Aurora Burning (The Aurora Cycle #2)(58)

What I cannot begin to fathom is how it will end.

Zila informed me that Tyler was taken to Saedii’s chambers for interrogation—retrieving him means confronting my sister directly. And wounded as I am, it will be hard enough getting my other squadmates out of detention without infiltrating the command and control center to rescue my Alpha.

My sister was always cruel, even when we were children. Our mother abhorred it, but our father encouraged it. I imagine the tortures she might be subjecting Tyler to. But then I push the concerns about Tyler from my mind.

First, last, and always, I must see to Aurora.

We arrive at the detention block, and immediately I note something amiss—the cells are overfull. It is uncommon for the Unbroken to take prisoners at all. Even on their largest ships, the detention facilities are small and often disused. But through the transparent walls, the crackling punishment fields, I see hundreds of figures. Syldrathi, all of them. They are thin and miserable, and my belly sinks as I note that each and every one bears an identical glyf on their brow. An eye crying five tears. The same glyf my mother bore.

Why in the name of the Void is Saedii capturing Waywalkers?

There is no time for questions. The adept manning the intake looks at Zila with faint puzzlement, turns his cool eyes to me. His desk is circular like the detention block around us. He is only a year or two older than me, but the trophies on his armor tell me that he is no novice.

“What is your business, adept?” he asks me.

I glance around the room, heart sinking. I had planned to bluff my way in here, overpower the few guards by surprise. But there are a dozen sentinels. Heavily armored. Fully armed. Warriors and killers, all. I see four of them gathered in front of the same cell, and my heart surges when I see Aurora lying on a slab all alone. She is unconscious. Bound, gagged, and blindfolded. A dermal patch on her wrist delivering a steady stream of sedatives into her nervous system.

It seems my sister is taking my be’shmai’s transport very seriously.

But why does Saedii want her at all?

And why are these Waywalkers here?

In the cell next to Aurora, I see Scarlett and Finian, forlorn and silent on their benches. They have been separated from the imprisoned Syldrathi and sit with each other in isolation. Scarlett catches sight of me, tensing slightly. Faint anger surges in me, to see my friends treated so.

I am doing desperate calculations in my head. There are thirteen adepts in here. I can feel the Enemy Within prowling back and forth behind my eyes. I have struggled against him since I left all this behind: the part of me that delights in bloodshed and pain. Trying to become something more than I was raised to be.

I’na Sai’nuit.

But he can feel the building tension in my muscles now, rattling the bars of his cage, twisting my hands ever closer to fists.

Break them, Kaliis, he whispers.

Kill them.

But beneath my armor, I am already wounded. And even at my best, I could never defeat this many. I push the Enemy back.

“Adept,” the warden repeats. “What is your business here?”

“Prisoner delivery,” I explain, nodding to Zila. “We captured this one crawling about in the air ducts.”

The warden blinks at Zila. “I was not notified.”

I give a cool shrug. My ribs sigh in protest.

“If you wish, I can release her back into the ventilation system?”

The adept meets my eyes, radiating challenge. I match his gaze. Unafraid. Unimpressed. This is the way among Warbreed. Testing always. The strong survive. The weak die. Fear has no place among those born for war.

Finally, he points. “Put her with the other Terran vermin.”

I nod assent. Zila and I march across the detention area floor, my boots ringing on the metal. One of the sentinels outside Scarlett and Finian’s cell deactivates the glowing punishment field, unlocks the door. Zila steps inside, head bowed. Scarlett gives her a quick hug, and she tenses but does not pull away.

“Pig,” Scarlett spits at me, helping with my subterfuge. “I hope you rot.”

“Silence your tongue, Terran scum,” I reply in Syldrathi.

“What is your name, adept?” comes a voice behind me.

I turn slowly, look at the warden. He is peering at the ident number stenciled on my stolen armor, consulting the computer terminal behind his station. In a crew this large, on a ship this big, it is possible for people to be mere acquaintances. But a complete stranger is unlikely. And as I said, these Unbroken are not fools.

“My name?” I repeat, hand sliding toward the disruptor rifle on my shoulder.

“According to the duty logs, you should be stationed in the inf—”

“RED ALERT,” comes the sudden call. “RED ALERT. TERRAN DEFENSE FORCE VESSELS ON INTERCEPT COURSE. ALL HANDS, BATTLE STATIONS.”

I blink as the announcement spills over the PA system, as the lighting drops to a deeper shade of gray, as the Syldrathi in the room share a baffled glance.

Terrans?

Attacking the Andarael?

The alarm continues to blare. The sound of the engines shifts deeper. But I can read the look on the faces of the Unbroken around me, mirroring my own heart. This is impossible. No TDF fleet would dare attack an Unbroken ship. It would m— “RED ALERT. TERRANS HAVE ACQUIRED WEAPONS LOCK. FIGHTERS INBOUND. ALL HANDS TO BATTLE STATIONS IMMEDIATELY. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.”