Aurora Rising (The Aurora Cycle #1)(22)

Scarlett’s eyes narrow at that. Tyler’s voice draws tight.

“And what do you think you know about my father, Legionnaire Gilwraeth?”

“That he was a war hero. A senator who argued for peace with my people long before peace ever came. And that he died fighting them in the Orion Incursion.”

“Remember Orion,” I say softly, touching the Maker’s mark at my collar. Across the table, I see Finian echo the movement.

“Del’nai,” Kal replies, scoping me with those glittering eyes.

“I don’t speak Syldrathi, Pixieboy,” I mutter.

“It means ‘always,’” Scarlett says. “ ‘Ever and always.’ ”

Pixieboy inclines his head to Scar, looks back to Tyler. “I know of the great Jericho Jones. I know how he died. So you have my apologies, sir. I imagine the presence of a Syldrathi in your squad is … unwelcome.”

“Is that the kind of person I seem to you?” Tyler responds. “The kind who decides to hate an entire species because one of them killed his old man?”

“Given the particulars of the Orion attacks, I imagine most people would have difficulty with it, yes.”

Tyler stares into Pixieboy’s eyes. “Well, it’s a good thing for you I’m not most people.”

Kal holds Tyler’s stare, that infuriating pixieboy arrogance radiating off him in waves. I know Syldrathi can live for a couple of centuries if you let them, and even though Kal is only nineteen, he looks at us like we’re some passing irritation. Here today and gone tomorrow. I can see the mark of his sucker punch on Tyler’s jaw. The bruises and cuts from his brawl with those cadets yesterday.

All of them Terran. Four on one, and he kicked the living crap out of them.

Remember Orion …

Kal finally nods to the holograph of Sagan station.

“Syldrathi are a proud people,” he says. “The refugees will be suspicious of our presence. They will not want our aid and will not trust us easily.”

Tyler glances at his sister. “Well, Scar speaks fluent Syldrathi. Between you and her, I have every confidence you can convince them we’re only here to help.”

Kal blinks. “You cannot mean to send me aboard?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Pixieboy points to the small tattoo on his brow. Three crossed blades.

“I assume you know what this is, sir.”

“A glyf.” Tyler nods. “It denotes which of the five Syldrathi cabals you belong to.”

Kal nods. “And this is the glyf of the Warbreed Cabal.”

“So?”

“Why do you think I was the last cadet to be picked in the Draft? Why do you think not even other Syldrathi wanted me in their squads?” Kal looks around at the rest of us, answering his own question. “Because the Starslayer is Warbreed. And his templars are Warbreed. And his paladins are Warbr—”

“Not every Syldrathi in the warrior cabal joined the Starslayer,” Tyler said. “Not all of you are responsible for his crimes.”

Kal looks at Ty with clear disdain. “And I am certain the starving, desperate spirits aboard that station will be all too ready to have a Terran explain that to them.”

“Um, excuse me.” Finian raises his hand, looking at Pixieboy. “But between me and Red over there, I think this squad already has its sarcasm quota filled.”

“Right.” Scarlett smiles sweetly at Kal. “And I’m the Face of this outfit. So maybe stick to punching things until they fall down? You seem good at that.”

Scar looks to her brother and nods.

“We’ll make it work, sir.”

“Right,” Tyler says. “The Starslayer’s fleets are hunting any Syldrathi who haven’t sworn to his new universal order. But a blip as small as Sagan is probably too unimportant to get anyone’s attention, which I presume is why the refugees are hiding there. The odds of any interference with our mission is low.”

“Approximately eight thousand seven hundred and twenty-five to one.”

We all stop, surprised to hear Zila speak. I’d almost forgotten she was on the bridge, to be honest. She’s sitting at her station, sucking on a lock of black, curly hair, dark brown skin illuminated by the displays as her fingertips fly over her keyboards.

“Eight thousand seven hundred and twenty-five to one?” I repeat.

“Approximately,” she replies, not looking up.

“How’d you figure that out?” Finian asks.

Zila cocks a finger, points at her head. “With my brain.”

Tyler clears his throat in the uncomfortable silence that follows.

“Okay,” he finally says. “Regardless, I want you all on high alert. This is our first opportunity to prove our worth. So if you’re of the opinion that you’re more than just a glorified courier”—Ty glances at me—“now’s your chance to step up. Our governments might be afraid of getting the Starslayer offside, but we’re the Aurora Legion. We don’t bow to tyrants, and don’t back down from a fight.”

Even with the colors in monochrome, I can see the fire in Tyler’s eyes. There’s a passion in his voice that raises goose bumps on my skin. For all the griping, all the crap, listening to him speak, I remember why he was the top-ranked Alpha in our year. I remember why, staring at each other across that barroom table and all those empty glasses, I thought we might’ve had a chance.