Empress of a Thousand Skies(46)

But if Rhiannon Ta’an were alive, she would’ve showed up at the party by now, if only to fend off the war that with every day looked more inevitable.

Now they’d been holed up in cargo for a whole day. It was always pitch-black, so much darkness it was like a physical force, a mouth ready to swallow him. But he knew his way around well enough; there were a lot of broken machines that looked like old medical equipment that would probably sell for scrap on the Outer Belt. He’d taken some apart to distract himself, without tools, unscrewing bolts for hours until his fingers bled.

He’d managed to sneak some food off the service cart between shift changes once, when it was parked for five minutes, unmanned, just outside of the cargo hold. A small window of time, but enough to stuff his pockets with meal pills, fancy dehydrated nuts and fruit, and a bottle of water. It wasn’t much—barely enough to survive on, in fact—which was exactly why he’d figured out someone else was stealing too.

Stealing from Aly this time.

He’d thought he was alone with Pavel and the lady who made the annoying announcements about approaching solar wind and cubes going offline, and she wasn’t even a lady so much as a digitized voice that sounded vaguely feminine. No. There was someone else in the cargo hold with him. Last night when he’d left his stash out, they’d lifted a portion of it.

He wasn’t risking everything just to feed some stranger. He still had another ten days before the loop hit the Heryl Quadrant, where Portiis was.

As big as he was, Aly was decent at staying quiet. Geared up in camo, a slow advance crawling across terrain on his belly—that had been his idea of a good time when he was in boot camp.

He didn’t have to wait long before he saw a figure, a silhouette, moving toward his camp, weaving around the crates and the old pieces of equipment. He hoped to god the guy didn’t have a weapon on him. He held his breath. Just a little closer. A little closer . . .

When he was in striking distance, Aly launched to his feet, grabbed a handful of the guy’s jacket, and threw him up against the wall. “You little taejis,” he said, covering the kid’s mouth. “Don’t even think about yelling. If some poor conductor comes running, it’ll be the end of both of us.”

The kid struggled, swatting at Aly’s hands. Whatever excuse the little punk was trying to make came out in a muffled plea. Finally, he calmed down.

“I’m going to take my hand away, and if you—GAHHH!” Aly yelled out in pain, pulling his hand back.

The kid had sunk his teeth into the pinky edge of Aly’s hand.

“Don’t threaten me,” the voice said. A little soft, and a little high. A girl. He stumbled back, releasing her. He almost felt bad. Almost. His hand stung where she’d bit him.

“Or what?” he asked, his anger still sparking. He heard Pavel approaching. “Light, Pavel.” Pavel flipped his beam on just as Aly yanked the scarf off the girl’s head.

She flinched and put her hand up to block her face. “You got another setting on that thing?” she asked Pavel.

“Apologies! Dimming by forty percent,” Pavel said as the light softened. “Is this acceptable?”

She dropped her hand. “Yes, thank you.”

“Turn it up, P.” Aly didn’t want her to see his face. His head scarf was tangled up somewhere with his belongings. And if she knew she was talking to the most wanted criminal in the universe, he doubted he could keep her from screaming. “And don’t apologize either. She’s fine.”

Pavel let out what sounded suspiciously like a sigh—damn learning technology—but the light intensified again.

She had long black hair and bangs that covered her eyes.

The girl pawed her hair away from her face like she’d read his mind. She was kind of a mess, in the way that pretty girls looked messy, like she’d just washed up from the ocean, raw—open up a clamshell and there she’d be. She had dark gray eyes and sharp features, but her skin was tan and her cheeks were broad. It gave her a mixed look, maybe a blend of native and second-wave Kalusian blood. She was swimming in an expensive-looking jacket, two rows of buttons down the front, like the kind he’d seen diplomats wearing on the holos. It obviously wasn’t hers.

“If you’re willing to live with the guilt of burning my retinas off, then that’s on you.” She had a full mouth pulled into a straight line—like she was born to argue.

“A thief trying to lecture me on manners?”

“Says the guy who was stealing to begin with.” She jerked a thumb toward the service cart.

This piece of work. Ballsy as hell. Turns out when she wasn’t biting people, she was running her mouth. “You owe me,” he said.

“I’ve got nothing to give.” But Aly saw her bring a hand to one pocket and skim it, as if for reassurance. A tell. It was the same way folks gave themselves away in the Wray, absentmindedly tapping the pockets where all their important stuff was.

“Then what’s in your pocket?”

“I said I have nothing to give,” she repeated. “And anyway, what would you want with a rusty old coin?” She held it out in the palm of her hand, and when he reached for it she grabbed his wrist and pulled him into the light.

Aly froze. But it was too late. He’d been recognized.

“You,” she whispered. She dropped his wrist and pushed him away, but she didn’t run or scream out like he thought she would. Instead she pressed herself against the wall, so he backed up to give her some room. Her expression—the way her mouth parted, her eyes squinting like her brain was locking into that aha moment this very second—it reminded him of someone he knew. He just couldn’t think who.