Traitor Born (Secondborn #2)(8)

Salt air and the sound of crashing waves greet me at the end of the formal garden. The ocean is ahead, at the bottom of a perilous cliff. The stairway to the beach is in another direction. This is a dead end. I push on, seeing movement in the darkness. The assassin runs toward the edge of the cliff. I contemplate killing him from here, but then I won’t be able to question him, so I run as fast as I can, expecting him to slow down. Instead, he reaches the cliff’s edge and jumps.

“Roselle!” a harsh voice snarls behind me. A strong arm captures my legs. I fall forward, hitting the grassy terrain hard. We slide almost to the brink of the cliff. The man above me flips me over, glaring at me in the moonlight, and I stare up at the Star-Fated soldier who invades my dreams almost every night.

“Reykin,” I whisper, stunned. “What are you doing here?”





Chapter 3

Star at Midnight

Reykin lets go of me, shoving himself up to his feet.

He moves to the cliff’s edge and gazes down. I join him there. Below, the swirling ocean waves crash over jagged rocks. In the darkness, it’s impossible to see if the assassin survived.

Reykin’s clean-shaven jaw tightens in anger. He runs his hand through his thick dark hair, smoothing it back into place. “Were you going to follow him over?” he demands. I just stare at him. I haven’t seen him since I left his home in the Fate of Stars and sailed away on a rusted cargo ship. He’s just as handsome as I remember—all hard angles and savage intensity. “Were you?” he asks, latching on to my upper arms.

I knock his hands away. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m protecting our asset from her ruthless family.” He moves away and scuffles our dewy imprints in the lawn, covering our tracks.

“How did you even know I was out here?”

“I hacked your mechadome.”

“You what—how?”

“Kinjin uploaded a program into your Class 5Z. I took over from there.”

“So . . . you woke me up?”

“You’re welcome,” he replies angrily, grasping my chin and turning it sharply, making me look up at him. “Never mention my brother’s name again. To anyone! Do you understand?”

Guilt makes me hesitate for a second, then I bash his hand away with my own. “I was just trying to find him for you,” I reply with a scowl.

“Don’t,” he orders. His impossibly bright aquamarine eyes are discernable even in the moonlight. He leans nearer. “You’re hurt,” he says, his tone softened. He reaches for my throat.

I push his hand away again. My fingertips go to my neck, exploring my injury. The assassin’s knife cut me. “It’s nothing. A nick.”

Which probably would’ve been a big, gaping hole if Reykin hadn’t hacked my mechadome. Reykin leans in. His scent triggers something I don’t expect, a feeling of safety. He saved me once from the worst beating of my life, and I want to cuddle up to his side and have him comfort me now.

Which is confusing. I take care of myself.

“Let me see it,” Reykin says.

“No,” I reply, backing a step away.

“Why not?” he asks mulishly. Typical firstborn, used to getting his own way.

“Because you’re a horrible medic. I still have a star on my palm to prove it.” I shove my right palm in his direction. He takes my hand in his and rubs his thumb over the small, raised star scar—a leftover from when his fusionblade hilt seared his family crest into my hand on the battlefield where we first met. The gesture is unmistakably tender. His shooting star moniker casts a golden glow between us. “How did you get into the Halo Palace undiscovered?” I ask. As part of the rebellion, a secret Gates of Dawn officer, Reykin risks being eviscerated by the Fates Republic government if they find out what side he’s truly on. But first they’d torture him to find out what he knows, and he knows plenty.

“I’m a guest,” Reykin replies, dropping my hand abruptly. He turns away and heads toward the formal garden. His broad back is clad only in an undershirt, and he wears gray pants that qualify as sleepwear. His feet are bare.

“Whose guest?” I blurt out, following him.

“Grisholm’s guest.”

“Grisholm?” I hiss. “How do you know him?”

“Go back to your apartment. I disabled the night owl bots out here, but that won’t go unnoticed for long.” He points to a tree where an all-too-real-looking owl clings to the bark, unmoving. “We’re fortunate Grisholm doesn’t allow roaming maginots in his area of the Palace.”

“Doesn’t he have maginots?”

“No, the automated wolfhounds tended to kill his late-night female guests, so he banned them. I want you to alert Iono security to the break-in in your apartment tonight. Mention nothing about me to them.”

“How do you know Grisholm?” I don’t like being surprised or kept out of any plan they might be hatching, especially if that plan involves me as the “asset.”

He keeps walking, weaving around hedges in the garden. “Now is not the time for explanations.”

I know he’s right, but I need to know one thing. “The program I uploaded into the maginot,” I ask breathlessly, following him, “did it work?”

Reykin pauses and faces me. “Of course it worked. We’re saving thirdborns every day.” A burst of fear, and maybe relief, turns my belly to ice and weakens my knees. He doesn’t seem to notice. “Stay alert. Those assassins may have found you because you ordered a chet. Maybe they saw where it was delivered and followed it to you. Or your mother has her own spies here. Either way, never use the Atoms at the Halo Palace for anything. I don’t trust them. If you need more chets, tell me. I’ll get them for you.” He turns and walks away again.