Torn Sky (Rebel Wing Trilogy, Book 3) (Rebel Wing Series) (19 page)

“Come on, Aris, come on.”

The world sped up again, so abruptly Aris stumbled. Dysis grabbed her arm and dragged her forward. “Come
on
,” she said again. The ground shook beneath them, pitching sideways.

The men with Balias were still running toward the wingjet. Aris turned away from the still form of the ward, alone on the cracked tarmac, and ran.

The Atalantans made it to the wingjet first.

Aris was relieved to see it was a big one—a Safaran transport. She hit the passcode into the pad over the wing, praying it hadn’t changed in the months since she’d last flown a Safaran jet. To her relief, the glass slid open. She climbed into the jet and flipped the switch to open the cargo hatch. Otto and the whole group of Aris-faced soldiers hurried Milek into the bay, several backing in, weapons spitting fire at the last of the Safaran soldiers.

Dysis leapt into the front of the wingjet just as the tarmac buckled and the jet began to slide. “Hurry, hurry!” she yelled.

Aris flew through the start-up sequence, desperate to get up into a hover in time. “Get on comms! Find the Atalanta frequency. Let them know who we are, so they don’t shoot us out of the sky.”

Dysis nodded, even as the wingjet shuddered, one wheel skidding off the edge, pitching them toward the sea. “Aris!” she shouted warningly.

“Hold on, everyone!” Aris yanked up on the controls, and the wingjet held them in a hover, just as the chunk of tarmac they’d been sitting on crashed into the water with a giant, roiling flash of white.

Aris took a last look at the landing pad. The prison was collapsing, slowly but inexorably, the landing pad going with it. Ward Balias’s body joined a host of others sliding toward the sea. In seconds, he was gone.

The nav panel started a panicked beeping. Aris spun out of range of the missile. “Get on the comms before our own people shoot us down,” she shouted again.

“This is Specialist Latza, of the Atalanta military,” said Dysis a few seconds later. “We’ve commandeered a Safaran jet, ID number 2648. Do not shoot. We’re friendly. Repeat. We are friendly. We have Lieutenant Haan and Major Vadim on board.”

“Message received. Good to hear your voice, Dysis.” Jax’s voice filled the cabin.

Dysis let out an audible breath. “Likewise.”

Aris sped away from the worst of the fighting. With the Castalian reinforcements, the Safarans were on the run as it was. “How we doing back there?” she called, with a quick look over her shoulder into cargo.

Otto popped his head into the pass-through. “Patient is resting comfortably and has regained consciousness,” he said brightly. He rubbed at his forehead. “The rest of us were a little less prepared for the acrobatics. But no major injuries.”

“Sorry,” she said, relief spilling through her. “And Milek . . . is he going, I mean, are his injuries—”

Otto grinned and reached across the pass-through to pat her shoulder. “Nothing a vacation won’t cure.”

“A vacation!” Beside her, Dysis laughed, and for the first time Aris could remember, there was no lingering darkness, no anger, hidden in the sound. “That’s an idea.”

Vacation.
It had a pleasant, alien ring to it.

Aris smiled as she steered the wingjet toward Atalanta and the brilliant glow of the rising sun.

***

It wasn’t until she landed at Mekia that Aris discovered Otto had lied. As soon as the Safaran jet touched down and she opened the cargo hold, he rushed onto the tarmac and called for menders.

A flurry of white-garbed men whisked Milek into the building before Aris could extricate herself from the wingjet, her own injuries slowing her down. Dysis rushed off to find Jax, her dark, spiky hair weaving through the returning soldiers.

Otto approached Aris, the concern in his eyes clear enough. Her heart beat sluggishly. “Milek . . .” She trailed off, unable to say the words.

He put an arm around her shoulders and they stood still for a moment, while the remains of their team shuffled into the building. “I
do
believe he’ll be okay. But he needs surgery, and I didn’t want to worry you when you were working so hard to get us out of there.”

Aris sagged against Otto’s sturdy frame. The memories of Balias’s prison still clawed at her. She’d never be able to forget Vik’s knife slicing into Milek’s skin. The noises Milek made as the Safaran soldiers beat him. The instant when Balias realized Alistar’s deception and shot him through the throat. The flash of green as Pallas killed Vik and the other guards.

All the blood.

“How long do you think it will take,” she asked, “before it actually
feels
like we won?
Did
we win? Was it enough?”

Otto squeezed her shoulder. “Who knows? But I do know what will help, and that’s rest.” He pulled her toward the building. “Get yourself to the sick bay, have your own injuries tended, and then sleep for a while. Major Vadim won’t be out of surgery and up for visitors for hours. You’ve got time.”

“What are you going to do?” Aris’s mind was fuzzing around the edges. She knew she should be frantic with worry over Milek, but her own body was close to collapse.

“Oh, I’m going to celebrate,” Otto replied, with one of his jaunty grins. “Comm Dori, tell her how instrumental I was in saving the day. See if I can find Santos and persuade him to share his stash of vutzo.”

Something about his aggrandizing humor bothered her. Aris gripped his shoulders and held his gaze. “You
were
instrumental, Otto. You saved my life, and Milek’s, too. You helped us end this war. Tell Dori the
right
way, not like it’s a joke, so she knows the truth.”

Two pink spots appeared on Otto’s cheeks. “Uh . . . alright, then.” He cleared his throat. Then, with a roll of his eyes and a little smile, he pushed her toward the door. “Now go on, Lieutenant.”

Aris limped into the building. After the menders patched her up and she got some rest, she needed to find Jax and Commander Nyx. And Dysis. There’d be debriefings. Endless meetings. But maybe, just maybe, this really
was
the end.

Maybe, when she woke, Milek would be okay and the war would finally be over.

Aris knocked softly, bracing herself. The door slid open.

Milek sat in a med-bed, white sheets covering him to his chest, propped up on pillows. One arm rested outside of the sheet in a sling. A black line of stitches ran along his forehead. Aris knew that if she lifted his shirt, there’d be more angry black lines along his chest and stomach. After all, she’d seen Vik’s knife cut him, again and again.

Milek smiled when he saw her, his teeth unusually bright against the dark, swollen bruising of his face. “Aris.”

She limped to his side. Her own stitches made her skin feel tight and unfamiliar. Thick bands encircled her torso, holding her broken ribs in place.

On the other side of the bed, a mender studied Milek’s data on the monitor, but Aris hardly noticed. She felt every individual beat of her heart as she carefully slid her hands around Milek’s uninjured arm and lowered herself to sit beside him on the bed.

“You’re wearing your ring.” His fingers slid against hers. Both of their hands were battered and swollen, but Aris’s Promise ring still fit. It glowed bright and blue against the stark white sheets.

“I couldn’t bear not to. Not anymore.” Tears slipped unnoticed down her cheeks.

Milek leaned forward and kissed her nose, wincing a little. “You didn’t drop the bomb.”

She closed her eyes and shook her head, her face still close to his. “I was never going to.”

Whatever evils Pallas had done, Aris was grateful for the woman’s final act. She didn’t want to think about how close she’d come to losing this, how final their goodbyes had felt.

“Have you spoken to your mother yet? I’m surprised she isn’t here to oversee your care in person,” Aris said.

“She vid commed me the second I was conscious.” Milek relaxed back against his pillows. “She’ll be here tomorrow, I think. She wants to be with Ward Nekos when he announces the end of the war. All the wards are scrambling, trying to figure out what to do with Safara.”

Aris had slept for almost twenty-four hours after the menders had patched her up. She was pretty sure she could sleep for another week and still feel tired. “I guess there are a lot of things for us to figure out, too.”

Milek pulled her slowly down beside him. “Not right now.”

Aris thought about arguing, but instead she snuggled into him and closed her eyes.

When she woke, Commander Nyx was standing over her. Aris sat up too quickly and her body jangled, all her hurts twinging into wakefulness. Milek continued to sleep soundly, though his brow was furrowed and his breath hissed a little as he inhaled, as if his injuries plagued him while he slept.

“What is it?” Aris whispered. She swung her legs slowly off the side of the bed but didn’t stand up.

Commander Nyx stared at her impassively. “There’s a rumor floating around that Ward Balias was killed during the battle of the flaming scorpion. Seems someone thought they saw you shoot him. Is this true?”

Aris could read nothing in Nyx’s face, no clue as to which was the “right” response. So she stuck with the truth. “It is.”

Nyx’s lip hitched up at the corner. “Good. Ward Nekos will be pleased to hear that. He’s about to give a statement and wanted confirmation.” In an uncharacteristic move, she reached out to help Aris down from the bed.

“They’ll want to debrief me, right?” Aris flexed her feet, stretching her calves. Her impromptu nap had left her creaky and stiff.

“Of course. Hours of debriefing. They’ll talk you ‘til you’re hoarse.” Commander Nyx headed for the door. “But not right now. Most of the base is gathered in the rec room to watch the ward’s announcement. You should join them.” It was less of an order than usual, but even a suggestion from Nyx felt like an imperative.

Aris kissed Milek’s cheek, smoothed a hand over his short hair, and followed the commander into the hall. Nyx peeled off down the hallway that led to her office, and Aris continued on, running her fingers along the smooth, white wall.

When she arrived at the rec room, Aris headed over to a table in the corner, where Dysis sat with Otto, Lieutenant Santos, Mann, and Nyal. A few menders were present, but she didn’t see Calix.

“Nice to see you back,” Aris said as she approached Mann, knocking a fist into his arm. It was an overly chummy move, but she didn’t know how to act around someone she’d accused of treason.

Mann shot her a mild glance. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

Otto stood up and swung an arm around her shoulders, his feet unsteady beneath him. “Think they’ll throw another ceremony for us?” The sharp tang of apricot and ginger clogged her nose.

“Celebrating already, I see.” Aris grinned.

“Join us,” Lieutenant Santos said, handing her a poorly hidden bottle in a rolled-up shirt. His dark eyes danced.

Aris sank into a chair next to Dysis. All around the room, the din was increasing, barks of laughter drowning out the quieter conversations.

“Why not?” She grabbed the bottle from Santos and knocked back a healthy gulp.

Otto whooped, bumping into Mann in his enthusiasm, and Nyal hiccupped a laugh, and suddenly everyone was laughing, big heaving gasps of mirth.

When the soldiers got themselves under control, Dysis scooted her chair closer to Aris’s and asked, “How’s Milek doing?”

“Much better,” Aris replied. “Still pretty banged up, but he’ll be okay.” Just then, she noticed a newcomer at the door. “Excuse me,” she said, standing. “I’ll be right back.”

She wove her way through tables overflowing with white-clad menders and soldiers in Atalantan green, everyone waiting to hear Ward Nekos’s announcement.

Aris didn’t stand on ceremony this time. When she reached Dianthe, she gave the tall woman a quick, tight hug, ignoring the twinge in her ribs. Dianthe’s look of shock as Aris pulled away made her laugh.

“Disguising men as female soldiers . . . I hear that’s your new thing,” Aris joked.

Dianthe shot her a look. “Surely you’re not complaining.”

“Absolutely not,” Aris said. Dianthe’s skill in creating diatous veils had saved her life. In truth, it had changed her life. And it had saved their Dominion. “What will you do now?” she asked, her voice softer. “Will there be need for the veiling tech?”

Dianthe didn’t answer for a minute, as she surveyed the room. “I imagine not,” she said at last. “But I knew the second your true identity was announced after you rescued Ward Vadim that things would change for me.”

Aris’s chest tightened, but to her shock, Dianthe smiled. An actual, genuine smile. “Change isn’t always a bad thing.”

Just then, someone turned up the volume on the bank of monitors along the wall. They all showed the same scene: an empty dais in Panthea’s capitol framed by enormous flowering trees in gilded pots. A reporter said in a whisper that Ward Nekos was about to take the stage.

Commander Nyx stomped into the room and took a spot against the back wall next to Dianthe. Aris made her way back to her seat. She wished Milek could be here for this moment.

The room erupted in applause when Ward Nekos climbed onto the dais, followed by Ward Vadim and Ward Rossum. They were all elaborately dressed, Nekos in an emerald-green tunic heavily embroidered with gold thread, Vadim in a cobalt-blue gown with streaks of sparkling silver. Ward Rossum’s ruby dress was inlaid with swirls of white pearl. More importantly, they all wore matching looks of triumph.

When Ward Nekos stepped up to the podium, the room quieted abruptly. Dysis bumped Aris’s shoulder and they shared a look. Aris knew what Ward Nekos was about to say, but she still held her breath.

“People of Atalanta,” Nekos began, his voice strong. “It is with joy, reverence, and humble relief that I am able to announce the official cessation of Military operations against Safara. Atalanta and her allies are safe. At last, the war is over.”

As the door slid open, Galena took a deep breath. Elom sat at the edge of the cot, facing her, in his usual manner. His gaze pierced through the space between them like a knife.

Before she stepped into the cell, she stood still for an extra moment, knowing she would enjoy what came next. Then she crossed the threshold, gesturing to the guard to leave the door open.

“This will be our last visit together, Elom,” she said, her voice mild. “The war is over.”

Something flickered in Elom’s eyes, but his expression didn’t change. “Oh, is it?”

“Ward Balias is dead.” The words echoed in the small room. “The weapon has been destroyed, as well as the lab and the technology with it.” His cheeks were reddening, his hands closing into fists. She went on, savoring the moment. “Castalia joined our final assault. Their troops have stayed to help establish an interim Safaran government. A temporary ward is already in place.”

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked through clenched teeth.

“Because I have always wished to hurt you the way you hurt me,” she said matter-of-factly. “And this is how I’ll do it. Elom, your dominion has renounced you. They have wiped their hands clean of you. You will not be put on trial. You will not be sentenced to death for your crimes.”

She took a step back, one foot over the threshold.

“You will be left alone, in this room, to rot.”

He stood suddenly, and lunged forward against his shackles. “You can’t do this.”

She shook her head, chin up, so her scars were on full display. “I didn’t.
You
did this. You helped Ward Balias destroy his own dominion from within, and then you tried to destroy me. You did this, Elom, and I will wake up satisfied every day for as long as you live, knowing you are here, alone, with life itself as your punishment.”

Elom gave a great yell and reached for her, his eyes breaking to show the evil and agony he usually kept hidden.

Satisfaction.
That was the word for what she felt. Not joy, nor pleasure or pride. Just peace at the knowledge that, for Elom, justice had been served.

***

Galena met Pyralis at a tiny restaurant hidden in a corner of the city on the riverside. The dark paneled walls and candlelight gave the place an intimate feel; the large, scalloped panels between tables offered additional privacy. Tonight, though, there was little need for them. They were the only patrons.

The muffled pop of fireferns filtered through the restaurant’s quiet music. There were pockets of Atalantans celebrating in the streets all across the city. Throughout the evening, the news vids had shown footage from villages doing the same. Most began their revelry with a vigil for those lost, sharing a moment of silence over flickering candles.

Galena and Pyralis held their own vigil as they sat across from each other, the candle burning between them. After everything they’d been through, what was there to say?

Finally, Galena broke into an awkward laugh. “Maybe you were right.”

“How do you mean?” Pyralis lifted a brow, smiling. His golden skin glowed in the dim light, his brown eyes warm as melted chocolate.

“We don’t seem to have anything to talk about now.” She meant it as a joke, but a thread of unease ran through her all the same. They’d acknowledged their feelings for each other, yes. But how much of their connection had its roots in their shared history, and how much in the necessity of fighting a war together? Without the war . . .

“Of course we do,” Pyralis said. “Forgive my silence. I was admiring your beautiful face in the candlelight.”

Galena ducked her head. She wasn’t ashamed of her scars, but beautiful?

A server swept up to their table with dishes of sweet nut bread and savory peshka, its green basilis sauce swirled artfully on the white plate.

“Thank you,” Galena murmured.

When they were alone again, Pyralis reached across the table for her hand. “Elom won’t hold this power over you forever. His crimes—”

“He holds no power over me,” Galena interrupted, raising her chin. “He has nothing left. And I have everything.” She squeezed Pyralis’s hand. “I won’t be visiting him again.”

They were more than words. They were freedom.

Pyralis’s face broke into a huge, happy grin. “I’m happy to hear that.”

He’d told her that he’d visited his wife at the prison the day before, but she’d refused to see him. Their marriage breaking wouldn’t be final until next year, but Pyralis had begun the process the day he learned of Bett’s involvement in Galena’s abduction. In a year or so, if they wanted, Galena and Pyralis could marry. She was glad they would have that time forced upon them. She wouldn’t have been able to make that kind of decision now.

“Will you be heading back to Sibetza soon?” Pyralis asked, a little too casually.

Galena wanted to say no, but her job there wasn’t over. “My focus must be Ruslana now. Our fight has forced me to neglect my own dominion for too long. After my visit to Milek tomorrow, I’ll be heading back— ”

“And there will be no reason to return to Atalanta for some time,” Pyralis finished for her.

She tightened her grip on his hand. “I was going to say, ‘but I imagine there will be a need for many diplomatic trips to Atalanta in my future.’”

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. “Ah, the joys of diplomacy.”

The night unfurled before them, rich with the strains of soft music, the flavors of fine food and spicy wine. Their conversation meandered. Easy. Unhurried.

And Galena basked in it, let it envelope her. This . . .
this
was joy.

This was peace.