by Abby J. Reed
No. No. No. Not true.
My mind trembled. All those pieces I melded together threatened to crack. I placed a hand on my temple, feeling the rumblings as the stress grew and grew and—
I fell to my knees. My wings balled into tight wads on my back. I gripped my dreads as the terror rode my body. I focused on the curve of the landing, the swirling design some long-dead artist once created, the sliver of mineral deposit flowing through the rock like a rainbow fish.
Time bent and I didn’t know how long I kneeled there, fighting through the memories and emotions, focusing on the details to root me. My legs were boneless. Eventually, I half-crawled half-flew down the corridor. Hand over hand over wingtip as I dragged myself down the row of cells.
Until I saw it.
My old cell was so much bigger than I remembered. The concrete bench was still there. The carved Elik prayers to Selah hadn’t faded. The refuse pot still tucked into the corner. My splotchy skeleton friend still lay next door. Dried spots of red blood, my blood, still sprinkled the floor.
In my brain, King Oma punched me again and again. My body responded as though the beating happened right now, again and again. Ants crawled into my brain, burrowing into my temples as his language experiment took hold, again and again.
Suddenly, I was on the ground. Tears flooded my cheeks, ran into my clavicle. When did I start sobbing? Selah, stars, that smell.
Baggage, useless, nothing.
I vomited on the floor. Vomited until nothing but acid remained. Then leaned, exhausted, against the hallway until my aching eyes turned crusty and my lips tasted salty and my body wearied from shaking. The quiet was a heavy blanket. The darkness, a barrier between me and the cell.
I met Breaker here. I could see him now, kicking away the skeleton, worried and confused. Another potential victim I refused to let myself care about. But then he tried to talk to me, as though I wasn’t something to be afraid of or to spit on.
A thought niggled in my mind. What if King Oma wanted the language shot, not just to communicate with the Humans, but to try to communicate with the Extrats? What if, in his own twisted way, Oma tried to use me to save his people?
It made sense.
The beatings, the questions he wanted me to answer, that he would dare kidnap me from Houtiri, even when he made Breaker betray me to gain information about the Elik—all his actions took another angle. His methods were still cruel, and there was still a lingering pain and horror that could never be undone, but it was also desperate. A desperation born to save his home.
I didn’t want to, but a part of me understood.
Eventually, eventually, I pushed off the wall.
I looked deep into my cell, saw the faded edges of the Malani-who-was curled against the wall in her rainbow-stained white dress, a sliver’s distance from death. Her wings clacked-clacked-clacked as past experiences became present in her brain. The little basket of herself that she sent to Selah for safekeeping drifted near the top of the bars.
I grabbed the basket and checked inside. All those stitches, all those layers of self she’d built, were fraying. I closed the basket.
“Hey,” I said.
She didn’t look up.
Of course she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t be able to see outside her own skin for a very long time. She had learned there was nothing more to life than prison and pain, cells and suffering.
The lyrics of an Elik funeral song came to mind. I hummed the tune, soft. The sound filled the empty spaces, pushing back the horror of this place. I raised my voice, singing louder and louder.
The Malani-who-was looked up. She didn’t recognize me. But I recognized the stark emptiness in her eyes.
She was even more terrified than I remembered. My heart filled with compassion, a warm reddish glow-y feeling. How could she be a monster? This little beaten girl, torn apart, shredded, stitched together, and ripped apart again. She’d never lose those scars. But she would heal. She should be proud for how well she’d hung on. She should be proud for not giving up. She should be proud for holding on to that nugget of soul that burned within her, whose heat kept her heart beating when the rest of her was dead.
I smiled at her and extended my hand through the bars into the cell.
She stood. Her knees were barely more than bones. Her face all extreme angles. Me, reduced to my very core.
I wiggled my fingers, beckoning her forward.
She raised her own hand. Checked on her wings. They weren’t balled. They were relaxed. Frowning, still distrusting, she gently, light as an insect wing, placed her hand in mine.
All my compassion, all my strength, all my sorrow, all my rage, all my courage poured from my warm hand into her cold grasp. I tipped the contents of the basket into our interlocked hands, letting those parts, too, fill her. She’d need every part of herself for this journey.
I squeezed her tight and looked into her empty eyes. She was nothing but the frozen husk she believed herself to be.
“There’s life yet, Malani,” I said. “There’s still life.”
She didn’t squeeze my hand, but a dot-sized light flickered back to life in her eyes.
Somehow, I knew, deep inside, my past self heard me.
I let go of her. With each step away, she faded more and more until she was only memory.
A key had turned inside my chest. An unlocking. A connection. A weight lifting. I had faced my past. I let go. And I didn’t crack. The victory was more glorious than a cloudless dawn.
There was still one place left for me to face.
I flew back out to the core. It didn’t take me long to find the room. It was located on the very level that would take us to the back paths. I would’ve had to walk right past it regardless.
The old lab, the one where I spent most of my childhood, the same one the Elik stormed and stole me from when my screams wrenched their weapons, stood before me. These memories were more foggy, with only a few scenes whose edges were still crisp with color. They’d been buried for so long. But I had to know. I had to know if I could face this, too.
I am not baggage. I am not useless. Not to Breaker, not to my friends, and not to me. I am strong. I am new. I belong.
I reached for the door. Then I pulled back, pressing my trembling palm to my chest, took a centering breath.
“You can do this.”
I turned to find Breaker padding alongside the bike down the hall. The bags were strapped to the sides and the recharged solalight dangled from the handles. His hair was still tousled from the nap and our time together. His face flushed as he stepped closer.
“I followed the map.” He hesitated. “Do you, do you want me here?”
I smiled and reached out my hand. “I do.”
He left the bike and came to me. He tucked his arm around me as a support, but not a crutch.
I will not shatter.
I shoved open the lab door. Together, we walked into the past.
Chapter 33
JUPE
The royal soldiers cut off my view of Tahnya and Brody, pressing me closer to the palace’s cliff edge. The image of Tahnya sprawled and broken on the landing pad branded into my brain. She had thrown her singing music around us, anchoring us into place. She didn’t think to save herself.
“Tahnya!” My cry was guttural, my soul wrenched open. “Tahnya!”
I couldn’t tell if she was coherent enough to hear me.
Broken back, the Queen said. Broken back.
My heels grazed the end of the landing pad. Water punched the sides of the ice mountains below, spraying my thighs, even from this height, with wet. Freezing salt winds slapped my sides. In front of me, rows of royal soldiers. Behind me, as far as the eye could see, the ocean unrolled like a rug and vanished into the horizon. Only now those undul
ating waves were dotted with the wreckage of downed and sinking starships.
No way forward. No way back.
Like being banished—alone.
“On your knees. Hands behind your head,” one of the guards said.
“What is she going to do to Tahnya? Is Tahnya gonna be okay?”
“I said on your knees.”
I glanced down. The ice shelf covered most of Raelyn’s ship, but it was obvious it hadn’t yet sunk. It hung, half buried into the ice, teetering toward slipping underneath the water completely. A light flashed from inside, near the crushed nose. A fire had broken out on the far left. But this light didn’t dance like fire but—
A help signal.
Could Scorpia still be alive?
A shot fired above my head.
“On your knees. NOW,” the guard shouted.
I obeyed.
I could do nothing, like I did with Salvade. What was the point now that the Queen had Tahnya and the factions thought me a traitor? But doing nothing at all ruined what was good.
Or I could choose. Like Tahnya said.
Choose to die on my knees. Or choose to die while trying to save Scorpia.
Run, run, run away.
A gun cocked.
Little Hero, he called me. Choose, she told me.
It wasn’t about standing up or being some hero or even fighting my impulse to run. It was about choosing life.
Not run, run, run away.
Run, run, run toward.
I rolled onto the balls of my feet, throwing my weight, as the gun leveled at me—
But I already fell backward over the cliff edge.
I twisted in the air, flinging my momentum forward so I once again faced the cliff. My clothes whipped at my sides. I punched with the pulsars, carving tiny holds into the ice to slow my descent until I could grab on without tearing my arms. My arms ached, but I kicked my boots into the ice, pulling my chest close until I slowed my fall to a stop. I hadn’t used my upper body this much since two missions ago. The ice shelf above covered my head at this angle.
A gun fired.
My core seized. Heat seeking guns! The shot’s trail whizzed in the air, curving out and around the ice shelf—toward me. The sizzle of a shot tinged my cheek. A gust of wind snapped it from me, directing the shot toward the fiery part of Raelyn’s ship.
Too close. Too—
One chance, before anyone else fired.
I threw myself from the cliff and plunged feet first into the icy water.
The frigidity slapped all sense from my brain. For a sec, only the roaring of the water currents existed. I floundered, wildly waving to keep from drifting too far in the current. I broke the ocean’s surface, flinging my hair from my face.
Then the pop poppop pop poppop of more shots. But I was too cold to register and the shots missed me completely, raining instead onto the fiery part of Raelyn’s ship. They pocketed the bridge and exposed hull. The ManKiller teetered even closer to sliding the rest of the way under. I sidestroked over to the ice shelf. Kicked and heaved myself onto it. I lay on my stomach, soaking wet, my body a giant goosebump. The wind was worse than a knife cut. It was a butcher hacking at my entire torso.
I wasn’t sure how long I had until hypothermia kicked in. I needed to keep moving. Stay warm.
This close, the flashing light became clearer. My stomach sank, and the numbing ache in my body rung stronger. Not a help signal. One of the emergency lights had been exposed.
But Scorpia was smart. What if she had still found a way to save herself?
The right thing to do was to check.
I eased carefully onto the hull. The ship wobbled. My wet shoes slipped against the metal surface. I swallowed. One wrong move and we’d both be gone.
I scanned the exposed hull for the smuggling hatch Raelyn had put in. We’d used it several times during our missions. Far enough away from the ramp to quickly unload cargo while being boarded. There. I slowly crawled over. Enough shots had riddled the area to make the hatch a bit loose. I worked my fingers inside.
With a groan, I heaved the hatch open, alternating between pulsing and yanking until I created just enough room for a person to slip inside. I gave a two-fingered salute to the soldiers still trying to fire on me through their scopes, and carefully lowered myself in.
I landed in more water.
“Angel!” I gasped, resisting the urge to yank myself back out into the dry air. I grit my teeth and mentally opened to welcome the cold. The ocean licked at my bruises and cuts, making my legs burn with more pain and numbness. I waded through the dark in the knee-high water, feeling my way toward the bridge. Raelyn’s ship wasn’t as compact as the Leech, with every room functioning as four different roles. Her family bought the ship for her in her green-zone era, so it bordered on luxury, with every space having a single purpose—and many more hidey holes for smuggling.
With each step, the ship creaked. Slowly, slowly, I moved, relying on familiarity to guide me.
Ice smashed the front of the bridge. It shattered the window and reached inward like broken hands. No possible way for someone to survive that.
The bridge was barely big enough for two, and there was no outside hole for the current to sweep away debris, so where was Scorpia’s body?
“Scorpia?” I called. My voice reverberated off the walls. “Scorpia, are you here? Are you alive?” A faint noise, toward the ship’s ass. “Scorpia?”
Another creak as the ship groaned. A crackle-snap as the ice released some of its burden, ready to dump the entire ship into the ocean depths. If my stomach weren’t clinging to my diaphragm for warmth, it probably would’ve dropped.
I crept back the way I’d come. Each movement rocked. The water that was knee height now reached my ribs. I stopped at the hatch I’d come through. I didn’t have much time to get out myself. The chances she was alive were as likely as an SOS getting found in deep space.
My body shook with cold. My thoughts were sluggish and I could barely use my hands. This was hypothermia, right? I should leave. Tahnya was out there. She needed me.
Besides, Scorpia killed so many people. Sí, she saved my uncle, but only to prove I could trust her. If she didn’t need him, she would’ve let him die too. Who knew how many other awful things she’d done. I didn’t need to stay.
But Raelyn trusted her. ShuShu trusted her. And it seemed Tahnya trusted her too.
Could I truly draw a line between her and me and declare one of us good and the other bad? Me, who was more than willing to let Salvade burn and only flew there because the one life I cared about was at risk? Me, who wouldn’t even risk bringing back Kevhan’s body?
You’re going to die down here. All alone and in the dark.
I know, I know.
So what?
At least I’ll have died choosing life.
I breathed deep. And moved past the hatch.
With that step, despite the cold, despite the numb, despite my muscles yelling in fatigue and soreness, despite watching a limp Tahnya be dragged away, I felt lighter than I had in ages.
“Scorpia? Are you in here?” I shouted. “It’s me, Jupe.” Another slight noise, definitely a muffled banging. I sloshed toward it. A creak reverberated along the ship’s bones. The water spilling through the seams flowed faster now. The banging grew louder and louder—there.
On my right, a hidey-hole Raelyn had built into the wall. At this angle, it had to be mostly full of water, which was now chest height. Pounding against the hidey-hole took most of my remaining energy. “Scorpia! You in there?”
An echoing pound, fainter.
A spark flared inside me. She must’ve found the spot to hide as soon she realized Raelyn’s ship was going down.
I fumbled for the t
iny release catch. Por favor, don’t be underwater. The catch sat barely a thumb-width above the water line. Pulsed it to force the release. I slipped my fingers in the gap and yanked. But the water’s force was too much and the door was jammed from the crash. I kicked up my heels until they braced on either side of the hidey-hole. I tipped my head back, submerging my head. Screamed into the water, the bubbles exploding from my mouth. I yanked yanked yanked. Breached the surface for air, came back down and pulled. A kicking from the other side. Scorpia was helping.
I came up for air one last time. I barely had enough space to lift my head, plunged back in and heaved. The door shifted.
A hand grasped my arm. I let go and grabbed Scorpia’s hand, wedging my knee against the door, freeing her. She burst to the water’s surface, gasping at the centi’s worth of air.
“This way!” I said, already twisting into a side-stroke. My strokes were jagged cuts against the water. My limbs refused to obey me.
“I . . .” She managed. “Rebreather . . . suit damaged.”
I glanced at her. The meager light showed a wan face. Her sapphire eyes dimmed underneath drooping eyelids. Her platinum hair floated in a death shroud. She was on the verge of passing out. She had spent too long in the icy water.
I turned her around, passing one arm across her chest, using the other to stroke through the water toward the hatch’s light. Her long legs bounced around. Snatches of color refracted off the water pouring through the hatch. One last desperate suck of air, then we were submerged.
I dragged Scorpia along, not losing sight of that light, glowing darker and darker as the ship sank. Scorpia kicked weakly to help propel but she wasn’t much use. My lungs burned. I released some air to relieve tension. Precious oxygen bubbled away. I reached out.
The hatch was there. I grasped the edge and heaved us toward it. No dignity as I hefted myself through to the outside. I tugged Scorpia by the hair. The ice walls were a robin blue, glimmering like shattered glass above. Buoyant joy filled me.
