Page 116 of Cage of Starlight
Warmth spreads through him, like a reward. Heisready. He can do this.
Riese drops a small, canvas-wrapped bundle into his hands, and Tory peeks inside to find three small devices. Smoke grenades, perhaps.
“Remember what I told you?”
Tory ticks the list off on his fingers. “Residence quarters, intake hall, and the room marked #004.”
“Good. Activate themin order.They’ll create a distraction so we can slip in.”
“And the Cores . . .?”
Riese lifts a stellite tower, pure and a few inches tall. “Push as much energy as you can spare into this thing. If you use enough, given your unique abilities, you should be able to resonate with all the crystals in the room, your energy essentially overriding what’s already stored in them.”
Tory considers that. “Doesn’t that mean they all could be used to huntme?”
“Yes. That’s why you continue putting energy into this crystal until you hear it begin to crack.”
“Do I want to know why?”
“It will explodecatastrophically. The compasses won’t be a problem after that.”
“And me?”
“Sufficient desperation, remember?” Riese grins, vulpine. “If you get caught in the blast, your desperation wasn’t sufficient enough. You’ll need to run like there’s fire on your feet as soon as you hear the first crack.”
“I can do that.”
“I know. Don’t let anything distract you. Remember, wait until closer to evening to get started. Travin can’t ’port the wagon, so we need the travel time. You have everything?”
Tory kneels to shove the bundle of supplies into the bottom of his pack. He has plenty of room—it’s nearly empty without Thatcher’s cloak. Something coils around his lungs, and hedoesn’tthink of Sena shivering by the fire, doesn’t let himself contemplate the future he dared to imagine for them.
He’s been fine alone for over twelve years, and he’ll be fine now. “Everything I need.”
“You’ll do well. You don’t have to be afraid.”
The miserable knot of nerves uncoils.
Travin arrives again behind them and chugs something from a canteen at his side.
Riese laughs and claps Travin on the back. “Sorry to make you work so hard. Just one more. Back here when you’re done. We have work to do.”
No-nonsense, like when Travin ’ported Iri out and left him to die. The anger the thought brings slips before it can find purchase. He’s got this. He’ll do well.
Travin executes a sloppy salute. “You got it, boss.”
One hand is bandaged, and Tory remembers Riese’s words. Sena hurt Travin when he left. Tory squints at the bruise between the bandages, blood-flooded blue—nearly black, halfway up his forearm and creeping to the tips of his fingers. He winces. Tries, again, to imagine Sena hurting Travin. His mind won’t even unspool the images for him, the concept is so absurd.
Travin grabs Tory’s elbow, and before he knows it, the world shifts. One moment, an isolated road covered with trees. Tory nearly loses his footing on the slope of the earth beneath him. His feet were angled for level ground.
Again—the rocky bank beside a creek. Tory does lose his footing this time. One knee goes into the creek, startling a lazy school of minnows. He curses and glares.
“Oh, I apologize. You new to ’porting?”
Again. Thick woods beside a familiar road, well worn and expertly paved. Tory arrives on his knees, and Travin lets go of his elbow, laughing. “Sorry, it’s just so fun to see how the new ones take it.”
Tory left his sense of equilibrium behind at the last jump. His head spins.
“And—for this, I’mactuallysorry.”
