Aurora Burning (The Aurora Cycle #2)(94)



“I’m sorry,” I say.

And I know that there is no universe in which I’m stronger without him.

“I can’t,” I declare, turning to Esh.

Silence rings in the Echo. I feel Kal’s heart surging behind me, the ripples those two words send spilling across this entire plane.

“I won’t,” I say.

You MUST, Esh commands.

“No,” I say.

No.

Because I won’t do what Esh wants.

Not because I refuse to sacrifice myself.

Not because I’m afraid.

But because every moment I’ve spent here, in training and with Kal, has led me to the same bone-deep truth. Tomorrow might be worth a million yesterdays. But a tomorrow without him isn’t worth anything at all.

You will not have the strength, Esh says, something close to fury in its voice. If you are not emptiness, you will fail.

“I guess we’ll see about that,” I say.

You are the Trigger. THE TRIGGER IS YOU.

“Yeah,” I nod. “But I’m Aurora Jie-Lin O’Malley, too.”

I reach for Kal’s hand.

“And I’m willing to fight for what I love.”

I take hold of the power. Willing us gone, I feel a severing, a sundering, a tear as wide as the sky and as deep as forever. And in a heartbeat, two heartbeats, mine and his, we blink out of the Echo and back into our bodies aboard the Zero.

And the first thing I feel, even before I open my eyes, is his hand in mine.





27

TYLER

They bring Saedii back into our cell a while later.

The door opens and the marines throw her, limp and boneless, to the deck. The sound of her body slapping the floor, the sight of her—it turns my stomach. They’ve torn the medi-wraps off her legs. The bruises on her thighs are faded, but the ones on her face are fresh. Her lip is split, her eye swollen, one hand pressed to her ribs. The black paint across her eyes and at her lips is smudged, running. Her immaculate braids have come loose, and a curtain of black hair covers her face as she tries to drag herself up.

I rise to my feet, glaring at the marines. Saedii is an officer of the enemy. A Templar of the Unbroken. I saw the kill counts during the battle on the Andarael. I know most of these TDF troopers probably lost friends in that attack. But still, there are rules here. There’s a line you don’t step beyond. That’s supposed to be the difference between us and them.

“Maker’s breath, what did you do to her?”

The marines don’t even look at me. The door slides shut without a sound, leaving Saedii and me alone.

“Here,” I murmur, leaning down to help. “Let me—”

“Do not touch me!” she roars. Her fingers are curled like claws, black fingernails glinting in the antiseptic light. I back off, out of reach.

Saedii draws a deep breath, steadies herself. I almost don’t catch it, but I swear I hear a small, strangled sob in her throat.

“Your sun will b-burn,” she whispers. “Your whole … wretched r-race …”

She hisses, trying to sit up. Her arms, her breath, her whole body shaking with the effort. But it’s too much and she collapses. I feel a stab of pity, a wash of shame. These are Terrans treating her this way. My people.

She’s the enemy, sure. She threw me into a pit to get devoured by a reptilian killing machine, sure. Her comrades are responsible for the deaths of tens of thousands of Terran troops, including my own father, sure. But I can hear him now in my head if I try. The words Dad instilled in me when I was just a little kid.

To be a leader, you have to set the example. To be a leader, you have to be the kind of person you’d want to follow you.

Know the way.

Show the way.

Go the way.

I know from my time with Kal that physical touch is a big deal among Syldrathi. But I can’t just leave her bleeding on the ground. And so I scoop her up in my arms. Saedii comes alive, pointed teeth bared behind a matted curtain of dark hair. I’m afraid she’ll hurt herself worse, I hold her tight, the words she spits through clenched teeth echoing along with her thoughts in my mind.

“UNHAND ME!”

“Take it easy!”

“PUT ME DOWN!”

“Maker’s breath, I will, relax!”

She bucks again, like a wild thing in my arms, and I stagger over to her bio-cot, holding on for dear life. Saedii spits through split and swollen lips, but I can feel what her rage is costing her, feel the shakes running through her whole body as she tries to fight me off. I lower her gently onto the bed and back away, and she tries to surge up after me. But the effort is too much and she wilts, dragging ragged breaths into her lungs and trembling like a newborn colt.

“You dare lay hands on me?” she spits, low and deadly. “I will skin you, boy. I will … t-tear off both your jewels and w-wear th—”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re quite vexed with me, I get it. No need to get graphic.”

She tries to speak more, but she can’t manage it. I feel sore. Tired. And as I sit back down onto my bio-cot, I’m astonished to realize that the wash of pain, exhaustion …

Not all of it is mine.

It’s hers?

I’m not sure how. But I can … feel it? Bleeding out of Saedii’s subconscious into my own. I catch images in her head: Terran military uniforms, bloody fists beating her, a solid hour of pain, silent except for her screams. And she did scream. Howled her fury and hurt and demanded to know what they wanted from her. And the whole session, the few times they did speak … all they did was insult her.

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