“You just got here.”
“Come out of hiding so I can murder you!” I growl.
He instantly appears under the archway of the gazebo. His hand falls away from a small, silver box clipped to the waistband of his black belt. He’s attired in the same type of uniform that I saw the matchstick soldiers of Amster wearing when I projected into their compound last night. He sweeps his light-brown dreadlocks back from his face, then rests his hand on the hilt of a knife holstered on his side. It makes him look dangerous, even when he doesn’t make a move to draw it. I take a step back from him. He notices. His eyes follow mine to his hand on the knife. He moves his hand away from the blade and strokes his beard instead, smoothing the hair that is the darkest side of blond. His green eyes pass over me as if he’s assessing my well-being.
“I’m not here to hurt you, Kricket.”
“Good, because I’ll kill you if you try.”
“You can’t kill me.” It’s not said in a derogatory way—it’s just a statement of fact.
“All I’d need to do is tell Kyon you’re here and you’re a dead man.”
His face contorts in anger. The muscles bulge around his rolled-up shirtsleeves. “Is he your man now?”
“Screw you! How did you even know I was here?”
“The Brotherhood deployed an armada of aircraft. They weren’t hard to detect. I’ve been watching the action on the beach. When it ended, I hung around and watched the house. Then . . . you came out, so I followed you.”
“You knew I was here.”
He shrugs. “I had an idea. You’re our ghost. I told you I’d find you and make contact.”
“You’re wasting your time—I’m not telling you anything until you get me out of here.”
He shakes his head. “That’s not how this works.”
“That’s how it works for me unless you’d like me to let Kyon know you’re here.” I make a move toward the entrance of the gazebo.
He takes a step in front of me to block my way. His jaw clenches as he points at me. “I’d be gone by the time you could make it back to the house.”
I want to scare him. “Don’t forget I know where you live—” No sooner are the words out of my mouth than I am lifted up off the ground and slammed into the stone pillar behind me. He keeps me pinned to the pillar using his telekinetic power. I cough and wheeze, trying to catch my breath as I dangle above the ground.
“Careful, Kricket,” Giffen warns. “The moment I actually believe that you’ll flip on us is the moment you’re truly dead.”
“How did you get past Oscil? The security on this island is extensive; there are sensors everywhere.”
“I’m unique, Kricket. I’ve been using my abilities to obstruct the sensors. They won’t pick up on me unless I allow them to.”
“What do you want?” I gasp. I must have bitten my lip because it throbs and I taste blood in my mouth.
“Information. What can you tell us about the ships we saw amassed around the island?” he asks.
I don’t reply; I just stare at him, hoping somehow it’ll kill him. Why didn’t I get that ability? Death-ray eyes. Seeing the future is completely useless compared to that.
He sighs. “You do know we have Trey? You were just there. His welfare depends on how well you do here.”
“Astrid won’t let you hurt him.”
“Astrid won’t have any say in what happens to him. He’s my prisoner. If you want to keep him alive, you’ll cooperate.”
Giffen underestimates Trey. He’ll have Trey only as long as Trey is hurt. After that, Giffen won’t have crap. I only have to hold on until then. All we need is time. I relent, saying, “The ships were sent by the Alameeda Brotherhood, led by Excelsior Ensin. He intended to swing by and pick me up.”
Giffen shows little emotion. “Kyon refused to relinquish you to his father?”
“That’s right.”
Giffen glances up at me, his green eyes narrow. “How long does Kyon plan to stay here—on this island?” He walks closer to me, coming to stand beneath where I’m pinned to the wall. The shadow of the pillar on him hides the golden streaks in his hair.
I study the handsome contours of his face before I reply, “I don’t know. Kyon said he wants us to get to know each other. He thinks it’ll be too hard to do that with other people around.”
Giffen’s lips twist. He almost looks jealous. “Why? What does he want to know about you?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Given our history, the only thing I expect from Kyon is pain.” Giffen’s frown deepens, causing me to say, “You don’t think I’m right.”
“He didn’t hand you over to Excelsior. He kept you instead.”
“Maybe Kyon wants something from Excelsior in exchange for me and is just waiting to raise the stakes.”
“Or maybe you’re what he wants,” Giffen retorts.
“You believe that,” I whisper softly.
“He could’ve demanded anything in exchange for you and it would’ve been granted by his father. He didn’t do that.”
“I think you’re wrong. They hate each other with the kind of loathing I’ve only seen in bad foster homes,” I murmur thoughtfully. “Kyon may not have given me up just because it’s Excelsior who wants me.”
He shakes his head again. “It’s more than bad blood, Kricket. Kyon has a plan in place. I need you to find out what it is.”
“You’re not taking me back with you?” Something inside me squeezes tight. I think it’s my bloodless heart, but I’m not sure because my entire chest aches.
“You’re valuable to us here—with Kyon. You can get close to him; find out what he knows about what the Brotherhood is planning. Win his trust. Stay valuable to us and you stay alive. Should that change . . .”
“What? You’ll kill me?” I ask, even knowing that his threat was implicit. “My father would let you do that?”
“This is bigger than any of us. This is the fate of Ethar. I know you don’t care about that—how could you—deep down, you still think you’re from Earth.”
“Whose fault is that?” I ask.
Giffen comes to stand just beneath me. “Be our eyes, Kricket, and you’ll survive this.” He lets me fall from the pillar, catching me in his arms. As my feet slide to the ground, he pulls me against his strong chest, holding me steady. My cheek rests briefly against the soft fabric of his uniform. I inhale his scent. A memory flashes in my mind—Chicago in autumn—my face resting against fallen leaves—an unbelievable ache in my chest—that smell—his smell—his voice saying, “You’ll be okay. I’m going to make you okay, just hang on—”
Giffen disrupts the images by saying, “I have to go. Your father wanted me to give you a message when I saw you.”
“Don’t. I don’t want to hear it.” I try to push away from him, but he won’t let me.
Giffen strokes his hand over my hair. “He told me to tell you, ‘The future is what you make it.’” I let go of Giffen entirely, but he continues to hold me to him.
“Did he steal that from a cat poster or something?” I ask scornfully.
Giffen grasps my upper arms and pulls me away from his chest so he can look into my eyes. “What? No! It was heartfelt.”
“Okay, you’ve delivered your message. Now let go of me.” He immediately turns me loose. Distancing myself from him, I stare out over the far away Sea of Stars. “You can go now.”
“Is there something you want me to tell Pan in return?” Giffen asks in a strained voice.
“No.”
“This is not how your father wants things—”
“But this is how things are,” I reply bitterly. I turn around sharply, glaring at him. “Just go! I want you to leave!”
He reaches out to me, gathering my hair in his fist. “I hurt you.” His other hand clutches my chin. He rubs his thumb over my bottom lip. A smear of blood shows on his skin. “Let me cut your hair so it stops bleeding.”
“You’re so bad at this!” I try to brush his hand
away from my hair, but he holds it tighter.
“What do you mean?” he asks defensively. His eyebrows come together in a scowl.
“You can’t threaten to kill me, and then care about my bloody lip—and you honestly mean both! Which is totally schizo!”
He pulls out a knife and cuts my hair without a word. Letting the ashes of it fall from his fingers, he turns away from me and says over his shoulder, “Find out what Kyon is planning. I’ll be in touch.” His hand reaches for the silver box on his belt. An instant after that, he disappears from my sight, becoming invisible.
I don’t move right away. Even after the sound of his footfalls die away, I just stand where I am like a complete idiot. Finally, I take a step to leave, but I stop. I look around. I don’t know where I’m going—back to Kyon’s house? Why would I do that? I should be trying to find a way off this island . . . but then what? Where would I go? Amster? I’m not welcome there—and that’s if I made it, which I probably wouldn’t.
My knees tremble. I sink to the ground, sitting down and leaning my back against one of the stone pillars. Drawing my knees up to my chest, I rest my head on them. I need a plan. The only one I can come up with right now involves hanging on long enough for Trey to get well enough to come find me, but I hate that plan. It’s weak.
I lift my head from my knees. Looking around, I’m unsure if I’m alone. The technology here is ridiculous. I decide I don’t care. I may not be able to physically leave here, but I can still leave, at least for a little while. I rub my hands together, leaning back against the pillar, but then I think better of it. Instead, I stretch out on the floor of the gazebo so I don’t accidentally hit my head when I leave my body. My skin prickles with fear. The last time I did this I almost died, and there are oceans between me and where I want to be, but I have to go anyway.
“Trey,” I whisper. “I wish I was with you still.” I chase my dreams of him, trying to concentrate on where I want to go and when.
As I exhale, I see smoky curls of my frigid breath float away from between my parted lips. Nothing can really prepare me for the separation of my being from my skin. It’s always brutal.
As I ascend away from my body at an incredible rate, I endure the torture. I’d writhe in the burning heat of it if I had a body to writhe in. The searing pain fades quickly to only slight discomfort, though, as I move in a flash-forward. Taking a rail spur in time, it leads me to where I’d gone last night—the long room at the top of the recently renovated Gothic-style governor’s mansion in Amster.
Moving by the line of empty hoverbeds, I see the backs of Raspin and four other uniformed Amster soldiers. They’re cautiously moving toward a bare-chested Trey. He’s attired in thin cotton trousers that are cinched at his waist by a drawstring. He seems disoriented, as if he’s trying to piece together where he is and what’s happening to him. He holds his hand to the side of his face, touching a large, black bruise with his fingertips. He winces, and then looks at his hand. He studies the small, time-release, drug-dispensing cylinder fastened to it.
Between the Amster soldiers and Trey, Astrid is holding out both of her hands, pleading with Trey, “You need to get back into bed. You’ve been very sick.” She touches his chest where his tribal tattoo swirls and weaves a path over his skin to his chiseled abdomen. She tries to redirect him back to the vacant hovercot behind him. He shakes off her hand, inadvertently disconnecting a couple of wires that had been attached to him.
“Where is she? I want to see her!” Trey demands with a half-panicked, half-bewildered look in his violet eyes. In the distance, doors slam, feet are running. More grim-faced soldiers crowd around in the hallway outside, watching, waiting.
Sunlight shines into the room from the high dormer-style windows above, putting Astrid and Trey in a golden spotlight. Their hair is a similar color: raven’s wings in this light, blue-black with the hint of night. Raspin prowls closer to Astrid. He touches her arm, intending to guide her away from Trey, but she won’t let him. She shakes him off. Her focus is on my Rafe soldier. “Do you know who I am?” she asks.
Trey grasps his forehead as if he has a massive headache. “No—but you’re part Rafian.”
“And I’m part Alameedan. You probably noticed my blue eyes already,” Astrid replies gently.
“Should I know you?”
“Yes . . . and no,” Astrid stammers, “that is to say, we’ve met—briefly—you were barely conscious, though.”
“Are you the medic?” Trey asks, straightening and dropping his hand from his forehead.
“I’ve been assisting with your care, Trey,” Astrid replies, using his name.
Trey touches her upper arm, and says in a rush, “There’s a girl. Her name is Kricket. She—”
“You should get back in bed so I can tell you—”
“—she was with me at my house in Rafe territory—we were attacked—” He tries to get closer to Astrid, but the wires attached to his chest get in his way, snapping him back. He grabs them all with his other hand and tears them off his chest without flinching. A myriad of beeping and alarms ring out on the hovercot. Astrid goes to the hovercot and turns off the offending noise by pressing buttons on its console. Trey faces her, ignoring the men behind him. “She’s short”—he holds up his hand, measuring my height on his chest—“blonde, looks like a priestess, but she’s not one of them, she’s one of us. Do you know where she is? Was she brought here too?”
Astrid straightens to face Trey again, but she has deflated a bit from her statuesque posture. She tucks her long, black hair behind her ear. “My name is Astrid. Do you know who I am?”
“No . . . I . . .” Trey pauses. “Did you say Astrid?”
She nods, “I did.”
He looks at her then—really looks at her. “Who are you?”
“I’m Kricket’s sister—her younger sister.”
He’s hardly fazed by her answer, which attests to either his brain injury or the fact that he’s singularly focused on me. “Kricket’s here?” He nods his head as if to make it so.
She shakes her head. “No. It’s complicated. Sit down and I’ll explain it to you.”
“I don’t need to sit down. Where is she? Is she alive?”
“She’s alive,” Astrid replies, “we think—”
“You think? You don’t know if she’s alive?”
“We believe she’s alive. We think we may know where she is now, but it’s unconfirmed. Giffen hasn’t reported back yet—”
“Giffen? Is he a Comantre soldier—was he on the Ship of Skye before it was destroyed?”
“He was there,” Astrid affirms. “He’s one of us, though, not Comantre.”
“He’s part of this?” Trey waves his hand around, indicating the other soldiers.
“He’s part of the reconstruction of New Amster.”
“Does he have Kricket?” Trey asks.
“No. He believes he has located her. We’re waiting for his confirmation—”
“Where?”
“The Sea of Stars.” She all but chokes on the words.
“The Sea of—that’s Alameeda—” His face contorts as if she’s thrown ice water on him. “That’s Kyon’s family seat. Does he have her?”
“We’re trying to locate her.”
Frustration makes him snarl, “Does Kyon have her?”
Astrid makes a slow retreat from him. Backing away, she answers, “Yes.”
Wayra’s voice interrupts them then. “Giffen and that tall, dopey-looking one over there”—he points to Raspin—“gave Kricket to Kyon in exchange for her sister, Astrid.” Wayra’s contemptuous words resound in the room as he shoves his way in past soldiers who are almost as big as he is. Someone has given him a coal-black Amster uniform, but he has modified it. It no longer sports a collar, having been ripped off so that more of the swirling, black military tattoos on the side of his throat are visible. Jax is behind him, sidestepping the other soldiers with a bit more tact than Wayra displayed.
“Y
ou’re her sister?” Trey asks Astrid in confusion, like she hadn’t already told him that.
“That’s correct,” she replies as she wrings her hands.
“Why would you do that? Why would you give her to him?” Trey can’t understand that kind of disloyalty. It’s not in him.
Wayra doesn’t let her answer the question. “Kyon had Astrid. It was an even exchange.”
“Why didn’t you stop it?” Trey retorts, turning on Wayra in anger.
Wayra doesn’t back down. “I had my head beaten in too.” He points to the side of his head. His ear is cut up and looks as if it might have been sewn back on with knitting needles. “I didn’t find out about it until I came to, here in knob-knocking Amster!” He sneers, but it’s not directed at Trey. His taunting words are for the soldier near Astrid. One of them growls and makes a move toward Wayra. Astrid stays the soldier with a gesture of her hand. Wayra’s lip curls in contempt. He wants a fight. He’s begging for one.
“We can fix your scars,” Astrid says to Wayra.
He rounds on her. “Why would I let you do that? You’re a blood traitor! You gave up your own sister!”
Astrid becomes emotional as well. “I didn’t give her up! I was trying to save her!”
“Wayra,” Jax says behind him. “Let me give Trey an update on what we’ve learned.”
Jax moves around Wayra, getting closer to Astrid. He gives my sister a brief nod, saying, “If I may?”
Astrid responds immediately with a smile to his innate kindness. Jax has that effect on almost everyone. “Of course,” she replies, raising her hand to usher him nearer to Trey.
“Sir,” Jax says, facing Trey, “we were just down in one of the ops rooms. They have positive confirmation that Kricket is alive. She’s on a small island in the Sea of Stars.”
“Is she okay?” Trey asks.
“She’s well, by all accounts.”
“When is her extraction?” Trey asks. “I want all the details.”
Jax hesitates, and then says, “There’s no extraction, sir.”
“Why not? Is it still in the planning stages?”
“Negative. She’s embedded.”
Darken the Stars Page 6
