Starfall

by Melissa Landers

  She laughed, clinging to his neck for a moment before returning the embrace. “Well, hello to you, too.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, even as he squeezed her tighter. “I know this is completely out of line, but I missed you so much.” He buried his nose at the base of her neck. “You have no idea how glad I am to have you home.”

  Once he set her down, she linked an arm through his. “We have a lot of catching up to do.” She winked and led him toward the prison block. “Let’s start in here. We’ll have plenty of privacy.”

  “Anything for my queen,” he said with a grin.

  The jail was dark, which seemed to intensify the echo of their footsteps as they proceeded deeper into the room. All the cells were empty, as was the guard station. They strolled leisurely to the center cell, the one that used to belong to Marius, and then she untangled their arms and switched on a single light.

  “How did the locks disengage?” she asked. The cell door was ajar, so she opened it further, inspecting the latch.

  “Someone hacked the system and triggered the universal release switch. Then they cut the main power and the backup supply to keep the doors open.”

  She stepped inside the cell and peered at the door hinge. “But this cell had extra protection.” She thumbed over her shoulder at the bed, still rumpled from Marius’s final night there. “What about the charged floor panels?”

  “All of it is electrical.” Jordan crossed the threshold to join her. “It happened in the middle of the night during a shift change. The guards barely knew what hit them.”

  “Any suspects?”

  “We think the rebels are behind it.”

  “Is the power restored now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” In a flash of motion, she spun around to the other side of the door and slammed it shut. The lock engaged with a buzz-click and trapped Jordan inside. Then she held out a hand, nodding at the pistol holstered at his hip. “Give me your sidearm.”

  His lips curved in a hesitant smile, as if he didn’t understand the joke. “What’s this?”

  “You and I are going to talk,” she said, extending her palm. “After you give me your sidearm.” When he didn’t move, she added, “Your queen just gave you an order. I am still your queen, aren’t I?”

  By way of answer, he unfastened the safety strap, then removed his pistol and passed it through the bars, handle first.

  “Your com-devices, too.”

  He handed those over as well.

  After setting the items well beyond his reach, she stood in front of the cell door and folded both arms across her chest. “So, tell me. How is Kane’s mother feeling these days?”

  “How would I know?”

  “Because you were just with her at the farmhouse where she lives. I recognized the walls from all the times she called Kane on the Banshee.”

  Jordan’s face fell into the openmouthed stare of a man realizing he’d been busted.

  “And that got me thinking,” Cassia went on. “I was quick to blame Kane when the rebels raided our armory, but he said he didn’t tell anyone the location. And Kane doesn’t lie to me. His bluntness is the reason for half our fights. So I believe him. Two other people knew where those weapons were stored.” She pointed back and forth between them. “I didn’t tell anyone. That leaves you.”

  Jordan stayed quiet, his face pale.

  “Which got me thinking again,” she said. “What motivation could you possibly have to put weapons in rebel hands unless you were a rebel yourself?”

  “Cassia,” he breathed. “Let me—”

  “Wait, I’m not finished.” She laced her fingers behind her back. “Once I realized you were one of them, everything made sense—like the day you visited me in Marius’s dungeon. You could’ve rescued me, but instead you suggested that I marry him. Then you waited until after the wedding”—she laughed without humor—“long after the wedding, to give me plenty of time to consummate the union so all of Marius’s holdings would be mine. Then, to make sure I was the sole sovereign of Eturia, you turned down an alliance with the fallen kingdoms.”

  A ball of emotion rose in her throat. It hurt to put his betrayal into words, but she swallowed hard and kept going.

  “The only thing I haven’t figured out is your endgame.” She studied him: the crooked slant of his nose, the eyes that had looked at her so tenderly, the man she’d considered a friend. “I know you planned to make me a widow so I could amend the charter, but what if I refused? Were you going to kill me? Or put me under house arrest? Exile me?”

  In a barely discernible movement, Jordan shook his head. “No, I swear I wouldn’t have hurt you.”

  But that wasn’t true. He had hurt her. “You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t take your word for it.”

  “I’m telling the truth.” He grabbed the bars, bringing his face closer to hers. “I knew you were different from your parents. I saw it that day when I came to visit you. A takeover was the last resort. I was going to persuade you to give Eturia to the people.”

  “By manipulating me?”

  “Maybe this started as a mission, but I genuinely came to care for you. I never faked my feelings. They were”—he corrected himself—“they are real. If you don’t believe anything else I say, please believe that.”

  Cassia stayed silent. She wasn’t sure if it mattered. “Are you the rebel commander?”

  He hesitated for a fraction too long. “Yes.”

  “You’re lying.” But she knew a way to change that. She glanced across the room at the truth extractor, the one she’d vowed never to use on her own people. Maybe she could make an exception in this case.

  “Go ahead,” he volunteered. “Bring it here and I’ll hook it up myself. But learning the commander’s name won’t change anything. There are too many of us. We police the streets, we fund the schools, we rebuild homes and take care of each other. We’re qualified to run this colony, and we won’t give the nobles another chance to ruin it.”

  As he spoke, she delivered the necessary supplies. “Go ahead.”

  He narrowed his eyes.

  “You did offer to hook it up yourself,” she reminded him.

  After a heavy sigh, he injected the serum and affixed half a dozen electrodes to his head. Ten minutes later, she began questioning him.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “Colter Alexander Jordan.”

  She faltered when she heard his full name. She hadn’t known it until now, and she wondered why she’d never asked. “And what’s your position?”

  “My official title is director general of the Rose Colonial Army. But fifteen months ago, I joined the rebellion. I hated the way your parents and the other royals ran our colony into the ground. The people deserve to—”

  “Did you orchestrate the jailbreak?”

  He expelled a breath. “Yes.”

  “Did you let Marius go on purpose?”

  “No. I meant to kill him, but I lost him in the chaos.”

  “Was manipulating me one of your orders?”

  “No. My orders were to prepare for a takeover with minimal loss of life. It was my idea to try to influence you. I acted alone in that.”

  “What about Kane? Did you try to get him to spy on me?”

  Jordan sucked his teeth before admitting, “Yes. And when he wouldn’t do it, I tried to make you believe that he did.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I needed you to trust me more than you trusted him.” Jordan’s ears turned pink at the tips. “And because I was jealous.”

  Her skin heated as she shared his embarrassment. She didn’t ask him to reveal the commander’s name because she had a good idea who it was. Besides, Jordan was right. There was no slaying this beast. The rebellion had become a hydra: for each head she cut off, two more would grow in its place. So instead she asked a question that shouldn’t matter, but did.

  “What if I’d never found out the truth? What would you have done?”

&nb
sp; He gripped the cell bars and watched her with an intensity that made it difficult to hold his gaze. “I would’ve fought like a dog by your side. And after Marius was dead, I would’ve told you how I really felt. I would’ve given you the kind of kiss men write songs about. The kind that—”

  “Got it, thanks,” she interrupted. “Make your point.”

  His ears were fuchsia now. “I would have convinced you to form a republic. And if that failed, I would’ve kept you safe during the takeover.” He raked his fingers through his hair, disrupting the electrodes. “More than anything, I would’ve cherished you, Cassia. Because I meant it when I said you were destined for great things. You’re strong and resourceful, and I’m completely in love with you.”

  She looked away. The truth hurt more than the lies.

  “I hope that counts for something,” he said.

  She nodded because she knew he’d meant it. “You know what’s funny? You and Kane wanted the same thing all along. The difference is he was honest about it, even when it drove a wedge between us, and you lied to keep me complacent.”

  “I did what I had to do. If I’d told you the truth that day in Marius’s dungeon, would you have agreed to amend the charter?”

  “I don’t know.” She might have. She’d been awfully desperate at the time. “But either way, the choice should’ve been mine. You took that away from me, and I’ll never be able to forget it.”

  “So what happens now?”

  That was a good question. She didn’t know what her next step would be, but she started by picking up his pistol and tucking it beneath her waistband. After some searching, she found a few bottles of water and set them within his reach, then she strode away and left him behind.

  He wasn’t her general anymore.

  When she reached the doors leading to the main security station, she pulled them shut and waved over a guard. “Bolt these,” she told the man. “There’s an infestation in one of the cell blocks—mutated lice.” She faked a shiver. “Jordan set off a fogger and went out the back. He said no one should go in for at least forty-eight hours. Understood?”

  The man dug a nervous finger in his scalp. “Yes, Highness.”

  “Good,” she said. “Now, assemble everyone who’s not sick. I want to see what I’m working with.”

  After finishing his last set of dumbbell curls, Kane pulled off his T-shirt and used it to wipe his sweaty face. His muscles ached from the workout, but it was a good burn, the kind of pain that led to something greater. As proof, he faced the mirror and flexed his right arm.

  Damn.

  Then he flexed the left one.

  Double damn.

  His biceps were off the leash. He had to hand it to his boss. The man was a total nut-buster, but he sure knew how to sculpt bodies. If Kane had known he could look like this, he would’ve bulked up years ago. He could almost bench three hundred pounds, not as much as some of the other guys, but enough that he stood a chance of winning his first fight tonight.

  He took a swig of water and peered past dozens of fighters milling around the room until he found his boss demonstrating proper technique on the leg press. “Hey, boss,” Kane shouted, then waited for the Redshirt to glance up. “Can I go for a run on the beach?”

  The man’s mouth pulled into a predictable frown. The first guests had arrived a couple of days ago, and for some reason the pit fighters weren’t supposed to mingle with them.

  “The sun’s barely up,” Kane added. “No one’s out there.”

  “Yeah, all right.” The boss pointed to a fighter walking out of the washroom, a mountain of a man who was yawning and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Kane recognized him from his first day in the dorm. “Take Cutter with you.”

  Cutter shifted a glare at Kane, clearly uninterested in a predawn run and resentful of being volunteered for the task. Kane offered the man a shrug. He wasn’t happy about it, either. He didn’t need a babysitter, but he knew better than to argue. When the boss was in a good mood, he was a lot more generous with the Gold.

  “Can I have a bump to get me through?” Kane asked.

  Cutter raised a hand. “Me too.”

  The Redshirt unhooked his golden inhaler from the cord around his neck. He handed it to Cutter, who took a puff and closed his eyes to bliss out for the rush. Cutter’s neck went slack, and he tilted back his head, chanting nonsense at the ceiling. It was a common side effect to speak in tongues. The Gold was that good. None of them even bothered with the old inhalers anymore. Kane reached for the tube, already salivating for a taste, but his boss intercepted it and pointed it at Kane’s bare stomach.

  “What’s that?”

  Kane glanced down and noticed the tracker lodged in his belly button. He kept forgetting it was there. “Just a piercing.”

  “Take it out before your opponent does it for you.”

  Out of nowhere, a sudden rage erupted inside Kane’s chest. He wanted the Gold now, not five minutes from now. He stared at the inhaler while batting down the urge to wrench it away from his boss. Then quickly he spun around to save himself from making a mistake he’d regret later.

  He jogged to the washroom and made his way into a toilet stall, where he dug the tiny sphere from his navel and held it above the commode.

  Kane paused.

  It struck him that there was no turning back after this. The crew would never find him without his tracker. He wouldn’t see Cassia again. His anger drained away, leaving behind an ache of guilt and longing. He wanted to be strong for Cassia, to fight for her.

  But there was something else he wanted more.

  His fingers separated as if acting on their own accord. The beacon dropped into the commode with a light plink. He stood transfixed, watching it swirl around and around in the water until finally it was gone. Then he backed out of the stall and returned to the training circuit.

  “I’m ready,” he said, speaking mostly to the inhaler. That tiny tube was the center of gravity holding his whole world in orbit. He would say he loved the Gold, but that would be an understatement. He loved his mother. He loved Cassia. What he felt for the Gold was beyond anything emotions could measure.

  His boss offered the inhaler, and Kane made a special effort to take it slowly into his hands, not to snatch it like an animal. He brought the mouthpiece to his lips in the same deliberate way, one inch at a time. He’d created a game of it, seeing how long he could make the anticipation last before his brain shut down and his need took over.

  One, one thousand. Two, one thousand. Three, one thou—

  He pumped the cartridge, sealing his lips around the mouthpiece to capture every last molecule, and then sucked in a breath and held it.

  The dorm flew away, taking with it the clinking of weights and the odor of sweat until he existed in a dimension all his own. Here he was a god. Energy coursed through him, so raw and pure that he clapped a hand to his chest to see if he’d grown a second heart. This rush was different from the old drug. It lasted. Even when he returned to the mortal world, his muscles hummed with power. He blinked the other fighters into focus and instinctively knew he could lay waste to every one of them. Nobody had better pick a fight with him today.

  He was invincible.

  Jogging in place, he pounded one fist into the opposite palm and glanced at Cutter. “Think you can keep up, old man?”

  The giant bared his teeth in a smile. “Eat my sand, kid.” Then he took off toward the back door, leaving Kane scrambling to catch up.

  Cutter held the advantage as they darted in between the rows of dorms leading to the beach access. Once they reached the dunes, they flew up the deck steps and across the planks, their boots clattering loud enough to frighten a flock of newly imported seagulls into flight. The air was thicker at the shoreline, heavy with salt and humidity, but it didn’t slow Kane’s feet. He was powered by something supernatural. As he took the lead, he laughed and kicked up a storm of sand for Cutter to eat.

  Kane sprinted along the water’s frothy
edge, speeding past the maintenance workers dragging clean lounge chairs onto the beach, continuing beyond the saltwater pool, all the way to the last block of suites, where something near the sand dunes caught his eye.

  Dead bodies?

  He slowed to a jog, squinting against the rising sun at three ladies in white crumpled on the ground in awkward positions. As he approached, he could see their clothes were torn and bloodied. Off to the side, a man in blue shorts sat in a relaxed pose, propped on his elbows with both legs crossed at the ankles. He was talking to a woman kneeling at his feet. She held something small and metallic in her left hand, but Kane couldn’t tell what it was.

  A breathless Cutter caught up, bracing his hands against his thighs as he panted and followed the direction of Kane’s gaze.

  “Those girls are hurt,” Kane said, still trying to figure out what the fourth one was doing. She slid the metal object across the inside of her forearm, and a line of scarlet appeared. “I think she’s cutting herself.” And the guy in blue didn’t seem to care. “What the hell?”

  “Let it go,” Cutter wheezed between breaths. “Guests can do what they want.”

  But what was the guest doing?

  Kane strode closer, studying the pair. The man in blue muttered something to the woman in white, and she sliced a second line in her flesh. Then understanding dawned. The guy was telling her to mutilate herself, and she was actually doing it.

  Because the answer is always yes, never no.

  A bullet of rage struck Kane so hard he blacked out. When he came to, he was running toward the dunes with his hands curled in fists and a wild roar tearing from his lungs. The man jerked his gaze toward him and flinched, which enraged Kane even more. He craved violence more than air. All he wanted was to lay his hands on that man and rip the limbs from his sockets. He imagined the resistance of the man’s flesh giving way, and his mouth watered. His muscles coiled with power as he flew toward his target, but just as he reached for the man’s throat, an invisible force knocked him to the ground.