight of Yassen, he took off. They darted through twisting alleys, past quiet houses and small squares full of refuse. Cian feinted right, then jolted left toward a flight of brass stairs. Yassen sprinted after him, taking the stairs two at a time when Cian stumbled.
Yassen pounced.
He clamped his hand over the boy’s mouth. Cian beat his hands against his arm, clawed his face, but Yassen squeezed harder. The urchin kicked, his entire body flailing, fighting to survive. Tears slipped down his cheeks.
His eyes met Yassen’s.
And Yassen thought of the fleeing prisoner so long ago. He had told Samson then that there had been no choice. Samson had just stared at him, the pain and disappointment clear on his face.
The urchin kicked. Yassen could feel him scream against his palm.
He couldn’t.
He released Cian, and the boy fell back, wheezing against the steps.
“We were never here,” Yassen muttered. He leaned down and snapped off the visor around Cian’s neck. “Don’t say a word to anyone.”
The urchin nodded, gulping in air. Yassen could already see the hate bubble beneath the boy’s film of tears, but he shot up and was gone before Yassen could change his mind.
Shame burned in his chest. Maybe he had made a mistake. Urchins died in shanties like this every day. It was the way of the desert, a land already thick with blood. But Cian was just a kid, a boy who pickpocketed and scavenged the streets for his next meal. How could he take a life that so mirrored his own?
Maybe he had lost his edge. Maybe he wasn’t taloned, just like Samson had feared. Or maybe he was just beginning to cut himself some slack. Offer himself a glimmer of forgiveness.
Yassen followed the road to the hovertrain station, an open-air platform on the edge of the slum. It was empty. Holos hovered above him, headlines flashing. A crystal monitor embedded within a pillar of brass announced that the train for the morning labor shift had already passed.
He strode along the edge of the platform, searching for Elena. On his left was a short rectangular track where a hovertrain would dock. The Claws, curved metal fixtures that locked and charged the train, bordered the track. Their buzz filled the morning quiet.
He found Elena huddled beside the ticket booth. Slowly, he sank down beside her.
“They took Chand Mahal,” she said, pointing to the holo above the booth.
News streams showed Jantari forces ransacking Samson’s garden, overturning the very tables where he and Samson had sat nearly a month prior, reminiscing about their childhood. It felt like a lifetime ago.
“The Ravani royal family has been assassinated by the Arohassin,” a reporter said in a clipped voice. “Reports detail that Samson Kytuu aided the terrorists in the coup against the Ravani government.”
“That’s a damn lie,” Yassen growled.
Elena grabbed his hand, her face tight.
“King Farin has officially declared war against the Arohassin and the Black Scales,” the reporter continued. “He has invoked his claim over Ravence in the absence of the reigning government. Hail Farin. May our brass prove unyielding against the instigators.”
Yassen could only stare as the holos shifted to show footage of Jantari soldiers marching across Ravence’s southern borders. Missiles fired. The red wall fell in a blast of stone. Blood drained from his face as he watched the Jantari lay out the bodies of Ravani and Black Scale soldiers in neat, orderly lines.
“That fucking pig,” Elena seethed, and sparks flitted from her hands. “He marches into my kingdom, pretending to be the hero? Pretending thathehas claim over the desert?” Her eyes flashed. “I’ll have his head. I’ll melt his metal body and throw it into the Eternal Fire.”
Yassen clenched his fist to stop it from shaking. Akaros had told him that the Arohassin would deliver Elena’s head to Farin, but he had never mentioned this. After all their talks against monarchy, would the Arohassin let another king march in and take Ravence?
And to blame Samson for all of this…
Rage bubbled in his chest, thick and hot.
“We need to take a train to the mountains,” he said, fighting to keep his voice under control. There was nothing they could do for Samson now. “It’ll take us three days. I still have my pod. I can buy us tickets.”
Elena turned to him, her eyes reading what he guarded.
