Rebel Born (Secondborn #3)(54)

He shakes his head incredulously. “Even if I could figure out a way to kill you, I won’t.”

“Why not?” I seethe. “You could before.”

“Before, I was a stupid, arrogant boy. I believed myself capable of sacrificing everything for my ideals. But now I know that I could never have ended your life—not for anything in this world, not from the moment you saved my hide on the battlefield. I was yours then. I am yours now.”

I choke back a sob. “Haven’t you been listening? You can’t let Crow get me back. He’ll take control of my mind, and I—if I kill you, too, I’ll—” Reykin gathers me to him. I cling to him, even when a part of me wants to beat on his chest and wring the promise from him. “The torture will never end. Never,” I whisper into his chest.

“You can’t say these things to me, Roselle, not when I just got you back. Find a way to sticketh, remember? We’ll find a way to annihilate Spectrum and Crow.”

He draws away a little and then presses his lips to mine. Perhaps it’s the new neuropathways in my mind, or maybe it’s him, I don’t know, but the ocean of sadness I’ve been sailing in stops roiling. I’m breathless and dizzy. My knees weaken. Reykin’s mouth opens. I taste him on my tongue. His kisses burn away the soreness around my aching heart. My hands splay in his dark hair, ruffling it before trailing along the light bristle of his cheeks.

The door to my room slides open. Startled, I immediately shove away from Reykin. He holds onto me, though, not letting me out of his embrace. My heartbeat ratchets up another level, probably because I was raised as a secondborn, and getting caught kissing anyone, especially a firstborn, was treason. Cherno looms large in the doorway. He’s wearing an athletic Gates of Dawn uniform that makes him seem unconquerable.

“You are mating?” the dragon-man half asks, half accuses. “Now? In the middle of the sea, while we are at war?”

“Yes,” Reykin replies at the same time as I say, “No.”

My face is on fire. “We’re not mating.” I run my hand down my side to smooth my uniform.

Cherno holds up his sharp-taloned hand against my denials. “I don’t care how you behave with your slave, Roselle. If you want to do hideous things to him with your body, I will not stop you. I only ask that you do so after we awaken the gods and destroy Crow.” Cherno gazes at us and then shudders, like we’ve grossed him out.

“Is he serious?” Reykin asks.

“I think so,” I reply.

Cherno changes the subject. “I need to see your maps.”

I slip out of Reykin’s hold, even though he doesn’t want to let me go. Rogue barks and trots along the steel floor to me. I pick him up as he wags his tail and howls at the newcomer.

“Is this a tribute for me?” Cherno asks, eyeing Rogue.

My eyebrow arches. “A tribute?”

“Is it breakfast?” he replies with a slow smile.

“No!” Reykin and I answer in unison.

I hold Rogue closer to my chest. “Cherno, if you eat my dog, I’ll kill you.”

“Then don’t starve me,” he replies. “I require sustenance and maps that show terrain, preferably from an aerial view.”

Reykin sighs heavily. “Follow me, and we’ll find you maps and something to eat.” With his hand on the small of my back, Reykin guides me past Cherno, into the corridor, and down the narrow hallway.





Chapter 10

Intrinsic Memory

The chaotic bustle aboard the underwater vessel, the Sozo One, feels strange.

Unlike Spectrum, there’s very little unity to the movements of the soldiers I encounter as I follow Reykin. No complex rhythm or synchronicity rules these people. The lack of uniformity comforts and annoys me at the same time. The commotion feels disjointed, multidirectional, and confusing. In many ways, I’m an alien here. And they view me like one. Suspicion and outright fear burn brighter than any silver light.

Reykin doesn’t notice, or if he does, he doesn’t let on that anything is amiss. He gives me a tour of the vessel with Cherno by my side. Every so often, Reykin’s hand accidentally brushes mine. His finger strokes a column of skin, sending quivering jolts of slow-burn desire through me. It makes it hard for me to concentrate on anything other than the myriad sublime half smiles and side-eyed glances he bestows on me.

With Reykin as our escort, we cross the threshold to the command center of the vessel. The firstborn’s large palm touches the small of my back. Holographic instruments throb from glass walls at workstations. Although the diagnostics are advanced—nothing I’ve ever studied in flight school—they somehow come across to me as elementary. As we stroll, charts flash with readouts of life-support systems. At a glance, I notice the CO2 level in a forward compartment rises above an acceptable level for respiration.

I pause. “Your carbon dioxide level is high.”

“What was that?” Reykin asks, leaning nearer to hear me over the conversations from the sailors around us.

“I said your CO2 level is high in this compartment.” I point to the tiny line of the offending readout. “It’s one of the greenhouses.”

Reykin squints at it. “How can you even read that?” A moment later, the line flashes red and the system corrects the imbalance by adjusting a few valves automatically. The levels drop, and the red line returns to a soft blue.