Fractured Suns

by Theresa Kay

  Stu carries Ethan on his back as we trudge through the snow. It’s slow going. With each step, it takes an enormous amount of effort to pull my foot up high enough to clear the snow only to plunge it back down. By the time we reach the edge of the tree line, sweat is running down my back and I have to pant to catch my breath. At least the snow is a little shallower under the trees.

  My breath fogs the air in front of me and I keep my gaze focused ahead. We don’t talk, just walk. And walk. And walk. The burn in my thighs becomes too much, and I pause, leaning against a tree with my breath heaving in and out. It’s not long before the guys pause too, and Stu switches Ethan from one side of his body to the other.

  “I’m cold,” says Ethan. Stu rubs the child’s arms briskly and then meets my gaze as if to tell me to get on with it already.

  I pull the map from my pocket and use it as an excuse to rest a little longer. It’s not that much farther, maybe a mile or so. We’re directly north of the lake Jace and I swam in. That feels like about a million years ago, but it was actually only a couple months ago. I shiver. That mid-September weather would be nice right about now.

  “Not much farther.” I straighten up off the tree and start walking again.

  Flint falls into step beside me and then pulls ahead. “Walk in my footprints.”

  Why hadn’t I thought of that earlier? I’m not weak or anything, but wading through the snow seems much easier for Flint, and having preset places to step is definitely easier for me. It’s still slow, but it’s progress, and we continue to make our way through the trees.

  But the closer we get to Bridgelake, the more something starts to feel off. Nothing major, just a whisper of unease twisting around my stomach and a slowly growing buzz of anxiety. It takes another few minutes before I figure out what’s bothering me: we haven’t run into a single patrol.

  When the wall—or rather what’s left of it—comes into view, I understand why. An entire section has crumbled into a pile of rubble, and a large group of soldiers stands in front of it, guns at the ready and scanning the forest around them. Are we too late? Have the E’rikon already been here? No. There’s too much left of Bridgelake for the aliens to have done this. It’s something completely different—and based on the way every single gun trains on us as we draw closer, something more human in origin.

  “Identify yourselves,” a voice calls out.

  Flint glares at me when I open my mouth and try to sidestep around him. He shifts until he’s in front of me again and raises his hands. “Flint Jacobs and Jasmine Mitch—er, Jacobs. And… friends.”

  I elbow Flint in the back and mutter, “Jasmine Jacobs? Really?” He shoots his elbow back and glares at me over his shoulder. I roll my eyes.

  “And your friends are?” asks the same soldier.

  “Stuart and Ethan Dutter,” says Stu, stepping forward.

  The guy who spoke makes a sharp downward motion with one hand and the others lower their guns. “Please come forward for processing.”

  Processing? Flint cocks his head to the side and squints his eyes. “I don’t think that’s necessary. One of you can just run and get my father. I’m pretty sure he’ll vouch for me.”

  “Your father?” The soldier comes forward, and little details I didn’t notice before begin to register. This guy is younger than the typical member of Dane’s goon squad and he’s wearing some sort of uniform. I scan the others. They’re wearing the same thing.

  Before I can stop him, Flint throws his hands out and huffs. “Yeah, you know, Dane Jacobs, the guy that runs this place, the guy who—” He breaks off when all the guns come back up, aimed at the center of his chest. He backs up a step. “Okay… uh… we’ll be processed then.”

  Five men break away and approach our group. The one who spoke walks behind them with his hands clasped behind his back. He’s taller than those around him, his head up and his shoulders steady. He looks like someone who’s used to being listened to, maybe early twenties with short black hair and sharp dark eyes. A quick, cursory glance passes over each of us and then his gaze comes to rest on Flint. He scowls and narrows his eyes. “Why are you here?”

  “I live here,” says Flint. “Why are you here?”

  The man doesn’t answer. Instead he slides his gaze to meet the eyes of one of the armed soldiers. A quick lift of his chin, and the soldier switches his grip on the rifle he’s holding and sends the barrel into the side of Flint’s knee.

  Flint falls to the ground. The tall man pushes forward until he’s looming over Flint with that same intensity on his face.

  “What the hell? What’s your problem?” Flint hisses from the ground, his hand on his knee.

  “You are,” the man says. Pressing his lips together, he shakes his head. “Lock him up.”

  He turns sharply and heads back toward the wall while the others move into action. Two men grab Flint by his arms and pull him up, preparing to drag him away.

  “And the others?” asks a much too familiar voice. One of the other soldiers has stepped forward and crossed about halfway to our group. His lecherous glare crawls over me like slimy tentacles. Daniel.

  My breath catches and my heartbeat picks up, but I don’t back away. I don’t cower, and the fear that forms a smattering of frost on my nerve endings isn’t nearly enough to overwhelm me. I think it must confuse Daniel—my steady hands and extended eye contact.

  “Daniel?” Flint’s finally recognized the idiot. “What the hell is going on here?”

  Daniel smirks and shrugs his shoulders. “New boss in town. After—”

  The dark-haired man interrupts. “Escort the others to my office.” The words are sharp and cold, clearly a command. “After all, I can’t judge someone based purely on the company they keep. Right, Daniel?” There’s an undercurrent of warning to the way he says Daniel’s name.

  “Yes, sir.” The distaste and annoyance on Daniel’s face can’t be heard in his voice. He goes to step forward and the man holds up one hand.

  “I believe Larson and Holmes can handle the task. You may maintain your post at the wall, Cartuck.”

  Daniel’s hands turn into fists at his side and that edge of annoyance creeps into his voice. “Yes, sir.”

  Everything breaks into motion again. The dark-haired man strides forward and the two men pull Flint along behind him. The line of soldiers at the wall parts for them to pass. The fog of indecision and confusion in my head clears, and I’m moving forward as well, a protest on my lips, when fingers wrap around my upper arm.

  And then everything stops again.

  Whether it’s because the hand is unfamiliar or because it’s unexpected, the tiny ball of fear I’d held in check during the brief confrontation with Daniel expands. No, not just expands—it explodes, sending icicles shooting down my arms and chilling me more than my snow-dampened clothes. A tiny whimper squeezes up from my chest.

  Flint’s head jerks up. I guess the sound was a little louder than I thought. He shakes one arm loose from his captors. “Hey! Leave her alone!”

  “She won’t be harmed,” says Sir. He steps toward Flint. “And you are not in a position to make demands.”

  The man who had lost his grip on Flint grabs his arm again, but Flint continues to struggle against his hold. “You don’t understand. She’s not—”

  The dark-haired man leans forward. “No, you are the one who doesn’t understand. Your father no longer has any power here. And neither do you.”

  The hand is still on my arm, but my limbs are starting to thaw against the rising heat of something else. It’s not anger, but something just as hot, just at insistent, and it has me moving, leaning, reaching for the knife in my boot with my opposite arm and bringing it up in one smooth movement and arcing it around as I turn to face him. The knife slices across his shoulder and he yelps and releases my arm.

  “Don’t. Touch. Me.” I circle to the right, and the man in front of me mimics my movement.

  “What would you like me to do, sir?” he asks.


  An exasperated sigh from behind me. “Disarm her. Then go check in at the medical center, Larson. If they’d like to stay out here and freeze, so be it.”

  The idea of freezing when so much heat is jolting through my body is laughable—so I laugh. And Larson cocks his head to the side and backs away.

  That hesitation, that weakness, gives me an opening. I dart forward with an outward swing of the knife. But another, much larger man grabs me from behind, his arms snaking around my chest and lifting me off my feet.

  Any humor I found in the situation flees along with my breath. The gasping, grating sound that comes from my mouth now is the sound of my lungs seizing. They forget how to inflate in the face of the frigid terror that’s drowning me. I’d welcome the anger. I’d welcome the darkness even, but his arms are too tight, too constricting. Nothing more can get in, not even air.

  A screech. A yell. A tiny hand wraps around mine. The cold recedes. The air comes back. I’m free and crumpled on the ground. And it’s Stu who stands over me now, holding my knife in one hand and Ethan’s arm in the other.

  Is he going to kill me now? But no, he brandishes the knife in front of his chest and snarls. “Leave her be.”

  There’s more yelling, more commotion, and the noise rattles in my head. I have to close my eyes to make it all stop spinning. I open them again only when I hear a familiar voice calling my name.

  “Jax!” Emily calls out. Then more softly: “Let me through. It’s okay. I know her. Gavin, she’s not a threat.”

  A staccato voice. “Let her by.”

  Emily dashes over to me with her hands out by her sides. She addresses Stu first. “She knows me. I can handle her.” Stu backs up and lets her come forward. She crouches down in front of me with a weak smile on her face. “Your people skills suck and so does your timing, but thanks for coming back anyway.”

  “Yup,” I huff out. As my heartbeat and my breathing steadies, I manage to return her smile. “Better late than never.”

  THE CHANGE IN LEADERSHIP around here has been quite beneficial to Emily’s living arrangements. No longer forced to stay in a cramped single room, she has moved into a house near the center of Bridgelake. It’s small, but it’s still much bigger than her room at the old dormitories. So much has changed that it feels as if I’ve been gone for months and I’m still reeling from the revelation that Dane was ousted by the dark-haired guy—Gavin—and his little group of soldiers little more than a week after I left.

  Besides a brief inquiry about Jace’s safety, Emily hasn’t asked me much about where I’ve been or what I’ve been doing, but she’s been more than happy to fill me in on the goings-on in Bridgelake. According to her, it all started when a couple new traders showed up at the market the day after I left. For three days, they stayed out of the way and kept their heads down, but they didn’t appear to be doing any actual trading. Instead, they were observing the routines and habits of Bridgelake, and their strange behavior piqued Emily’s curiosity. Used to covert meetings and sneaking around, she knew there had to be more going on here.

  One evening after the market closed, she slid past the gates and followed them to a camp about a mile northwest of Bridgelake—a camp of at least fifty men. She must have had a little extra confidence that night because she strode right up to the biggest tent and walked inside. And that’s how she met Gavin and his troops and learned about the plan to take control of the settlement.

  Rumors of Dane’s ruling style—half dictatorship, half breeder—had spread, and apparently Dane had been raiding other settlements as well. Gavin’s superiors had been planning the takeover for months, and after the turmoil of Lir’s capture and my escape, things were moving forward much faster than Gavin had anticipated, which made Emily’s offer to help invaluable. She knew some women who would offer support, and even more importantly, she knew which guards were unhappy with the current regime. With Emily’s help, Gavin’s men were able to infiltrate Bridgelake, take control of the gates, and force Dane and his most loyal followers out within a week.

  Emily tells the story with a proud smile on her face, but something feels off to me. Dane gave up awfully easily, and though the huge hole in the wall proves that he’s at least making a show of trying to get his town back, it doesn’t seem as if he’s trying very hard. It’s as if he’s waiting on reinforcements or something. But what do I know?

  Either way, the Bridgelake residents I’ve seen appear to be happy, and things look like they’re going well… at least for now.

  Emily’s assistance to Gavin probably explains why the jerk listened to her when she vouched for me, along with Stu and Ethan by extension, and why I got to relax on Emily’s couch for a bit instead of being dragged straight into Gavin’s office. Though Emily couldn’t talk Gavin out of having me brought to his office eventually, he at least conceded that I should be allowed to get cleaned up and rest beforehand. How nice of him.

  I’m sitting on the couch with my arms crossed over my chest and scowling at the outfit Emily is holding up. “I’m not wearing that.”

  Emily laughs and shakes her head. “Well, you can’t sit around in those soggy clothes all day, and this is all I have right now.”

  “All she has” is a long skirt and a pink blouse. I’m not exactly fashion conscious or anything, but I still know damn well that pink looks awful with my hair. I could forgive her for the skirt if she hadn’t managed to rustle up pants for both Stu and Ethan.

  “It’s not going to kill you,” she says. When I still don’t move to take the clothes, she sighs. “Fine. While you’re meeting with Gavin, I’ll find you something else to wear. But you’re going to have to put this on for now.”

  “And if I say I’m not going?”

  She sits down on the couch beside me. “You need to do this. I know you’re upset about what happened with Flint, but…” She trails off and looks down at her hands. “How can you be sure he’s trustworthy? He—”

  “How can you be sure ‘Mr. High and Mighty’ is trustworthy?” I say. “Flint didn’t do anything wrong and they dragged him off like some criminal, and then Gavin had his goons attack me and—”

  “Goons?” Emily laughs. “Harrison maybe, but Patrick would be very amused with that description. He’s barely taller than you.” She looks up to meet my eyes. “Flint is a criminal here. His father did some truly awful things, and I’m sure you can’t say that Flint was never involved in any of it. Patrick was only following orders to escort you somewhere when you attacked him. Yes, he could have gone about it differently, but not everyone—” She flinches and stops herself.

  “Not everyone is a spaz like me?” I try to take the bite out of my words, but it doesn’t really work. If anyone knows I have issues, it’s me, and having it pointed out to me like this, from someone I at least generally consider a friend, grates on me. Not only that, the casual way she threw their names into the conversation makes it clear that she’s friends with the guys who… whatever. It bugs me. So does what she said about Flint. Mostly because there’s the itchy thought in the back of my mind that she may be right.

  I can’t say Flint wasn’t involved in his father’s dealings. Not when I know for sure that Jace was. Do Gavin and his men know the full extent of what Dane did, or what Dane had my brother do for him? And what would they do to him if they knew? I’m almost relieved that Jace didn’t come with us.

  I close my eyes and take a deep, steadying breath. The only person I really need to convince of Flint’s motives is this Gavin guy. It seems like he’s the one with the power around here now, and if I have to wear a skirt and act all fluttery in order to talk him into letting Flint go, I will. Plus, there must be others here who know Flint well enough to at least say that he’s a good person.

  “Fine.” I snatch the clothes from her hand and retreat to one of the back bedrooms to change. A few minutes later, I’m back, pink shirt and all, but I’m keeping my boots on. They may have cleared the snow from the walkways around town, but it’s sti
ll too cold for anything else on my feet.

  Ethan giggles when he sees me, and Stu makes a loud huffing noise. My expression must make my distaste clear.

  “You two hush,” says Emily. There’s a light scolding tone to her voice, but her small smile takes the edge off of it. The glance she sends up at Stu from underneath her eyelashes just makes her statement sound flirty.

  You look funny. Ethan grins up at me, so proud of himself for getting around Emily’s command.

  He’s been so quiet that it’s good to see him smile and laugh, even if it’s at my expense. I make a face at him, scrunching up my nose and pouting with my lips. Behave. I spin on my heel and wave to everyone as I head out the door.

  I know exactly where Gavin’s office is, since he’s just taken over Dane’s old one. I briefly consider coming in through the window, for shock value or something, since that’s how I got in there last time, but going through the main entrance is much easier. And more respectful I guess.

  Two men are standing outside the door. One of them is the big oaf who picked me up, and both of them are frowning. Without taking his eyes off me, the shorter one taps lightly on the door, and what I’m assuming is Gavin’s voice comes from inside.

  “See her in, Turner.”

  Turner pushes open the door and gestures for me to enter. I walk inside, and he shuts the door behind me. I stand while Gavin pores over some papers on the desk, his forehead resting on one hand.

  “Please. Have a seat.” He doesn’t lift his gaze, just waves one hand in the general direction of the two chairs in front of him. It’s not what I expected at all, especially after my last confrontation in this office. I’d expected an interrogation, or at least some yelling or something. The quiet is unnerving, but I sit. And I wait.

  At least ten minutes pass before he looks up at me. For a second he looks lost, maybe even a little surprised to see me sitting there, but he quickly recovers. He runs his hand through his hair and sits back in the chair. “So, Miss Jacobs—”