Page 20 of Cage of Starlight

“Wonderful.” Riese’s eyes glint. He pulls the doors wide and gestures inside with an elaborate after you sort of flourish.

“Forgive my unkind words earlier. In my experience, the creatures in the Box are either rabid or tragically domesticated. It’s rare to meet one like you.

” He says it like it’s an honor, like he sees something amazing in Tory.

The fire flares brighter. “If it’s tearing throats out that you’re after, I think we can accommodate you.

” His wide grin goes dangerous, and Tory can’t help echoing it.

“It would seem we’ve all gotten lucky today.

I happened to be out west doing some reconnaissance and caught up with Ariana here to hitch a ride to the border. ”

West. Hulven is not far west. “There’s a mining town out there,” Tory blurts, foot half-lifted to get him into the car.

Riese’s smile warms. “I saw it. Cozy little place. Vines are doing a number on the wall.”

Tory wants to say did it look well? but he forces his lips to close around the words. “You could use someone like me?”

“We need someone like you. Take your time thinking. I have to speak with some friends across the border about a little joint mission of ours, so you can mull it over until we arrive, but I think you’ll say yes.”

“No.” Hasra pushes Tory up into the car. “Riese, leave it.”

“You leave it,” Riese snaps, and sighs when Hasra just scowls. “Why? He yours?”

“He is.” Hasra climbs up and guides Tory to join a huddling crowd against the back wall.

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 he wants freedom.

All the stories he’s heard burst to life in his head: 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 of whoa, whoa jolt 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.

The voices fade and re-emerge, coming closer.

“ This one has fabric. You can look inside if you’d like .”

“ No need. The animals are well trained .”

The grind of boots on gravel, then what Tory recognizes as the skittering of canine feet.

“Well, gentlemen.” The voices are louder, closer. Too close. “This one’s empty, as I said.”

“All right,” Ariana says. “Here goes nothing.”

Tory bears no weapon that would matter. Hasra grabs his arms and pulls him to her, heart thundering against his back.

Ariana covers the boy’s mouth and leans forward before the door opens, blinding them.

She stares straight into the eyes of the soldier holding the door. His dog erupts in snarls and scrambles up, baring its teeth.

Ariana’s father makes a distressed noise, but his face remains impassive. His eyes find Tory and widen.

“See? I told you it was empty,” Belmin says, faint. He trips to the left as the snarling dog snaps near his elbow.

“I see.” The soldier leans in.

The dog claws halfway inside, growling deep and deadly, dripping saliva.

The soldiers do nothing.

“Ari,” a petite girl with short, spiked black hair whispers. “The dog.”

“ Wyn, ” Ariana echoes. “You know how I am with animals. You take care of it, if it’s bothering you so much.”

“Fine.” With a playful kiss to Ariana’s cheek, the girl she called Wyn sprints to the front, dodging the frothing dog’s teeth to lay a feather-light hand on its head.

It slumps, weak and whimpering, falling back to the ground.

“Well, then!” Ariana’s father booms, looking studiously away. “Mr. and Mrs. Rost are waiting for their lacquerware, and Yarana Vantaras personally requested three bolts of fabric for her daughter’s Dedication. I don’t want either of us to stand in the way of that.”

“Certainly not, Mr. Belmin.”

“Good! Please, gentlemen. I’ll walk you back.”

Belmin, flustered, pushes the doors closed in the wrong order. The left one creaks open a foot or so as the soldiers retreat. That was too damn close.

Tory gestures at the door. “Should I . . .?”

“I’ll get it as soon as I can feel my legs again.” Ariana slumps against the wall, the girl she called Wyn already sinking to the ground beside her. “That was a mess.”

Riese scrubs a hand down his face. “Never a dull moment with you, Ms. Belmin.”

A hand grabs the door from outside, and Ari calls, “Thanks, Dad! I would’ve got it—”

No.

Tory has a half-second advantage on everyone else, because the hand doesn’t push the door closed, it pulls it open.

And it bears a far-too-familiar white glove.