Page 17 of Cage of Starlight

It’s Randall, wide-eyed and tensed to run. “They’re right. I—I don’t think you want to fight with them. They’re . . . I mean, and fighting in the facility is—”

“You go on. My winnings are yours if you want to keep playing.” Randall doesn’t deserve to get caught up in this. “I’m just gonna settle this first. This guy thought it was a good idea to start something.”

Another dart digs a furrow into the side of the table before breaking against the wall.

Randall careens from the room with a few others.

That wasn’t what Tory meant when he told Randall to go on, but it works. The twinge of regret—maybe he just lost the one ally he has in this place—lasts only as long as it takes Gavin to pick up a third dart.

Tory puts the day’s training to work. He gets it now: the dart’s velocity has two distinct flavors—that blunted kinetic heft and the skin-tingling energy he’s been breathing since he got here.

He tears both of them away, stealing the combined force and throwing it at Gavin’s chest. The dart stops midair, falling with a faint clatter.

Gavin is blown back a couple steps as the stolen energy crashes into him.

He curls around himself, retching, and Tory smiles.

This whole shitshow has been worth it for teaching him this.

For the first time, he’s not under someone else’s boot.

Holding a life in his hands is a potent thing.

He could hurt Gavin. A small part of him—the part that worked so long as a Healer—balks at the harm he’s caused, but a bigger part, a growing part, wants to cause more.

The ever-present hum of voices dies all at once. One moment, the room brims with them. The next, it’s silent enough to hear the scuff of boots on the floor.

Then, “Arknett.”

Behind him.

He spins, vision still sharp, unspent anger like acid inside him, and there’s the person who put him here: there’s Sena Vantaras, the one he really wants to fight.

“Perfect timing.” Tory’s cheeks ache with the grin that stretches them.

Gavin stumbles upright. “I didn’t—”

“I’ll deal with you later.” Vantaras’ gaze flicks to Tory. “You, on the other hand . . .”

He grabs the neck of Tory’s shirt and jerks him off balance, taking advantage of the confusion to drag Tory out of the rec room. “Be grateful,” he hisses, “that your friend Randall came to me. Had the colonel been disturbed, you’d be well on your way to getting a NOVA.”

“Grateful!” Tory reaches to shove Vantaras’ hand away, but he retreats before Tory can make contact. “I don’t care—”

“If you don’t, you’re more of a fool than I gave you credit for, and I credit your intelligence hardly at all. Return to your room.” Vantaras walks away.

Oh, he’s had enough of this. Tory stalks after him, closing a hand around the sleeve of his dress uniform to grip a surprisingly thin wrist. “What gives? I get you’re a constipated rich kid with a stick up his ass, but what’s with this ?”

“With what?”

Tory spins Vantaras around. “ This . These gloves, the way you can’t stand some peasant touching you.”

“I assure you—” Vantaras tears the hand from his grasp, face flashing disgust.

Tory lunges.

Vantaras avoids it, and when Tory looks up, he’s a ways down the hall, spine straight as he stares down his nose. “You misunderstand,” he’s saying. “If you’d—”

Tory could break that nose. “I don’t care.” He does, he does, he does. “You did this.”

“ Me ? You’re doing this to yourself with your recklessness.”

Tory shakes his head, advancing. “Why me, you bastard? I was fine out there!”

“I was under orders. If you hadn’t been so obvious with that display with the carriage, I could have pretended not to notice and reported the stellite resonance incident at the mines as an inexplicable phenomenon, but you made such a mess that my competence would have been in question if I didn’t apprehend you. ”

“Competence?” Tory’s vision bleeds red. “It was my life !”

The Seed energy in the rec room lights Tory up as it passes through him. The fight in the ring must have restarted. He bears the destructive force only long enough to sling it at Vantaras.

Then—nothing. He doesn’t even realize he was tracking the energy until it’s gone.

Vantaras stands untouched, uniform just so and not a hair out of place. “You’ll have to try harder than that, Worldseed.”

That word , 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 I bled to 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—and oh , 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 my Lune-ass self appeals 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 fucking Seed . My superior? You’re right down here with the animals, 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 know nothing .”

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 never hid 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.”

“ You can 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 that couldn’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.