by Claudia Gray
She flung open the door even before their visitor could knock—then froze in shock. It was impossible to move, or even to speak any word besides his name.
Ciena whispered, “…Thane?”
AS OFTEN AS Ciena had thought about Thane, even though he remained a part of her, she had genuinely believed she would never see him again. And yet there he stood in front of her, unsure of his welcome, his pale blue eyes unfathomable.
Her father spoke then. “Yes?”
“Mr. Ree. It’s Thane Kyrell. I heard about Ciena’s mother and—I wanted to stand vigil with you. If you’ll have me.” Thane gestured toward the trough of sand, where a lone flag stood. “Ciena told me once that people from outside the kindred could bring a plain red flag, since we don’t have family banners. At least…I think that’s what she told me.” He hesitated for the first time, and the uncertainty she briefly glimpsed in him made Thane look more familiar, like the boy she remembered. But that moment didn’t last long; that boy faded away, leaving a stranger behind. “Did I remember the ritual correctly?”
“You did.” The words came out more evenly than Ciena would have thought she could manage.
Thane nodded, acknowledging her words as rigidly as he’d once acknowledged orders. “Then may I stand with you? Or should I leave?”
The obvious subtext: Are you going to turn me in to the Empire?
She had sworn to do it. Her oath of loyalty demanded no less, especially now that she knew Thane had joined the Rebel Alliance.
But the sanctity of standing vigil was supreme. Anyone who staked his honor on yours deserved the protection of your house. So when her father glanced at her, eyebrow raised, she nodded and took a step back from the door so Thane could walk inside.
He had been listening more carefully than she’d thought back in those days in the Fortress, when she’d tried to explain the beliefs and rituals of the kindred to him as they whiled away the hours. He addressed her father properly, bowing his head slightly in respect. “Paron Ree, I believe in the honor of your family.”
“I thank you for your decision to stand vigil with us.” Her father hesitated—he had met Thane on only a few occasions and had never seen him as anything but a privileged rich boy who piggybacked his way to success on Ciena’s shoulders. Certainly he had never shaken Thane’s hand before, but he did so now.
Ciena shut the door, her hands so numb with shock that she fumbled with the bolt. It had been three years since they’d said good-bye. She’d made it down to ground level that night before she’d begun to cry; she doubted Thane had lasted much longer.
I told him I would turn him in if I ever saw him again. I told him if he ever returned to Jelucan, he would be captured. Imprisoned. Possibly killed. Even lesser treasons had become capital crimes in the past few years.
But Thane had returned anyway.
“All right.” Thane stood in the center of their main room, tall and imposing in a domed room that seemed too small for him. “What do you need me to do?”
Her father gestured to the table. “Your presence is enough. Have you eaten? We have soup, thanks to Ciena.”
“I don’t want to impose—”
“You’re standing vigil,” Ciena said. The words came out more sharply than she’d intended. “You stand with our house. That means you’re entitled to our hospitality and our protection—while you’re here.”
“Then I’ll have some soup. Thank you.” Thane lowered himself to the floor, folding his long legs beneath the low table with some difficulty.
Pappa took it upon himself to get Thane’s meal, both as part of the ritual welcome of their one ally and because he must have felt Ciena and Thane wanted to talk. They should talk; Ciena knew that much. But she had no idea where to start.
Best to begin with what mattered most. “Thank you,” she said. “For standing with our family.”
Thane nodded toward the trough outside. “I didn’t see any other flags.”
“The kindred have abandoned us.” A bitter smile twisted her lips. “No one else came. Only you.”
He hesitated before saying, “I know your mother is innocent. Nobody from the valleys would ever do something like that—least of all anyone connected to you.”
Their eyes met for a long moment before they both turned away.
When her father set the bowl of soup in front of Thane, she saw how slowly Pappa moved. He couldn’t have known one moment’s peace since her mother’s arrest more than a week ago. “Remember, I’m standing the vigil tonight,” Ciena said to her father, putting her hand on his arm. “Go to bed.”
“I can do it,” Thane said. “Someone has to stay awake until dawn—that’s right, isn’t it? If so, it ought to be me.”
Pappa, apparently assuming the matter was settled, kissed Ciena on the cheek and went to his room without another word. She hoped he would lie down and fall asleep immediately, both because he obviously needed the rest and because she didn’t want him to overhear anything she and Thane were about to say.
They remained silent until her father’s door had closed. Ciena’s knees felt watery as she took her place on the cushion next to Thane’s; being that close to him reminded her so powerfully of the one night they had spent together. He’d lost the last of his boyhood softness, and instead had become almost aggressively masculine—broad shoulders, solid muscles, and a thick shadow of reddish stubble along the strong line of his jaw. But she turned until she could not see his face and said only, “You know it’s dangerous for you here.”
“I’ve been careful,” he said. “I didn’t leave my transport until after dark. Rented a ridgecrawler under a fake name, came straight here. I’ll leave at night, too. So I’m not going to see anyone who doesn’t come into this house. I’m safe—unless you turn me in.”
“By now you know I’m not going to.”
“Because I’m owed the ‘protection of the house’?” Thane asked. The obvious subtext: Or do you have another reason?
She gave him no direct answer. Wrapping her arms around herself in a hug, she said, “I’ll keep the vigil tonight.”
“You’re exhausted—it’s obvious,” he said, so harshly it seemed like a judgment. “I slept on the transport, so I’ve got a few hours in me.”
“I can’t let you do that.”
“It’s not a ritual thing, is it? If it were, your father would have said so. So why?”
She was tired enough to tell him the truth. “Because I don’t want to owe you anything.”
He laughed, not in humor but surprise. Thane hadn’t expected her to be this angry; obviously he’d had no idea she knew the truth about his involvement with the Rebel Alliance, though he probably suspected it now. But he seemed to be nearly as angry with her—despite the fact that the last time they’d seen each other they’d had to tear themselves apart.
“Look at it this way.” Thane spoke very quietly, and almost against her will Ciena looked up at him again. “I already owe you one, for faking my suicide instead of turning me in. So if I keep the vigil tonight, we’ll be even. Nobody will owe anyone anything. Okay?”
In her childhood, Ciena had read horrible stories of the cruel, barbarous punishments used in the old times, back before her people had ever left their original planet or knew that others lived among the stars. She’d had nightmares about one in particular, where a person’s four limbs would be tied to four separate beasts, which would then be driven in opposite directions until the victim’s body was torn apart. That torture had haunted her, and she had given thanks that it could never happen to her.
Now it was happening, not to her body but to her soul.
She had sworn an oath of loyalty to the Empire, had made friends there who would be with her for a lifetime, and had served with distinction. Yet the shadows she had glimpsed long ago had lengthened and darkened—the useless deaths of so many pilots, the increasing pressure to put aside everything she had been, the corruption and devastation here on Jelucan. And, above all, she could not
forget Alderaan, a world destroyed in an effort to prevent a war, an effort that had utterly failed.
None of that divided her heart as brutally as simply being with Thane again. Not only had he abandoned his duty—and her—but he had also joined the Rebellion. The people responsible for Jude’s death and this wretched war. It was the most complete betrayal she could imagine.
But when everyone else had failed her, Thane had risked his life to stand by her side.
Ciena rose from the table. “Good night, Thane.” She didn’t thank him for keeping the vigil. She simply walked to her bedroom and closed the door behind her without looking back. In her exhaustion, she thought she would fall asleep instantly, but instead she lay awake for nearly an hour, listening for the faint sounds Thane made as he moved about the house. Ciena knew he would not come to her, nor did she want him to, but she couldn’t stop wanting to hear him. To know where he was, and be sure he was near.
The next morning, when Paron Ree rose, Thane excused himself for a quick nap. By that time he was tired enough to sleep despite the questions burning in his mind, the same ones that had plagued him all night long.
Such as, Why is Ciena furious with me? He suspected she’d learned he had joined the Rebellion, which was bad news. Did that mean the Empire had a dossier on him? They couldn’t unless the Rebel Alliance had intelligence leaks of its own. Maybe Ciena had been punished for covering up his desertion; that, too, would explain why she seemed to find it difficult to look at him.
Another: Will I be able to rejoin my squadron when I return? Thane had reported his upcoming absence to General Rieekan but had given no details and been given none in return. Probably his relays for the Liberty’s current coordinates would still be good when he left—but if the Rebellion got even a hint that the Empire might be coming after the ship, they would move on. Then Thane would have to go through the laborious process of reconnecting with the Rebel Alliance from scratch: sounding out pilots in various spaceports, traveling to worlds known to be sympathetic in hopes of hearing the right whispers, and so on. It could be a lengthy process and would certainly be a dangerous one.
But the question truly tearing Thane apart was, What am I doing here?
Thane had told himself Kendy was right—the Empire wanted not only its officers’ service but also their souls. Years of thought control and moral compromise would have worn away everything he’d loved about Ciena, leaving only one of Palpatine’s creations behind.
Then he’d seen the news report about Ciena’s mother. Instantly, he’d known Ciena would return to Jelucan. And just that quickly, he’d known he had to come back, too, and face her one more time.
If the Empire had hollowed her out—left nothing behind but a cold, empty shell—then Thane could finally let go. If she’d still been the exact same girl he remembered, then Thane would have turned into the most zealous recruiter the Rebellion ever had.
Neither of those extremes had come to pass. He knew that much. But he could look no further into Ciena’s heart. She had become a mystery to him, one he didn’t know how to solve.
He rose from his nap in what he thought must be midmorning. It was hard to tell now that the pollution in the air had become so thick. When he walked into the main room, Ciena lifted her head to look at him. She sat on one of the floor cushions, in leggings and a white tunic; she hadn’t braided her hair, so the curls fluffed around her face like a cloud. That was how she’d worn her hair the night they danced together at the Imperial Palace.
He’d been so sure that years of Imperial service would’ve hardened her. Had tried to envision her only as a stiff, sharp-edged Imperial officer. Instead Ciena remained graceful, gentle—even delicate, though Thane knew that was appearance rather than reality. He remembered the firmness of muscle along her limbs and her back, just as he remembered what it had felt like to gaze into her dark brown eyes as she lay beneath him.…
Snap out of it, he told himself.
No “good morning” seemed to be forthcoming, so Thane didn’t offer one, either. “Where’s your father?”
“At work,” she said, motioning to some bread and cheese that must have been meant for his breakfast. “Pappa’s an administrator at the garrison. He doesn’t get time off because his wife is in danger and his heart is broken. He can’t even be late.”
Was that anger with the Empire he heard? Thane wanted to feel hopeful, but Ciena remained as still and unreadable as she’d been the night before. He helped himself to some bread and managed to sit at the damnably short table. “What does the ritual require of us today?”
“Nothing much. Someone should be here constantly, watching the house—but since only one person stands with us, that rule doesn’t matter.” Ciena hesitated, then added, “I requested a meeting with the local magistrate yesterday, then again this morning. There’s been no reply. I don’t expect one.”
“You’re telling me we could leave, but we have no place to go.”
No response. Her gaze was fixed on the one round window in front, where his makeshift red flag flapped in the wind. The soot in the air would stain it dark, soon. He’d followed Jelucan’s degeneration over the years, but that didn’t make it easier to witness firsthand. If only they could travel back in time to when they were kids, when their world still felt like home and they understood each other without words…
Then he knew exactly what he wanted to do, exactly how he would know if she was still his Ciena.
He said, “Fly with me.”
She turned to look at him. “You want to fly? Now? Today?”
“We can take the ridgecrawlers to my family’s hangar. I bet the old V-171’s still in there.”
“If your parents saw you—”
“I checked before I left the spaceport. They’re halfway across the planet on business. We’re clear.”
Ciena looked doubtful. “The V-171 might not be skyworthy any longer. It’s been a few years.”
“So we check her out. If she’s broken down, okay, we’re done. But maybe she isn’t.”
Thane watched her struggle to find a reason to say no. Finally, she sighed. “Okay.”
He grabbed his dark blue jacket and cap with more dread than optimism. Ciena remained closed off to him, and Thane wasn’t sure things weren’t better that way. Yet they had rarely been closer than when they were in the air together. That was where they had taught each other, learned about each other, and explored their world as one. So that was where he’d finally see whether they could still communicate at all.
The ride to the hangar provided more suspense than Thane had expected. While the trails to that area had been obscure years ago, they’d come into common use. Each time they passed another ridgecrawler, his gut tightened. He half expected each driver to be a stormtrooper who would draw a blaster at any moment. But nobody gave them a second glance; he and Ciena were just two more figures climbing the mountain, shrouded in morning fog and gritty mining ash. Her ridgecrawler traveled in front of his. He felt like her shadow.
Whatever Dalven was up to these days, he wasn’t visiting home, or at least he hadn’t been by the hangar in years. The doors had almost rusted shut, and when Thane and Ciena tugged them open, clouds of dust swirled out and made them cough. Unsurprisingly, the V-171 was dusty, but when he hit the control panels, they lit up, glowing green.
He patted the side of the ship, absurdly proud. “All systems say go.”
“Then we go.” Ciena held out her hand for lizard-toad-snake before she consciously recognized what she was doing—to judge by her sudden embarrassment. Thane simply held out his hand as well. One, two, three: he went for toad, but she chose snake, and snake ate toad.
“You always were luckier with this than I was,” he muttered.
That won him a smile, fleeting but real. “Too bad, Kyrell.” She sounded like herself again. “You’re copilot today.”
The familiar rhythms of preparation and takeoff came as a relief. They knew how to talk to each other again, and what to d
o. Within moments, the V-171 had hovered off the ground. As Ciena eased them out of the hangar, he said, “Come on. Let’s grab some sky.”
“You got it.” And they soared up toward the sun.
They fell into sync immediately. Perfectly. Thane knew which way she’d want to turn before she did it; Ciena responded to every move he made almost before he was finished. It shocked him how much they hadn’t changed in this one way, even as the rest of their lives had been turned upside down. They still knew how to fly as one.
Several thousand meters up, the pollution thinned until they were surrounded by the same brightness he remembered from when they were children. The clouds shone white; the rugged peaks of the highest mountains rose through them, looking like islands in snow. Those altitudes couldn’t be mined; they remained pristine, untouched.
From here he could almost believe Jelucan was still beautiful.
Ciena wanted to linger in the sky as much as he did; Thane knew that without having to be told. Together they drew loops in the air, circled the familiar mountain ranges, caught the upwinds that still blew from Wavers’ Peak. When she tilted the wings to catch that drift, Thane had already begun to lean with her, and he laughed. “You love this.”
“So do you.” He could hear the smile in her voice.
This isn’t a truce. You’re still with the Rebellion; she’s still a loyal Imperial officer. We can never share anything more than a stolen hour, one flight.
So Thane told himself. Yet he couldn’t make himself believe it.
Even when a storm began to blow in, they postponed coming down as long as they could. Once the winds picked up enough chop, though, they wordlessly agreed on the moment when the V-171 had to descend. In the tiny craft, they could even feel the way each other’s weight shifted as they responded to the shear.
