Chapter Ten
“WHEN WE RISE, THOSE IN THE SKY WILL FALL.”
—CALLING CARD OF THE SKYWAYMAN
The thief known as the Skywayman has only been working on Trinity for about a year, but you wouldn’t know it from his reputation.
He’d burst onto the scene by ripping off a commerce giant who lived in a wildly fashionable homestead above the town of Charity, breaking into his top-of-the-line vault and cleaning him out of almost a quarter of a million paper worth of jewelry and other valuables.
He pulled off three more heists against major skyliner citizens over the next several months—a high-paid head summoner, the woman in charge of half the creditors over six continents, even the right-hand man of a Heraldic Minister. No one seemed to be out of the Skywayman’s league.
Down in the dust, the Skywayman became a legend, a figure who was respected, revered, even somewhat loved. Rumors sprouted that he didn’t keep his stolen prizes, that he funneled the cash down into the hands of dusters. The story of the Skywayman grew twice as fast as his criminal record.
I never knew Orion as the Skywayman. When we were children, he’d just been O, my best friend, who’d helped me watch out for Halle and Kelda.
Later, he had been a beautiful idiot with a star-bright smile who’d gotten caught up in all his big, idealistic plans, all the ways he wanted us to change the world.
It’d swept him along until we couldn’t understand each other anymore.
But now …
An idealistic dreamer with a lot of moral principles is exactly what I need. And one with expert thieving skills and an information network extensive enough to pull off massive heists doesn’t really hurt, either.
Just gotta get to him first.
Balancing on the platform, air screaming past my ears, I adjust my goggles, scanning through the wall in front of me.
It looks like there are only two figures in this next car.
One person in the middle of the room, another one standing a few feet away.
Inching forward, I press my ear against the door and catch the hum of tinny music and droning voices that sound like footage from the dailies.
And someone, talking loudly, keeping up a steady stream of commentary.
“—just saying that as far as compelling stories go, this one is somewhat lacking—”
I know that voice. Although, it’s definitely deeper than I remember.
I pick my spot, phasing into a corner all the way across the train car.
Immediately, the noise of the footage blasts my ears, so loud it’s close to painful.
Orion, it turns out, is the figure in the middle.
He’s strapped down to a chair with his head in a brace to keep him pointed at blaring images of the divinity of the Heralds and the glory of Trinity.
A vicious, raised bruise graces one of his cheekbones, and there’s dried blood underneath his nose.
Facing him, with their hands neatly folded and their back to me, is a warden.
This, apparently, is the person Orion has been trying to entertain with his running thoughts. When he spots me in the corner, Orion’s eyes flick in my direction and his voice falters—just for a heartbeat.
But it’s long enough.
The warden whirls around, drawing their golden gun and shoving it in my face.
I tilt my head at them. “Any way you could cut the reel, goldbelly? It’s really annoying.”
“They don’t like it when you call them goldbelly, V,” Orion calls from his prison chair. “Discovered that one myself recently.”
It knocks me off-balance for a second to hear him call me V. To have anyone address Val when the Butcher is at work. It’s surreal, like staring at heat shimmers on the horizon. “Thanks for the tip.”
The warden spins the charge on their pulse pistol, cranking up the intensity as they scowl at me. Their longcoat is bedazzled with medals and badges that clink together whenever they so much as breathe. “I am a chosen warrior of the Heralds. I do not fear the hands of demons.”
Demons. That one is new. I think I like it better than being called a saint, though.
“Let’s all just take it easy here, huh?” Orion says. His tone is light, friendly, but there’s a touch of nervousness underneath it. “V, this is my new best friend, Clarence, and I’d really love it if we could keep him—”
I’m vapor in the air. With Wrath in one hand and Mercy in the other, I phase above the warden and drop, burying the blades deep into the armor gaps on either side of his neck and then ripping them out again with no remorse.
Clarence isn’t dead before he hits the floor, but it only takes a few more seconds.
Orion blanches. “—alive.”
I wipe the blood from my knives and turn to him, pushing my goggles onto my forehead and taking off my hood so I can see him with my own eyes.
He’s still tall, at least a head taller than me, but stronger and fitter than he was three years ago when he was just a skinny kid.
The ultrabright lights overhead throw shadows across his face, which has lost all signs of the boyish roundness I remember.
He grimaces at the dead warden at my feet, looking a little sick to his stomach.
And also, just for a moment, deeply sad.
I cross my arms. “Don’t tell me you’ve started mourning assholes like this now.”
His mouth twists into a rueful expression. “He wasn’t the one I was mourning.”
My eyes narrow as I catch his implication. “I’d worry more about yourself,” I snap, gesturing at the bonds on his wrists and ankles and head. “Considering your predicament.”
“Predicament is a really strong word.” He brings his gaze back up to me. “Of all the faces I expected to see, yours was not one of them. Are you here to rescue me?”
“Something like that.” I crouch down beside the warden’s body and flip him over onto his back with zero respect or reverence so I can get at the keys hooked to his belt. “Actually … I need your help.”
“My help. Valene Bruinn, the infamous Butcher, needs my help.”
“Go ahead and rub it in. I’ll throw you right off this speeding train.
” I straighten, flipping through the keys as I turn back around—only to find Orion standing right in front of me, rolling his neck, rubbing at his noticeably unshackled wrists.
I’m glad my mask is still covering most of my face to hide the fact that my mouth is hanging open in surprise.
“Weren’t you locked up?”
He looks back at the chair, with its chains and cuffs dangling uselessly. “Oh, that. Theoretically, yes. In actuality, it was more like voluntary captivity.”
Voluntary captivity. I scowl as I take in his expression. All casual and relaxed. “The wardens never arrested you, did they? You just let yourself get caught.”
He shrugs, a little sheepish. “If I say yes, will you be mad or impressed?”
“I don’t know,” I bite out. “Why don’t you try me.”
He shakes his head, laughing. “See, no, that’s a trap because you’re gonna be mad. I can tell.”
I didn’t calculate on Orion getting more irritating over the years. He’s weaponized that playful sense of humor that I thought was so fun when we were kids.
Bastard.
“Fine, I’ll bite,” I say as he kneels down beside the warden’s body and starts to go through his longcoat, his belt, his pockets. “What are you doing getting yourself deliberately thrown onto a prison train? And one headed for the Ninth Circle on top of that?”
“It wasn’t about the train; it was about the man on it.
See, the Ministry has a lot of secrets that I’d love to get my hands on.
” He pauses to pat the golden breastplate none too gently.
“And Clarence here was a high warden with access to all kinds of fun places. I was going to use him to get into the Ninth Circle because I heard they have some information down there I might be interested in, but that’s not really going to work now. ”
He shoots me a pointed look, but I pretend not to see it, closely examining Reason as he continues searching the body.
He makes a little noise of triumph, and I glance up to see him pulling two items no bigger than his hand from a secret pocket beneath the warden’s gold breastplate.
One is a scarlet-red crystal about the size of his palm, and the other is a flat metal card with words etched on it. Looks like a telegram dispatch.
“Not bad, Clarence, not bad at all…,” he murmurs as he slips the crystal into his inner vest pocket and brings the telegram dispatch closer to his face so he can read it.
I hear him take a short, sharp intake of breath as he skims the metal, but the next moment, he’s pocketing that, too, and turning to me with a bright, eager grin.
“The whole plan for this job is really an interesting story if you want to hear it.”
I meet him with a scowl. “I don’t.”
“Right. The help thing you mentioned.” He steps toward me, close enough for me to feel the slight increase in warmth from his body heat. “What happened?”
I can’t think for a second. It’s too strange to have him standing here, right in front of me, his easy smile and the cadence of his voice so familiar.
So comforting. Somehow he even smells the same as he did all those years ago.
It makes my skin tingle all over underneath my kit.
My throat closes up, and I have to swallow hard to make room for my words.
I take a step back to give myself a little more air. “The Gold Town Gang came for me. Blew up our lodgings, took Halle and Kelda.”
Orion’s voice is barely more than a whisper. “Took them, as in…?”