Aftermath - Ann Aguirre [15]
I’d recognize him anywhere; the commander of the Ithtorian fleet has come to rescue me alone. Somehow I’m not surprised at all. Instead of a hug, I greet him with a heartfelt wa. Dearest white wave, you come for me even to the breaking place . . . and brown bird waits in despair.
He returns the salutation. Always, brown bird. The tides are locked. And then he takes me in his arms. Huddled against his cold chitin, I should be more conscious of his otherness, cradled by claws that could disembowel me, and yet he is dearer to me than my own heart. He is not the same person as when we met, but . . . neither am I. Time has refined us, but instead of pushing us apart, we’re closer than ever.
“Come,” he says. “Let us return to the ship. There, it will be safe to talk.”
Though it’s another four kilometers, the journey passes in a blur of dizzying relief. Neither Hit nor I have eaten much in the last twenty-four, but it doesn’t matter. Determination will carry us as far as we must go. I move in silence, avoiding the worst of the wreckage.
As Vel told us, their ship—a skiff with a skeleton crew—put down on the other side of Castello. This private estate fared slightly better than my mother’s villa, and there’s no further hell falling from the blue sky. This is a small, light vessel, sleek and aerodynamic. Interestingly, it’s crafted of a dark alloy, probably nearly invisible to the naked eye at night. Hit and I board, grateful to be out of the elements; I’m sunburned, chafed, and covered in bug bites, but I’m alive.
Unlike Doc and Evie.
With effort I put the guilt aside. There will be a time for me to let it excoriate me. Just not now. So I take stock.
This ship reminds me of the one Dina won from Surge, at least in terms of size. It’s newer, of course, just built in the revitalized shipyards on Ithiss-Tor. The hub has eight seats and two corridors heading off in opposite directions. One must lead to the cockpit, as we came down the other from the boarding area. A couple of Ithtorians linger here, working on the equipment, but they give me the impression they want to listen in. I wonder if that means they have translation chips. Tiredly, I drop down onto the nearest seat, appointed for Ithtorian comfort, which means the backs are longer and the seats are lower to the floor.
As I strap in, Vel hands me a packet of paste. Grimacing, I tear it open with my teeth and squeeze a glob into my mouth. “I thought you couldn’t abide this stuff—that you’d rather die than eat it.”
“Perhaps,” he admits. “But I would not choose that option for you.”
His words fill me with warmth, despite the situation.
“Catch us up,” I invite.
“Shortly after you disappeared”—his vocalizer offers no judgment on the decision—“March commandeered the Dauntless, along with the crew who were fit to fly, and went back up to join the fight.”
Frag. I understand his state of mind better than I want to. I can imagine what he thought, how he felt, all too well, when he played what might’ve been my final message. He may never speak to me again. This time, I went so far outside the chain of command that I’ll be lucky if they just boot me out of the Armada.
“When did you get here?” Hit asks.
“You were fortunate,” Vel says. “The Ithtorian fleet arrived before you changed the beacons. When we joined the battle, it was only the Dauntless, against the whole Morgut vanguard.”
Shit. I could’ve killed them all. The idea that my impetuous behavior might have hurt my best friend makes me ill. Big-picture thinking has never been my strong suit, but I’ve never been quite so sick over it before. I still stand by my decision, but I am beginning to believe I didn’t consider it from all angles. Instead, I led with my heart and just jumped, which is my greatest strength and my biggest fault.
Despite my dread, I manage a smile. “You saved their butts, huh?”
“I did.”
“Go on,” Hit prompts.
Yeah, tell