Page 89 of The Space Between Stars

“When I’m attacked?”

The mute’s face sobered—not that he ever looked chipper.

The man’s conviction struck Niklaus cold. Unholy Chaos. Niklaus had enlisted in the military, yes, but he’d never expected to actually fight a war. In a war, he would be hopeless. His only weapon had ever been his word. And while that blade had certainly dulled as the years went on, in a war zone, unsheathing his tongue was no better than bandying about a string of sausages.

The mute went back to work. A half tab made its way into Niklaus’s shaking fingers. Then another. His tin would not take him to the end of this tour. It mattered not. The next rally was nearing, and ‘Nameless’ had already been penned on Trokus’s contestant ledger. Niklaus would make bets and notes anew.

In less than two moons’ time he’d return Dex safely to Seraphinden. Limtush would relinquish his assets. And everything would be perfectly fine…

If they made it back to Seraphinden at all.

CALVEROUS

After Niklaus took part in his routine sedation, muttered something about looking for Dex, and left, Calver returned to work assessing a new plate. Sixty-three suns had come and gone since the start of the caravan. In just five more, they’d hit the closest latitude to Thaligan. It was his best shot at fleeing toward the coast… and he was running out of time to get answers.

Imaginary Raimee sat behind Calver and passed him the knife he’d been using to pry apart cores. “How many times have you taken these apart?”

Fifty-eight.

He wasn’t really imagining her. He was nearly sure he had a grasp on where his insanity started and where it ended. But pretending Raimee was around made the monotonous task more bearable.

“And you expect something different this time because…?” she would ask, probably with her legs swinging, probably eating something, probably looking up from a book on desert beetles.

Because it was the only option available.

Maybe this time he’d have an epiphany. He was positive something was wrong with these plates—his blood told him so. He’d bring the answer to Fankalo. She’d know how to fix it. She’d send her fleet and intercept Cul’Mon. Thyatira would be killed in combat. Calver would rescue Raimee. He might even catch a blade coming at her, mid-swing. She’d be so relieved he’d come back for her, and he’d tell her everything. She would understand. Fankalo, too. Everything would be perfect.

Except he wouldn’t be able to fucking touch her.

Imaginary Raimee grimaced. “Maybe there’s nothing wrong with them. Maybe it’s just an excuse you’ve made up all this time because she trusted you with something again, and you let her down again. Maybe there’s just something wrong with you.”

The Survivor rippled in the back of Calver’s mind. He should have used a void mantra. Instead he chucked the knife toward the door.

And realized it had just opened.

Dex dipped sideways into the wagon as the tool sailed into the desert. He squinted and clacked the door closed. “Presuming that wasn’t intentional, I need to speak to you.”

The boy had learned rudimentary signaling—Niklaus’s doing. Calver still wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

“It’s about Niklaus.”

Hadn’t he just gone looking for Dex?

“Nothing. Yet.” Dex fidgeted. His eyes darted. “I’ve staved them off as long as I can.”

Deep down, Calver already knew.

“Command’s tasked me to kill Meyernes—well, not directly. I was supposed to steal his reserves. And I’m doing a very bad job.”

Calver stood and paced the confines of the space. He’d known this must be coming. In fact, it was a relief that it finally was happening instead of waiting for Thyatira to act against him.

Dex raised his hands. “No. I want to find out if there’s something wrong with the shields, same as you.”