Page 42 of Cage of Starlight
Tory holds hisbreath as Vantaras pulls the door wide.
The boy in Ariana’s arms breathes voiceless sobs against her skin. Eyes steady on the door, she pats his hair and murmurs nonsense.
Vantaras examines the dark interior, face impassive, left hand tracing the shape of the handgun holstered at his side.
The crunch of gravel precedes the reappearance of one of the soldiers from earlier. He salutes. “Sir? We cleared this one. Empty.”
“Did you.”
Tory shivers at Vantaras’ thorough, silent examination, but Ariana stays focused on her task. The dog is gone. It’s fine.
The soldier stands straighter. “It’s awaiting a shipment of Arlunian lacquerware. Sir, your—uh. The Rost and Vantaras families specifically requested material from this shipment, so Mr. Belmin is eager to move on.”
“I see. Any irregularities?”
“None, sir. Except . . . Yaqi.”
“I’m sorry?”
The soldier flushes vibrant red and stands at mortified attention. “The dog! I named him after my baby sister, sir, ’cause he’s always making trouble and eating things he shouldn’t. Actually, he, uh.He ate something in the woods a while back and it must’ve hit him wrong. He’s not acting like himself.”
“That’s . . .” Vantaras tilts his head. “Unfortunate. You may return to the vehicle and allow Mr. Belmin to continue preparations for departure. Convey my apologies for the inconvenience. There are a few things I’d like to check before we depart.”
“Yes, sir!”
The boy in Ariana’s arms sniffles and wraps his arms around her neck. The soldier doesn’t respond to the noise or the movement.
Vantaras does.
Andshit, Tory’s abilities didn’t work on him back then, either.
His eyes, unerring, find Tory’s. His hand clenches on the door, but he says nothing.
The soldier peers into the darkness to where Vantaras is looking. He squints. “Sir? Is something the matter? I can go in and make sure there are no hidden compartments.”
“You’re dismissed.”
“Yes, sir!” The soldier strides away.
Tory slides to the side. There’s a trapdoor beneath him—he’s assuming for situations like this one, when evacuation is unavoidable—and he slides off it and twists his fingers in the loop of twine. The trapdoor creaks as it lifts.
When they’re alone, Vantaras lets go of the door. “I wouldn’t do that, Arknett. You won’t get far. You can come out, or I can come in and apprehend you.”
“How about neither?”
“Anything you do will end with your capture, but if you don’t exit on your own, you run the risk of drawing attention to Miss Belmin and these other Seeds. Miss Belmin may be able to put them off fora while, but her power seems to be intrinsic and effective only within the range of her sight. If they see or hear too many things they can’t reconcile with the illusions she crafted for them once they’re outside that range—for example, a Seed escaping from the direction ofthiscaravan, they’ll be back. I was sent afteryou. If you wish to see children in prison, go ahead and make noise, but their arrests will be on your head.”
“Like you care.” Tory’s stomach twists. Inches from freedom, andSena Vantarasis here to steal it from him again. But he’s right. Tory couldn’t live with himself if Hasra and everyone else here ended up in the labor camps or the Box.
“Remember that your Core is a tracker,” Vantaras says. He lifts a glowing, compass-like device, the stellite set into its surface shining a steady, blinding white. “We found you with it once, and we can find you again.”
That wouldn’t have mattered if he’d made it across the border. Tory nearly suffocates on a swell of helpless anger. It grows until he’s a bare inch from choking on it then bursts, leaving him empty and cold.
“Fuck you,” he says. “I hate you.”
It’s childish, and the words make him sick even as he speaks them. They’re surrender. They’re an acknowledgment of failure. His fingers unwind from the loop of twine, and blood floods back in.
“Miss Belmin, I’d appreciate if you’d maintain your illusions until Arknett is outside and into the woods.”
