Bonds of Brass (The Bloodright Trilogy #1) - Emily Skrutskie Page 0,76

in a foster home, and I’d been cutting vegetables in the sink when every screen in the house went live to show the captured general hung on an electrified crucifix before the Imperial Seat.

I brush my thumb over a thin line on the edge of my index finger. The slaughter of the suited knights was the beginning of Archon’s downfall, and even though the beheading of the Archon imperials was supposed to have marked the end of the empire, the execution of their most critical general was its immolation. With that final blow, Iva emp-Umber had all but guaranteed the totality of her victory.

But here Iral is, the leader of the resistance. The one we came all this way to see. And everything I was supposed to say falls aside. “How?” I ask. It’s the only word my brain feels capable of releasing.

Under the table, Gal’s fingernails dig into his palms. His face has frozen as he tries to figure out which reaction to present. Is he a hopeful deserter who’s found salvation? An Umber kid suddenly doubting his empire’s might? Or a wayward prince coming face-to-face with the greatest threat he’s ever known?

I hook my foot around his, trying to divert his attention before he thinks his way into a heart attack.

Iral sighs, folding his arms as he stares down at us. “It’s a long and complicated story, but the unfortunate fact is that I had a twin brother. Omat preferred to work from the shadows—few people beyond the imperials themselves knew of his existence. Safer for him, easier for me since he wanted no part of the glory I’d been cultivating. But when the empire fell, neither of us ran. Maybe that was our first mistake.”

Gal stares up at Iral unblinkingly. He’s shaking—subtly, but the tremors are on the rise. I nudge his foot, and he stills for a moment. That’s it, I think. Calm down, asshole, before you blow our cover.

Iral continues, unaware. “We waged those guerilla wars in the borderworlds for two years, trying to reclaim even the smallest foothold in the name of Archon. But Umber’s grasp on the interior was too strong, and we could never muster the resources to match them, especially not once they started stripping the belts for their ships. We’d lost before we began. And as enemies of the Umber Crown, there would be no quiet escape for me or my brother. There was only one gambit that would distract the imperials enough that the rest of our forces could escape to Corinth.”

General Iral’s eyes glimmer faintly against the bare bulb. Gal’s, too, but I can tell that gears are shifting in his head, fear giving way to something closer to wrath. The wrath I’ve been afraid of ever since I saw what he did to that Cutter woman. I press my toes over his, trying to bring him back.

“It was Omat’s plan,” Iral says. His tone goes hollow. “He was always braver and smarter. He gave himself and a significant portion of our forces over, let them think they’d caught the great General Iral, and the rest of us slipped into the black. Thanks to his sacrifice, I stand before you today, with a proud army rising from those who took shelter here. So now that I’ve told you my story, how about you go ahead and tell me yours?”

The question catches Gal off-guard, cracking his composure. His lips curl and his brows lower—I can all but see the mind-numbing anger he grapples. “We’re…uh.”

I blink. Gal never uses filler words.

“Deserters,” he blurts. “Umber deserters—well, I’m Umber, but he’s not. He was born in Archon, and he got swept into service but he found it unconscionable, and we ran away together. And this is Wen, and she’s helping us, and—”

I grab him by the shoulder, digging my fingers into his bones before he has a chance to float us even worse. Gal clamps his jaw shut and slumps back in his chair.

“What he means to say,” I start, and Gal tenses under my hand, “is that we’re former cadets of the Umber Imperial Academy on Rana, which provides the heart of the Archon territories’ defense. And yes, I was pressed