Secondborn (Secondborn #1)(77)

“Was that when you left home?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I answer in a raw voice.

“But Hawthorne’s back there.” He gestures with his thumb.

“I haven’t heard from him since he left, Edge. It’s like you said, he’s firstborn now. He’s gone.”

“Nothin’ is too late if you’re still breathin’.”

I wipe my tears on my sleeve. “Then we’ll have to keep breathing.”

“What’s your plan?”

“We’re never going to make it to the Salloway Munitions testing facility.”

“We ain’t?”

I shake my head. “I’m going to make it look like this airship malfunctioned, and then I’m going to land it in enemy territory. We’re going to the Fate of Stars.”

His face falls. “That’s your plan? We’re going over to the other side?”

“It’s our only shot to keep Hammon alive.”

“Then what—the Gates of Dawn kill us, right?”

“I hope not. Your job is going to be to protect Hammon—you tell them whatever you have to tell them. You make sure they know she’s pregnant, and you’re seeking asylum. Just keep saying it.”

“What about you?” he asks.

“They’re going to hurt me, Edge.” My voice cracks. “There’s no getting around that. They’re going to hurt me until I can get someone to listen to me—then everything will be all right. I have something they want.”

It’s dodgy near the border. Alerts ping my headset, one after the other, warning of the dangers this close to the border of Stars. Airships do enter the Fate of Stars, but they have authorization and take secured routes patrolled by fighter pilots. Edgerton takes the controls and shows me how to fly at a low altitude to avoid detection. He guides us into the area where the most recent fighting took place. The ground below is covered with bloated bodies and blown apart by war machines.

He lands us in an open field. “What do we do now?” he asks.

“We wait.”

Soon a crowd of Gates of Dawn soldiers circles us. My knees knock as I rise from my seat. “This is it, Edge. I’ll go out first. You stay with Hammon and protect her for as long as you can.”

“I should go first,” he retorts.

“No. You should stay and protect your baby. I know what I’m doing.” It’s a lie.

He grits his teeth and nods. With Flannigan’s bag over my shoulder, I walk out with my hands raised. Armed soldiers shout conflicting orders at me. I walk a few feet, and then stop. “I need to talk to a man, to Flannigan Star’s man. I have an important message for him.”

“Never heard of him,” a brutish soldier replies.

The crowd of warriors begins shouting: “Kill that bloody bitch!” “It’s Roselle—The Sword’s daughter!” “Take her head off!” Mud is flung at me, striking me in the face and chest. I don’t try to wipe it off.

“I need to speak to Flannigan’s man,” I insist. “I have something for him.”

The man in front of me snarls and spits in the dirt. “I have something for you!” He swings his meaty fist at me—a left hook.

I sidestep it and try again. “Flannigan Star is female—a privateer. I need to talk to the man who will ask about her. I have a message from her. An important message!”

An ugly soldier throws an uppercut. I jump back, colliding with someone else’s fist. It knocks me sideways. My ear rings. The crowd around me cheers and laughs. My instinct is to reach for my fusionblade, but I can’t. Someone will kill me before I can get away, and then they’ll kill Hammon and Edgerton. I have to take my beating.

Fists rain down on me from every angle. I stagger and vomit, wheezing and doubling over. The blows to my kidneys are excruciating. I don’t remember hitting the ground, but the sharp edge of a boot in my sternum leaves me seeing spots, and then nothing.



My head feels solid. I can’t see anything except a red light. I try to open my eyes but my eyelids won’t move. “Hey, you. Wake up!” Someone slaps my cheek.

“For your sake, don’t hit her again!” a man roars. “The next person who hits her is dead! Do you understand? If she dies, I’ll slaughter every last one of you stupid, filthy animals!”

“You weren’t delirious, Reykin,” another voice says. “Roselle St. Sismode really did save your miserable life. Look at her hand!”

“I can see it!” the first man barks.

I retch again, my body wracking with dry heaves. An arm behind my shoulder and another behind my knees pick me up. I moan. My head slumps against a solid chest. “I know it hurts,” a low voice says. “I’m not going to let them near you again. Get her bag, Danny, and take it to him. Tell him she’s with me in triage.”



I smell like blood, pee, and vomit, but mostly pee. I try to open my eyes, but something slimy covers them. I try to pull it off, but someone grasps my hand and holds it gently in his own. “Don’t touch them. The leeches will fall off on their own.” A man’s voice.

“Medieval . . . torture . . .” My voice doesn’t sound like mine.

“The leeches will take the swelling down so that you can open your eyes. Do you know where you are?”