Bonds of Brass by Emily Skrutskie

Author:Emily Skrutskie
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2020-04-06T16:00:00+00:00

* * *

—

When the automated voice announces our arrival at the base station, Wen snaps awake all at once, clawing the hood off her face as she rolls off the seat and onto the train’s floor. Gal jerks up at the thump, blinking. “Already?”

He casts a curious glance at the arm I’ve draped around his shoulders, and I withdraw it sheepishly, bolting to my feet in time for the train to brake and nearly send me hurtling into Wen’s seat before I can grab a handhold.

We’re here, and I have no idea what we’re supposed to say to the resistance to bring them over to our side. This movement is born of the same resentment that sparked the Archon loyalists within our academy into an assassination attempt that we barely escaped. These are patriots devoted to the resurrection of an empire seven years dead.

These are my people. They made it out safe, abandoning me to a hungry ruin. They’ve had the luxury of sticking to their convictions. But the fact remains—they kept their cause alive. I let mine wither and die.

I don’t know how I can face them.

“Don’t go all wild-eyed on me, flyboy,” Wen says, popping to her feet with the assistance of her umbrella. “Gonna need you to appear calm, cool, and collected. You, too, prettyboy.” She cuffs Gal on the shoulder, and his eyes narrow at her.

I bite back a snort.

As the monorail’s speed fades, we make our way to the sliding doors, swinging from handhold to handhold until the train comes to rest. I peer out the narrow window by the door, fidgeting with the straps on my bag. We’ve arrived at the base’s support town, a strip of small businesses flanked by suburbs that house the personnel not cleared for lodging on base proper. In the gaps between buildings, I spy the fence that marks Henrietta Base’s perimeter.

The sight of the town ratchets my anxiety up another tick. It’s so developed, so large. Wen knows nothing about the resistance’s actual numbers, but from the size of its support, it’s already far more established than I anticipated. I thought there would be a ragtag army, pop-up tents, stolen shuttles.

Gal peers over my shoulder and says exactly what I’m thinking. “It looks like the academy.”

Wen leads the way off the train, through the station, and onto streets that are prickling with familiarity, lined with supply shops, groceries, and even a little cantina with its shutters down. She keeps her hood drawn, which isn’t helping my nerves. Why would she still hide her face? There’s no way Dago Korsa’s presence extends to a small town a hundred miles from Isla. But something has her on edge. Or she’s planning something.

Either way, I don’t like it. We’re drawing attention with all our attempts at not drawing attention. Gal and I are haggard and stubbly, dressed in day-old clothes, and Wen’s ragged pants and hooded face aren’t doing us any favors. None of us look like we fit

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