Steal the Sky

Chapter 32

Thratia had retrieved Ripka’s blues and forced her to wear them. It shamed her to know that she would stand before the people of Aransa in judgment while wearing the uniform she’d donned to protect them, but the warden had insisted. And though she’d rather rip the coat off and smother Thratia with it, she wasn’t exactly positioned to protest.

“I am sorry about this, you know.” Thratia sat on the mudbrick bench beside her and leaned her head against the wall, giving them the illusion of intimacy. All around her Thratia’s militiamen skulked, hands ready on weapons. Ripka made a point of not looking in the Valathean dignitary’s direction. She kept her eyes straight ahead, her gaze indistinct. She would give them no sign of her anger. Of her fear.

The guardhouse was still night-chilled, and they’d lit only the bare minimum of lamps to stave off the desert heat a little longer. Ripka was grateful for that. She was going to have plenty of time to get acquainted with the sun, no sense in rushing it.

“If you were truly sorry you’d let me go.”

“Can’t do it. I know you think I’m after the power, captain, but the truth is I want the best for this city. The only way it’s going to survive what’s coming is with a strong hand at the tiller. Something Galtro just couldn’t provide.”

“So you got rid of him, then? I’m going to die anyway, you might as well relieve the burden with a confession before I go.” She clamped her jaw shut, regretting the ragged anger of her tone.

“Galtro was dead the moment he took that job. It was just a matter of time.” She shrugged one shoulder, infuriatingly indifferent to the destruction she’d wrought.

“His wardenship candidacy?”

“No, no. Being the mine master. You haven’t been here long enough to see it, captain. I know you come from a town with no sel mines. The truth of it is, souls just don’t last that job. Suicide, or a vengeance killing, one or the other always catches up eventually.”

Ripka clenched damp palms, taking a breath to smooth the raw edge creeping into her voice. “He was good at his job, he made sure the miners were as safe as they could be. Only had one accident during his whole tenure.”

“One’s enough. Regardless, there are other duties that come with that job.”

“Like what?”

Thratia tipped her chin in the direction of the whitecoat. Callia had her back to them, long and straight, impervious to the dust and grit all around her. Ripka got chills just looking at her. She pitched her voice low.

“What will you do with Aransa, Thratia?”

The once-commodore pursed her lips and leaned forward, letting her forearms rest against her knees. She stayed quiet longer than was comfortable, Ripka’s stomach knotting over and over again. When Thratia spoke, her voice was markedly gentle.

“You won’t be around to see it, lass. And that’s a blessing.”

Thratia pushed to her feet and dusted her hands, wiping away Ripka with each stroke. “Best prepare your conscience, yeah? Sun’s coming up.”

Gathering a breath of courage, Ripka said, “I’ve a favor to ask of you, warden.”

Thratia paused, cocked her head to the side to watch Ripka from one eye. “Ask it.”

She clenched her jaw, knowing what that meant. Knowing no promises would be made, no favors kept if they didn’t thread their way conveniently through Thratia’s plans. Ripka straightened her shoulders and met Thratia’s stare. “Whatever happens, do not instigate a purge.”

Genuine surprise widened Thratia’s eyes, pursed her lips. Ripka held her breath as the ex-commodore cast a sideways glance at Callia. The whitecoat wasn’t paying them any attention. Thratia turned, leaned down to bring her face closer to Ripka’s and whispered, her voice harsh and her breath hot with anger. “Understand this – I will not allow such a thing to happen. Never.”

Ripka leaned her back against the cool wall and watched Thratia stroll to Callia’s side, her heart thundering in her ears with every step. Of course. Thratia’d never wanted a purge for Aransa; but the doppel sure had needed a stick of fear to jab Ripka with. Sick laughter threatened to break through Ripka’s lips, but she swallowed it down.

Watching from beneath her lashes, Ripka studied Callia, or tried to, her attention kept drifting to her once-sergeant. Banch stood beside the whitecoat at parade rest, wringing his hands behind his back because he thought no one would notice them. He kept trying to catch Ripka’s eye, to give her some sort of signal that he was sorry. That he’d never wanted any of this to happen. That he’d had no idea he’d be the new watch captain.

Poor sod didn’t even know Ripka had recommended him.

Taellen lingered nearby, back straight enough to match the whitecoat’s, a barely controlled tremble of fear in the tightness of his jaw. Though he stood at attention, his eyes were downcast, his mouth curved into a soft frown. Ripka couldn’t work out why Thratia had decided to drag the rookie out here for this, and decided she didn’t care. Whatever the reason, there was nothing she could do about it now.

She closed her eyes and sighed. Banch was a good man. He wouldn’t be fool enough to let his emotions be played by a common murderer. He’d take care of the city when she was gone.

Gone. She had to stop thinking like that. Detan was shifty as the night, but he had a core of goodness in him. He wouldn’t let her down if he could help it.

As the sun crept skyward, spilling warmth and light through the cracks in the brick, she couldn’t help but think of all the things she might have done differently in her life. All the paths that wouldn’t have led her to this bench.

Digging deep, she summoned up the face of her mother. Her father. How long had it been? She’d lost count, and time apart had smoothed the details of her recollection. One piece was still clear, her father’s voice, raspy with dry amusement, spine like iron, brain like a boulder, that’s my girl.

“Time to go, captain.”

Ripka stood. Straightened her blues. She did not let them help her up the ladder.