Stormbreak (Seafire #3) - Natalie C. Parker Page 0,65

Tassos’s lips.

“I want to see him.” Her voice vibrated in her chest though it sounded muffled to her ears.

Everyone looked to Tassos. He grinned, happy to cause pain simply because he could.

“I want to see him, now,” she repeated. “Or we take our ships and inform Lir that you’re at the end of your Silt and let him return with his entire fleet.”

Tassos didn’t laugh, but his smile suggested that he believed her about as much as respected her. Still, he shrugged. “Cepheus.”

The woman moved immediately toward the hatch, and whether or not Caledonia was supposed to follow, that’s exactly what she did. Behind her, she heard shuffling and the hatch closing again, then fingers caught hers and gave a light squeeze. Pisces.

She pinched the skin on the inside of Caledonia’s wrist, forcing Caledonia to focus on her for a split second. “I’m coming with you.”

Caledonia nodded. Her heart was a hammer inside her chest, her lungs were tight, her skin prickled with sweat, but soon, she would see Donnally.

Cepheus led them through corridors lined with dull-eyed Bullets and then into a sparsely populated section of the megaship where the air was cool and carried a metallic taste that was almost electric. Caledonia could barely focus on the ship as they passed through it, could barely mark where they turned or how many hatches they passed through. Finally, they came to the hold. The large room contained rows and rows of barred cells, many of which were occupied. Though she barely spared the prisoners a glance as she passed, she could hear them; shouting or moaning or begging for something to drink.

Caledonia tried to tune them out, but with each cry, she imagined her brother—injured, abused, alone—and her lungs constricted a little more.

At the end of the row were four doors, two on either side. Cepheus stopped in front of one, then pulled a key from the ring at her waist that Caledonia hadn’t noticed and unlocked the hatch before spinning it and pulling it open.

“He’s all yours,” she said. “What’s left of him.”

Beyond the door, Caledonia could see nothing. She hesitated, suddenly unsure what she would say, unsure what she would find. Their last encounter had torn a hole in her heart. She didn’t know if she could survive another.

Then Pisces’s hand was in hers. Their fingers wove together, and the warmth of Pisces’s skin was soothing. “I’ll wait out here.”

Caledonia drew a deep breath and stepped inside the room. The door shut behind her.

The smell hit her first. Sweat and vomit and blood. All of it stale. The room itself was larger than she’d expected. On one side there was a crude toilet bolted to the floor and a chair stuck in one corner. On the other was a cot upon which a body rested with his back turned on her.

Though he looked small with his knees tucked to his stomach, his figure was thin and muscled. His dark curls flopped over the pillow and his shirt was stained unevenly in splotches of dark brown. Beneath his bed, his boots were lined up, side by side as if creating a sense of order was important even under the worst conditions.

Caledonia tried to recall if he’d always been that way. She remembered his insistence that his overlarge jacket fit, and the way their father had threatened him with a comb every so often. She even remembered sharing a bunk with him until he kicked so much that she’d been given her own. But she couldn’t remember if he’d been tidy or a disaster. It shouldn’t have mattered so much, but staring at those perfectly aligned boots was like a straight punch to the gut. Was this her Donnally? Was it possible any part of him had survived and was trapped?

She didn’t know. But she did have to find out.

“Donnally.”

At the sound of her voice, he stiffened. From where she stood, she could see the surprised flutter of lashes as he opened his eyes.

Caledonia’s heart skipped to a run. Even now, there was a part of her desperate for him to turn around and dive into her arms.

“Donnally.” She took a small step forward and barely restrained herself from reaching out to touch his shoulder.

Slowly, carefully, Donnally pushed himself up and twisted around to face her. An assortment of bruises was splashed across his forehead, the bridge of his nose, and his jaw, each in a different stage of healing. His lips were dry and deep shadows rested in the