the Syldrathi trying to knock Tyler out of his not-so-shiny boots, and my brother trying to lock him up while shouting, “At ease! At ease, Maker’s sake!”
And third, beneath the blood, I finally recognize the Syldrathi’s face.
“Oh, this is not good,” I whisper.
“I dunno.” Finian smiles, first studying the Syldrathi, then taking a look at me. “Looks pretty good from here.”
“Oh, please,” I reply, rolling my eyes.
The SecTeam guys hit everyone moving with their sicksticks. Copious vomiting ensues. As Cat protests, security starts slapping combatants in mag-restraints. Finian doesn’t move from my side, and Zila stands behind us, watching with a blank expression as the team gets ready to haul everyone off to the brig.
But, holding my bruised ribs, I step forward with my best smile to diffuse things. I didn’t spend my diplomacy classes sleeping, after all.
(I took my afternoon nap in Astrometrics instead.)
“Hey, Mr. Sanderson.” I smile.
The SecTeam leader glances up from securing Tyler.
“I mean, Lieutenant Sanderson,” I say, smiling wider.
“Well, well. Scarlett Jones. Should’ve known you’d be caught up in this.”
“Are you implying I’m a troublemaker, Lieutenant?” I put a hand on my hip and pout. “Because I’m offended.”
Relax, it’s not what you’re thinking.
And ew, by the way.
“How’s Jaime doing?” I ask.
“He’s good. Back on Terra with his mom.”
(Jaime Sanderson. Ex-boyfriend #37. Pros: good kisser. Cons: likes jazz.)
“Tell him I said hi.”
“Shall do.”
“Um, so listen,” I say, glancing at my brother, the carnage around us. “None of this was Tyler’s fault. He was trying to break it up. Do you need to lock him down?”
“Standard procedure.” The lieutenant shrugs, back to business. “Security footage of the incident will be reviewed, and if what you say is true, Squad Leader Jones here will be out in time for dinner.”
I give Lieutenant Sanderson my best pout. “But, Lieutenant—”
“It’s okay, Scar,” Tyler groans, trying to hold back his vomit. “I’ll be fine.”
The SecOfficers pull everyone to their feet, careful to avoid getting puke on their uniforms. The cadet with the broken arm is whimpering with pain, the guy whose soft parts got stomped on isn’t even conscious. As Lieutenant Sanderson cuffs him, I see the Syldrathi’s pretty face is glistening with dark purple blood. Tyler’s blood is smudged on the Syldrathi’s knuckles, bright red.
“That was a cheap shot,” Tyler says to him.
The Syldrathi says nothing. His expression is ice-cold, and there’s not a hair out of place on his head.
I look between the pair, wondering if my smile looks as forced as it feels.
“Ummm … so this is awkward. …”
“Meaning what?” Tyler blinks.
I look pointedly at the Syldrathi. “Welllll …”
“No,” Tyler says.
“Afraid so, Bee-bro.”
“Nooooo.”
“Squad Leader Tyler Jones,” I say, glancing at my uniglass, “may I present your combat specialist, Legionnaire Kaliis Idraban Gilwraeth, first son of Laeleth Iriltari Idraban Gilwraeth, adept of the Warbreed Cabal.”
The Syldrathi glares at my brother with those amazing violet eyes.
Spits a mouthful of purple blood on the floor.
Speaks with a voice like melting chocolate.
“It is Kal for short.”
4
Zila
Hmm.
My current situation could be adequately described as …
… suboptimal.
5
Auri
Screaming.
Someone’s screaming right near me.
My eyes flash open and I lurch upright, pulling my bedsheets with me.
There’s a guy standing in the middle of my room. Glaring straight past me like he’s trying to burn a hole in the wall. He has long silver hair tied back in five braids and seems around my age, but he kind of looks like something straight out of Middle-Earth central casting. Pointy ears like a freaking elf, beautiful violet eyes, stupidly tall and stupidly graceful. There’s some kind of small tattoo on his forehead.
“Cho’taa,” he says. “It has nothing to do with my blood.”
“Uh, what?” I stammer, wincing inwardly as I stumble over just two syllables.
I hear a loud thump, the grinding screech of metal. A cold voice.
“I will see you in the Void, Warbreed.”
There’s a flash of energy, violet like his eyes. The boy cries out and falls. I feel something warm on my hands and look down to see they’re covered in blood.
Purple blood.
I can feel a scream of horror building in my throat, but a beat later it all starts to fade. Dissolving the way my visions have been. And past the surging of my heart, the ice in my stomach, I realize that’s exactly what he is—yet another vision of something I’ve never seen.
I stare at the spot where he stood, my pulse climbing down from the ceiling.
“What the hell …”
When are these visions going to stop?
Is my brain trying to recalibrate after what it went through?