The Raging Ones

by Krista Ritchie

  Kinden is perceptive of every tiny shift she makes. His lip tics upward, as though vindicated. “Lie all you want, but I know the truth.”

  “You know nothing,” I sneer and call out his bluff. Without question, I’ll protect Franny over the starry-eyed idea of a relationship with my brother. He wants Etian, and that boy died inside of me at Vorkter.

  Kinden studies my every facial movement. “I heard you talk about her deathday.”

  “No,” I instantly deny while Franny scans the clinic for a weapon.

  “You said that she should’ve died at seventeen.”

  “You’re unhinged, Kinden,” I snap, causing his gaze to drop. Questioning himself.

  Franny freezes, but she nudges my waist and tilts her head slightly toward the … Death Readers.

  Gliding discreetly to the left, I block the medical tray with my body. I try to calm myself, but my voice is layered with frost. “I understand the toll the thief must be taking on your family, but stalking me won’t solve anything.”

  “The thief…,” Kinden muses before wandering to the cabinets. “Altia Patrol spoke to my father yesterday. They revealed an interesting detail about that thief and my brother.” Facing me, he grips the medical countertop behind his tall build. “Apparently they’d been cellmates and escaped Vorkter together.”

  Franny speaks before I can. “Your brother died, Kinden. His deathday already passed.”

  “That’s what they said, but they didn’t find a body.”

  Franny groans in frustration. “He probably sunk beneath ice.”

  “Says the girl who has the handwriting of a child, who has Mal’s tree inked on her shoulder, who fears an insignificant nosebleed, and who Court referred to as Franny Bluecastle—not Wilafran Elcastle. So pardon me for believing nothing you say, Fast-Tracker.”

  I charge my brother and fist his shirt. “Leave us alone!”

  He fists mine, pulling me closer. Ignoring my wrath entirely. “You have his eyes,” Kinden says. “His lips, his skin. His hair.”

  Sickness scalds my throat. Ill at being this close to him—where he dissects my features with so much fervor—I release my clutch and fight to pry his fingers off me.

  His grip fortifies. “You’re taller than him, but you would be. It’s been eight years.” Let go of me. Let go of me.

  Franny senses my desperation and alarm. “Stop, Kinden,” she spits, trying to break us apart. Wedging her body furiously in the tight space. “STOP!”

  Kinden elbows her jaw—my head swerves with the throbbing blow, and she stumbles backward, holding the reddened spot.

  Remorse touches his eyes briefly, but his curiosity has annihilated any common sense. So zoned in on me, I doubt he even realizes he hit Franny. Kinden jerks me closer. “Please … just tell me you’re Etian.”

  I can’t.

  I taste blood. Her teeth must’ve split her gums. “Calm down, please.” I raise my hands in surrender, but he still clenches my shirt. Like if he lets go, the answers will soon follow.

  He cringes at himself. I’ve made him believe he’s losing his mind when he’s entirely, completely correct. I drove him to this distraught place. I fractured my older brother.

  “I’ve tried quieting my suspicions,” he breathes.

  “You have,” I say, placating him a little more.

  Franny lingers close … a scalpel gripped in her fist.

  “I talked to Father about you,” Kinden says. “He said, ‘Your mind is playing tricks on you, Kinden, wishing for a result and causing you to see impossible things.’ I tried to push the madness out of my mind, but if she’s a Fast-Tracker, then what’s to say you’re not my brother?”

  “Logic,” I refute.

  My shirt stretches as he winds the fabric around his knuckles. “I’ve given you evidence.”

  Franny nears, but I shake my head once at her, worried about my brother’s mental state.

  She stops.

  “You’ve given me banal similarities, Kinden,” I say. “No one dodges their deathday. It’s fact. You’re being delusional.”

  Hot tears prick him. “I’m not. You’re just frightened. Please. Tell me you’re Etian.”

  I can’t. “I’m sorry.”

  He hangs his head, his grip releasing, tortured. Two deep breaths and his resolve strengthens. “You want logic?” His gaze drifts to the metal tray of Death Readers.

  I back up. Instantly. Obstructing his path to the purple Readers.

  Franny lunges at Kinden, not baring the scalpel, and instead, she rips the collar of his shirt to disorient him. She lands her boot against his calf, cracking his ankle, and he thrusts Franny out of the way—her temple strikes a cabinet corner.

  Breath ejects from my lungs.

  The collision knocks Franny unconscious, body thudding limply to the floor.

  I fall backward, crashing into the metal tray. Mykal is running. I shake my head, vision sputtering out. “Franny,” I breathe. Franny. I try to pick myself up to reach her, but my legs quiver.

  Kinden isn’t aware of what happened to Franny, barely even acknowledging his broken ankle or his torn shirt. He nears me and grabs a Death Reader from the floor.

  “You’re right,” I have to say. “I’m afraid. I’m terrified to tell you the truth. You could spill our secrets to Tauris.”

  “I won’t,” Kinden says, riled tears slipping. “I wouldn’t.”

  “I can’t know that.” My gaze flits beyond him. I need to reach Franny, her breath too shallow inside of me.

  Mykal descends the stairs, his blood pumping furiously.

  Kinden won’t stop, so I think quickly and reclaim what little control I have left. Picking myself up off the floor, I seize another Death Reader and place the sharp prongs to my wrist.

  “I’m trusting you,” I tell my older brother. I broke him, and part of me wishes to piece Kinden back together. But in the same breath, I can’t be what he wants. I’m not Etian and he’ll realize that in time. For now, I have to quiet his mind.

  “I promise you,” Kinden says with a pained breath. “I promise you.”

  I try to believe him. The prongs puncture my skin. Without a wince, I wait. They retract. I toss the Death Reader to Kinden. He feverishly stares at the rolling numbers.

  Not another second wasted, I kneel by Franny and lift her limp body into my lap. “Franny,” I say, tapping her cheek. “Franny.”

  My vision recedes, darkening, but I concentrate harder, checking her pulse. Listening to her breath like she’s a patient in the trauma unit. This is my fault. All my fault.

  “You’re my little brother.”

  I strain my neck over my shoulder. Kinden is crying, the Death Reader in hand. Reality finally catches him, and he notices his tattered shirt and his bent ankle.

  He staggers to the reclined bed. “What … did I…?” Horror and guilt assaults his features. “Did I hurt you?”

  “Yes,” I say. “Because you hurt her.”

  “I wouldn’t … I didn’t mean to…” His eyes widen at Franny. “If you dodged your deathday, did she dodge hers too?”

  I nod tensely. “She can die today or years from now. Just like me.”

  At the thought of almost killing Franny, he vomits to the side, but I grasp his remorse like a lifeline. Maybe he will keep our secrets. Right now, I can only hope.

  The door flies open.

  Mykal roars, “I’m going to rip your pitiful lungs out, you rotting—”

  “Mykal.” I stand and thwart his advance, a hand on his chest.

  “Get out of my way, Court.” He slaps my hand aside.

  “He’s my older brother.” I finally acknowledge that something—a glimmering piece of what once was—still exists between Kinden and me. Strong enough to cause all of this.

  Mykal drills his hard-hearted eyes into me. “You’ve lost your damned senses. He knocked out Franny.”

  “I didn’t mean to hurt her…” Kinden covers his face, bowed forward. Silently sobbing.


  Mykal grimaces at him, understanding me. “All right.”

  I go to lift Franny in my arms, but he’s faster, cradling her unconscious frame.

  “Will she be waking?” Mykal asks, his fear palpitating my heart.

  “Yes.”

  She’s not dead, and for one bitter moment, I could look up to her gods and thank them for her. What she’d do. What she’d want.

  For Franny, I do just that.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Court

  Ice pressed to her pounding temple, Franny sits on the armrest of the common room couch. Mykal leans his weight against the back, smoking a cigarette, and I stand like the sternest stiff beside them. Her words. Only a few days have passed since the clinic, but her headache persists.

  She called out my “hovering” the other day and added, “There’s nothing more you can do for my headache, so you may as well relax with us.”

  I can’t relax at the moment. Not when I have a StarDust meeting with my father soon. Mykal and Franny had their one-on-one interviews with Tauris yesterday. In and out of his office in two minutes. So brief that neither Franny nor Mykal feel hopeful about their chances to be picked for the mission.

  Franny eyes me suspiciously.

  “What?” I snap.

  “You aren’t going to scold me for slouching?”

  It’s six o’morning. Only a few candidates, huddled by the fireplace, could possibly notice Franny slightly hunched and seated on an armrest. For another, everyone’s aware that she “slipped and fell” with Kinden. Hence, his broken ankle and her poor posture.

  And lastly, if anyone else suspects she’s a Fast-Tracker, they would’ve said something already.

  Smoke slips down my lungs thanks to Mykal. I try not to take the cigarette away from him, but I cough a little and say, “You don’t feel well.”

  Franny glowers, not appreciating the coddling.

  “Stop slouching,” I chastise.

  “No,” she rejects me, smiling as Mykal laughs.

  I roll my eyes and soak up the bright rumble in my lungs.

  “Wilafran?”

  At the exact same time, our heads turn to Kinden. He supports his weight on a wooden cane and approaches us with softer determination. We don’t flinch or recoil. Partly because he carries a bouquet of pink roses. The fifth bouquet in three days.

  From the fireplace, the young candidates ogle Kinden and giggle. Everyone believes he’s been romancing Franny.

  In reality, he’s been apologizing.

  “For you.” Kinden stretches the bouquet out to Franny.

  Mykal leans forward and slaps the bouquet from his hands. The flowers flop to the rug. It’s so expected that I have no reaction anymore.

  Kinden glares. “Must you do that every time?”

  Mykal just fits his cigarette between his lips.

  I collect the flowers and hand the bouquet to Franny. She aches to sniff them, but Mykal sneezes uncontrollably every time, so she’ll have to wait until we’re not in my brother’s presence.

  “I already forgave you,” Franny reminds him. She said that he owed her nothing because she broke his ankle, but Kinden hasn’t forgiven himself yet. “You’d do better gifting Mykal something, but not flowers.” She cranes her neck to Mykal. “What do you want?”

  “A hare’s foot.”

  “He’s joking,” I lie.

  Mykal wears a crooked grin.

  Kinden studies Mykal for the shortest second. “I don’t care about him.” I hear the unsaid words: Not like I care about you, Etian.

  Mykal grunts. “Likewise, you little—”

  “I have to go,” I interject. “So please … be civil.” I say goodbye to Mykal and Franny, and as I leave, Kinden follows me. I’m used to this. It’s like he’s trying to regain all the time he lost with me, but our conversations have been mostly stilted.

  Still, Kinden tries. He’s as persistent as Etian Valcastle.

  We enter a hallway, his cane clapping against the marble. It’d be a lie to say that I’m not wary and paranoid. Only three days have passed and he can run to Altia Patrol or our father with these secrets at any time. So I choose my words more carefully when I speak to him.

  After pushing through the dining room, we enter another hallway and I tell him, “I care about Mykal deeply.”

  Kinden gives me his classic I know it all, I’m the older brother look. One I recall more fondly. “You deserve so much more than Mykal Kickfall.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “Mykal Kickfall deserves so much more than me.”

  Kinden has missed the pieces of my life that define me, and even though he’s always seen me as a fragile boy, he thinks less of Mykal, someone who hasn’t exactly excelled at StarDust.

  “I’ll think on that,” he says seriously. Despite his arrogance, he’s always been thoughtful and critical. Free thinking and believing.

  Hells, he believed in the impossible.

  He believed in me.

  Kinden captures my arm, slowing my lengthy stride to a complete halt. “Just once more, I need to ask something.”

  I stiffen. “No.” I lower my voice, candidates in black and gold StarDust garb passing us. “I said yesterday was the last we talked of Vorkter.” He asked if anyone physically hurt me. I think Kinden recalled my scars and the fact that I can die at any moment.

  “I’m better now,” I told him.

  He didn’t believe me, but there’s not much more I can actually say.

  “No,” Kinden says, “it’s before that.” Before Vorkter. “I just want to know why you did what you did. Father questioned your reasoning more than Mother and me, and I believe, in part, he applied for a position at StarDust to forget about you.”

  My gaze drifts out the hallway windows. To the Saga starcraft. My father tried to forget about me. I asked Kinden yesterday if he lied to us about being a physicist, but he said no, Tauris just changed careers after I went to prison.

  I struggle to speak aloud. To tell Kinden the truth. I’m still afraid.

  Even without a link, Kinden sees this. So he braces his weight on his cane beside me, both of us side by side and gazing out the window.

  When the hallway clears, he speaks. “My little brother once tried to breathe life into a young girl when she was already dead and gone. Years passed, and I started to understand. Because there was only one theory that made sense. That could belong to Etian. I knew him well.”

  Chills bump my arms, but I wait. I listen.

  And he says, “He was fighting for more than the young girl. My brother was fighting for all of us. For hope.”

  I shut my eyes. The words warm every inch of my soul. Bathed in light. And all I ever dreamed, all I ever desired, was a world where lives could be saved.

  Where no one quits on people the moment we learn their deathday.

  * * *

  In his warmly lit office, Tauris offers me tea and an Altian cookie, but both sit untouched on his wooden desk, my insides coiling. Tea is rare, the leaves unable to grow outside of a greenhouse. As a child, I liked the taste and my father often made me tea and sweet bread on my birthday.

  I can’t bring myself to sip the drink. So I hold the armrests of my leather chair and watch Tauris on the other side of the desk. He peruses a maroon folder and thumbs the grayed hairs on his dark brown chin.

  “You’re eighteen years of age now?” he asks.

  “Yes.” I sit perilously upright.

  Tauris flips through a few papers and then shuts the maroon folder. Clasping his hands together, he stares attentively at me. “You’re one of the quickest studies I’ve ever personally seen at StarDust. Your ability to adapt and attain new skills is remarkable.”

  “Thank you,” I say flatly.

  “But I’d like to be frank with you, Court. I have concerns.”

  I edge forward. “Whatever they are, I’m certain that I can ease your mind.”

  His dark eyes dance across my golden-brown cheeks, my smooth, squared jaw, the thick d
ishevelment of my rich brown hair, and the starkness of my gray gaze. My father absorbs my features with a sorrowful smile.

  Do you see me?

  “Is something wrong?” My biting voice scalds my throat.

  My father exits his stupor and smiles politely. “It shouldn’t be a surprise by now that you resemble a son of mine. I’m aware that Kinden has confronted you about the similarities, and for that, I apologize.”

  “It’s—”

  “Unacceptable,” he finishes. “StarDust wants to find the most compatible team of five, and with your aptitude, we’d like you to lead the team.” My father speaks too quickly for me to think. “My concerns: Kinden is highly skilled at language and communications—a standout for the Saga 5 Mission—but with his obsessions, I’m concerned that you two are not well matched for a team.”

  I blink a few times, processing.

  My father scoots closer and pushes my tea aside. “We’re willing to remove Kinden from the Saga 5 Mission if that makes you more comfortable.”

  I hold his assured gaze, my nose slightly flaring. My heart breaks for my older brother. He could never surpass Etian in wisdom in our father’s eyes, and even as Court, I trounce Kinden. I leap beyond him and steal our father’s attention.

  Forget about your brother. I flip over the lavender-glazed cookie. “I work best with Mykal Kickfall and Wilafran Elcastle. They’re who I’d choose as teammates first.”

  My father sighs. “I’m sorry, but it’s just not possible. Mykal is not qualified for any position on the starcraft. He ranks in the bottom tier in communications, and mid-to-bottom tier in engineering and piloting. There are no roles for him.”

  I go cold. I can’t imagine a world where Mykal isn’t by my side. “And Wilafran?”

  “We’re still discussing. She’s grown to be a good pilot, but there are more well-rounded candidates that would better serve a team.”

  I’m hollow.

  “We need your answer about Kinden. Do you want him on the Saga 5 Mission with you? Yes or no?”

  Yes.

  No.

  The two choices haunt me. Glare at me. And wait for me.

  Yes.

  No.

  I thought I’d have to face my father’s suspicions this morning, but he has none. I’m deciding the fate of my older brother. I’m determining where he goes.