Rebel Born (Secondborn #3)(42)

Daltrey kneels beside Ransom in the sand and assesses his injuries. He waves his men forward. Gates of Dawn soldiers rush in, lift Ransom, and carry him off the beach. A watercraft emerges from the surf and beaches like a suicidal whale on the shore. The belly of the craft opens like a gaping mouth, revealing more soldiers ready to attend to Ransom. Phoenix sidles over to me, its eyes glowing brighter. It takes my hand in its claw and raises its cannon arm at Daltrey, as if in warning. My mechadome tries to shield me from the weapons trained on me, but it can’t possibly cover all the angles.

I pay Phoenix and Daltrey little attention. My mind seeks Reykin. I feel his rage and distress. He needs to speak to me, but they’re keeping him from me. He’s here somewhere, but he’s restrained. I need to see his face. I need to confess everything to him—tell him I’m an angel of death, ruthless, that I’m somewhere between me and infinity now.

Daltrey approaches us and nods a cautious greeting. “Roselle.”

“Daltrey.” I return the nod. How this goes is up to him. I wait for the leader of the Gates of Dawn to make the next move.

“Will you introduce me to your friend?”

“This is Cherno. He’s a . . . well . . . he’s a . . .”

“I’m a god.”

“He’s a god,” I manage to say without grimacing.

Daltrey blinks in disbelief, but his manners prevail. “Cherno.” He gives the dragon-man a curt nod and edges nearer to us.

“Your services are not required. We’re on a quest. Heal the technician. Roselle has a special connection to him. The death-harbinger and I will collect him later.”

Daltrey frowns. “The death-harbinger?”

“Your gods have returned to save your miserable lives from—”

“Cherno, please let me handle this,” I interrupt.

Cherno’s eyes narrow at Daltrey. “Why haven’t they brought tributes and laid them at our feet?” Smoke huffs from Cherno’s nose. His golden irises flicker with internal fire.

“I said I’ll handle it.” Cherno growls at me, but I ignore him and face Daltrey. “Will you walk with me? We only have a few minutes. Kipson Crow is on his way here. He’s aligned with Spectrum—part of the AI. I don’t know if I can protect you.”

“You know I can’t let you live,” Daltrey replies.

Behind Daltrey, Reykin screams, “Run, Roselle!”

Reykin sprints toward us over a dune. He doesn’t have armor. Pit stains darken his white shirt. The diagnostic headset he uses to control Phoenix juts out from his ear and shadows his mouth. Shackles bind his arm.

A vestige of grief in Daltrey’s look gives way to determination. He yanks a grenade from his belt and triggers it. The fusion weapon flashes yellow, orange, red.

Without me moving, an invisible force from my mind strikes the grenade from Daltrey’s hand. Strobing red, it hurls away from us into the ocean. The bomb detonates. A geyser erupts, spewing salt water and sand into the air. Fear and surprise rattle through me. Something in my mind seized the grenade, moved it. It was an unconscious act—a survival instinct.

“You did that!” Daltrey accuses. “You’re telekinetic!”

With a deep snarl, Cherno lurches toward Daltrey. I step between them. “Wait!” I put my hands on Cherno’s chest, staying him. “Don’t hurt him, Cherno.” Then I spread my arms wide so they stay apart. “Daltrey, I’m on your side.”

“You’re Crow’s assassin,” Daltrey retorts. “You can’t be trusted.”

“Roselle!” Reykin yells again. Just over the crest of the dune behind him, an army of Black-Os surges. The swarm of cyborgs fires on Daltrey’s soldiers. The rebels’ weapons finally swing away from me, and my former allies open fire.

Airships converge above the sand and water, and the Black-O invasion of the beach commences. Cherno reaches for Daltrey’s combat belt and plucks a grenade from it. Winding back, he hurls it into the air. The small fusion bomb collides with a Burton fighter. It detonates, blowing a hole in the nose of the spiraling airship. Smoke and flames burst from it. Careening, the Winger screams over our heads, plunging into the sea.

The ground trembles. Daltrey flinches. I scream, “Get to shelter!” and shove him aside.

Two beefy Burton Rapier airships target Daltrey’s men. I thrust both my palms up toward the soaring fighters. I feel connected to them, like I’m wielding toy airships on strings of energy. I clap my hands together, and the two Burton jets smash into each other and explode. Flames and burning debris scorch the beach where they crash.

My head feels on fire, ready to explode. Something seeps from my ear. I touch my fingertips to it. Blood. Dizzy, I try to regain my balance. The world tilts sideways.

“Roselle!” Reykin shouts. He runs headlong to me and falls into my arms. I catch him and drape my hands around his nape. He’s wet with sweat. The dark stubble of his cheek abrades me as he pants against my neck. “You’re alive!” he repeats over and over.

My throat’s too tight to speak. My hands run over his damp shirt. I locate the cuffs restraining his wrists. Concentrating, I gather to myself an abundance of scattered energy from around us and channel high-frequency pulses from my palms to pry the metal apart at a molecular level. The alloy cracks and shatters, freeing him. Reykin throws his arms around me and lifts me off my feet for a sticky, somewhat painful hug.