Bonds of Brass (The Bloodright Trilogy #1) - Emily Skrutskie Page 0,36

But Gal keeps sleeping in my bed.

Neither of us acknowledge the second bunk above our heads. We barely acknowledge each other, apart from quick apologies if, gods forbid, one of us bumps into the other. We sleep back-to-back, still and tense, and act like nothing’s happening.

Confront him, half of me insists. Because when all of this is over, he’s either dead or a prince, and he’ll have nothing to do with you then. But it’s hard to let go of a fear you’ve nurtured for so long.

And I don’t even know how long I’ve been afraid of this. There was no moment of sudden clarity. No clouds parting, no sunbeam shining down at the right moment. No single gaze that pierced me through the chest. It was more like a pot set on a low heat, coming to boil. A gradual acknowledgment that yes, this could be an option.

Except, well, soon it won’t be. Soon Gal will be buried in the Umber citadel, back in the sunless isolation where he spent the first twelve years of his life. Six months from now, if all goes well, he’ll be revealed to the public as the Umber heir. His hand will likely be pawned off in a political marriage to a system governor’s child—sooner rather than later, before the infighting among the system governors with eligible heirs comes to bloodshed. And I’ll be…No, I can’t even think that far into the future. Can’t focus on anything but getting Gal to safety.

I remember being this kind of creature back in the days after the Archon Empire fell. Reduced to survival instinct and nothing more, living one day to the next with my only goal to keep on living. It wasn’t until the academy that I started reaching for something greater.

Now I might be overreaching.

* * *

—

We approach Delos from the morning side, slipping into the atmosphere over the soft seam that separates night and day. The sun blazes at our backs, the light chasing us across the continents. I set a course for a stretch of wilderness several hours away from the planetary capital city of Isla. The Ruttin’ Hell rattles like a washing machine as reentry fires flare around us, and this time we both strap in good and tight.

A combination of prayer and talent gets us decelerated without losing a wing, and I bring us in low over the trees. From a distance, we’ve been listening to the planet’s chatter. We’ve watched how ships approach Delos without a fuss and land without any threat of getting shot down. The military presence here is minor, a hallmark of a long-settled empire. Still, I fly low. Better to be cautious.

The Beamer needs no runway, just a few insistent bursts from the rotary thrusters to slow it. I drop us in a clearing carpeted by sand and bracken, in sight of a river that winds all the way to the capital. The Ruttin’ Hell hits the ground with a heavy thud. Gal gives me a pointed look, and I’m quick to point out it’s far more graceful than the last landing I made.

My first instinct was to head straight to Isla, but fortunately I’m not the only one making the plans anymore. As Gal rightly noted, there are Umber markings on our hull, stripes of deep black and tainted gold that call attention to our ship’s point of origin.

Luckily for us, there are also toolboxes in the cargo hold.

The second I’m sure the ship has settled with no risk of tipping over, I slam down the button that releases the rear ramp, my other hand spinning up the ship’s fans. Warm air rushes over me, carrying with it the crisp scent of distant pines. It’s summer in this hemisphere of Delos, and after months of bitter, dry winter on Rana, everything about it is glorious.

Gal’s already unstrapped himself, stumbling on unsteady legs as he tears through the ship. I stagger after him, unbalanced by the readjustment to planetary gravity. He jumps the ladder into the cargo hold, tucking into a roll that carries him down the ramp and into the sand. With a wicked grin, he tips his head back and howls his triumph, throwing