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He’s not just taking in the view.
“There are a million places on this ship where you could do that,” I say. “Like…the princess’s bedroom? Or down in the hull with your best friend Taln?”
“No need to get feisty,” he says, and that makes me want to bemorefeisty. “I wanted to…to speak with you. About–”
“About Fiona?” I cut him off. “About the Elixir Ceremony and how it would be so muchsaferjust to do it already so we can’t get brainwashed?”
“You speak like someone who hasn’t experienced it for himself,” Orion mutters.
“I mean, I was Lamia’s slave for several years, and I don’t remember you being under her control for more than…what—a few months?”
The words tumble out of my mouth before I have a chance to catch myself, even though I know that what we’ve been through isn’t all that different. I should be kinder to him.
Or should I?
Can we even trust this asshole?
Or is it just that my kindness has all been used up?
I’m not the guy who made a scared girl french fries on the Naiad. I’m not the guy who took her hand and guided her into a den of aliens eager to ravish her.
I’ve made so many mistakes.
“I wouldn’t wish Lamia’s control on my worst enemy,” Orion says quietly, “and you are far from my worst enemy, human.”
When I look back toward the window, he’s vanished.
But I don’t have time to think about that, because it’s time to stop and refuel.
We coast closer to Vehyris as I negotiate with the Wrath, convincing it to approach the planet despite its strange, inconsistent gravity. The ship isn’t sentient, of course–but I’m starting to learn its ins and outs, and there’s a failsafe in place to avoid landing on planets being broken apart by Elixir mining. That’s good to know; we’ll have to deal with that when we finally land on Homeworld too, given how bad the state of the planet was when we left.
I send out a quick announcement to the rest of the crew to warn them to strap in, and I give it a few minutes until I get the all-clear, then I point the Wrath’s prow into the cloud cover. Lightning strikes the exterior of the ship a couple times, making me bounce in my seat, and I have to assume that Fiona is probably tense right now. She doesn’t like flying, especially when we’re out over the ocean, and our current location is nothing but one big ocean. The old Kye would have tried hardernotto hit those bumps.
This Kye doesn’t give a damn. We need fuel, and I just want this to be over.
The ship jolts a few more times as we break through the atmosphere, and then a heavy sleet begins to stream across the windows as I slow, staring down into the ice-flecked sea. I can already see more than a few Elixir refineries from here, big white silos filled with Hyperborean lackeys. They don’t hire their own—the Boreans that still live are practically immortal, and think of themselves as being too important for work—but it’s probably full of enslaved humans, Merati, Mlok, and Skoll. They take all kinds without discrimination.
I can’t believe we’renegotiatingwith these people.
But I focus on the refueling station ahead, which looks like a flower blooming out of the frosty terrain. A docking bay extends from its center like a stem, and I coast toward it, the ship finally ceasing its swaying and rattling as we glide into a mag-lock.
I’m set a little at ease by the numerous types of ships in the bay; a Skoll warship decked out in ironwood and gold is right beside us, while most of the vessels are Merati. But I’m still scared.
And I don’t think I’ll feel better until we get off this rock.
Especially because, one of the last times we stopped on a strange station to refuel, a Mlok assassin almost killed Fiona.
And whatever has happened between us, I know she still has a target on her back.
CHAPTER NINE
ORION
“You know I’m not going to try and kill you again, right?”
Fiona rolls her eyes at me from where she walks beside me, tossing her hair behind her. We’re headed into the city to visit the embassy, where she intends on telling the Hyperborean Empire that she’s coming—and to get a lay of the land. The others have stayed behind, prepared to take us away if necessary.
That she trusts me with this means more than she realizes—although I don’t know if it’s truly trust or pure recklessness.
