Under Different Stars

by Amy A. Bartol

  “You’re a survivor…maybe you don’t have to choose a side, but play for both teams. A little information here…a little there…”

  “You know, you remind me a lot of a foster father I once had, Kyon.”

  “Is that so?”

  “It is. His name was Daniel—Dan “the man.” That’s what all his friends called him at the bar on our street. They’d all shout it, too, whenever he walked through the door. I loved him as a kid; I actually loved that man,” I say shaking my head. “He taught me a lot. He showed me how to hustle so that I’d never go hungry on the streets of Chicago. He was educated and he spoke well; he taught me to speak well. He also taught me scams that kept a roof over our heads. He was great, until I turned fourteen and Dan thought he knew a new way for us to make money. One night, he came home drunk from the bar. He brought some friends with him. He offered me to them for money. When I fought them off with one of their broken beer bottles, he nearly killed me before he passed out. You’re a lot like him, Kyon. It’s there in your eyes. You’ll do anything to survive. I’ve made my decision. I’m Rafe, screw Alameeda.”

  Kyon’s expression is grim. “I’m nothing like that human! I’m offering you a way out, Kricket,” he says defensively. “The Brotherhood will begin a smear campaign against you if you stay, making it look like you’re the real reason they’re going to war. You’ll be reviled wherever you go—in Rafe, in Comantre, in Peney—”

  “I’m used to that, Kyon,” I reply. I lift up my shirt a little and show him my shank scar on my abdomen. “What else you got?” I ask, dropping my shirt and crossing my arms.

  “He’s got a few circas of vista to drug you into going with him, Kricket. Don’t you Kyon?” Trey says from the doorway of the kitchen.

  CHAPTER 18

  ONE OF US

  Kyon scowls at Trey as he enters the kitchen and stands next to my chair, pulling it out for me. “Kricket,” Trey says in a gentle voice, “go back to bed now.” Reaching down he takes my hand, helping me up. As I stand beside Trey, I squeeze his hand tighter, refusing to let go of him as I glare at Kyon.

  “Why did you let me get past your security, Trey, if you didn’t intend to let her go with me?” Kyon asks, zeroing in on my hand in Trey’s. “I was beginning to believe that you intended for me to take her away so that you wouldn’t have to have her here anymore. No more reminders of what you can’t have.”

  Trey scowls back at Kyon, looking insulted. “I wanted to let Kricket choose her allegiance—Alameeda or Rafe. Everything that she has encountered thus far has been thrust upon her,” Trey says. “She has handled it with grace, but we both know that war is inevitable now. If she had decided that she would be better off in Alameeda, then I would’ve let her go with you.”

  “You know that she’ll be safer in Alameeda with me,” Kyon says with a smug smile. “You don’t like your odds, do you?”

  “Maybe she would be safer…but I believe her exact words were, ‘screw Alameeda,’” Trey replies, and he can’t hide the pride in his voice.

  “Sir,” Wayra says from the doorway behind Kyon, “I think her exact words were, ‘I’m Rafe, screw Alameeda.’” Holding a tricked-out automatic weapon pointed straight at Kyon, the grin on Wayra’s face is priceless.

  “Yeah, that’s definitely what I heard,” Jax agrees from the doorway behind me. “Now can I shoot him?”

  “You would risk her life because she doesn’t want to go with me?” Kyon asks them angrily. “You can’t win this war. We’ll annihilate every last one of you, especially you, Kricket. Traitors die horribly in Alameeda; the torture will go on for several rotations before it ends.”

  “Can I shoot him now?” Jax’s face is dark with suppressed rage.

  “Fenton, Drex,” Trey barks in a tight voice, “take Haut Kyon to the Regent police and have him restrained until Skye decides what to do with him. Wayra, Jax—go with them and make sure no one kills him. He has information we need.”

  Fenton and Drex come in through the doorway behind Trey and me, searching Kyon and throwing several weapons and a couple of vials of what must be vista on the table. Seeing it, I shiver.

  Kyon watches me the whole time, his face livid. “Kricket,” Kyon says in a soft tone, “the next time you see me, know that I’m not coming to take you home.”

  “I’m already home, Kyon, but thanks for the warning,” I reply, raising my chin as his blue eyes narrow at me.

  “Here,” Trey says, tossing a communicator to Jax. “This is a recording of the conversation between Kyon and Kricket. Make sure the Regent views it tonight, then we turn it over to Skye along with Kyon.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Jax grins. Turning to Kyon and hauling him towards the door, Jax says, “How much do you want to bet that this is your ass, and before you ask me what an ass is, let’s just talk about what I think yours is worth.”

  As the door closes behind them, I stand frozen in my spot by the table, not sure about what just happened or what it all means.

  “Kricket, are you okay?”

  I shake my head. “No…you were going to let me leave with Kyon?”

  “Yes,” he answers, watching me struggle to remain calm.

  “But…that goes against all of your orders. You could’ve been incarcerated—treated like a traitor. You’re supposed to keep me from the Alameeda, not let me go off and join them.”

  “I know,” he agrees, looking at our hands tightly clasped together.

  “So, if I wanted to leave…”

  “I’d help you escape.”

  “Because…”

  “Because we’re going to go to war,” he replies, looking grim.

  “You were allowing me to choose my own side…Rafe or Alameeda.”

  “Yes…but I have another option for you, Kricket,” Trey says softly.

  “What option?”

  “You can choose to be human—at least you can go back…to Earth.” He eases his hand away from mine.

  “What?” I ask, seeing he’s serious and feeling cold now that I have nothing to hold on to.

  “I can have you taken back to Earth—hide you—keep you safe while we fight the Alameeda. If we win, you can remain there, or come back if that’s what you want. If not…Earth may be the best place to hide from Kyon,” Trey says, like he’s choking on his words. “Maybe by then you’ll develop a way to stay ahead of him—precognition…something.”

  “You’d help me get back to Earth?” I feel my heart pounding in my chest.

  “I’m sure both Wayra and Jax would volunteer for the mission,” he replies. “I’ll order them to stay with you and help you dodge the raindrops.”

  “But, you’d stay here?” My heart sinks.

  He nods. “I have to stay. I have to protect Rafe from what’s coming.” He looks grim.

  “But if I stay, too, I could be really helpful to Rafe. Interrogations alone would make me invaluable,” I struggle to think logically and figure out what’s happening here. “And if I can develop precognition…then I can see what the enemy is planning.”

  “You don’t know what you’re saying,” Trey says with conviction. “War sounds romantic, heroic even, until everyone you know starts dying.”

  Nodding numbly, I hold on to a chair. “You’re right. I don’t know what it will be like here. But, I’ve seen what one human can do to another—things that have made my spirit ache.” Looking up at Trey’s face, his eyes soften a little in understanding.

  “How am I going to keep you safe here?” he asks, looking solemn. “I’m a soldier. I lead men into battle, Kricket. I don’t know if they will allow me to stay with you much longer.”

  “You’ll have enough to worry about with your own family. I can look after myself.” I pick up my plate and take it to the compost chute. Placing my dish in the receptacle, I turn to see Trey watching me.

  “You can’t be left alone here, Kricket,” he says quietly.

  I rub my eyes tiredly with my hand. “I’m not your problem, Trey.”


  “You’re my responsibility,” he insists.

  “Why?”

  “Because I brought you here.”

  I laugh humorlessly. “If it weren’t you, it would’ve been someone else. I don’t need your pity, Trey. I don’t need anyone. I do my best work alone.”

  I drop my hand from my eyes and turn away from him because I don’t want to see his face when he explains his reasons for leaving; it might break me. A part of me knows this has to happen. I should be doing everything I can think of to make him leave. The Alameeda will begin their smear campaign soon. The dirt they plan to throw at me will spatter onto anyone standing near. The problem I have now is that my heart is no longer stone; it feels like paper, ready to be shredded at any moment.

  “This isn’t pity. You can’t survive here without help.”

  I turn and quirk my eyebrow at him, pointing my finger at myself as I say, “Chameleon, remember? Anyway it’s clear you’re done with me. We don’t have to drag this out—”

  “Done with you?” he asks incredulously. “How in Ethar did you come to that conclusion?”

  “You just tried to pawn me off on the enemy.”

  Trey frowns. “I wasn’t trying to pawn you off,” he says defensively, “I was trying to let you choose…I’d like to think that I would’ve let you go, Kricket, if that was what you wanted, but the truth is that I don’t know if I’m capable of letting you go.”

  “What?” I feel like the world just moved around me, while I remained still. I glance at Trey, he’s wearing a grimace that says that he may have just said too much.

  “Kricket, I—”

  “You know—stop right there.” I hold up my shaking hand, “because you can’t say stuff like that to me. You can’t just kiss me in fountains and then say you only want to be my friend,” my voice cracks as my throat tightens. “You can’t just tell me that it’s impossible to love me while you treat me like I’m some kind of lurker, and then say you don’t know if you can let me go!” I shout angrily, trying to see him through my tear blinded eyes. “Because it hurts me too much when you do things like that, Trey. It makes me hope that you could love me some day and that kind of hope for someone like me is just...” Feeling tears rolling down my cheeks, I turn toward the door, hoping he’ll have the decency to let me walk away and hide for a while.

  Before I can make it to the door, Trey’s arms wrap around me, pulling me to his chest. Trying really hard not to cry is only making me cry harder. “Kricket,” Trey whispers in my ear, rubbing my back soothingly.

  “What am I to you, Trey?” I whisper.

  His arms tighten almost painfully around me. “You’re...my friend.”

  I stiffen, pushing hard against his chest so that I can see his face. “Your friend? That’s all I am?” My throat aches from choking back tears. I hate crying in front of him. I never want to cry in front of him again.

  He averts his eyes from mine. “Yes.” His jaw tenses.

  I pause, and then my eyes widen. “You’re lying!

  “Kricket,” Trey warns. “Don’t.”

  I dry my eyes with the back of my hand. “Don’t what? What else am I to you, Trey? TELL ME!” I demand

  Trey lets go of me and walks toward the other end of the table. “You’re someone I’m paid to protect,” he says with his back to me. I’m gutted. It’s true and it hurts more than I thought it would to hear him say it out loud.

  There it is. He doesn’t want you. He’s doing his job, just like everyone else in your life. “Oh,” I mumble. “That’s it?”

  “Yes.”

  “No...” I frown, reading him, “You just lied to me again. Why?”

  Trey’s hands ball into fists. Then he turns around and his eyes stare into mine. “We can’t do this now.”

  “Do what, Trey?” I growl. “You’re lying and I want to know why! Am I a burden to you or something? Is that it?”

  “No!” he says, like I said something utterly absurd.

  “Then what is it? It’s not like you love me, right? We’ve established that much.” I say derisively.

  “Right,” he lies.

  My eyes widen in shock as I become breathless. “What did you just say?” I ask slowly. “Did you just lie...Trey...Do you love me?”

  Trey doesn’t answer me but his jaw grows tighter with each passing moment.

  “Do you?” I demand, and then hold my breath

  “No,” he lies again.

  I exhale sharply. “You love me!” I whisper in near disbelief.

  Trey exhales deeply, too. “I’m not allowed to love you, Kricket,” he says honestly, watching my reaction. “By loving you, I put you at even greater risk than before. It would come from all sides—from every angle—not just from the Alameeda.”

  “You said it was impossible to love me,” I go on, ignoring him. I feel almost as hurt now as I had then.

  He shakes his head slowly. “No, I believe I said it was impossible for you to love me. Almost as impossible as hiding the fact that I love you.”

  “I told you I loved you and you said it was just a crush…” I feel my face flood with color again.

  “I’m not the one who inherits, Kricket, Victus is—”

  “You think I care about that?”

  Trey takes a step toward me. “No one will want to see us together.”

  “I know,” I shiver. “Kyon said the Brotherhood will try to kill anyone I love—”

  “I’m not afraid of the Brotherhood.”

  “You aren’t?”

  “No.” He stops only a breath away from me so that I have to look up to see his face. “I’m trying to protect you, Kricket. If we tried to be together, we wouldn’t be able to trust anyone but each other.”

  “I’m already there.”

  “You’re only seventeen—this is your whole life—”

  “My age is irrelevant,” I frown, “and I’m eighteen now…my birthday was last week.”

  “Your birthday was last week?” Trey asks me grimly. Seeing me nod, he asks, “When?”

  “Wednesday…I mean Fitzmartin…that’s Wednesday, right?”

  “Yes,” he nods. He takes my hand and leads me away from the kitchen to the unoccupied drawing room. The carved wooden furniture in the room is the same rich, dark stain as the exposed mahogany beams of the high ceiling. Chandeliers hang down from above like melting stars in a night sky. We pass chairs with soft, cream-colored cushions facing a low, oval glass-topped table. Crossing to a sofa in front of the enormous stone-carved fireplace at the far end of the room, I wonder, and not for the first time, why they have such large fireplaces when the entire estate is practically climate controlled by the use of advanced technology.

  Nearing the hearth, it dwarfs us with its graceful symmetry. I glance away from the unlit grate to study my hand in Trey’s; it’s tiny in comparison. For a second, I lose myself as I imagine his rough hands on me, running the length of my body. The thought makes my knees weak and my abdomen tighten. I reach out with my other hand to steady myself, touching the carved armrest of the sofa. It’s a replica of a saber-toothed saer from the Regent’s coat of arms; its legs and feet comprise the legs of the sofa as well. Its mate is on the other side with its ferocious mouth agape in a fire-breathing display of royalty.

  Trey waits for me to sit upon the silk-covered cushion before he joins me. “Ignite fire,” he orders. The grate roars to life with fiery orange tongues.

  The heat of the flames is seductive. I lean my head against his shoulder, feeling his hard bicep flex beneath my cheek. He moves his arm so that my cheek shifts to rest against his chest. His arm wraps around me to lie gently across my shoulders. He strokes my arm softly; warm fingers raise goose bumps on my flesh. I inhale deeply. His scent causes my paper heart to flutter and riot; a thousand folded airplanes made from its scraps soar within me.

  “I missed your birthday?” he asks disappointedly, as his hand pauses on my arm.

  I shrug. “It’s not a big deal. I didn’t tell you
my birthday.”

  “That doesn’t make me feel better,” he mutters. His arm tightens. He pulls me even closer to him to stroke my hair. I hear his heartbeat beneath my ear—calm, steady—the opposite of mine. “What did you do on your birthday—on Fitzmartin?” he asks in a silky voice.

  “Uh…Fitzmartin?” I repeat him stupidly, feeling every fiber of my being come alive at his touch. “We went for a boat ride on the lake…with Em Quinn and his sons…remember?” I ask, feeling him brush my hair back from my neck, causing a sensual shiver to run through me. “Uhh…we had to listen to Em Quinn…tell us that long story of how he once saw a wild saer…near the boarder of Comantre,” I remind him, before biting my lip as Trey’s thumb caresses my nape absently. I don’t even know if he knows he’s doing it. It seems unconscious.

  “Golden bathing suit,” Trey says softly near my ear in an intimate whisper, “which was actually just circles of gold linked together with golden-metal hoops…black wrap skirt that exposed your thigh with every step you took…black shoes with gold nail polish on your toes…I almost killed the little one.”

  “You almost killed the little what?” I ask him, my eyes widening as I lift my head to look at him.

  “The one that touched your—”

  “Oh, you saw that?” I ask, surprised.

  “Yes, I saw that.”

  “Then you saw me smash his toes with my very sharp black heel?” I arch my eyebrow in a questioning look.

  “Yes,” his perfect lips spread in a wide grin, “but it didn’t save him from the black eye.”

  “You did that?” I gasp. “I thought he was thrown from his spix.”

  “He was thrown, but he was nowhere near a spix when it happened,” Trey replies, then he adds, “I want to make it up to you.”

  “Make up what?” I ask.

  “Your birthday,” he says.

  “Why? It’s just another day.”

  “Because it’s not just another day—because I should’ve known it was your birthday.”

  “That’s not your job to know.”

  “It’s what friends do.”

  He’s back to putting me in the friends zone. I stiffen. “I’m good, Trey. I don’t want to celebrate it.”