Free The Swan Riders by Erin Bow

looked to the sky. “They used to make wasabi paste in little tubes. I swear to God one of these days I’m going to reindustrialize Japan.”
    Everyone ignored him. Even among the Swan Riders, for whom he was a god, ignoring Talis was a vital skill.
    â€œThe PanPols in general are restive,” he said, with a glance at me. It was the kind of sidelong glance a parent gives you when they are talking about you but don’t want you to notice. “But Saskatoon specifically . . . This is your post, Francis. What do you think? Likely to be hostile?”
    â€œHistorically, not.” Francis Xavier was watching the horizon in slow sweeps, guarding us from any incoming threats. “But if you are sending a trade party, do not send me.”
    Talis scrunched his nose at the back of Francis Xavier’s head.
    â€œAnd don’t go yourself,” said Sri. She looked pointedly at Talis.
    â€œMe?” said the AI. “What did I do?”
    â€œYou ordered the death of one of their matriarchs, remember?” said Sri. “It wasn’t that long ago.”
    â€œOh,” said Talis. “That.”
    That. When Elián Palnik had attempted to escape our Precepture, Talis had suspected the trommellers of Saskatoon of helping him. They probably hadn’t, and he probably knew it. But he had still demanded an execution, just to make a point.
    â€œBut they wouldn’t recognize Talis.”
    â€œNot Talis,” said Sri. “Rachel and Francis Xavier.”
    I made my eyebrows draw together, though it felt—human facial expressions sometimes felt artificial to me, like communicating by semaphore. I am puzzled , I flashed at Sri.
    She shrugged and mimicked my face. “Who do you think carried out that execution, my little AI? That’s a job for Swan Riders.”
    â€œWell, then,” said Talis. “That should keep them in line for a bit, then, don’t you think?”
    That met with a windswept silence.
    â€œ. . . Or not.” Talis shrugged. “Okay. So, on a scale of zero to Get the Hell Out of Dodge, what are we at?”
    â€œTwo point six,” said Sri.
    â€œYou know, normally I’d roll the dice on that, but—”
    â€œBut Greta’s worth a city.”
    â€œTwo or three cities.” We were all sitting on horseback, facing inward, a four-pointed star. “Greta is a political flashpoint for half the continent, which is clearly already a powder keg. I’m not exposing her to these people.”
    â€œDon’t I get a vote?” I asked. “Or possibly a small aside on this demonstration of the limits of peace through terror?”
    â€œYeah,” said Talis. “How about, survive the road trip and then we’ll talk about ruling the world.”
    â€œIf we’re voting, I still vote oats,” said Sri.
    He shook his head. “It’s a big empty and a small city. We can go round.”
    â€œTalis,” said Sri. “You can risk me without risking Greta. The oats would speed us. And I’m not sure we have a lot of time.”
    And that made Talis look at me.
    It was one of those moments when he didn’t look human. His eyes were calculating machines, and light glinted strangely off the screens in his retinas, as if he were a cat.
    â€œFine.” He snapped back round to look at Sri. “Fine, go. It will have to be just you. Feel them out. Do it cautiously. Don’t be long.” It was a don’t with firepower behind it. “And put on your wings.”
    The Swan Riders wore such conspicuous wings for a reason, and it boiled down to protection. It was generally known that anyone who burned a hair on a Swan Rider’s head was likely to be publicly set afire. Sri’s wings would protect her. Or rather, they would protect her if the people she encountered didn’t have it in for the Swan Riders. Which was, of course, exactly what we suspected.
    Sri twisted away