Page 102 of The Space Between Stars

Calver’s hands shook as he signaled.

“That little thing did…?”

Calver nodded. He was panting. Sucking air through his teeth.

“Will the rest of them do that?”

Niklaus was pretty sure he and Calver were the factors.

Nameless was the talk of the rally tonight. If he didn’t show up, it would be the fastest way to notify command he had deserted. “There are going to be questions.”

Calver nodded, wincing.

Niklaus’s hands found the sides of his face. “Ahhh, Fates. What’s it done to you?”

A figure skirted around them at breakneck speed. The Azadonian. Calver had said the boy was covering Niklaus’s position. “Shit! You’re alive. Oh shit.”

Niklaus looked at the boy, then at Calver, and realized what had to be done. Amazing, how nearly being blasted into oblivion could give a man a burst of sobriety.

“If they find you here they’ll twist it to make it look like an attack. Dex, get him out of here. Prepare an alibi. Show up at the rally tonight like everything is normal. You can make for Steila when it’s done.”

Calver’s face was expressionless, but those eyes screamed with exhaustion. Niklaus convinced himself that look meant gratitude. It would make what came next easier.

“Go… now.”

The mute nodded, eyes lingering, before turning to flee—and Niklaus saw it. Beyond the shredded tunic, beyond the char, beyond the raw, blistered skin and exposed muscle… Calver’s back was filled with metal.

“What are you going to do?” Dex shouted to Niklaus over the roar of the flames.

“I’m…” He was going to do what he’d always done. “I’m going to set some things on fire.” He had practice taking the blame for things he hadn’t done, after all.

The pair left Niklaus alone with the blaze. Eyes stinging, he found his tent and an empty bottle within. He pulled his shirt from his back. Tore a strip of fabric free. Stuffed it in the bottle. Raised it in the air. Screamed like a madman.

Figures appeared. They came with buckets. They came armed, blades and tankas all pointed on him.

All Niklaus’s life he’d failed. All his life, no one had depended on him. Until now.

“Henceforth your hero comes…” he muttered. “From the bottom of a bottle.” Calver was in the clear. A non-suspect. He’d be free to make this right.

And Niklaus? No one would ever doubt that he had done something very, very stupid.

TWENTY-FOUR

ATTILATIA

Year: 748 Post Cataclysm: Present Day

Location: Shrokan District, Seraphinden

Two ten-days spent looking for Tessel Velenquash, and Attilatia was beginning to feel like a mutt chasing its tail. The man had been the third son to an oligarch. He’d taken the position as Hand to Baem Limtush of Limtush Pharmaceutical—also a Sergeant in the Red Wing—sixteen years ago. The last record of him was his being fired for reasons of mental instability. Being let go was a boon compared to what might have been. Velenquash was one of seven different hands that had served Limtush over the past twenty years, and he was the only one that hadn’t died prematurely. At least, not on record.

After asking skeptical librarians in both the Skywalk and Korshuva’s public record repositories, Attilatia realized finding a current address for Velinquash wouldn’t be a simple task. Her request for access to Seraphinden’s census data had been refused, which left her with her least favorite option to get the information she needed: tit for tat.