Aurora Rising (The Aurora Cycle #1)(52)

But I don’t want to just sit here doing nothing …

One of the Unbroken grabs one of the long, thin sticks that the players were using to move the table rocks from a spectator, drawing it back like a spear. Without thinking, I grab my glass, the cold burning my fingers for an instant before I throw. It clocks the guy right in the face, and he stumbles back with what’s definitely a curse.

Kal glances over his shoulder, lips quirking in what might be a smile.

And son of a biscuit, I find myself smirking back.

Then the outer crowd is parting, revealing six feet of angry human bartender. She’s got a ring through her nose and full-sleeve tattoos, and she looks like she is not in the mood. She’s holding a large canister with a hose attached, and as she takes a swipe at one Unbroken’s back and unleashes a torrent of frothing white goo at another, I realize it’s a fire extinguisher.

“Security are on their way!” she roars. “Now take it outside before I kick you out the airlock!”

Style points, bartender lady. I like you.

We’re all pretty much frozen, Ty and Kal swaying on their feet, the Syldrathi scattered around us, everyone dripping with foam. Now would be a really, really good time for us to make an exit. My gaze sweeps the room, checking to see what’s between us and the way out, and that’s when I spot Zila and Scarlett.

They’re standing framed by the door, hands weighed down with bulging shopping bags. Scarlett steps in to do her diplomat thing, but her first words are drowned out by the sound of a loud, low-pitched alert.

Everyone in the bar stops what they’re doing. Announcements in a dozen different languages spill out of the loudspeakers. The holographic displays above the bar dissolve into snow, then flash back to life once more.

And every single one of them is showing a picture of me.

It’s a still from footage they must have taken aboard the TDF destroyer. I’m wearing the same uniform I have on now. It’s a clear shot of me—black and white hair frames my face in a more-tousled-than-usual pixie cut, my mismatched eyes are wide.

Text flashes on every screen, right below my face.

WANTED FUGITIVE.

REWARD OFFERED.

CONTACT TDF FOR

MORE INFORMATION.

Time stands still. My heart pounds as I stare at the screen. But finally, desperately not wanting to, I drag my eyes down and look around the room.

Every single person in the bar is staring straight at me.

Son of a biscuit.





15


    Finian




My sort-of-cousin Dariel is blocking his doorway, and this isn’t going as well as I’d hoped. I’m trying to convince him to let us inside, give us some crash space that’s off the grid, a place to lay low until we figure out what we’re supposed to be doing here. And so, for the last twenty minutes or so, with Cat lurking behind me like a very cranky bodyguard, we’ve been exchanging familial details, figuring out where we both fit in our extended family tree—and therefore who owes what, and what a fair price would be for his help. Because nothing comes free in a place like Sempiternity.

I’ve never met Dariel before, but I can see the de Seel nose on him. He’s dyed his shoulder-length hair pitch-black, matching his contacts, and he comes off looking like some kind of human corpse. The white skin that looks perfectly normal alongside proper white hair just looks weird and pallid now.

And he doesn’t just look like a corpse. He looks like a wannabe-tough-guy lover-boy-type corpse, dressed in black pants and a black shirt that’s open at least two buttons too many.

Not gonna lie, it’s a little embarrassing that Cat’s seeing this.

“So my third mother’s brother is Ferilien de Vinner de Seel,” I say patiently.

“But you’re a de Karran de Seel,” he says, for the third time.

Make that a stupid wannabe tough-guy lover-boy corpse.

Ugh.

“My third mother became a de Karran,” I sigh. “But originally she was a de Vinner, and the de Vinners are your—”

“Aw, bugger me sideways,” Cat curses behind me.

I turn my head, but she hasn’t finally lost interest in our connect-the-dots game. She’s staring up at a big holoscreen mounted in a corner of the dirty corridor where Dariel’s quarters are located. I follow her gaze, and … there’s our stowaway’s face in close-up, with a Wanted banner streaming underneath it. Somewhere out there, Goldenboy is now having an even worse day than he was before.

And this puts me at a distinct negotiating disadvantage.

“Friend of yours?” Dariel asks, bracing both hands against his door frame and leaning out into the hall to take a look at the screen.

It nearly kills me to say it, but I force my expression as close to neutral as I can possibly manage. “If you let us in, I’ll owe you a Favor.”

His smile widens, and he shakes my hand while I try not to look like I’m freaking out. Putting myself in his debt like this without nailing down any of the details … well, now he knows how bad things are. Without another word, he steps back and leaves the doorway open for us.

“Welcome, cousin, welcome.”

Cat’s already on her uniglass, checking her fauxhawk in the mirror as she walks inside. “Ty, I’m sending you our location,” she says, her voice echoing in my earpiece.