All in an effort to retrieve us from the Romulus brig.
Kinden tracked our transport craft to the Lucretzia, and Padgett formulated a plan of entry to sneak aboard. And to operate the Saga starcraft, they needed two pilots. Without Franny, they had to make do with Zimmer. Apparently, he almost, accidentally, flew them into an asteroid.
Twice.
For what knowledge they had, their plan was risky but sound. Gem built thermal detectors onto the starcraft, and the device revealed most of the Lucretzia crew congregating toward the bow.
Of course, they didn’t realize everyone was gathering in the courtyard for a ceremony. About to induct the new admirals. They also didn’t realize the Lucretzia has advanced tech. Including motion sensors, which they triggered as soon as they stepped foot on the tarmac.
Before releasing the four Saltarians from the brig, the Earthen Fleet asked them one question:
“Why did you want to free the humans?”
It’s occurred to me many more times than I like to admit that they could’ve abandoned us. That maybe they should’ve. Sometimes I wonder if, given the choice, would I have abandoned them?
Part of me crumples in shame at the miserable truth.
That possibly, most likely, I would’ve left them imprisoned on the Romulus. Just to save myself and Mykal and Franny, so we could fly to a peaceful planet and leave the chaos behind.
I question whether I’m deserving of Kinden, Zimmer, Padgett, and Gem’s loyalty, but for the first time in what feels like forever, I find myself wanting to be. And that frightens me more. Mortaring a bleak exterior has always been better, safer, than opening up to the possibility of hurt and betrayal.
Why’d you want to free the humans? I think about the fleet’s earlier question.
“They can die at any time,” Kinden said.
“And those idiots on the Romulus knew,” Padgett added, voice silky.
Gem explained how they had only just learned we dodged our deathdays and aren’t Saltarian. For the four of them, there’s no certainty we would survive, and they’d never encountered people who could kill other people. Who’d even want to kill.
Leaving us in the Romulus brig meant we could die by someone else’s will. At any time.
“I didn’t want a hand in their fykking deaths,” Zimmer said. “I’ve seen some horrific scenes: eyes gouged, jaws blown, fingernails plucked—but no one intends for anyone to die. I didn’t think anyone could kill people until now.”
Gem perched her hands on her wide hips. “We aren’t cruel.”
After a short deliberation, the fleet decreed the Saga 4 allies, and they officially welcomed them aboard as equals and friends.
I stare gravely while Franny and Mykal reunite with our friends, smiling. Laughing. Joy fluttering faintly in my chest, and while I’m glad to see my brother—I have to focus on what’s next.
The retrieval operation.
I can’t betray Stork and forsake the mission to save Earth. Not out of some moral obligation. I just can’t fathom deserting Franny and the answers she needs to find.
To come out of this alive, Franny and Mykal have a better chance with Kinden, Zimmer, and the Soarcastle sisters. We’ve all worked together before at StarDust; I trust their skills and know how valuable Saltarians will be in blending into Saltare-1.
I want them to join us.
With persistence, I convince Stork to bring our friends into the fold. It’s not easy, considering the mission is classified and Stork is exasperatingly evasive, but after we eye-roll one another to the next millennium, he sighs.
I glare.
He finally gives in. And he asks his superiors for clearance.
The fleet grants Kinden, Zimmer, Padgett, and Gem access to operation details.
All eight of us stay in the quiet atrium, the rest of the Lucretzia crew retreating to their barracks for sleep or helming the bridge. Steam lies on the murky surface of the pool. Frogs croaking softly and stars twinkling overhead from the domed sky port.
I thought Stork brought us here to lay out the crucial steps of this far-fetched mission. Or at least examine the Myths book further with our friends.
Important tasks.
Instead, Stork would rather lounge around the pool for a “late-night dip.” He supplies pipe tobacco, cigarettes, and bottles of wine and scotch, and for the past hour, no one has been on track.
“… pig shit, Bartholo still had a chance against Roolin in the iceling championships,” Zimmer says while floating on his back, fully clothed in khaki slacks and a black StarDust shirt.
Gem sits primly on a bench that she dragged to the pool’s edge. “Nash Redcastle is the greatest iceling player of our century,” she declares. “And he played for Roolin.”
Kinden occupies the other end of the bench and reads a label on a wine bottle with the aid of an EonInterpreter, given earlier to our friends. The silver device behind his ear contrasts against his dark brown skin. “I balk at agreeing with little Gem,” my brother says, “but Nash Redcastle was a gift to iceling. I attended the 3052 championships in Yamafort; he single-handedly won for Roolin.”
Seated between those two, Padgett puffs on a pipe, observant and quiet. Her brown hair is braided and tied with a magenta ribbon.
Mykal hangs his arm over my tight shoulders, pinching a lit cigarette. He whispers to me, “You enjoy iceling more than I, you realize.”
I shake my head once and then go rigid in doubt. Until he left the Free Lands and lived in the city with me, he’d never seen the sport.
We sit side by side on the mosaic tile. I’ve been gripping my bent knees with an ironbound inflexibility. My knuckles throbbing.
Mykal mumbles in a drag, “I’ve felt your eyes wandering to games more than once before.”
I blink, forgotten memories whirring past me and asking to grab hold. I was six. In our kitchen, mornings before school, Kinden switched our only television to reruns of iceling. Privileged enough to even have a luxury like a television, we ate fresh-baked scones, and I slowly lifted my head out of textbooks.
Young women and men took to the ice on sharp blades and chased after a quilted violet ball, tucked beneath their opponent’s arm.
I think it wasn’t the strategy I liked. I remember … my intrigue was more rudimentary. Entertained. By something other than medicine. I had a distraction.
My father would slip into the kitchen and notice me first. “Etian.” He smiled benevolently and put a hand to my book, then my shoulder. “Finish your studies.”
He chastised Kinden for bothering me, and he turned off the television. Soon after, we’d leave for school.
I never had time to watch a full iceling match. Other priorities always tugged me away.
I wake out of a hazy stupor. Reminding myself that I still have priorities. Ones even more important than when I was a child.
“I knew a group of FTs who snuck into an iceling match a few years ago,” Franny admits to everyone.
Mykal and I are dry on the floor—but perfumed water warms my feet, my arms, ankles, legs, and waist.
Franny. Near us, she wades in the shallow pool, the tips of her black hair wet. Her tunic almost floats up, but she tugs the fabric down every so often. “Altia Patrol caught them five minutes into the first quarter, and they spent four days mopping up the bleachers as punishment.” She says that one boy only had two days left to live, and he was stuck cleaning.
Gem sighs. “All our time together, I should’ve known you grew up as a Fast-Tracker. Padgett had suspicions.”
Padgett smiles coyly and blows smoke ringlets.
We have no reason to pretend to be other people with my brother, Zimmer, and the Soarcastle sisters. Not anymore. One way or another, we’re all outcasts.
Earlier, we revealed some truths we’d kept secret. Like Mykal and his Grenpale heritage and becoming a Hinterlander in the Free Lands.
Mouths fell with an astonishing silence. The idea that a Hinterlander, someone who chooses no c
ountry and roams the fiercest weather-beaten terrain, could fit into upper-crust society without being caught was unfathomable to them. After the shock faded, the Soarcastle sisters praised Mykal for his aptitude at StarDust.
For all that he’s done and learned, he deserves that admiration and more.
Kinden has been studying Mykal, then me, as though piecing together why I’m in love with him. I could nearly smile at the notion that my brother is seeing more of the boy I know.
For Franny, she had less to share than Mykal. Kinden and Zimmer already knew Franny was a Fast-Tracker and that her name was not Wilafran, but the Soarcastle sisters were still largely in the dark until today.
And I was grateful that I didn’t need to speak about my past at all. While we were in the Romulus brig, Kinden opened up to them about my history. Likewise, Zimmer already confessed his Fast-Tracker status.
With everyone’s intentions bare and all they’ve risked to find us, my sky-high guards have begun to lower. Hopefully not for the worst.
But there is one secret the three of us can’t share with our friends or Stork.
The link.
We still keep that hidden to protect each other. And I know I should move away from Mykal, put more distance between us like we talked about. For the sake of hiding the link. But I feel more rigid and unbending today, and his shoulder against mine is a comfort that I can’t so easily disregard.
“… if they paid for their tickets, they could’ve avoided punishment,” Kinden says, my mind dipping back into their talk.
Franny’s brows scrunch together. “You know how many bills an iceling match costs?”
“Of course.” Kinden sips wine from the bottle. “The back rows are less than fifty bills.”
Padgett weaves into the conversation. “So says a boy who’s likely always had a hundred in his pocket.”
“Save your breath, Padgett, and just say I’m grossly rich.” With a profounder eye on Padgett, he passes her the bottle. “Tarter than Saltarian wine. What do you think?”
She plucks her pipe out to taste.
“Mom and Dad are flirting again,” Zimmer says with a wry grin.
Padgett shoots him a look as she puts the bottle to her lips, and Kinden rolls his eyes.
Gem explains quickly, “Zimmer thinks he’s funny.”
“Over a month on the Saga starcraft with you three,” Zimmer replies. “If I didn’t make jokes, we’d all go mad.” Over a month. They’ve had a long time together, but I can’t imagine it was as mundane as the days Franny, Mykal, and I spent in the Romulus brig. A month there felt like a year.
My eyes veer to Stork. I no longer expect him to cut off trivial discussions.
Lounging at the head of the pool, he sits on the edge, his legs dunked beneath the water. He smiles into swigs of liquor.
These are the very first Saltarians he’s met that he didn’t need to fight. I know this. But we have such little time. I’m in the same position as him. Surrounded by humans on the Lucretzia, the very first humans I’ve ever met. But I’ve forgone flippant chats and curious banter for the betterment of the mission.
And this is his mission.
His priority.
He’s the captain of a squadron, and he’s not foolish, as far as I’ve been able to tell. I want to know what he’s playing at. Whether he’s gathering information on everyone or if it’s something else.
Mykal squeezes my tense shoulder.
“Fifty bills,” Gem ponders. “That would’ve bought me the materials to build a new radio transmitter.”
I wait for Franny or Zimmer to say how that money would’ve fed them for months. Franny has mentioned how Purple Coach wages were low. Countries purposefully paid drivers less and made them survive off of tips.
Neither speaks, possibly not wanting to hurt Gem’s feelings, but they exchange a knowing look and Franny drifts toward Zimmer.
Water rushes against her waist as she moves, and Mykal flinches at the strange sensation.
No one can tell we’re linked.
It’s what I repeat.
A second arm is around my shoulders—that’s not me. I look back at the pool. Franny floats on her back next to Zimmer, his arm curved around her shoulders.
I tense, cautious for other reasons than secrecy and our fate.
Mykal sucks on his cig, a disgruntled noise in his throat.
“It’s so dreary to think we’ll never see Nash Redcastle and Eloise Ulycastle end up together,” Gem says. “Last I heard, they were rumored to be engaged. Now we’ll never know if it was true.”
Kinden adjusts his expensive watch. “I already know. The rumor was false. Nash was dating Brauna, the goalie for Bartholo.”
I can’t believe we’re still discussing iceling.
“I met him once.” Zimmer turns every head.
“Holy Wonders.” Gem gasps. “You met Nash Redcastle. Did you sneak inside a match?”
“I shined his shoes,” he says. “Back at the Catherina Hotel. Buffed them real good and the toad hole paid me a single fykking bill.”
Stork clutches his scotch bottle loosely, absorbed at every word and movement. He watches Zimmer casually shifting and linking arms with Franny.
“I’ve heard Nash was cheap,” Kinden remarks, picking up the Myths book off the floor. Finally. He waits to open the cover. Kinden. “But he’s still one of the greats, and he’s not bad on the eyes.”
“No easier way to lose a stiffy than being stiffed,” Zimmer quips.
Nash Redcastle was arguably one of the most famous people on Saltare-3. He was a Fast-Tracker who lived like an Influential, and he’ll die in four years’ time.
All of that is meaningless now.
I wonder why Stork doesn’t feel the same. How can I trust him to lead everyone safely into and out of Saltare-1? If anyone dies or loses a limb, I’m to blame. Our friends are joining us because I asked. Because for some gods-forsaken reason, they trust me enough to follow my lead.
I settle my hardened eyes on Stork. “What are we doing here anyway?”
“Building morale.” He raises his bottle to his lips, unbothered. He nods his chin to Gem. “What are the rules to iceling?”
Gem cheerfully explains the sport, and I contemplate the optimism and unity in the air that I ignored.
I try to ease.
But when she’s finished, I ask my brother, “Have you read the myth yet?”
Stork looks me over with confusion. “Wow, have you ever chilled for more than two seconds?”
I blink. “I don’t know what that means.”
His lip quirks. “Have you ever relaxed, mate?”
I ache to shrug, but my shoulders refuse to budge. Mykal pushes my cheek, and I almost, almost smile.
Gem mouths the word, Wow. An exclamation I only hear humans use.
“Pardon my little brother”—Kinden sets down his wine bottle and flips open the book—“he was never allowed to have fun.” He skims the correct page and reads several lines aloud. “One day, a baby fell from the sky. She was unlike any other. Born of mystical beauty and power, she alone could bring peace to an ancient land.” Kinden tries not to laugh.
“I know,” I say first, but the myth unnerves me. I memorized the two-page story and I can’t place my finger on why this absurd tale troubles my mind. “The line about the baby appearing in Montbay on Victory’s Sacred Eve is strangely specific, Kinden.”
The Saltarian weeklong holiday is two months from today and widely celebrated on Saltare-3. Marching bands and famous athletes parade down popular city streets, and civilians cheer and collect tossed candy.
Padgett takes a quick glance at the page. “What’s Montbay?”
“The largest city in Saltare-1,” Stork says as he stands, water dripping down his legs.
My brother gives me an uncertain look. “Likely there is no baby, and this myth is just a myth.”
I nod, but there is no other path left to take. My gaze drifts to the Soarcastle sisters, Zimmer, and
Kinden—all four equally accepting of this venture, even knowing our terrible odds.
“Why help if you believe this is a fool’s chase?” I ask.
Gem smiles. “We were always undervalued on Saltare-3, and I want to prove that we can do extraordinary things together.” She bumps hips with her sister. “I can’t name anything more astonishing than proving a myth to be true.”
Padgett plucks the pipe out of her lips. “The myth is peculiar, and I’d like to uncover this peculiarity.” She adds, “And I’m not leaving Gem’s side.”
Floating, Zimmer rests his hands behind his head and gazes up at the sky port. “I’ve already seen the stars. Thought I might as well add another planet to the list before I die.”
Kinden lifts his gaze off the book and rests them on me. “So I’ll have more years with you, little brother.”
I finally ease, and despite the absurdity in this plan, I’m beginning to feel hopeful.
Mykal and Franny smile wider and fuller.
We’re hopeful.
I hang on tight, and as everyone readies for sleep, Stork motions to the seven of us. “Here’s how this has to work. I was given strict orders that two of you stay in my barracks. One of the humans and one of the Saltarians.”
“What?” Franny balks.
My jaw muscle tics. “I thought you said the fleet trusts the Saga 4.”
Stork tosses his scotch bottle and catches it skillfully. “That was before they were given critical op details. This is day two and to avoid a coup, they want you split up at night. I have no problem choosing, if it’s easier.” He looks over to Franny.
“I’ll do it,” Mykal offers, no hesitation.
Stork pats his chest, as though remembering he has no sword. Mykal never returned the weapon. “Except you.” He sips his scotch and points the bottle at me and Franny. “Choose.”
EIGHTEEN
Mykal
“I’m supposed to be interrogating him anyway,” Franny whispers to me outside of Stork’s barracks. We huddle too near to be overheard.
“You needn’t worry about that tonight,” I say lowly. After she volunteered, her blazing spirit on some sort of path that neither Court nor I will be smothering, I wanted to talk before leaving her to it.
The Last Hope Page 15
