Bonds of Brass (The Bloodright Trilogy #1) - Emily Skrutskie Page 0,132

I steel myself against the sights and sounds of people fleeing the planet in droves. The bawling children being dragged by their wrists through the crowds, unable to comprehend leaving their home behind. The shouts and sudden clusters of people that ring where a fight has broken out. The omnipresent voices of newscasters echoing against the buildings as they do their best to keep the population calm. The near-constant rumble and scream of starship engines as yet another shuttle launches, sometimes with people banging on the doors, begging them to let just one more passenger aboard.

I’ve seen it all before, but it doesn’t get any easier—not even with the knowledge that this is a homecoming, not an invasion. My heart’s in my throat. My eyes keep flicking to the sky as if the ships will be in sight any minute. There’s no thrill to Archon’s victory this time. War is marching toward us, and the people of Trost are doing everything they can to get out of the way.

As I cut through a square choked with advertising billboards, their screens flash red with an update. My stomach twists as loudspeakers hum to life across the downtown. A shaken-looking newscaster appears, clutching a datapad against her chest as she stares into the camera. “Citizens of Rana,” she reads from an unseen teleprompter. “The latest in the unfolding of events surrounding the secession of the planet. This is a broadcast from General Maxo Iral, thought to be executed five years ago, now appearing to be in command of the approaching invasion.”

The image cuts to Iral standing before the Archon crest. In the last broadcast I saw, he was disheveled, his voice urgent as he issued commands from his stateroom. Now his hair is swept back, carefully combed and rebraided. He wears the former empire’s uniform, and his eyes are filled with cool confidence.

“My fellow citizens,” he says, and my heart wavers, my loyalties dragging themselves back to my childhood empire, my childhood hero. Everyone else on the street has frozen in their tracks. Distant murmurs reach my ears—surprise, wonder, and fear mixing together.

“Today we celebrate the first stage in the restoration of the Archon Empire. The false governor installed by the Umber establishment has ceded, and my administration is prepared to step into the absence he left. The Umber occupation of our territory will cease. We will retake what is ours by right. And already we’ve taken a momentous step toward the restoration of Archon’s glory. Citizens, allow me to present the Umber heir.”

The camera moves to Gal.

I feel as if all the blood has drained from my veins. He looks unharmed but scared to pieces. His wrists are bound in ceremonial chains—brass, the metal of his empire. Maybe to mock him, but more likely because the chains came from one of the captured dreadnoughts. I sag back against a wall, my eyes burning.

I can’t blink. Can’t miss a second.

Gal was supposed to make a triumphant return. His unveiling on the galactic stage was supposed to be a moment of victory. He was supposed to deliver Iral’s head to his parents and proudly claim his place as heir.

Now he stands as still as a statue while Maxo Iral lays a massive hand on his shoulder. “Sources within the former governor’s administration confirmed this boy’s identity. He is blood of the blood that stole our lands and razed our cities. Now he bends to us.” The rage in Iral’s voice is palpable. It thickens the air around me. I watch, helpless, as the general leans his weight onto Gal.

The prince doesn’t go easily. He fights, tries to slip the load, tries not to stoop. His worst nightmare has come to life, his greatest fear now forces him down, and still he resists. But in the end, Gal drops to his knees, his head bowed.

Somewhere farther down the street, people start cheering, and my mind goes blank with rage.

CHAPTER 29

I COME BACK to myself in a familiar parking garage. For a moment, it’s like nothing’s changed in the past seven years. I’m down in the dark, trapped in instinct, overcome by fear and failure. I stare down at my hands, at boots that would have swamped my