Sea of Stars (Kricket #2)

by Amy A. Bartol

  They’re better off without me and I’m better off when the only person I’m responsible for, or to, is me. Could I survive on Ethar alone? I may know enough now to get by for a little while, but ultimately, Kyon will find me. I have no doubt about that. He has all the resources, and given a long enough time line, he won’t fail. I will be forced to deal with him.

  I feel like a cornered animal; I want to claw my way out. Trey cups both my cheeks with his hands and forces me to look at him. “There is no safe place in Rafe anymore, Kricket, not for any of us. It won’t matter if we’re with you or not. The Alameeda are killing everyone. It’s just like it was during the Terrible War. Extermination. All of us—myself included. We actually have a better chance of survival if we stay with you, because after you get some rest, you’re going to begin to hone your ability to see and affect the future. You’re going to make time bend to your will, and I’m going to do everything I can to help you stay ahead of them until such a time as we can fight them.”

  He looks away from me to the faces of his parents. “This isn’t the way I wanted to tell you all of this. It’s worse than we first thought. The Alameeda are primed to annihilate us all in this round. No mercy. We have to prepare to move into the restricted area. We can stay here only until we can make ready. The word has gone out. Rafe troops are converging to secret bases in the annexed area. We will try to join them there, in the Forest of Omnicron.”

  There’s shocked silence from everyone present. Trey is in control of the situation, our leader. “We’ll talk more after Kricket and I have had a chance to recuperate. In the interim, everyone should get as much rest as possible. The rotations ahead are sure to be trying ones.”

  Trey lifts me in his arms and brings me into the house. It’s all a blur to me. I close my eyes and rest my cheek on his shoulder. I get the sense that it’s a very large place by the fact that it takes Trey a while and many, many winding staircases to get us to the top of the house. When we do come to a room, I open my eyes. We cross beyond the enormous double doors that look as though they were designed to keep everyone at bay.

  The view in front of me steals my breath. The room itself is masculine in its design and decor. Copper spyglasses of different shapes and sizes sit upon tripods of dark wood by the window wall. Some are angled at the mountain range in the distance and some are pointed to the sky. Low tables with metal contraptions that look like sextants and compasses have homes near the expensive-looking interactive globes and map tables. The room could be the office and bedroom of a nineteenth-century steampunk explorer. The strangeness of finding a room like this on Ethar is just another layer of mystery to add to Trey’s already extensive list.

  An almost regal bed is off to the right side, centered on that wall so as not to block the vista straight ahead. The panorama that greets my eyes as I stare outside is that of a majestic mountain range that rivals the ones I saw when I first came to Ethar in the Forest of O. Wilderness stretches out, surrounding the white-capped peaks. A wide terrace balcony runs the full length of the bedroom and is accessed through the glass doors in the glass wall.

  Trey doesn’t take me to the terrace; he turns instead and takes me to the softest bed I’ve ever lain upon in my entire life. It’s four-poster mahogany-stained wood and is carved with stunning detail. A cloud of mosquito netting covers the bed. Beneath the veil of netting lie fat pillows and luxurious white sheets and blankets.

  I scoot over; my head meets the exquisite white pillow as if it were falling through a cloud. Trey sits beside me on the bed and begins to unbuckle my boots, pulling off one and then the other. I close my eyes, turning on my side and half hugging, half snuggling a couple of pillows to me. When Trey begins to strip off my clothes, my eyes spring open. “Your parents are just downstairs,” I whisper-hiss.

  “Is that a problem?” he asks with a small smile developing upon his lips.

  “Won’t they freak out a little?”

  “No. They never freak out. They wouldn’t know how to freak out. Anyway, you’ll be my consort soon.”

  “They never freak out?”

  “What you just witnessed downstairs is the most emotion, other than worry, that I’ve ever seen from them. They’re usually very stable.”

  I narrow my eyes at him, but he’s telling the truth. “They won’t mind us being together here even though I’m not your consort yet?”

  He pulls my filthy shirt off over my head. My black leggings, which are also in a disgusting state, follow closely behind it. “The only reason you’re not my consort yet is because we haven’t had the opportunity to make it official.”

  When I don’t have a shred of clothing left on me, Trey stands up and strips off his clothes as well. He slides into the bed next to me, making me scoot over to make room for him. He spoons me, his head sharing one of my pillows as he tucks me close to him.

  “Ugh,” I groan. “I smell like a spix.”

  Trey’s nose sniffs my hair. “I smell the same as you do.” He kisses the back of my head.

  “Are you sure your parents are going to be all right with this?” I know how stiff some Etharians are about any hint of impropriety. I’d heard enough gossip bantered around at the palace when I was one of its captive residents.

  His voice is sleepy already. “I’m over a hundred floans old and this is my house. They’ll have to endure it. They’re not unreasonable people, Kricket. They won’t allow societal rules to supersede wisdom.”

  I giggle despite everything. “You probably have a hundred rooms in this place and probably half as many beds. Your argument will have to be better than that when you talk to them.”

  “I can’t bear the thought of you being anywhere other than right next to me. That’s my argument. Everyone will just have to accept it, including you.”

  I smile drowsily. “I like that argument. It’s a sound angle.”

  “It’s sound because it’s true,” he murmurs.

  Neither of us says anything else as sleep overtakes us.

  When I wake, it’s to find Trey missing. The sunlight has disappeared from the sky outside, replaced by a multitude of stars. A small lamp on the table in the sitting area casts a soft glow over the elegant occupant in the chair. Charisma is studying an atlas, poring over it as if it were a treasure map. Pulling the sheet up with me as I sit up, I rake my hand through my hair to try to calm my outlandish bedhead.

  My movement alerts Charisma to the fact that I’m no longer asleep. “Greetings, Kricket,” she says in a shy way as she uses the ribbon from the binding to mark the page before she sets the atlas aside on the table. “Are you well after your nap?”

  “Where’s Trey?” I ask, trying to stifle a yawn.

  “He’s down on the main level. He has been sequestered with the other Cavars and his brother and father for the past few parts.”

  “What are they talking about?”

  “I don’t know. They won’t let me in the room with them.”

  “You didn’t insist upon being in there too?”

  “Well . . . no.”

  “Why not?”

  “Trey asked me to sit with you.”

  “Would they have let you in there if you didn’t have to sit with me?”

  “No. Probably not.”

  “Why not?”

  “They like to shelter me.”

  “Do you like them to shelter you?”

  She’s confused by the question. She shrugs. “I know no other way,” she says simply.

  “I don’t believe that. You’re strong and capable. You take care of spixes and know how to train them to move through courses where you shoot the crap outta stuff with your sonic sayzers. You should demand to discuss your future and any plans they make to protect it.”

  “How do I get them to listen to me?”

  “Make them listen. Know your worth. Show them you’re capable of whatever
life throws at you. Don’t expect them to understand you or like it.”

  A warm smile curls her lips. “Maybe you can show me how it’s done.”

  “If you train me to use your sonic sayzers, I’ll teach you how to earn their confidence.”

  “When do we start?” she asks in a conspiratorial way.

  “After I shower?”

  She rises from her chair and walks to the white-cushioned bench at the foot of the bed. Gathering a robe that was waiting there, she brings it to me. “It’ll have to be after our repast. Mamon has been preparing food all day. She’ll be disappointed if we don’t partake of it.”

  As I don the robe, I try not to smirk at her formal way of speaking. I’m used to it, having been forced to speak it at the palace, but I much prefer the causal, humorous way the Cavars communicate. I nod. Charisma leads me to the lavare. It’s a modern interpretation of a mountainous waterfall. The walls are gray stone, probably quarried from the hills in the distance. Enclosed glass hems in the cascade of water that spills out from a reservoir near the ceiling and down a round granite rock. When Charisma leaves, I stand beneath the rock, allowing the steaming water to pound away some of the tension that is my constant companion in this world.

  The water shuts itself off the moment I step out of the glassed-in area. I head to the vanity and touch the stone wall, triggering warm air that blows down on me from the ceiling. I no longer marvel at all of the conveniences afforded us in this world. It’s funny how fast I got used to them.

  A long, lilac-colored gown is spread on the bed waiting for me when I return to the bedroom. I eye it skeptically.

  “Vessey wants us to dress for dinner. It’s in honor of your first meal as part of the family. I think secretly that she’s also worried that it could be our last celebration together as a family.”

  I glance over at her. Her hair is stunning, pulled back on one side with a sparkling diamond comb. It allows for the beautiful soft waves to spill over her shoulders. Her dress is a ruby-colored silk and so thin that it looks liquid. It clings to her perfect silhouette.

  “I’ll wear it,” I say softly, so that she doesn’t feel the need to explain further. I understand the need for a last meal.

  She offers to fix my hair and I agree, sitting with her as she pulls it into shapes that make me look older and more elegant. Braiding it off to the side, it falls over my left shoulder, leaving my back completely bare as the dress intended. She hands me the automatic makeup artist that she brought with her, and I quickly close my eyes after I bring it to my face to apply a thin, subtle layer of cosmetics.

  “These shoes may be a little big,” she says as she hands me a pair of silver sandals. They are too big, but since they’re flats, and they wrap around the top of my ankle, they aren’t too bad.

  “I can manage with these. Thank you,” I say.

  We go down to dinner together. Charisma directs me through a maze of hallways and staircases to the main floor. The house is a large estate. It could have been used for hunting at one time, because it has that sort of manorlike feel to it that my other residence at the palace had. Linking arms with me, Charisma shows me to what must be the grand hall. The ceilings in the room have to be at least three stories high. Everything within the rectangular room is big. Big fireplace on the shorter wall, transparent walls that rise high above our heads. Four grand chandeliers spread soft light over all the occupants beneath them. Large, masculine chairs and divans anchor the room, presiding over sumptuously woven area rugs and a stone floor of the same gray that was in the mountain lavare.

  Off to one side, beside the fireplace, Trey and his father sip amber liquor out of stout glasses. They both stop talking as Charisma and I join them. When we sit down to eat, I find myself between Trey and Charisma. Trey’s dad raises a toast. We all settle in to eat.

  I listen mutely to the banter as it flows around the table. Wayra tells stories about the first time he was at their estate in Thistle. Vanderline relates a story about how inseparable Trey, Victus, and Charisma were growing up. He calls them the tonic triad, because they managed to keep a constant tempo going without ever a lag in the action. I smile, because they were troublemakers.

  “That was mostly Trey,” Charisma says, smiling at Victus. “We were just trying to keep up.”

  Victus chimes in and relates some escapades from their youth. Throughout it all I listen, laughing with them, gleaning new information about these close-knit people.

  From the other end of the table, Trey’s mamon smiles at her husband, Vanderline. “All this talk of childhood and we haven’t heard a thing from Kricket.”

  I smile and look down at my plate. “I’m enjoying hearing about life on Ethar. It’s much more interesting.”

  She laughs. “Oh, we’ve heard all these stories before. Tell us something new. What was it like on Earth?”

  “It was nice,” I reply.

  Wayra snorts and Jax winces a little.

  “You must’ve played some games there, surely?” Trey’s mom persists, trying really hard to draw me into the conversation.

  I wrinkle my nose and shrug. “I played stickball a few times in my neighborhood—on the south side of Chicago—that’s a game where you use a stick to hit a ball and then you run around three bases then try to run to the home plate before someone tags you with the ball.”

  “Were you good at it?” Vessey asks, happy that she’s succeeding in having a conversation with me.

  “No. Not really. I had to stop playing when I lost. As losers, my team had to give up our shoes. It took me a couple of weeks to earn enough money to get some new ones, so I didn’t play it after that.”

  Vessey looks startled. “Surely there were games that you weren’t expected to give up your shoes if you lost?” she asks in an unsure tone of voice.

  “Where I’m from, most games are only played if there’s a bet involved, or else why play them?”

  “So no one plays games for fun?”

  “No, they do. I just wasn’t one of them.” I can see that she’s confused, so I sigh and explain, “One of my fathers was a hustler, so he taught me to play games that not many of the other kids’ parents let them play like: find-the-patsy”—I tick that one off on my finger—“kick-the-bum’s-can-and-steal-his-stash”—I add another finger—“pick-a-pocket-hide-and-seek”—a third finger joins them—“and convenience-store-boogeyman-candyland. That’s when you shoplift as much candy as you can, and then sell it door-to-door pretending it’s for charity. I got tired of playing boogeyman-candyland, so I just started stealing forties of malt liquor for Dan. It was more efficient and cut out a couple of steps.”

  I stop talking when Vessey abruptly rises from her chair. Picking up her own dinner plate and Victus’s next to her, she doesn’t seem to notice that he’s not finished with his meal, or that his fork is halfway to his mouth. “That sounds very labor-saving, Kricket. Would anyone like anything else from the keuken?” she asks, but her voice is raspy like she has something stuck in her throat. Her eyes skim over the table and she patently ignores Wayra as he lifts his plate, about to ask for more of something. Before he can comment, however, Vessey clears out, practically running from the room to the kitchen.

  I set my fork down, knowing I’ve said too much. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I know that I should’ve softened that. I could’ve made something up or omitted parts and made it a nicer version of the truth, but I didn’t want to; I want her to know me for who I am. I don’t want her pity. I just want acceptance. This is my truth. I have entrusted her with it. Now I want to see what she does with it.

  Trey reaches under the table and squeezes my knee. He pushes his chair back from the table. “Please excuse me, everyone, I believe my mamon needs help in the keuken.” He nods and then follows his mom into the kitchen.

  Wayra calls to me from across the table, “Kricket, I want you with us when we ra
id the enemy ammo sites. With your size and speed we can fit you between the beam spotters. You can blow the signal seekers and install the scanner jammers without them ever detecting you.”

  “That sounds like fun, Wayra. I’m in,” I agree with a smile.

  Drex, Hollis, and Gibon agree too, calling out several more things they think my skills as a thief and a grifter would translate into tactically.

  Charisma covers my hand that is resting on top of my fork on the table. I glance over at her and see that her eyes are filled with tears, but she’s fighting to keep them from spilling over. In a soft voice that doesn’t carry too far, she says, “Trey gave us the talk while you were sleeping. He told us that you don’t like sympathy, so if you say something that we find sad or troublesome, we should not show you that it bothers us.”

  “He told you I hate pity?”

  “Yes, that’s right,” she says. “That’s why Vessey left so quickly. She wanted to smother you with concern and love and kisses and cry her heart out for all that you’ve been through, but she didn’t want to hurt you more or offend you, so she left so she could pull herself together.”

  “Thank you for telling me; it helps to have a translator.”

  “I’m more than that,” she says with a sniffle. “I’m your friend, and hopefully, one day, your sister.”

  “I have something for you,” I reply impulsively. Turning to Vanderline, I ask, “May we be excused?”

  “Of course,” he nods, as he stands up from the table. All of the other men stand as well. Charisma seems delighted that I’ve freed her from the table early.

  I take her with me upstairs. Finding my bag near the bed, I pull out the black lacquer box. When I open it, I show her its contents. Charisma puts her hand to her mouth in shock. “My Crystal Clear Moments! You carried them with you all the way here from the Isle of Skye? And my sonic sayzers!” She picks one up and hugs it to her. “These are my favorite ones! I have another set, but they’re not as pretty. I thought they were gone forever!” She peers into the box and picks up my starcross bracelet. “This is Trey’s starcross.”