Page 67 of The Space Between Stars

Niklaus stiffened. “Sounds like you’re the one doing away with your own dowagian trainer.”

Dex stood still, hands fisting as he prepared his next biting remark.

Whether he was desperate or driven, it was hard to say—the two went hand in hand—but Niklaus took his shot. “I didn’t put the mute up to this.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I’m past the point of fighting for belief. I’m fighting because the fight is the only thing I have left.” And any time he loosened his grip on his weapon, something far deadlier filled his hand. “If he’s right—if something is wrong with Aetech’s plates—what do you think would happen to your sister?” From what Niklaus remembered, Hashod Gorovich hated the woman.

Dex’s voice lowered. “Is that a threat?”

“It’s a speculation. If it turns out to be factual, I can promise you, Limtush and his sycophants do not have your best interests at heart.” They were alone. The encampment had migrated to morning mess. There was minimal risk of being overheard, but Dex’s caution was a positive sign. “Do you think he’s crazy?”

“I don’t know,” Dex muttered.

“You still want to learn dowagian from him?”

Dex said nothing.

A drop of faith might quench a valley. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll teach you to signal while you wait to see if there’s something wrong with the plates that could compromise your sister. Then you can chat dowagian to your heart’s content.” Still no response. “It’s syllabic. Easy to learn. You’ll have it in a moon cycle. And by then you’ll be able to read everything we’re ‘conspiring’ about on your own. No need to make assumptions. If you’re still convinced, turn us in. Either way, you win.”

Dex narrowed his eyes. “If anything happens to me—”

“I know, I know. I lose everything.”

The world seemed to pause. Dex reached into the pocket of his uniform to retrieve a pair of dark-lensed oculars. He pulled them over his head. Niklaus couldn’t see the boy’s eyes when he turned to look at him. “That would only be the beginning.”

Long after the day’s march had ended and the evening meal was through, Niklaus approached the mess wagon, a second plate shield in hand. An orange glow shone through the crack beneath the door. Niklaus took the three steps to the door and knocked before entering. The mute sat against the far wall with eyes closed, ruxechorin core clenched in his fist.

Niklaus cleared his throat, unsure whether the man was sleeping—it was nearing highmoon. “It’s me.”

The mute blinked and set the core on a table improvised from mess trays. Niklaus couldn’t help but notice the streak of crimson smeared across it.

As if his footsteps or knock might have given indication. Niklaus pointed to the mute’s hand. “You’re bleeding.”

“What are you doing with it?”

Niklaus didn’t fully understand the science behind distortion. As Hashod had explained it to him, neither did anyone else—and that was a strength for Aetech. Which meant this man knew something Niklaus didn’t, or was lying. “Just by sitting there?”

“You could at least buy me a drink before asking me trade secrets.”

The mute stared, unblinking, as though calling his bluff. Something about him was so disconcerting.

Niklaus swallowed and pressed forward. “I have a second distortion plate shield.” He set it on the tray-table beside the blood-smeared core with a light clack. “What can you tell me about Roskaad Thyatira?”

The mute’s eyes lingered on the device before snapping to meet Niklaus’s.

“Sleeping.”