Heart of Iron (Heart of Iron #1)(2)
She loved the crew of the Dossier, Captain Siege’s ship. They were her home. But Di was her only family—her best friend—and if it wasn’t for him, she wouldn’t be suffering in this stuffy shrine, listening to old ladies who couldn’t mind their own business.
Di glanced over to her as she rubbed her thumb and forefinger around and around the melted circle pendant.
“You are nervous,” he said.
“Am not,” she lied, but when he flicked his eyes down to her pendant, she dropped it back underneath her shirt and admitted, “Maybe a little. I wish I could be more like you. Not programmed for emotions. To have a clear head. It sounds great sometimes, you know?”
“I am unsure. I know nothing else.” He flicked his white-eyed gaze to her. “If you are nervous, then we could leave—”
“We’re staying.”
“But the captain did not want us to pursue—”
“The captain didn’t want us to come because Mokuba did her over on the last deal,” she interrupted, lowering her voice as an abbess walked by. “And I’m not going to pass up this opportunity just because some two-bit information broker screwed Siege out of a few coppers. We’re running out of time. We have to fix your memory core—your glitches are getting worse.”
“I have had them since we were found by the Dossier. They are not so bad—”
“You glitched for three hours last night.”
“But I rebooted,” he replied simply, and she wanted to throttle him.
“And what happens when you glitch hard enough you can’t reboot? The mechanic on Iliad said you’re getting worse, and your memory core won’t just magically heal itself.”
“Could we not simply pay the info broker instead of stealing the coordinates?”
“If we had that sort of money, I wouldn’t be stealing from offering trays, Di.”
His moonlit gaze—optics blazing in his eye sockets, looking like tiny stars—bored into her and almost made her feel guilty. Almost.
“Besides, we’re not stealing it from Mokuba. You never steal from your info broker—that’s bad business. We’re stealing it from the Ironblood he’s selling to,” she went on. “Some rich kid isn’t going to do one over on us.”
“I am more worried about the captain. She frowns on outside jobs.”
Ana rolled her eyes. “Di, we live on a ship that pirates other ships, transports illegal goods, hunts lost treasures, escorts Ilidian underground kingpins—”
“—The captain promised we would never do that again—”
“—and smuggles weapons. We don’t have job descriptions, except for being outside the laws. And hey!” She held up her hands. “We’re outside them. So stop worrying so much.”
“My worrying keeps us alive.”
“Your worrying is giving me a headache. This is worth it, Di. Trust me.” She reached for his gloved hand and squeezed it tightly—more of a comfort to her than him. As the medic on the Dossier, Di’s hands had stitched her up more times than she could count. “If these coordinates lead to your creator’s lost fleetship? We won’t need another fix. The Adviser’s lab was destroyed in the Rebellion seven years ago—nothing survived. Except this ship. The Tsarina. Which might happen to hold a key to fixing you. Maybe a spare memory core. Maybe an empty Metal to transfer you into—something. Anything.”
“But I rather like this body.”
“Even the dent?” She grinned, her gaze straying to the light scuff on the corner of his forehead.
“We do not talk about the dent.” The slats around his mouth rippled into a frown. “Ana, the likelihood these coordinates lead to the Tsarina is dubious at best.”
“It’s called hope, Di.”
“The probability of this hope of yours is point-oh-four percent.”
“But there is hope,” she pointed out, and knocked her shoulder against his—
Movement caught her eye. A tall, burly gentleman in a stained long coat and trousers, the seams frayed and boots greasy.
She’d know his curly peppery-gray hair anywhere—Mokuba.
He was moving down the far side of the shrine, against the mosaic windows, away from her, until he was completely obscured behind the pillars.
She leaned forward to get a better view.
Between the marble pillars, the buyer in question shook hands with Mokuba. He glanced over his shoulder, and piercing sky-blue eyes peered out from beneath his dark hood as he quickly surveyed the shrine. He was definitely an Ironblood, she could tell by that ridiculously lavish coat. Blue, with floral embroidery along the cuffs and collar, the buttons so polished they blinded. And he carried a lightsword on his back. Well dressed and well armed. Not a combination she saw often.
Except the poor Ironblood probably didn’t know how to use the sword.
“Okay, Di, now’s our chance,” she whispered, easing herself to her feet slowly, so as not to attract attention. But Di didn’t go with her. “Di?”
No answer.
She glanced over.
He stared straight ahead, elbows almost touching his knees, as if he’d been beginning to rise to his feet but time froze before he could. His moonlit eyes flickered like a lightning storm.