Page 40 of Cage of Starlight
Riese leaps into the car after them and pulls the wooden doors closed with the moan of ungreased joints, plunging them into darkness. “My apologies. I don’t see the resemblance.”
“Doesn’t have to be blood to be family. I failed to keep him safe once. I won’t let it happen again.”
Tory’s chest warms, comfortable and suffocating in equal measure, because hewantsfreedom. All the stories he’s heard burst to life in hishead: the clear blue Sea of Thorns to the east in Arlune, lethal and beautiful in the light; smoky sandglass talons curling from the seabed to prevent naval attacks. Night-black cliffs to the west. Terraced crops in the highlands, spilling impossible harvest after impossible harvest. Arlune isn’t perfect—Tory barely speaks a word of the language—but perhaps it’s a place where he could be free.
But the simple freedom he used to hunger for doesn’t feel like enough anymore. He’s sharp and primed to fight, and Riese’s offer speaks to a hunger he’s been denying for years.
“Hasra,” he says, and she stiffens at his side. “Remember at the House, how you said you could watch out for yourself?”
He doesn’t need to see her face to know she’s deflating. “Tory.”
“I’ll be fine.”
She huffs. “Keep telling me that. One day it’ll be true.”
He leans against her shoulder.
Tory might keep his silence until they get to the border, but he knows his answer.
“We’ll welcome you,” Riese says. He seems to know Tory’s answer, too.
They lapse into silence, which makes the noises around them all the louder. Someone taps a foot or a finger against the floor with a drumming noise. To his right, a small group murmurs, low and nervous. A child cries in quiet gulps to his left.
Ari whispers, “Shh, little one. Soon we’ll be somewhere you don’t have to be afraid.”
The child’s breathy sobs punctuate the quiet as Tory’s eyes adjust. He makes out movement, then shapes with growing distinctness. Gray light sifts through the spaces between the wood that makes up the walls.
Ariana plants a kiss on the child’s forehead. The boy only cries harder.
“Papa,” he whispers.
“Your Papa wanted you to grow up happy.”
“Don’t wanna,” the boy whimpers. “Want my Papa.”
Tory’s stomach twists. Fresh from the camps, he wanted a lot of things, too—his mother most of all. She bought his freedom with her life, so he tried to repay her with obedience. If she were here, she’d urge him to listen to Hasra. But he can’t. This time, he can fight. Tory knows how to use his abilities now. He can turn them on the people who caught and caged him. So many walls in this filthy country. With Riese, maybe he can break them down.
Cries ofwhoa, whoajolt him back into humid dark.
Everyone goes stiff and still, breath suspended.
Ariana hisses, “We shouldn’t be stopping.”
But the caravan’s wheels creak and whine, car jerking and twisting with too-sudden deceleration.
Ariana hunches over the boy in the dimness, hushing his cries. “Shh, you’re okay. I’m an Illusionist—I won’t let anyone see you.”
Quiet, Riese promises, “We’ll keep you safe.”
Ulenn Belmin’s voice echoes from outside.
“Of course, gentlemen. I’m merely traveling to the trading posts on the border to pick up a shipment of Arlunian lacquerware before we head north to Maran.”
“Then you won’t mind if we take a look. We can tell he’s somewhere in the vicinity; we need to be thorough.”
“Whatever you need. This one just has lampshades—here. Step up.”
Clattering, the thunk of heavy boots.
