Heart of Iron (Heart of Iron #1)(15)
The skysailer fell straight through the marina, between the lines and lines of traffic, spiraling. Wings fluttering, wobbling, useless. A scream tore out of the girl’s throat as her Metal planted a hand over her lap to keep her secure.
The ground came at them fast.
Too fast.
And above them Astoria shrank and shrank, until it was a disk above them, shining like a silver sun.
Robb had the distinct feeling that he should’ve stayed in the garden. He shouldn’t have saved the girl. He should’ve stopped looking for his father years ago. He should’ve listened to his mother.
You will put an end to these heedless fantasies, she had said. He should have listened. And now he was going to die.
The pilot grabbed tightly onto the steering wheel and pulled up, trying to jump-start the engine again. If a bullet hit a spark plug, they were dead. Or an exhaust pipe. Or—literally anything else—they were dead.
Goddess bright, please don’t let us die—
The engine gave a start and hummed to life again. Wings fanned up, tried to catch the wind, to slow them down. They were falling too fast—no matter how hard the Solani pulled on the controls, it wouldn’t make a difference. He couldn’t force the helm back far enough for the wings to right themselves.
Numbers flashed across the dashboard.
Three hundred feet. Two fifty. Two hundred.
They were dropping like deadweight. They’d land smack in the middle of Nevaeh, a lump of splattered guts and rogue Metal.
And Robb was vain enough to want a better eulogy than My son killed himself the way his late father did—with a Metal and a misguided sense of duty.
Like hell he’d let his mother write that eulogy.
As the wind screamed up around them, he dove over to help the pilot—buckling up be damned if he was dead. He reached his arms around the Solani, who was a lot taller than he realized, to grab ahold of the steering wheel. Pressed his back against him, feeling the bumps of his spine. He smelled vaguely of lavender.
“Pull!” Robb shouted over the roar of the wind.
He and the Solani pulled back together. More. More. Until—
A loud crack burst across the skysailer. The wings rippled, bulging with air, as the aircraft finally caught itself. Slowed. Robb gripped the driver’s midsection as he reached forward and overrode the propulsion controls.
The ship shuddered, slowing to skim over punctured and rusted rooftops, leaving the floating garden far, far behind. After a moment, Robb let go. He stumbled back. Dizzy. He couldn’t get a deep enough breath, for some reason.
“Next time, we should at least trade names first,” joked the Solani. He had a charming face, long silver eyelashes, and sharp cheekbones. A nice face, he thought a moment before the smirk dropped from the Solani’s pretty lips. “Goddess, you’re bleeding!”
He became distinctly aware of the pain in his side. Why did it hurt to breathe? He looked down. Blood stained the right side of his favorite evening coat. Was—was that his blood?
“Oh . . . ,” he laughed, but it sounded more like a wheeze. “I’m shot.”
The pilot looked alarmed. “Someone catch him before he—”
Darkness ate his vision, and the last thing he knew, he was tipping over the side of the skysailer.
II
Iron Ships
Ana
The Dossier was a ship of beauty.
The Cercian-7 transportation vessel was from an era before Metals and Rebellions. Close to a century old, the black-and-chrome girl was retrofitted, so it looked like a patchwork of old parts and new spares. Too many firefights had run its three black solar sails ragged, and still it kept sailing like a dead man in the night. The ship wasn’t as fast as newer models, but it was quiet and durable and its solar engine purred sweet as nectar. It was finicky to fly, so most pilots couldn’t handle it properly, but Jax flew it like a dream.
The cargo bay could fit a skysailer and crates for goods and their latest haul, connecting to an infirmary and an engine room. Up a rickety set of rusted stairs was the crew’s quarters, the galley, the captain’s room, and the cockpit where Jax spent most of his time. The ship constantly hummed from the golden solar energy core at its heart, a sweet and low song that Ana couldn’t sleep without, and the ship always smelled like recycled air, rust, and gunpowder.
There was never enough privacy, the showers were always colder than the darkest recesses of space, and you could hear someone whisper from anywhere on the ship. But her bunk was warm, and her mattress lumpy to fit her curves, and the crew was like her—forgotten, exiled, orphaned, refugeed. Her family.
Home.
Her jittery nerves leveled off the moment the Dossier came into view in Nevaeh’s harbor. After Jax caught the Ironblood from falling out of the sailer, Di had tried to stop the bleeding on the way back to the ship—and avoid ruining Jax’s newly upholstered backseat. Ana sincerely hoped the rich boy wasn’t dead. Or dying.
She didn’t want anyone dying on her watch.
The cargo doors of the Dossier closed them inside, sucking space out with a sharp whistle, before Jax pushed up the windshield of the skysailer. Di scooped the Ironblood into his arms like a rag doll and hurried him into the infirmary.
A small cube-shaped robot met them, hovering at eye level. The bot was the newest addition to the ship. It kept the guns calibrated, the programs updated, the solar engine humming—and its nose in everyone else’s business.