Page 77 of The Space Between Stars

“So you won a fight for him?”

“I never said I won.” Mitek chewed at his cheek. “Come on. Let’s go steal you some pants before tonight. There are loads of tailors in Korshuva.”

“If I sit by Celestar during cards… you’re probably going to lose.”

“Today didn’t go the way I planned,” he admitted.

That was very uncharacteristic of Mitek’s usual being a conniving and greedy arse. “Thank you.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Least I could do for you, Brat.”

Fankalo was suddenly warm in a way she’d never felt before. She floundered, seeking something to say that might make the horrendous feeling go away, and found a safe landing calling out Mitek’s idiocy.

“Aye.” She sharpened her eyes on him. “You’ve known what I was looking for. Why didn’t you connect me to Celestar before?” It might have saved her months—years—and countless resources.

Mitek made the face he always made when he was guilty of having been stupid. “I didn’t think of it before. But I’d been thinking of paying Celestar a visit… And then I realized he might be able to help.”

“You should think about thinking more often.” She lobbed him a smile. “It does you good.”

NINETEEN

ATTILATIA

Year: 748 Post Cataclysm: Present DayLocation: Poqualle District, Seraphinden

Soft rain pattered against compact earth as Attilatia shuffled through the dawn-lightened streets toward home. The drizzle was the most eventful thing that had happened in the past ten-day.

“Spend long enough with dirt in your mouth and everything else tastes like honey,” Dasha had said. She would have thought that after sixteen years of being threatened by the worst masochists and fiends humanity had to offer, being left alone would have been damn near pleasant. But it seemed that a life without imminent threats was under-stimulating.

The dark clouds had lightened to grey at the horizon as she stepped through the rear entrance into the garden. Toronoff padded up to her despite the rain, tail raised, purring like his insides were churning pebbles. She stooped to greet him, and he made repeated passes against her outstretched hand.

“That’s enough, I think,” she said. “Too much attention and you’ll get spoiled, eah?”

The creature only mewled at her ankles. A tripping hazard, if ever she’d seen one.

“Sesu Mitar?” a man’s voice called from beyond the garden’s front gate. Attilatia stiffened. He must have been taking refuge in the foliage, waiting for her return. He wore the unmistakable burgundy sirwal and tunic of the Red Wing. A courier’s pin sat on his shoulder.

Whatever he was about to tell her, she was sure it would stab her clean through.

“Yes?” she asked, hoping her nerves weren’t showing.

“A message for you.”

He reached over the gate, a sealed scroll in his fingers. Thedexemore had told her messages were not permitted from recruits—which was why she’d given him a light signal. All enlistees forewent written communications for ninety days. This message could have only come from command, and it would have been very expensive to send.

“Thank you.” She felt anything but grateful as she tucked the scroll beneath her arm.

The man nodded curtly and disappeared around the gate.

Attilatia stared at the seal: a shield bearing a white gladiolus over a bear. The mark of the General Prime. Teeth in lip, she moved toward shelter. Toronoff meowed so loudly she was sure the neighbors would think she was skinning him.

“Yes, yes. You’re coming with me.”

She shut her door with a clack that softened the rain to muted tapping against the roof. Setting the scroll on the table, she stripped herself of the shawl over her jumpsuit and moved to the hearth to stoke a fire for tea.

Cream found its way into a bowl on the floor. She found her way into the wooden chair that overlooked the window. The scroll sat like a bird over a serpent’s den.

She had to open it—just open it. There was no other way.