Bonds of Brass (The Bloodright Trilogy #1) - Emily Skrutskie Page 0,100

lower lip pressing against her upper teeth, every part of her daring me to do my worst.

So I let loose. My instructors at the academy tried to steer us away from aerial acrobatics, but every cadet did their part to steer back. I have a whole arsenal of maneuvers, all of them stomach-twisting, hair-raising, vision-stealing. I cut our main engines, let us glide, let us fall, push the attitude thrusters to flip us end over end as we tumble toward the ground. Then level off into an even glide, reeling from the effects of the g-forces that make my heart feel like it’s in a hydraulic press. Then gun the engines as hot as they’ll go, pushing the fighter until we’ve surpassed the sound barrier four times over.

When I pull us back into a cruise, Wen lolls her head toward me, her mirrored visor pointed right at my eyes. “Shown off enough yet?” she asks. There’s a slight weariness in her voice, like maybe I’ve shaken her up too much.

I flip on the autopilot and sink back in my seat. “Give me a minute.”

Wen’s already clawing out of her harness. There’s no floor space in this cockpit, so she braces against the bulkhead behind us, her feet sinking into the gel of her seat as I unstrap and worm over to the copilot’s side. My legs and arms shudder, my body betraying the aftereffects of my stunts. Wen climbs over me and drops into the pilot’s seat with a whump. “Ten seconds to strap in, flyboy,” she says, slipping into the harness.

My knuckles tighten around my own belts as I buckle them. Something tells me a measly safety harness isn’t going to do much against whatever I’m in for.

Wen hisses her countdown through her teeth as she knocks her hands around the dashboard. It seems like she’s memorizing the feel of it—where each control is, how to bully each thruster into doing exactly what she wants.

My worries run wild. She’s only ever flown junkers. She has no instinct for this kind of craft. Heavens and hells. We’re humped.

“One,” Wen whispers.

And burns.

My vision goes dark instantly as the engines crush me into my gel-seat. But that doesn’t stop Wen. Not even divine intervention could do that. Blacking out doesn’t matter anyway—she’s memorized the shape of the controls. The ship steadies under her hands, carving through the turbulence. Somehow, impossibly, it keeps accelerating, and I fear worse than blackouts as the Cygnet hitches against another bad spot of wind. But finally we hit our limit, my vision comes back, and I lift my head from the gel to find Wen hunched forward over the controls, her teeth bared like she’s intimidated the ship into submission.

The miles fly beneath us in swaths of forest woven with rivers, cities, and highways and air traffic far below and far behind. “How the rut…” I choke. The speed on our dashboard doesn’t seem feasible. My hands shake as I bring up the ship’s status.

“Spun down unnecessary systems—air circulation, mostly. Gonna get stuffy in here if we want to keep going this fast,” Wen croaks. Her chest heaves up and down, and it takes a moment to realize mine’s matching. Both of our bodies are floundering to recover what the acceleration crushed out of us.

“But I mean…How…”

Wen grins. “Just ’cause I fly junkers doesn’t mean I don’t know what to do with a good ship on a good day.” She pulls the Cygnet’s fins, lifting our nose to the sky as the engines rattle behind us. “You know, you should think about learning some mechanics. I could teach you a few tricks, if you’re not busy.”

As our altitude climbs, I glance at our navigation, making sure the path ahead is clear of other ships’ vectors. “Wen?” I ask as she ups our angle, sinking us against the backs of our gel-seats.

“Yeah?”

“You do know you’re going to space, right?”

She nudges the engines in response.

“Just checking.” I’d assumed we’d stick to atmo today, but clearly she has other ideas.

“Wen?” I ask again, after a few minutes have passed. The gravity is