Bonds of Brass (The Bloodright Trilogy #1) - Emily Skrutskie Page 0,60

slide, muscles ache with tension, and my teeth clench so tightly that for a moment I fear they might shatter.

We fly along the wire, wind whistling past as the city rises to meet us. Our speed flags as the rooftops get closer and our weight drags the cable parallel to the ground. “Let go,” Wen shrieks between her teeth.

Gal and I fall away, tucking into ungainly rolls as we spill onto the roof of an eight-story building. I settle on my side, every bone aching. But that doesn’t matter. I pull my head up, ditch my pack, and drag myself over to Gal as fast as my body will let me.

“Ettian, I’m fine,” he says, coughing as he pushes off his stomach and onto his knees. “I’m…honestly surprised, but I’m fine.”

There’s a part of me that can’t possibly believe that. A part that won’t believe anything it can’t feel for itself. And before I can stop it, that part of me is reaching for him, cupping his face gently, turning his head side to side to make sure he isn’t lying.

Gal leans into my palm, his wide brown eyes meeting mine steadily. “I’m fine,” he repeats. “Breathe, Ettian.” He grins. “Or don’t—I like you breathless.”

I jerk my hand back and cuff him on the shoulder. Gal winces, sucking in a breath through his teeth, and I smirk. “Ruttin’ liar.”

“Didn’t say I was completely unscathed. Just said I was fine.”

My gaze drops to the hole that’s been torn in the knee of my pants. “So I found trouble,” I mutter with a sideways glance. Trouble’s on her way.

“This rooftop’s secure,” Wen calls, slinging her umbrella over her shoulder. She barely looks winded. “We don’t have to run anytime soon.”

I sit back on my haunches, groaning. “There’s no we, Wen. Go home.”

“Technically don’t have one. Whole city’s fair game.” She drops onto her knees beside us, tossing her umbrella down next to her. As she leans back on her rear, she runs a hand through the stringy, wind-tangled mess of chest-length hair on the unburned side of her head. The burned side grows out short and spiky, a testament to the freshness of her scars. Wen’s attention shifts to Gal as she starts to pick out the knots and braid it. “So you’re, uh…Ettian’s boyfriend?”

“Yep,” Gal says, sticking out a hand.

Oh come on, I groan internally, but I don’t need Wen questioning why Gal would lie about that.

She pauses her braiding, reaches out, and shakes Gal’s hand. “Wen Iffan.”

“Gal Veres. And how do you know our dear Ettian, since he doesn’t seem to plan on telling me anytime soon?”

“Now, hold on—” I start, but it’s too late. Wen’s eyes light up as she launches into her side of the story. She spins it for maximum sympathy, of course, casting herself as a poor orphan out on the streets. Only sixteen, trying to escape the mob, trying to earn enough money to get off-world and out of the Cutters’ clutches forever. All she needed was a fast sale, but Ettian—a cruel, nightmarish knave—came along and insisted on inspecting the ship, unwittingly trapping her inside when the Cutters came calling.

I know it’s pointless to interrupt as she moves to the explosion—the backup plan she’d rigged in case the worst happened. Only, she had to change it around to work so she could survive it in the safety of the ship’s engine mounts, because she never anticipated being inside the skipship when it blew. But Ettian—unthinking, dim-witted Ettian—forced her to improvise. Even worse, he tried to run and drew the Cutters’ attention, pulling Wen into an all-out brawl in the middle of the dealers’ alley.

“It was one guy,” I mutter under my breath, but Wen ignores me.

She skips the part where I saved her life and moves right along into graciously sharing her hiding place—“A trash bin,” I insist—with ungrateful, careless Ettian, who ignored her advice and ran off. She saw the Cutters on his tail and knew she had to warn him, so she followed—and good thing, too, because there was a lieutenant in the lobby of his building.