Two of the young guards raised their staves and moved toward the bound boy. Though he was outnumbered and unarmed, they moved with inexplicable caution. Instead of prodding him as Caledonia has expected them to do, they halted just shy of touching him, their nerves evident in the way they choked their weapons. The crowd roared, eager to move things along, and the guards drew new confidence from that anger, driving their staves into the boy’s back. He stumbled, but after a long second strode purposefully, even proudly, up the steps and onto the stage. When he turned to face the audience Caledonia nearly gasped.

It was Oran.

Chapter Nineteen

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Onstage, Oran was perfectly calm, but Caledonia’s heart was racing.

She took in every inch of him, from the warm brown of his tree-ring eyes to the split on his full bottom lip, from the shadow of a bruise on his jaw to the wide planes of his cheeks. He was thinner than he’d been, every muscle in his brown torso cut into perfect relief. His ribs were darkened with cloudy bruises, but it was the old scatter of brilliant orange scars splayed like lightning across those bruises that trapped her gaze.

He raised his chin and looked out over the square. The audience seemed to draw back a step, and an unexpected silence snaked through the crowd. Then their fear morphed into anger and they roared.

Sister took a single step toward Oran and raised a hand between them. In it a long blade gleamed.

“Our brother was once the proudest among us. Fiveson Oran. We all remember the moment he disappointed the Father and fell from glory. But he has fallen farther still!” She paused, allowing space for the crowd to voice its disapproval. “He joined that mutinous radical, the still-at-large Caledonia Styx!” The crowd roared at that. “Attacked us where he once professed loyalty!” Again, the roar rose in the night sky. “And tonight we will give him exactly what he wants. We will cut him away.”

Now she brought down her knife, slashing through Oran’s bicep and his bandolier.

Blood wept down Oran’s arm, dripping onto the stage by his feet, but he made no show of pain. His only movement was the slow turn of his head toward Sister. His gaze was cold and deadly, and the entire audience held their breath with something akin to terror.

With a jolt Caledonia realized that it wasn’t Sister they feared.

It was Oran.

He was both the same boy she’d met on the deck of her ship and someone entirely new. These Bullets didn’t know him as she did. They knew him as something altogether different, and she was beginning to understand that he was still very much a stranger to her.

Sister swept her robes behind her and called out, “Recruits!”