Honor Among Thieves (The Honors #1)(86)
It is not your concern, Zara. It didn’t escape me that he was using my name now; I’d become a person to him at last. His tone shifted as well, no longer ominous thunder, but more like funeral bells heard at a distance. The Elder’s inner voice filled me with melancholy. But . . . you speak the truth.
It doesn’t have to be like this. I can comfort you. The offer had to feel impulsive. If it seemed calculated, I’d lose all the ground I’d gained. You’re going to send me back to Earth, without any memory of why, so it doesn’t matter what you show me. I can be your friend for now, at least. You can share your burdens with me.
This felt all kinds of weird. Though Typhon still didn’t seem to notice, my cell had warmed to the point that it felt downright cozy. My song was working on him, touching notes of pathos and home that he probably couldn’t defend against. Not with weapons, anyway.
There’s no profit for you in helping me, and I do not trust altruism.
But the fact that he hadn’t slammed the door shut between us spoke volumes on how much he’d missed this, how he ached for that long-lost alien Honor. In the end, he didn’t deep bond, but he wanted to, enough to be distracted by the tantalizing possibility. And that was exactly the rule of the con. Misdirection, make them watch your left hand while robbing them with your right.
The best con of all? Believing it yourself. And I had to believe this, had to feel it, because he’d know if I was holding back. Minds couldn’t lie. It would have been so much easier if I didn’t care, couldn’t feel his pain and be sorry for it. But this was my price. Pain and guilt.
While Typhon resisted the lure of opening to me fully and soaring as one, we bobbed together, dreaming in that lullaby sea. Drifting, drifting, until he eased and went from listening to rocking, borne aloft on my mother’s music. My taps slipped into strokes and my voice softened. I had the patience to do this forever or until one of two things happened—we reached the Gathering or his Honors noticed his emotional shift.
With Typhon as a conduit, I sensed Marko and Chao-Xing on the other side of a mental barrier, faint and fumbling, but I couldn’t feel what they felt; that was how well the Elder had blocked them. A lazy pleasure spiraled through him and into me. He was enjoying this—it was just enough that it felt good—not enough that it seemed dangerous. I was just a tiny, caged bird, singing in my captivity. What possible danger did I pose?
It took an eternity of whispered song, soft drumming, but then, finally it happened.
He drifted to the edges of dark sleep, lost in memory, a weary soldier nodding off on the battlements.
The lights dimmed, and the blue curtain of energy in my cell flickered and went out.
I sent the bucket spinning as I dashed for the opening and felt the harsh clash of the energy slamming back into place behind me. I hit the floor rolling and came up on my feet, pushing from stop to sprint in record time. I also slammed the mental barrier between us shut with conviction, because no matter what else Typhon was, he was also the asshole who had hurt Nadim.
If Leviathan couldn’t forget, neither could I.
I popped open the door before they locked the ship down and then searched the lockers. Exultant, I pulled out a bulky old skinsuit; it wasn’t the latest model, but at least they wouldn’t catch me with the gas trick again. I scrambled into the suit and yanked the mask over my head just as the pink mist drifted down. My suit sealed and filtered just in time; though I was little dizzy, I held on and kept moving.
Okay, next stop, armory.
I didn’t want to fight Marko or Chao-Xing, but if they tried to stop me from freeing Nadim, then we’d throw down. As of now, that was my new goal. Free Nadim. Run like hell. Not much of a Plan D, especially when Typhon had such scary weapons, but I still had the idea of finding a space version of the Zone in the back of my mind. We’d hide out, perform a training montage, and come back ready to fight. So maybe I’d watched too many sci-fi vids, but in desperate moments, it was all I had.
As I raced down the corridor toward the armory, I nearly tripped on the prone figures of Marko and Chao-Xing. Holy shit, they weren’t ready for the gas? That must’ve been Typhon’s doing, not theirs; he’d overreacted to my betrayal, big-time. He probably would have loved to turn the atmo toxic, or blow me into space, but some part of him still cared for his crew, even if they were just tools to him.
I hurdled their unconscious bodies and pounded the armory door with frustration when I realized that the Elder had locked me out. Beatriz could hack this and fix a broken toaster oven in the time it would take me to key in two password guesses. Weapons, weapons, the other Honors probably had some. I searched them quickly and took two stunners and a hypodermic, probably a tranq.
“I don’t want to kill you, Honor Cole. You remind me of my first pilot.” Damn, Typhon was talking to me, out loud. Shit must be serious. “But if you continue, I will vent all decks, all corridors.”
“That’ll kill your crew too!”
“There will be more Honors next year and the year after that. And so on. Your people have so many bright young minds to spare.” That had to be the most optimistic threat I’d ever heard.
“I don’t believe you care nothing for them. Plus, you must have a boss, too. The Leviathan you’re gathering to judge Nadim will probably be curious why you had to kill your own crew to deal with me.”
The cameras on board meant he couldn’t explain this away without giving context, and instinctively I knew he wouldn’t want to reveal that moment when he’d let his guard down with me. Typhon rumbled in rage, rolling hard enough that I almost fell over. Forever ago, I ran through a funhouse, part of a carnival, where the floor was constantly tilting, shaking, and sometimes dropping out altogether. My run through Typhon’s depths felt about like that. It had to be driving him crazy that he couldn’t just smash me, but he could still lock me out of everything, essentially herding me like a rat in a maze.