Bonds of Brass (The Bloodright Trilogy #1) - Emily Skrutskie Page 0,48
older model, built in Umber shipyards instead of Umber-controlled Archon belts, but it’s still sleek. No price on the windows. Barely any dust on the wings. Maybe it’s brand-new on the lot. It’s the kind of ship I wanted to fly out of the academy instead of the Beamer, and a twinge of annoyance rattles through me as I realize my job would be a whole lot easier if I’d had a ship like that to sell in the first place.
The girl clears her throat, and my gaze drops to her. She straightens in her folding chair, tipping her rainbow-patterned umbrella back so I can see her face. She wears a wicked smile as plainly as the ragged skin that graces the right half of her features. Burn scars, if I had to guess, and what isn’t burned is spotted with acne. Her narrow eyes shine in the afternoon light as she bats her eyelashes at me.
“I…uh.” Everything about her makes me lose my train of thought. I think back to my pilot training, to lessons on gyro control and how to keep a Viper oriented when you feel like your head’s about to spin off. “Sorry, not really…interested.”
“Of course you are. I’ve been watching you.”
“I zoned out. I wasn’t actually looking—”
She waves her hand, cutting me off. “You’ve been prowling these lots for hours, looking at beaters, and turning your nose up at every single one you find.”
“How—” There’s no way she’s been able to see me the whole time from her seller’s perch.
“You’ve got a good eye. You came here on a mission to stretch your money as far as it’ll go. I can make that process easier.” She snaps her umbrella shut and swings it backward, rapping its tip against the skipship’s hull. “This right here is the best ship in the Corinthian Empire, and I’ll give it to you for a price you should be weeping over.”
I take a wary step back, holding up my hands. “Now, wait a minute—”
“I’m serious.”
“Would you let me finish a sentence?” I snap, and the girl closes her mouth, raising an eyebrow. “I’m not interested.”
“Six K.”
“You’re ruttin’ kidding me.”
“Hand to the gods, I’ll give you this ship today, right this minute, for 6K.”
“Does it have an engine?”
She snorts. “Take a look if you’d like.” She slings her umbrella back over her shoulder, straightening her spine, and for a moment she looks downright regal—far more regal than a girl in grimy clothes has any right to appear. “Wen Iffan,” she says, sticking out a hand. “Looking forward to doing business.”
“Ettian,” I tell her, keeping my hands to myself. “And I wouldn’t count on it just yet.”
If her offer’s serious, I owe the ship a glance. I can’t tell if she’s pulling my leg when everything she says sounds like a joke—I have to see for myself. Shaking my head, I mount the ladder up to the sleek, aerodynamic cockpit.
I freeze mid-climb when I realize Wen is scaling the ladder behind me. “Go on,” she says, patting a rung. “It’s sturdy enough.”
I tighten my lips and keep climbing until I haul myself up into the cockpit. The skipship’s interior is just as impressive as the outside. While the seats are by no means new and the dashboard has some wear and tear, it’s an objectively nice setup, and my fingers itch for the controls as I slip into the pilot’s seat. It’s been a week since I last flew a Viper, and I’m craving the kind of rush that comes from flying a viciously well-equipped machine.
“So, Ettian. Interesting name. Where’re you from, Ettian?”
“I don’t see how that’s relevant.” I keep my eyes fixed on the instrumentation as Wen clambers into the cockpit and plunks herself in the copilot’s seat.
“Just making conversation. Gotta figure out if the guy with the pretty smile planning on buying my precious ship is trustworthy.”
“If I’m trustworthy?”
Wen shrugs. “You can make conversation back. Ask me questions, too, you know?”