Rebel Born (Secondborn #3)(46)

“Can you find him a room near mine?” I ask. “One where he can check in on me if he needs to?”

Reykin, the epitome of poise, replies, “Of course.”

We continue through the small halls. Cherno ducks his head at every junction and hatch so he won’t get brained. Gates of Dawn soldiers flail like startled birds and gape in fear at Cherno and me as we slip by. At the end of one hall, we pass through doors that reveal a narrow locker room with shower closets to one side. On another wall is a small vanity area with a row of sinks and a long mirror. Moving farther in, Cherno catches his reflection and walks to a mirror. He gazes at himself for a few moments before driving his fist through it. The glass shatters. Shards fall in the sinks and fragment on the floor. He grips the edges of a basin and bends the metal. It whines and echoes.

“What’s wrong?” Caution rings in Reykin’s voice. He pushes me behind him. “It’s not going to steal your soul or anything. It was just a mirror.”

“I will crush your soul if you don’t stop talking,” Cherno replies between his teeth. “I know what a mirror is.”

“Then why’d you break it?”

“I was once one of the most powerful dragons in the world. Now look at me, trapped in this hideous human form.”

“You’re not ugly, Cherno,” I tell him softly, taking a few steps forward. Reykin puts his hand on my elbow. I shoot him a look, letting him know it’s okay.

With his head still bowed, Cherno replies, “Says you—the most gruesome creature I’ve ever beheld. I look like one of you.”

“You really don’t,” I reply. “You look like a dragon.”

“Crow’s stolen my wings from me.” He’s wretched—a wounded beast. Smoke billows from his nostrils and collects above his head.

“I’m sorry.”

With his back to us, Cherno, still gripping the metal sink, asks, “How do I bathe in this underwater leviathan?”

“Phoenix will show you,” Reykin replies. “Just follow it.”

Phoenix eases forward and glides to one of the private shower compartments. My mechadome must be in butler mode, because it holds the door open for the brooding dragon. Without looking in our direction, Cherno trudges to the private compartment.

“Do not leave this room without me, Roselle,” Cherno says. With that, he closes the door.

“Do you have clothes that will fit him?” I ask Reykin.

“I’ll have some made—for you as well.”

I move to a separate shower. Closing the door behind me, I’m at a loss for a moment, staring at my left hand. It’s bizarre not to have a holographic image glowing up from it. It’s empty. My hand feels lighter, if even just a fraction. It’s probably psychological, but it’s as if a piece of me is missing. It’s strange to think I’ll have to learn to live without it after it has controlled my life since I was born. Now all that’s left is a scar through my crown-shaped birthmark.

A holographic display panel illuminates when I get close to the showerhead. I set the temperature. Steam fills the small shower closet. I strip off the ruined Black-O uniform and let it soak on the floor. With my head bowed beneath the showerhead, water drips from my chin. I wash my hair and body. Where I was stabbed through the heart feels bruised and sore, but my skin’s smooth.

What does that mean? What am I? Am I a god? Am I Ransom’s science experiment? Is this some conjured reality created by Spectrum?

Minutes later, with no answers to my questions, I turn off the water and order a robe through the holographic panel. A compartment door slides open beneath the showerhead. Transparent material that feels like tissue paper covers a folded white robe atop a rollout shelf. The package juts toward me. I take it and unfold the paper. It evaporates into a small plume of smoke. I shake out the white robe and shrug it on. The fabric’s nicer than it should be for military-issued clothing, especially on a rebel ship. The tails of the belt hang to my knees after I tie the length around my waist. I wipe my face and hair with the accompanying towel. The shower slippers are flimsy and too big, but I put them on anyway. Combing my hair with my fingers, I use mouthwash to dissolve the plaque on my teeth before spitting the excess into the drain.

When I exit the closet, I find Reykin showered. The firstborn has changed his clothes to an athletic Gates of Dawn uniform and is waiting for me, with Cherno next to him. They’re not talking. Each has his arms crossed over his chest, and each leans against the lockers facing my shower closet, stern expressions on their faces.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

“Yes.” Reykin pushes off the locker and walks to me. “I have something for you. It’s a communicator.” His dark hair hangs over my wrist as deft fingers clasp a golden cuff to it. His proximity feels heady. The scent of him, now that we’ve both showered, makes me want to wrap my arms around him. He feels like safety to me, and I crave that more than anything. He lifts his sublime face, and I stare at him. “This way,” he says, “we’ll never be out of touch. Do you like it?”

I glance at my wrist. A holographic projection of red light shines from the bracelet—a blooming red rose. “Did you design this?” I move my fingers in the colorful light. The rose changes into rose-colored menu screens. The concept is based on monikers but coupled with the wrist communicators of old.