“Don’t worry about her, miss,” Gorgan calls down to me softly. The man beside me emerges from the collar of his uniform to glare at us. I can’t seem to recall his name, but the scent of smoke hangs thickly on his jacket. It sparks a memory—campfires and melting pots used to create new ammo. He yawns and returns to his dark hovel. “She’s usually like this before battle. All fierce and blustery. It’s just her way. Don’t take it personally.”
Oh, it’s personal all right.
I stomp my feet against the truck bed as we whizz down the road. What started out as a mildly cracked concrete street has given way to a rutted dirt road slicked with ice and downed tree limbs. The driver seems particularly bent on hitting as many bumps as possible.
Dorian, son of Milorn, sits before me, his shoulder-length white hair flapping freely in the wind. If his white hair were not startling enough, his tiger eyes would be enough to make you pause. I long to ask how this could be. I’ve only ever seen vivid, solid colors. Never a design such as this, but Bastien warned me against speaking of such things to him.
This young man has a love of crossbows with poison-tipped arrows. He is currently in mid-argument with his companion Adonis, a stark opposite of Dorian. Where Dorian is white and fair, Adonis is ebony skinned with tight black curls upon his brow. Adonis carries four laser pistols. Two at his hip, one at his back, and one tucked into his boot. Gorgan warned me to watch out for him. He is as deadly with his charm as he is with his guns.
“All right, listen up, everyone.” Bastien’s voice cuts through the winds. I lean in close. Gorgan does the same, and I remain within the shelter of his arms. All hint of merriment vanishes, replaced with a grim tension that I know all too well. “The attack plan is simple. We get in and get out. No alarms. No firefights. We meet our transport soon for the next leg of our journey. Conserve your energy. Keep your weapons dry. Stay alert.”
He smiles at each man in turn. “You are the best of the best. That’s why I picked you.”
I half expected some form of acknowledgement to Bastien’s praise. A smile. A nod. Something. The men remain stone cold as statues. They’ve been trained well. Bastien should be proud.
“We ride through the night to read the edge of the southern province by dawn. From there we will gain access to a second transport and travel throughout the day. Our plan is to arrive at Drakon’s base before sunup. We’ll use the cover of night to hide our approach.”
“Illyria’s mission is to acquire a ship,” Niyah says, assuming command from Bastien. He leans back, watching. I can’t tell from the depths of his hood if his gaze is upon me, but I have a sneaking suspicion it is. “Our sole purpose is to assure her safety until that time. If we fail, she fails. That is not acceptable. Is that understood?”
The men dip their heads in unison. “Good. Prepare to disembark. We’ve got a long trek before us.”
Sixteen
The next day is a blur of snow, ice, and darkness. We sleep when we can, alternating watch shifts. During the day, we huddle under blankets to keep from being seen from the air above. Our truck has been painted white to help conceal it on the snowy roads.
The shocks of the old truck are worn and in disrepair, making our ride even more excruciating than necessary. As I watch the moon drift across the sky on the final night, I vow that if I must, I will walk home.
My hips ache; my head pounds. I’m hardly in proper condition to fight. None of us are, but that doesn’t matter. I can tell by the tense set of Bastien’s shoulders that we’re drawing near.
No one talks. The last of the untouched food was tossed over the side nearly ten minutes ago. I hardly remember chewing let alone what exactly it was that I ate.
Nervous tension ripples through my back, stiffening my already tight muscles. My legs are cramping. My only prayer is that I don’t fall out of the back of the truck when we stop.
My stomach is queasy as the vehicle begins to slow, skidding slightly on the newly frozen ice. I grip the edge of the truck, willing myself not to be ill. I don’t want to show any weakness, but I’m pretty sure vehicle travel doesn’t suit me.
Bastien watches me from the corner of his eye. He has been attentive yet aloof during our trip. It doesn’t surprise me with Niyah latched onto him every second of the day.
The snow radiates red as the driver applies the brakes. Gorgan pats my shoulder. “It is time, miss.”
“I was afraid you were going to say that.” I bite my lip as the truck slides to a halt. My head slams against Gorgan’s arm instead of the edge of the truck. I thank him with a smile as he eases me to my feet.