I withdraw my hand. “Where is Athena?” I ask. “Our pilot needs to know where to go.”
“Europa. Athena has taken the Deep,” Cheon answers.
“Which city?” Sevro asks.
“The whole bloody thing,” she says. “We know Europa’s next, after Callisto. We’re ready. The Deep is impregnable. We’ll blow the sealifts soon as they breach atmosphere. Even an Obsidian arm isn’t long enough to reach the bottom of the sea. But Fá’s welcome to drown trying.”
Aurae is confused. “And the people on the surface?”
Cheon shrugs. “That’s a question for Athena.”
57
LYRIA
Lamps in the Storm
The ship shudders fromturbulence as we descend on Europa. My mag boots clunk as I go into theArchimedes’s tiny brig. The Obsidian sits up behind the duroglass. He is Darrow’s height but a little more slender. He looks confused as I squat on the floor. The swaying of the ship makes my head ache. “I have questions,” I say in Nagal.
“Who are you? How do you speak our language?” he asks.
“You’re the one in the cell,” I reply. “I ask the questions.”
“You are the one who hacked the door and turned the camera off,” he says, nodding to the camera above. “Darrow does not know you are here. So let us be polite. I am Sigurd, son of Skarde, of the tribe of the—”
“Volga Fjorgan. This name ring a bell?” He snorts. I pull the sidearm I filched from the armory and set it on my knee. “Does her name ring a bell?” He chuckles. “What’s so funny?”
“You are saying: ‘Does this name ring my balls.’ ”
“Oh.”
“It is not your fault. We have many words for snow, ice, death, and especially balls. I can speak in Common very well, if you prefer,” he replies in Common. “You do not need that gun. I am a friend of Red.” I narrow my eyes. “You do not believe me. That is all right. I am in a cell.”
“Volga Fjorgan,” I say.
“Yes. I know the name. There are not many women Obsidian amongst us. Part of the stupidity that brought us out here was blaming them for our years of slavery. They sold us, their boys, it is true, but it was animpossible choice. Sell us or all their children die, boys and girls. Gold is good at shifting blame. But it is Volarus. Not Fjorgan.”
“What else?” I ask.
“I do not know. I am Fifth Band.” He shows five torcs made of iron on his wrist. “Not First Band. My father complains too much to be close to Fá’s favor. But warriors love gossip. I know she is the Fá’s granddaughter, but Fá calls her daughter. She follows him like a shadow—”
“She’s not imprisoned?” I ask.
He frowns. “Not that I know. She was given a command for Callisto, this much I’ve heard.”
“A command?”
“Ja. Soldiers of her own. To make this a kingdom for the Volk. A good little soldier.”
I shake my head. “That’s not true. She’d never help with this.”
He shrugs. “If you call me a liar we will have to fight.” He waits and I don’t. “There is gossip too. That she was an unnatural birth. A freak from a Grimmus tube. And—”
“She’s not a freak,” I snap.
He smiles, a little sad. “We are all freaks,” he says and shows his sigils. “They made us so.”
—
