Into the Still Blue (15 page)

Soren plopped down on the opposite bunk, letting out a frustrated sigh. Guardians had confiscated his Smarteye, and his clothes were caked with dirt from their muddy skirmish with the Dragonwing pilots.

Aria stretched out her legs, staring at her own filthy pants. The rainwater had dried from the lightweight material, but she still felt uncomfortably chilled and out of sorts. Hours had passed since Perry had been dragged away unconscious. She felt his absence everywhere, in her skin and deeper, in her muscles and bones.

“You want me to negotiate with my father.” Soren gave an exaggerated nod. “Right. That’ll work. Remember your little meetings with him? Coffee in Venice? Tea in Japan? You’ve seen him way more than I have. And he isn’t exactly rushing to see me, is he, Aria?”

“He’s your father. He wanted you to leave Reverie with him.”

He snorted. “He also left my friends to die. What do you want me to say to him, anyway? ‘Sorry we hacked your security system, impersonated you, took your Hovercraft, and killed a few of your soldiers, but can you please let us go?’”

“One more word, Dweller, and I will hurt you.” Roar’s voice was low and full of deadly warning.

Soren went still, the smirk fading from his face. He shook his head and lay back with a thump on the cot.

“Miraculous,” Roar said under his breath. He drew his knees up and cradled his head in his hands, tugging at his hair.

Watching him, Aria saw her own frustration. How much longer would they be there? What did Hess and Sable have planned for them? Marron had said that in days, Aether storms might be constant and everywhere. Was that happening now on the outside? Every second they remained trapped in this small room robbed them of their chance for survival.

Her gaze fell to her injured hand, resting on her thigh. There had to be a way out of this. She just needed to figure it out.

“Soren,” she said after a while.

“What,” he said wearily.

“When Hess comes for you, tell him I want to see him too.”

Some time later, she woke curled on her side on the hard mattress. Roar stood in the middle of the room, staring vacantly into space as his hand worked an invisible blade. Aria had seen him do that a hundred times with steel flashing at his fingertips—a habit he had when he was restless. Now there was nothing but air.

Soren was gone.

Roar stilled when he saw her, embarrassment flashing across his handsome face. He sat opposite her and crossed his arms. “You were right. An hour ago, Guardians came to take Soren to Hess.” Roar tipped his head to the door. A plastic bottle and two trays rested on the floor. “They brought food. I was going to wake you, but you looked like you needed sleep. Also, it looks terrible.”

Aria sat up, groggy. “How long was I out?”

“A few hours.”

She hadn’t meant to sleep, but the pain in her arm was exhausting, and it’d been more than a day since she’d rested. Her eyes had slammed closed as soon as she’d laid her head down.

“Did you eat?” she asked. Both trays looked untouched.

Roar shrugged. “I would take a bottle of Luster right now. Nothing else.”

She studied him, gnawing her lip. Roar had always been lean, but lately his cheekbones looked sharper, and deep shadows welled beneath his eyes.

She had no appetite either, but she grabbed the water and joined him on the same bunk. After taking a long drink, she handed it to him.

“That’s not Luster.”

“Just drink it.”

Roar took it and drank.

“Why did they take him? Why Perry and not us?”

“You know why, Aria.”

She didn’t like his dismissive tone. Worse, she didn’t like the confirmation of her worries.

Hess and Sable had taken Perry because of his connection to Cinder. They planned to use him.

Roar said nothing more. As the moments passed, she felt him retreat. Aria picked at the crusted mud on her uniform, hating the silence that stretched and stretched, with nothing but the sound of their breathing.

Quiet was right on Perry. Not on Roar.

But she didn’t break their silence either. She didn’t want to blame him for their capture, like Soren, and if she spoke, she might.

Roar set the water jug on the floor. “Have I ever told you about the time Liv and Perry and I went to look at some horses for Vale?” he said, sitting back again.

“No,” she said, a lump rising in her throat. He was talking, which she wanted. Sharing a story about Liv and Perry as he’d done countless other times. But those times, Liv had been alive. “You haven’t told me that story.”

Roar nodded. “It was a few years ago. Some traders came down to the Shield Valley with horses from the north. Vale sent us to have a look. Liv and I were seventeen, Perry a year younger.”

He paused, scratching the dark stubble on his chin. Aria didn’t know how he managed to sound so normal. Nothing about this story, or this place, or their situation felt normal.

“We never actually saw the horses. We hadn’t been at the traders’ camp for an hour when a band of dispersed showed up. A group like the Six. Hard men who’d cut you down just for looking at them the wrong way. We tried to steer clear of them, but it turned out we were all waiting to see the horse master.

“These men recognized Liv right off. They knew she was Vale’s sister, and they started taunting her and saying these lewd things . . . awful things. It wasn’t like Liv to keep quiet, or Perry for that matter. It especially wasn’t like me, but they outnumbered us three to one. Perry and Liv held their tongues, but after about ten seconds I’d heard enough. I felt like I was going to lose my mind if I didn’t do something.

“So I went after one of them, and pretty soon it was me against nine. Perry and Liv jumped in, of course, and for a little while there we were all in a nice knot until it got broken up. Liv and I came out of it with a few scratches, but Perry’s nose was gushing blood and he’d broken a finger or two. So we thought. They were too swollen to tell. He’d also sprained an ankle and suffered a gash on his forearm.”

The muscles in Roar’s neck rolled as he swallowed. “Seeing him roughed up like that was as bad as hearing those things about Liv. Worse, because it was my fault. He got hurt because of me.”

Finally, Aria saw the point of the story. Roar was scared. He feared Perry would be hurt because of him. Because he’d chosen to hunt Sable down instead of escape when they had the chance.

She wanted to tell him that Perry would be all right, but she couldn’t. She was too nervous. Too scared herself that Perry
wasn’t
all right.

Instead she said, “I feel like every story you tell me, he gets his nose broken.”

Roar raised an eyebrow. “You’ve seen it, haven’t you?”

“I have.” Aria hugged her legs, ignoring the pain that pulsed in her right arm. She pictured Perry’s expression as he’d put his hand to his heart. “I should thank you. I like his nose the way it is.” In fact, she loved it.

“You can thank me if we get out of this.”

“
When
we get out of this.”

Roar frowned. “Right . . . when.”

The door hissed open. They shot to their feet.

Three of Sable’s men stepped inside. Two had the Horns symbol emblazoned in red on their black uniforms, but the third man, who carried himself like a leader, wore a uniform with silver horns. All three carried Dweller pistols in holsters at their belts.

“Turn around and put your hands behind your backs,” said one.

Aria didn’t budge. She couldn’t look away from the oldest soldier—the silver-horned one. She recognized him as the man who’d been sparring with Liv in the courtyard in Rim when they’d first arrived.

She shook away the memory. “Where are you taking us? Where are Peregrine and Cinder?”

The soldier’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, as though he was trying to recall where he’d seen her before. Then his gaze dropped to her injured arm, tucked to her side. His appraisal was intense and it unnerved her, making the blood pound in her ears. She sensed Roar’s tension beside her. He was holding his breath, and she wondered if he remembered the Horn soldier too.

“I have orders to take the two of you to Sable,” said the older soldier at last. “I’m authorized to use whatever force necessary to carry out that directive. Is that clear?”

“I can’t put my hands back,” Aria said. “I was shot a week ago.” Just imagining the pain she’d feel made her head spin.

“What do you want to do, Loran?” asked one of the other soldiers.

“I’ll watch her,” the senior soldier replied.

Loran
. Aria recognized the name. That day in the courtyard, Liv had shouted it just after she’d soundly defeated him.

Roar’s hands were tied in front of him with plastic cuffs. Then Loran took her by the left arm and yanked her into the corridor.

18

T
he ceiling was different. No more pipes and wires.

It was the first thing Perry noticed when he opened his eyes. The second was the prickling sensation of the Aether, deep in the back of his nose.

Cinder.

Perry turned and saw him in the next bed. Cinder lay strapped down by thick plastic cuffs, his eyebrows knitted in concentration like he’d been willing Perry to wake up. He was dressed in a loose gray shirt and pants, and tubes fed liquid into his arms.

Perry wanted to shoot to his side, but bindings held him down as well; he couldn’t move an inch.

Cinder licked his cracked lips. “You came here just for me?”

Perry swallowed. His throat ached fiercely. “Yes.”

Cinder winced. “Sorry.”

“No . . . don’t be. I’m sorry I didn’t get you out of here.”

Every word took effort. The scent of the medicines hung heavily in the room. Perry tasted the chemicals on his tongue. He felt sluggish and slightly dizzy, but the urge to move, to get off the cot and stretch his muscles, overwhelmed him.

Cinder fell silent, his breath wheezing, his eyelids drifting closed for a few seconds.

“I tried too,” he said, finally. “To get out of here, I mean. But they’re giving me this medicine. It makes me so weak, and I can’t call the Aether. I can’t reach it. . . . I don’t feel very well.”

Perry glanced at the long glass wall that divided the room in two. It looked almost exactly like the room where he’d found Cinder earlier, except larger. The other side was empty—just a long table and a dozen chairs.

“We’ll find another way out of here.”

“How?” Cinder asked. “They’re doing the same to you.”

He was right. Perry couldn’t help anyone in his condition.

“Was Willow . . . was she . . . has she said anything about me being gone?” Cinder asked. “Forget it. I didn’t mean to ask that. I don’t want to know,” he added in a rush.

“She’s said a lot, Cinder. Too much, actually. She took up cursing the day you were taken. Nobody can get her to stop. She’s got Talon swearing too. . . . I think . . . I think even Flea is barking swear words. Probably it’ll be that way until we get you home.

“Molly misses you, and so does Bear. Gren feels terrible Kirra’s men got past him. He’s told me so a dozen times, and he’s told Twig and the rest of the Six a hundred times more than that. . . . That’s how it is. Everyone misses you. Everyone wants you back.”

The effort of saying so much gave Perry a pounding headache. He wanted Cinder to smile, though. Now that Cinder did—a shaky, teary grin—Perry felt tears well in his own eyes.

“I liked being there, with the Tides.”

“You’re one of us.”

“Yeah,” Cinder said. “I am. Thanks for coming for me, even if it didn’t work.”

Perry smiled back. “Sure . . . glad to be here.”

That got them both laughing—or hacking and coughing in an attempt at laughter that was probably the sorriest sound ever made.

The doors in the other room slid open, and they fell silent.

Hess entered with Soren and took a seat at the table.

Others entered behind them. There, escorted under guard, he saw Roar and Aria.

19