Page 35 of Cage of Starlight
Vantaras stands untouched, uniform just so and not a hair out of place. “You’ll have to try harder than that, Worldseed.”
Thatword, like he’s a thing and not a person.Worldseed, they say, with the same odd reverence with which some people once reached for the mark on his arm. He’s something strange, precious. Precious enough to use but unworthy of freedom. Two can play that game.
“You know what? I’ve had enough of your Lune-ass self telling me what to do.Vantaras. I’ll bet your hands are rich-boy soft under those things. Bet you grew up painting pretty pictures while Ibledto assemble your weapons. I could kill you right here.”
“Could you?”
Tory swallows up the few steps between them and knots his fingers in that flawless, starched uniform to slam Vantaras against the wall. Vantaras shudders with the force of the collision, hair dusting into indifferent amber eyes. He must have bitten his bottom lip—andoh, it’s satisfying to have made him bleed—because when his mouth opens, there’s blood on his teeth, and his tongue darts out to stop a bead of it before it can slip down his chin. His left hand lashes up to grab Tory’s wrist, impossibly strong for how slender he is.
“Whether or not myLune-ass selfappeals to you or anyone, I am your supervisor and superior.My origins have nothing to do with my abilities. Considering the altercation I just broke up, I’d have assumed you might understand that, but instead you seem to be ashamed of the woman who gave you life.” Vantaras’ free hand hikes up Tory’s sleeve, exposing the tattoos before Tory growls and pins that arm against the wall.
There’s a faint jingle, a sound he’s heard before. His eyes fall to Vantaras’ wrist, catch a glint of silver.
(I-S)VS—
It takes a moment to understand what he’s seeing. The bracelet . . . just like Tory’s.
“You.You’re a fuckingSeed. My superior? You’re right down here with theanimals, Vantaras. No wonder Daddy didn’t want you, sent you all the way out here to this dead-end piece-of-shit place—”
The world tips. His nose aches, teeth gnashing together with the taste of chalk, and agony shoots through the shoulder that’s suddenly and inexplicably wrenched behind his back.
“You knownothing.”
Tory blinks to find the wall cool against his cheek. Vantaras crushes him against it, and Tory’s breaths wet the titanium-white surface.
“I neverhid my abilities. They simply weren’t relevant to any of our conversations. And I am, in fact, your superior. Respecting authority won’t kill you.”
“Authority?”
Vantaras twists Tory’s captive arm until all he can do is curse and whine, standing on his tiptoes so it won’t tear from the socket.
“Insubordination only gets you hurt here. I outrank you and always will. I would suggest swallowing that pill sooner rather than later.”
“Youcan swallow—”
“And Arknett?” Another twist. Sadist. “It would behoove you to know that the penalty for using your abilities with the intent to harm an officer of the Westrian military, even one so low-ranked as myself, is death. Next time, think before doing something stupid. It would be tragic to die for dealing an attack thatcouldn’t even hit its target.”
Vantaras twists his arm once more and lets go. The limb falls back against his side, and Tory cradles it, hissing in pain. He turns around to say something—he’s not sure what, yet, but it’ll come to him when he sees Vantaras’ smug face—but he’s already gone.
Anger (at Gavin, at himself, at Vantaras and this whole damn mess) crashes around inside him and leaves him shaking. He doesn’t know how long he stands there until his pulse stops rushing in his ears.
Tory falls against the wall and lays ginger touches on his arm; nothing’s broken or dislocated, but he’d put money on something being torn. He swears into the silence around him.
He’s done with this place. Next chance, he’s getting out.
CHAPTER NINE
His chance comesthe following afternoon.
“Ready!” Menden cries. The assembled Seeds brace for impact.
Another set joins the mix for today’s maneuvers: the Fielders, forcefield-makers deployed to the battlefield in groups of five to set up a huge, one-way barrier.
“Protect them like your life depends on it,” Menden yells, “because it will!” And then, pacing and muttering, “We have a lot of work to do if they expect me to have you placement-ready in three weeks.”
Placement-ready.Tory shivers, then braces himself. Doesn’t matter. He’ll be gone before then.
The volley begins, three of the Legion-spheres rolling over the scarred yard at three-quarters speed. Tory and his unit protect the Fielders until they’ve raised the shield. Once it’s up, the shield repels the Legion unit, and Tory’s team takes care of all other projectiles. Ten minutes without a major injury or a single balloon breaking on the shields, and they’ll earn a break.
