Sea of Stars (Kricket #2)

by Amy A. Bartol

  “What’s this?” he asks.

  “It’s mine!” I try to grab it back from him. He moves it out of my reach above my head.

  He backs away from me and studies the starcross in his hands. “I can’t let you keep this,” he replies.

  “You can’t keep it! It’s mine!” I retort with a thread of desperation in my tone. “It doesn’t belong to you.” My stomach churns. I’ll never get it back now that I’ve shown that it means something to me. I know better.

  Giffen surprises me. “I’ll keep it for you.” There’s honesty in his high handedness. “You’ll get it back. I promise. Now hurry. We’re running out of time.”

  Taking the tight legginglike pants from Charisma, I slip them on underneath the lilac dress. I turn away from Giffen, ready to pull the dress over my head, when I feel his hand on my back. I shy away from his touch, looking over my shoulder. He’s staring at my back. I try to see what has caught his attention. Long, deep scratches are almost entirely scabbed over and rapidly healing themselves. I must’ve gotten them when Giffen hit me with his telekinetic energy. It had lifted me off my feet and I’d landed on my back, skidding across the ground.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you like that.” He’s not lying.

  I turn away from him, lifting the ruined silky fabric over my head so that my entire back is exposed to his remorseful gaze. Stew in it, lost boy, I think, while putting the black blouse over my head. I grab the dirty, black jacket from the chair, easing it on gingerly. As I turn around, I gather up the front of my shirt, wiping it with the sweat, dirt, and blood from my face. It makes a disgusting pattern. “There,” I say to myself, letting my shirt drop down again. “Now I look like I’ve been through something.”

  “We have to go,” Giffen growls. He’s angry with himself for showing me emotions he shouldn’t have in the first place.

  Hurriedly, I turn to Charisma. “Will you do something for me?”

  Her violet eyes brim with tears. “Anything. I will do anything for you,” she assures me, not even knowing what it is I’ll ask her to do.

  “Will you give Trey one of your Crystal Clear Moments? The saer?”

  She nods her head in confusion. “Of course,” she whispers.

  “And will you tell him it’s from Kitten?”

  “Yes. Anything else?”

  “Yes,” I lean near her ear and whisper, “Please tell him that I’ll take care of his soul until he finds us. I’ll be expecting him soon.”

  Charisma starts to cry. She hugs me, forgetting about my hurt back. I endure it, returning her hug.

  “Take care of Victus and the family,” I whisper to her.

  “I will,” she whispers back.

  When I straighten, I look at Giffen and nod. He takes me by my arms, pulling them behind my back once more and cuffing me. “Let’s go.”

  He takes me outside toward the falconlike ship. Ground sconces illuminate the pathways leading to it. There are also floating orb lights hovering several feet above us, casting a soft phosphorus glow all around. It’s nearly dawn; the spectral light is shining on the horizon by the ridge. As I pass through the courtyard, armed men in Comantre uniforms clutching machine-gun-like weapons crowd nearer, trying to get a look at me. One of them hurries over to Giffen, matching our steps. “You shouldn’t do this,” he says sternly, staring at Giffen’s profile. “It’s not right. He didn’t authorize this.”

  “It’s the only way to get Astrid back,” Giffen says, looking straight ahead, never missing a step. “We need someone on the inside with eyes on the Brotherhood. She’s perfect for the job.”

  “How are we going to face him and tell him that we handed over his daughter to the Alameeda?”

  “We’re not going to tell him. I’m going to tell him.”

  “But he won’t—”

  Giffen jerks hard on my elbow as he stops and faces the soldier at his side. This one has long, straight brown hair and soft brown eyes. “You want Astrid back alive or not?” he seethes.

  “Of course I do!” The soldier is aghast at the question. He glances past Giffen and gives me an apologetic look.

  Giffen starts striding toward the aircraft again, pulling me along with him. In frustration, he calls over his shoulder, “Don’t worry, Fidar. This one will have the Alameeda begging us to take her back.”

  He guides me up the ramp and into a large bay. Fluorescent lights come on, turning our skin tone a pale whitish blue. This part of the ship is probably used for loading and unloading cargo and for transporting troops. High-backed seats attached to the walls run the length of the aircraft on both sides. Giffen turns me around and uncuffs one of my wrists. Guiding me to a jump seat, he puts his hand on my shoulder and presses me into it. The seat belts crisscross over me as he snaps the other cuff to the handrail by my head, locking it. “Don’t go anywhere.”

  The comment was made to get a reaction from me. I just stare at him with loathing. With a frown, he straightens. He wants me to say something—he needs it. He’s okay when he’s fighting with me, but the quiet between us bothers him.

  When I don’t oblige him, he turns his back on me and closes the cargo bay door, then disappears farther into the ship. There is an emptiness in the dim, pale light of the cargo bay. Nothing is familiar. Lights flash, blue, red, yellow, and green on a control panel on the wall. Instruments buzz and beep at odd intervals. It’s agony, this unfamiliarity. My hands begin to shake first, and then my legs—my knees bounce from it. I look down at my hands, seeing streaks of dried blood smear my skin. Rubbing them together, I can’t get their marks to go away. My teeth chatter like I’m cold, but I don’t know if I am or not, because I’m numb. I make hacking sounds with my breath, because I can’t seem be able to get enough air past the lump in my throat.

  The ship lifts off, moving straight up fast enough for me to lose my stomach. I clutch the belts surrounding me. Normally, this would’ve scared me and brought on a panic that we might crash. Now, it has the opposite effect: it calms me. We might crash. If we do, this ends. Another part of me whispers, I need to know the future . . . I need to prepare . . .

  “I wish to see the exchange at Diadem Rock,” I murmur. My icy breath curls out before me and I leave my body.

  Giffen’s large hand is cupping my chin as he kneels in front of my jump seat. “Kricket,” he says while shaking my head to try to get a response from me.

  Groaning, I mutter, “Are you really shaking my head right now? It already hurts like a spix kicked it, so stop!”

  “Getting in touch with your spirit animal, were you?” His question is flippant, but there’s relief in his tone that he can’t hide.

  “Yeah, it said to give you this.” I raise my middle finger at him. He stares at it, because the gesture means nothing to him.

  “I should take your finger?” he asks.

  “I hate you,” I reply, burying my head in my hands. I know I must be ghost-pale, because I feel like all the blood has left my brain.

  “Good”—his lips turn sullen—“because they should be here soon. I’ll set up contact with you in a few rotations.”

  “I’d rather not see you ever again,” I reply.

  “Sorry to disappoint you. I’ll be the one communicating with you while you’re with the Alameeda.”

  I scoff at that. The arrogance! “Keep dreaming. I’m never speaking to you again, lost boy. This is it for us. You should say good-bye now.”

  He growls, “You should stop thinking of just yourself! There are people counting on us not to fail, you ignorant child!”

  “You must be my father’s favorite,” I retort, like that’s a bad thing.

  “I am,” he agrees with pride.

  “Well, I’m the one he threw away, so I don’t think I owe you, or him, or anyone else anything.”

  Soft beeping sounds overhead. “They’re here.” Giffen swe
ars under his breath. Getting to his feet, he moves to the cargo bay doors. He opens them, and the ramp begins to descend. Sunlight streams in from the outside. As the ramp clunks down on gray stone, the panorama spreads out beyond. We’ve landed on a ridge atop a high peak. I know what it looks like outside; I was just here—the future me—or is it the past me now?

  Smooth rocks circle the depression in the shape of a crown. If I had to guess, it appears as if a meteorite of some kind had struck the mountaintop here and to mark the event someone placed enormous, bone-white standing stones around it. The stones look ancient, the remnants of a long-dead civilization. Maybe it’s fitting that we’re meeting here, since this civilization might die soon and a new one rise to take its place. Beyond the stones, if you look through the gaps, you can see clear sky in every direction.

  Cold wind, reminiscent of Chicago, drifts in. Giffen comes back to me and unlocks my cuff from the handrail before helping me to my feet with his hand upon my elbow. He releases me from the other cuff as well, tossing it aside. “You’ve been to the future?” Giffen whispers beside me on the crest of the ramp. We both watch as a beautiful chrome trift lands opposite us on the gray rock bed.

  “Yes.” The elegant door of the chrome trift appears in the almost liquid surface of the craft. A waterfall of chrome pours down from the doorway, forming floating stairs.

  When I don’t say more, Giffen exhales in frustration and asks, “How does it go?”

  “It doesn’t work out well. She hugs me and they shoot her in the back of the head. Focus on the one holding her. If he raises his gun, don’t hesitate to stop him. I’m going to try to change the outcome my way. If I fail, you’ll have to kill him and try to run.”

  Giffen doesn’t seem thrilled with this information. “If we get out of this, is there anything that you want me to tell Astrid for you?” he asks. Both of us regard the broad-shouldered, Kevlar-like-coated Alameeda Strikers who debark from the aircraft with their weapons drawn in plain sight.

  “Tell her never to save me again.” The coldness of my reply hangs in the air.

  His jaw clenches. “Do you have a message for Pan?” Giffen asks.

  “No.”

  From the corner of my eye, I see him grimace. “I promise to help you—after we get Astrid home safely.”

  I force myself to laugh, but it sounds desolate, even to me. “Ahh, don’t change now, lost boy. You were doing so well as the bad guy.”

  Kyon descends the trift steps. He’s attired in a long, black coat with a brown fur collar and brown fur cuffs. He looks regal and virile. Behind him, a young woman is half dragged, half thrown down the steps. She whips her dark hair back from her face and I’m struck again, as I was a short time ago in the future, by our lack of resemblance. She’s much prettier than me with her black hair and big eyes. She’s taller than me as well. She doesn’t have my curves, either; her frame is more slender than mine. It’s lucky we don’t look alike. If we did, Kyon would notice.

  I clench my hands to keep them from visibly shaking. Without looking at Giffen, I say, “We’re done. I hope I never see you again.”

  I take a step toward Kyon, but Giffen holds my arm and won’t let me go. He faces my profile. This is different; I’ve already changed the future just by telling him what happens in it. Leaning down, Giffen whispers in my ear. “We’re not done!” His lips brush the shell of my ear, causing me to shiver. “I’ll find you soon.” I refuse to look at him. He lets go of my arm. Straightening my shoulders, I walk down the ramp toward Kyon, who tracks my every movement.

  The harsh wind picks up my hair, stirring it around and into my swollen face. I ignore it. Astrid is released from the grasp of a brutish soldier, pushed forward so that she almost falls flat on her face. I try not to look at her because my eyes should never stray from Kyon too long.

  As Astrid nears, her eyes rivet on me. I hear her voice inside my head, Kick-it! Her tone is desperate; it resonates in my brain like she’s inside me.

  Don’t you dare hug me! I think in an angry tone. Pretend like you don’t know me, Astrid, or you’re dead! They’ll shoot you in the back of the head and leave you here. Just walk!

  Astrid stumbles a step. Her eyes widen and I know she hears me—it’s her special gift: communicating nonverbally. I continue to walk by her, never once glancing at her. Out of the corner of my eye I watch the soldier who’d turned her loose. He doesn’t move, but continues to stand idly by, allowing her to pass on to the ship behind me. When I near Kyon, he raises his fingers and snaps them. A soldier hands him a long, white coat with a white fur collar and white fur cuffs.

  The wind stirs the fur as I pause in front of him. Kyon drapes the coat around my shoulders and takes me in his arms, hugging me to him. “I’ve missed you,” he whispers in my ear.

  I say nothing, already cowed by the events that are unfolding.

  “Come.” Kyon is gentle as he shifts his arm to my shoulder and guides me at an unhurried pace to the stairs of the sublime trift. As we board, the falconlike ship behind me fires up its engines. The sound is an anchor in my gut, weighing me down to the ocean floor as it sails away without me aboard.

  Kyon leads me to an elegant, yet still extremely comfortable, white leather seat. It’s part of a cluster of four seats: two on either side of a low, chrome table. He holds my elbow until I sink onto the seat, and then he sheds his coat before taking the seat next to mine. No one else enters this private compartment; we’re alone for the first time since he killed Geteron.

  The trift’s engines hum to life, I feel the slight vibration of the ship beneath me. “Would you like me to take your coat?” he asks.

  “No,” I pull the edges closer to me. “I’m cold.”

  He doesn’t argue. Instead he says, “On screen.”

  When a holographic screen pops up, Kyon orders from a menu. As the screen fades away, an ice bucket containing a beautiful golden bottle emerges from the center of the table along with two long, fluted glasses. A platter of sumptuous sandwiches, fruits, and cheeses appears as well.

  “Would you like a drink?” Kyon asks with a charming lift of his blond eyebrow. His blue eyes regard me with speculation.

  I nod. “Please.”

  He opens the golden bottle with a pop, pouring the bubbling, golden concoction into the stemware. When he hands it to me, his fingers brush mine. They’re warm, so much warmer than mine. I take the glass and drink. It’s lovely and fruity and definitely intoxicating. I tip my head back and drink it all before holding my glass out for a refill.

  Kyon frowns. “Do you intend to get drunk? It’s not like you to willingly give up control.” Without a word, I continue to hold my glass out to him, demanding more. He obliges me by refilling it. I tip the glass to my lips once more. Kyon asks, “Did they kill him? Your Cavar, Trey?”

  I choke on my drink, swallowing hard. I cough and sputter as tears roll down my face. A large hand rubs my back. When I’m able to breathe normally again, he wipes the tears from my dirty face with his thumbs.

  “It’s okay. You’re not alone anymore. I’m here to take care of you. I will teach you what you need to know. I will train you to obey us.” Frowning, I look away from him, moving my face with a jerk so that his hands fall from my cheeks.

  “I know you’re not ready to hear that, Kricket.” I feel a sharp pain in my neck. Kyon pulls a tranquilizer gun away from my throat.

  My eyes half shutter while my hand goes to the injection site. “I will have to teach you what is expected of you. We’ll start anew from this moment on. I’ll be your master and you will be my priestess.” Losing focus, I sag against the seat back. The smooth glass stemware slips through my fingertips, spilling golden liquid onto the immaculate floor. “You belong to me now,” I hear him say, as I slip away into darkness.

  I should be used to waking in strange places by now, but this one has me on edge immediately. I f
eel different, but I don’t know why. Lying in the dim light of a cavernous bedroom, I know something’s wrong. It takes me a few moments to remember what happened. The last thing I knew, I was on a trift with Kyon. I move my arms; they no longer ache. In fact, they feel lighter and softer as they travel over the silk sheet of the enormous bed I now occupy. The blankets are light and airy too. They’re just the right density to keep me warm from the cool, salty breeze that’s wafting in between the white, billowing curtains framing a patio outside.

  Beyond the stone terrace, waves crash upon a beach in hypnotic ebbs and flows. I sit up in bed, and the blanket slips down to show a soft, white nightgown. I touch the material; it’s so fine as to be just a hair short of transparent. Making my way to the side of the bed, I rise, cross the hardwood floors and the soft area rugs, and pause at the threshold of the patio. The sight that greets me is breathtaking. The blue sea beyond the stone balustrade glows with the fire of stars. It’s as if the sky fell into the sea. As I walk forward, my hair is lifted away from my face by the sea breeze. I rest my elbow on the stone railing, marveling at the beauty before me.

  “It’s the Loch of Cerulean, but everyone refers to it as the Sea of Stars,” Kyon says from behind me. I straighten my spine when I feel his hand on my hip. He draws me back against him. He’s bare-chested and wearing just some loose-fitting linen slacks. A blush stains my cheeks. “I’ve dreamt of this moment for so long now. I’ve wondered what it would be like to hold you like this. Now I know. It’s bliss. You are the brightest star among the Sea of Stars, Kricket.”

  Kyon leans down, kissing my throat. His light touch causes my stone heart to lie heavy in my chest. The deadening beat of it promises me that I will never love again. And with Kyon’s lips on mine to seal the vow, I swear that I will darken the stars forever.

  Acknowledgments

  God, all things are possible through You. Thank you for Your infinite blessings and for allowing me to do what I love: write.

  To my readers and bloggers: Thank you! The outpouring of love that I receive from all of you is mind-blowing. Your generosity toward me is humbling. You make me want to write a thousand books.