Robb awoke with a sudden pain in his side. Sharp. Throbbing. He sucked in a hiss, jerking to sit up, only to realize that he was already sitting upright in a chair. He really needed to stop waking up like this. Could it be, just once, from a really nice dream?
He shifted to alleviate some of the pain, becoming distinctly aware of the burning sensation in his wrist too.
The tracking chip.
He quickly pressed his wrist against his thigh so no one would notice the telltale glow of the activated chip. A signal on its own wavelength, manufactured so that no other radar could pick it up. Jax thought Lady Valerio didn’t care about her second son—but he was mistaken. She cared too much about her legacy to lose him.
Goddess’s spark, not yet. Not yet.
He blinked the blurriness out of his eyes.
The room was dark, rust colored, with a holographic map of the kingdom rotating on the corner of the desk, throwing stars onto the walls. Siege’s hair lit up the room like an inferno. He squinted at the brightness, the ringing in his ears loud enough to make his head feel thick.
“He had this in his pocket, Captain,” the Metal said, extending the iron ore. It didn’t rust in Metal hands. Well, obviously it didn’t—but it was still peculiar. By the Goddess’s scriptures, whoever the crown didn’t rust for was destined for the Iron Throne.
Oh, the kingdom would combust into rage if a Metal claimed that right.
The captain’s eyebrows shot up as she took the ore. “An iron ore? Where’d you get this, son?”
His jaw hurt to move, and he tasted blood in his mouth from where Jax had knocked him good. “How long was I out?”
“Ten minutes and twenty-seven seconds,” replied D09.
“Now where’d you get this?” pressed the captain.
Robb gave her a flat look.
“Ah, so we answer your questions but you don’t answer ours? Typical Valerio,” she added under her breath, and waved her hand to dismiss D09. “Give us a minute.”
The Metal did, but Robb noticed another face in the doorway.
“You too,” the captain said to Ana, who was hovering just outside. “Don’t think I don’t see you there.”
“But Captain—”
“Out.”
He couldn’t meet Ana’s withering glare. She had trusted him, stuck up for him against her own crewmates. A Valerio shouldn’t care, he reminded himself. Valerios didn’t care.
Sulking, Ana closed the door behind her.
And left him alone with the homicidal captain. Siege was terrifying even without her bandolier and golden-trimmed murder coat. In a plain nightshirt and breeches, she still looked like the walking emblem of death.
“So, why Aragon?” she asked, rolling the iron ore between her fingers. Rust came off, painting her fingertips a reddish brown.
He shrugged.
“Start talking or I’ll cut off your ears first. Then your lips. Then your nose—”
“What am I supposed to say? Sir,” he added.
“You’re a Valerio,” she replied, setting down the iron ore. “Let’s start with that. The younger, right? You can’t be more than, what, fourteen?”
“Seventeen.”
“You should be graduating from the Academy, so why aren’t you there?”
I was kicked out, he thought, remembering the weight of his shame as his peers stood against the banisters and watched him leave the great hall. The look of pity from the professors, the sneers from the other students. It seemed that even with perfect test scores, the Academy frowned upon low attendance. He spent too much time sneaking away to find some clue—any clue—to his father’s whereabouts. He told himself he didn’t care that the Academy kicked him out.
And when he found his father, it wouldn’t matter what anyone else thought, either.
“With all due respect, why do you care?” He tried to keep his voice level, to stop the shaking, but it was impossible. He was so close to answers, and now he was going to be spaced because these pirates weren’t as dumb as he’d hoped. “I’m a Valerio, so I doubt you’ll believe whatever I say. You already have your ideas about me.”
“Same can be said about us. Your brother’s about to be Emperor, and we’re the thorn in his side. I have communications with at least half a dozen other vessels in the same line of work, and they all report to me. You’ve got your ruler, and your kingdom, and your crown, and we’ve got ours. Me. And life’d be a lot sweeter if the kingdom got rid of me. So how do I know you aren’t trying to bring me in? Or kill me? I’m right here, so what’s stopped you?”
Well, that was a simple answer. “I don’t care about the kingdom.”
“But it’s your legacy—”
“My brother’s legacy,” he corrected. “Not mine.”
“And what would your father say about that?” asked the captain, as if she knew what he would and wouldn’t approve of. Who was she, a criminal, to judge?
A muscle in his jaw twitched.
She went on. “He was killed in the Rebellion, wasn’t he? You would’ve been, what, ten?”
“They never found a body.”
“Never found the bodies of the Armorov boys either, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t mixed in with the ashes,” replied the captain. “Your father could’ve burned in the palace, too.”
The carelessness in her voice made Robb fist his hands to control his anger, the pain in his side becoming a numb throb. “He didn’t—I know he didn’t. The Tsarina was the only ship docked in the moonbay that wasn’t accounted for after the Rebellion. If there’s a chance he took that ship . . . if he’s still on it . . . if he escaped . . .” His words caught in his throat, because this was his hope. This was what helped him sleep at night, the thought that his father hadn’t burned, that he had survived. “My father didn’t die in the palace, sir. I will bet my life on it.”
“You’re stubborn like your father,” she replied offhandedly, putting her elbows on the desk. She steepled her fingers. “But now Ana’s the most wanted criminal in the kingdom and we’ve got half a million coppers on our head.”
“To be frank, sir, she’s the one who stole from me. I bought those coordinates fairly. None of this would’ve happened if she hadn’t followed me to my family’s garden. So pardon me, but I think she deserves it.”
“Then why did you help her? On Astoria?”
He didn’t know why he had saved Ana. It was something a good Ironblood wouldn’t do. “I needed those coordinates,” he heard himself saying. It sounded truthful enough.
“I would’ve let you bleed out in some back alley of Nevaeh if I were her—”
“Then space me already,” Robb snapped. “You think you’re better because you cheat and steal from Ironbloods, but you’re no different than us. You just do it under different colors. So if you’re going to kill me, do it.”
Now he definitely was going to be spaced, jettisoned out and bounced against the wing tip of this shithole of a ship. Fear stung in his throat, feeling a lot like the telltale sign of tears.
The captain stared at him for a long moment and then sat back in her creaky leather chair. “We’ll be arriving in three hours to the Tsarina. Best you get some shut-eye before we get there.”
His fear became a cold knot in his stomach. “You’re . . . letting me live?”
“We aren’t all like you Ironbloods, Robbert Valerio. Sometimes, people make mistakes,” she replied, and his cheeks burned in embarrassment. She held out the iron ore. “But a word of warning: if you ever decide to take someone else’s last name again, make sure you don’t already have one first.”
Nodding, Robb took the ore, wrist burning from the chip. He should tell her about it—
But if he did, he would be off this ship faster than he could blink, and then he wouldn’t be any closer than he was before to finding his father. And besides, he was sure this terrifying captain and her crew could take on a few Valerio soldiers.
Of course they could.
Whoever his mother sent couldn’t be that close behind.
I have time, he told himself, and for the moment he believed it, his side aching a little more with each passing moment. It was a different kind of pain this time. Sore. Shuddering. It hurt to breathe. He put his hand against his side instinctively.
He escaped the captain’s quarters as quickly as he could, not seeing Ana eavesdropping by the doorway until it was too late. They collided, and the rock went skittering across the floor.
“Sorry—ow, ow, ow—” he hissed, clutching his wounded side, before he remembered the iron ore. “Shit, where did it—”
“This?” She picked it up.
“Oh, careful, it . . .” His words trailed off. The iron ore didn’t rust against her fingers.
A chill raced down his spine.
Was her hand artificial? It looked real enough, and a cut on her finger looked recent, freshly scabbed over.
He studied her, trying to jog some long-repressed memory from his childhood, waiting to recognize her—or for her to recognize him.
If the Tsarina had escaped—if his father had escaped . . .
He racked his brain to remember the princess. He’d always played with her older brothers, so their paths had never crossed much. Dark hair. Golden-brown eyes. Always running around barefoot.
He would have recognized her, wouldn’t he?
Ana eased away from him. “You okay?”
“I—I’m fine,” he quickly replied, looking away. It was just a trick. What were the odds? He shook his head, holding out his hand for the ore. “Just . . . wishing I wasn’t a Valerio right about now.”
Her mouth twitched. “At least you’ve got a last name.”
“You don’t?”
“The captain found me and Di in an escape pod. I don’t remember much.” She handed the ore back. Still, her fingers had no rust on them, while the ore left a trail of burnt red across his skin. “My parents were ship traders. The captain said they died in a mercenary attack.”
“Oh.” So she was not the lost princess. The princess had died—the entire royal family had. “I’m—I’m terribly sorry.” He put the ore back into his pocket, other hand still holding tight to his side, and leaned against the wall as she left for the crew’s quarters.
His head was buzzing too much to think, a jumbled, tumbling mess. There was a girl on this ship who didn’t rust. A ship merchant’s daughter who didn’t rust.
He sucked in another painful breath. Had he pulled a stitch?
Jax emerged from the stairwell, tugging his ponytail, until he noticed Robb leaning against the wall. He quirked a silvery eyebrow. “The captain let you off easy, did she?”
“Do you want a thank-you or something?”
“An apology will do.”
“Ha—is that all?”
His fingers were wet, but he didn’t want to draw his hand away. His side hurt so badly it brought tears to his eyes, but he would be damned if he cried in front of Jax. “You knew that if I stayed, the captain would give me another chance.”
“I wasn’t lying. I can’t lie.”
Robb pushed off the wall. “Is that the spiel you give every . . .” His head swam, words floating away. The ship tilted—or was it him? Weakly, he grappled for the side of the wall to steady himself, but his hand slipped against it, slick with blood.
Jax lurched forward and caught him by the arm before his face met the floor, and steadied him.
Everything was spinning. And smelled like lavender and blood.
He hated lavender. He wanted to hate it.
“You did pull a stitch—or twelve,” said the Solani, and it was strange because all cocky pretense was gone, leaving his voice soft and lilting—like a song. “Can you make it to the infirmary?”
Robb nodded, and the Solani helped him—slowly, with more patience than he would have thought—to the infirmary downstairs. The lights flickered on, so bright he had to squint. He hated infirmaries. Especially this one. He would be happy never to see it again. Jax helped him up onto the gurney and retrieved a medical kit, pulling Robb’s shirt up on one side.
Everything made him dizzy, so he trained his eyes on Jax’s gloved fingers as they pressed a piece of gauze against the wound, soaking up the blood seeping through the stitches. The Solani’s face was blank, his hair falling across his shoulder, reminding Robb of starlight.
He used to love looking at the stars, but he couldn’t remember the last time he had. Not since Aran Umbal.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” he asked dimly.
“Scared that a star-kisser’ll screw you up?”
He felt the tips of his ears reddening. “I’m sorry I called you that. And I meant because you’re a pilot, not a medic.”
“Don’t put me in a box, little lord—I might just surprise you. Hold still—”
“Aah!” He cried out in pain, trying to pull away as Jax took out the broken stitch. He blinked and tears stuck to his lashes.
Perfect, he was crying in front of a Solani. Valerios didn’t cry. Not from pain. Not at funerals. Not even for Aran Umbal. Goddess strike me.
He gritted his teeth, willing himself to stop. “Numbing it first would be—be grand.”
“Oh, must’ve slipped my mind,” the Solani replied offhandedly, taking a numbing agent from the medical kit and administering it around the wound. “Do you know where the word comes from? ‘Star-kisser’?”
The pain ebbed with the medicine. Robb took his first full breath. “The stars?”
“My, you’re a genius.” Jax began to restitch the wound with the suture pen. “Long before we came to the Iron Kingdom, my people learned how to see the future in the stars. What may be, what will be, and what will never be. With this knowledge, we created a great empire and prospered for thousands of years.”
“Really?”
“That’s what the stories say. Until one day, the stars began to blink out, and the D’thverek—what your lovely people call the Great Dark—came for our sun. We had relied on the stars for so long that we didn’t know how to defend ourselves, so we took what remained of our people and fled to where the stars pointed—here.”
“So . . . you can read the stars? Like the rumors say?”
Jax snorted. “Please. We can barely read our own mother tongue anymore. Over the generations, we fell in love with humans and Cercians, and we forgot.”
“But, theoretically, if there were any Solani who never married Erosians or Cercians . . . they still could?”
Jax raised his eyes to Robb’s. They were more red than violet—like a dying star—and Robb felt as if the Solani was telling him a secret in that stare, one that his mouth could not form words to. The smell of lavender was making him light-headed for a completely different reason.
“Theoretically, anything could be possible,” the Solani finally said, cutting his eyes away. He took another strip of gauze from the medical kit and wrapped Robb’s wound again. Jax’s long, gloved fingers felt whisper-soft, making goose bumps shiver across Robb’s skin. “And . . . we’re all done. Better than the Metal, if I do say so myself.”
Robb tugged down his shirt and sat straight again. If a Solani couldn’t lie, he found himself asking, “If you—if you could read my fate in the stars, do you think I’ll find my father?”
The silver-haired boy blinked. “Truthfully?”
“Truthfully.”
Jax reached up. Robb winced, thinking he’d slug him again, but Jax brushed his thumb across Robb’s busted bottom lip, so gently it sent a shiver down his spine. “Please don’t ask,” he whispered, and left Robb alone in the infirmary with a plea that sounded more like an answer.