Tarnished Are the Stars

by Rosiee Thor

  For three years the Technician had been a thorn in the side of the Commissioner’s government, funneling tech into the Settlement through what Nathaniel could only guess was a complex network of black market brokers. Nathaniel had imagined the villain as a burly, mustachioed man with perhaps a mechanical eyeball or limb. The girl at the market must have been a lackey, not the true criminal. No, the real Technician would not venture out in public so soon after the Commissioner’s new Tech Decree calling for his arrest.

  Nathaniel flipped the paper over.

  For your tech-related inquiries, see a consultant when the moon sleeps and the kettle sings. It is a long four to the short nine.

  Nathaniel almost laughed as he read the note. A riddle! How peculiar. But as he stared at the complex web of metal in his hand, he couldn’t shake the notion that the riddle inside held the key to finding the most wanted criminal on all of Earth Adjacent. And if he could find the Technician, hunt him down, and turn him in—bring his father the Settlement’s most wanted outlaw …

  What would his father think of him then?

  Eliza knew how to make an entrance. Some days, she sought to turn heads with an arch of her brow or a flash of her smile. It was the brightness of her skirts, the swing in her step, her carefully curated laugh. A good weapon, she found, needn’t draw blood to be effective. A controlled target was better than a dead one.

  But today, Eliza didn’t need to make an entrance; she needed to escape.

  The Queen’s gallery—a balcony of sorts with a ceiling-high window looking out at the vast sea of stars around them—hummed with a chorus of voices, bursting at the seams with courtiers vying for the spotlight. Certainly, they’d exceeded occupancy twice over. In the case of an emergency, they’d all perish, blocked from the exit by a stampede of crinoline and frantic fools.

  Eliza could not endure the indignity of a death by petticoats.

  A party of any kind was the surest cover for misconduct, however, and though mischief might go unnoticed by most, Eliza was better than the majority. Not that the other nobles would agree, hardly bothering to acknowledge someone of such humble roots. It was for the best, of course. One among their number had broken the rules, and Eliza had been given the honorable task of discovering who, though it was easier said than done. Squashed between Lady Beatrix’s enormous gown and Lord Farley’s sharp elbow, Eliza was hard-pressed to see properly around the gallery to identify her target, let alone pursue them, whoever they were.

  “Quite an uncivilized lot, I daresay,” Lord Farley quipped in an inept attempt to return Eliza’s gaze to him.

  She nodded but never looked his way. The courtiers of the Tower had truly become insufferable. Though the Queen granted them nobility, not one of them was a lord or lady of anything in particular; the Tower had no need for a ruling class, and what was a landed title without any land? But the lot of them had seen the green grass and blue sky of Earth Adjacent now, and Eliza would have to tolerate the injustice.

  “They are too much,” Eliza replied, loosening her hold on the lord’s arm slightly.

  “No, no!” Lord Farley smiled, his goatee twitching. “I meant the Planetaries, my dear.”

  Eliza transformed her grimace into a delicate cough. Though Lord Farley boasted only two years in age her senior, he never missed an opportunity to belittle. She would enjoy unleashing her full array of weapons on his ego. But for now, it served her more to let him play the lord and she the charity case, untitled and unassuming. To him, and the rest of the courtiers, Eliza was only a poor, unfortunate soul, orphaned and abandoned, on whom the Queen had taken pity.

  It was better this way. As the Queen’s Eyes, she needed to learn everyone’s truths, not spill her own. Behind closed doors, she’d make them bend to her. And someday, she’d make them bow to her.

  Lord Farley’s brows knitted. “Are you quite all right, Miss Eliza?”

  Miss Eliza. The slight rolled off her like a bead of water. It was, of course, the proper way to address her. She had no family name—she had no family at all—but the lord knew as well as she that to call her by her given name was to imply an affection they would never share.

  No matter, she would do her best to exploit his mistake.

  “Only a cough, my lord,” Eliza said through her fingers, eyes lingering on the glistening champagne flutes at the end of the gallery. If only she could get the lord to release her arm, she could attend to her real duties—finding whoever set off the sensors and recovering whatever they’d brought on board.

  To her delight, Lord Farley followed her gaze. “Pardon my manners. Let me fetch you a refreshment.”

  Eliza relaxed, but the attentive Lord Farley did not let go. Instead, he dragged her with him, through the sea of other courtiers, before handing her a chilled glass.

  “Now, Miss Eliza, if you will permit me, I will resume my story.”

  Story was a generous term for it, but Eliza feigned interest and pretended to sip. She could not afford a clouded head this afternoon, but the intoxicants might still serve her well. Spirits made the best tongues loose, and Eliza had no other interest in Lord Farley’s.

  “The Planetaries, as I was saying—such odd creatures. The natural oxygen has done something to them, I’m sure. They run about, you see. Sometimes without shoes or coats—and they hold such pride in their little markets. Pathetic, really, when you compare our lives with theirs. Why the Queen wants to relocate, I’ll never understand. I’ll be glad if they never fully terraform the planet. At least not in my lifetime. It’s all rather too … earthy.”

  If there were two things Eliza could not abide, they were courtiers complaining and anyone who dishonored the Queen. Lord Farley had now accomplished the first and come devilishly close to the second. She dearly wished to skewer him upon her words, but it would not do to offend him before his value expired.

  “Surely there must be something of merit to a planetary life, my lord, else the Queen in her wisdom would not point us there.” She arranged her expression into wide-eyed optimism.

  “Hardly a thing to recommend planetary life, I’m afraid. All they have, we can simply import or re-create. What need have we for natural gravity when we can create our own? And livestock? The smell alone, I tell you—” His gaze turned thoughtful, or maybe it was simply a gaseous disturbance of the digestion. “But, Miss Eliza, I fear I have troubled you with too harsh a recollection.”

  At least he had gotten that much right, though Eliza was loath to say it in so many words. Instead, she fluttered her eyelashes, adopting an innocent tone. “It is only that I’d hoped to see the planet up close someday—but perhaps it is not for me.” If she couldn’t get him to leave her alone, she would compel him to talk. She cast her eyes over his shoulder toward the massive window, gaze landing on the blue-green orb.

  Earth Adjacent nestled below them, a pop of color in a starry sky. The planet took up nearly a third of the window’s area, its oceans staring back as though observing them in equal judgment. It was the dream of all Orbitals and their forbears: Find a new planet, terraform it, and begin anew. Someday it would be their home. They would all get what they wanted.

  Except Eliza. Eliza didn’t care about planets and terraforming. She cared about secrets and scandal. She didn’t want a new home on Earth Adjacent; she wanted to find her target and enact the Queen’s judgment upon them. She wanted to complete her mission.

  “It is a disappointment, to be sure,” Eliza continued, nodding toward the planet. “Seeing it from here, I thought it would be more …” She paused for effect, dragging her eyes to meet his in a practiced stare before laying down her challenge. “Impressive.”

  The word had its desired effect. Lord Farley’s jaw tightened, and his cheeks flushed almost as though she’d insulted him rather than the planet. He needed only an ounce more goading by Eliza’s measurements. The temptation to impress her, lady or no, would be too much.

  “But if you say so, my lord, perhaps visiting Earth Adjacent is not so hi
gh an honor after all.” She would not allow him to mistake her remarks for anything but taunts.

  “It isn’t all so bad, my lady,” Lord Farley rushed to say.

  My lady. Truly, if Lord Farley had forgotten to demean her, she had him in her reach. She needed only to decide if he was worth her claws. “Isn’t it?”

  “Come, let us take a turn, and I will show you the only worthwhile thing the earthly planet has to offer.”

  Eliza let him lead her from their perch by the refreshments—though did it count as leading if it was she who’d guided him to the decision? “What, pray tell, do you intend to show me, my lord?” she asked as they made their way from one end of the monstrous window to the other.

  “First, you must promise to keep this our secret.”

  “A secret? I love secrets!” Though she said the words in a breathy, high voice enriched with false excitement, they were the truest words she’d spoken all day.

  “With any luck, this will be the first of many secrets we may share.” Lord Farley paused, steering her into the shadows of the sloping hallway beyond, resting his hand far too comfortably at her waist.

  She would make him regret it all too soon, but first she needed to confirm he was, in fact, her intended target. “You have me quite intrigued, I must say. I sincerely hope it’s worth all the fuss.”

  Lord Farley chuckled. “It’s only a little something I brought back from my voyage, but—”

  Eliza’s face fell. “A trinket? Please, sir, if all you have to show me is a bauble from the market, tell me now. Any one of our friends in the gallery could fulfill that curiosity.” She took a small step back—a simple trick but effective nonetheless as his expression grew desperate. “But you, Lord Farley, are not so ordinary, are you?” Now she leaned forward, one hand toying with her ringlets—another trick, this time a diversion—while she slipped her other hand into the deep pocket of her skirt. “You led me to believe it was something more … thrilling.”

  He grinned. “You’re a sharp one, Miss Eliza.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Let us say, my little souvenir would not be to the Queen’s liking.” He beckoned her forward, out of the other courtiers’ lines of sight. From his breast pocket, he withdrew her prize, and Lord Farley outgrew his use to her.

  “Quite the transgression, my lord.” Nothing of the innocent tone remained in her voice, her tone acidic and dry. “The Queen will be interested to know what you’ve been up to.” She shoved him square in the chest, pushing him back around the bend of the hallway, far from sight.

  Lord Farley stumbled and hit the wall, an ill-formed mask of rage covering his panic. “What was it you planned? To get me alone and use your wiles to get me to talk?”

  Eliza advanced, and Lord Farley retreated. “Not my wiles, no.” She had him pinned now.

  “Then I’m afraid you’ve miscalculated. I’m twice your size and twice your better. You’ll earn no favors with the Queen by angering me—but if we were to join forces, I could promise you protection, and perhaps even elevation.”

  “I don’t need protection.” Sometimes a good weapon didn’t draw blood, and sometimes a good weapon was a sharp blade. Eliza withdrew hers from her pocket, fingers wrapped around the hilt of the short dagger. The blade was etched with a light dusting of stars, and the pommel boasted a singular silver eye.

  “Of course.” Lord Farley sighed, closing his eyes in resignation. “I should have known you would be the Eyes of the Queen.”

  “And ears. I have many uses.”

  “You can’t kill me! I’m a lord! The Queen would never stand for it. I am of the noble cla—”

  Eliza swung, crashing the pommel into the side of his head, and he crumpled to the floor.

  Today, the best weapon was the one that could draw blood but didn’t.

  Lord Farley wasn’t wrong—killing him served little purpose. Though Eliza couldn’t care less, the Queen, despite all her wisdom, preferred to keep her nobles breathing. Besides, Lord Farley wouldn’t talk. Insufferable gossip he might be, but even he knew better than to cross the Queen—or her Eyes. He’d said so himself, he was twice her size. No one would believe she’d bested him, if his pride permitted him to admit it’d happened at all.

  Turning her attention back to Lord Farley’s hands, Eliza admired the solitary red flower resting between his fingers. Its vibrant petals curled up and out—an invitation, beckoning, luring, promising.

  She snatched it up, and pain bloomed against her skin. Eliza yelped, letting the flower fall to the ground beside Lord Farley’s unconscious form. A single drop of blood followed as Eliza ripped the thorn from her finger.

  She swore under her breath, stooping to retrieve her prize. The Queen would want to see what she’d found and devise a proper punishment for Lord Farley. Perhaps the headache he’d have when he awoke would be punishment enough. He was a fool, not a felon. Still, the distinction didn’t change his crime. He’d brought a terrestrial artifact onto the Tower without the Queen’s approval, and without the proper decontamination, such a souvenir, as he’d called it, could be dangerous—even deadly.

  Eliza took extra care to place her fingers between the thorns this time. Lord Farley wasn’t all wrong; just as he’d said of Earth Adjacent, the flower was charming at first glance, with an ugliness underneath. But perhaps all pretty things had thorns.

  The best things, at least, most certainly did.

  When Anna arrived in Mechan, after doubling back twice to make sure she hadn’t been followed from the Settlement, she found Ruby tending the hearth as though it were her own. The scent of fresh basil filled the room, and brightly colored vegetables sat on the polished wood counter.

  “You’re just in time. I’m making stew.” Ruby waved her over without looking up from her work, sweat beading at her temple. Though her voice was steady, her hands shook.

  “Do you want to sit down?” Anna suggested. She’d been gone for hours, and Ruby didn’t look as though she’d slept at all.

  “No, no. I’m fine. Someone has to tend the pot.” She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “Thatcher will be done soon, I’m sure. Want to make sure he’s got a bowl of stew waiting when it’s over.”

  Anna paused with her hand on the chairback. Surgery wasn’t quick, but she’d thought her grandfather—and Roman—would be out by now. No wonder Ruby had taken to the pantry. Without any news, Anna doubted she’d have lasted, either. What was taking so long?

  “He’s still working,” Ruby murmured, following Anna’s gaze to the operating room door.

  Over the years, Anna’s neighbors, friends, and foes had waited in that very kitchen for news of a sister, a brother, a nephew, not all of whom survived.

  But Roman would. He had to.

  Anna bit her lip. “It’s surgery. It takes time.”

  Ruby’s fingers slipped, spilling yellow carrots. “Oh no! I’m sorry.” Her voice wobbled as she dove for the floor, tears dotting her cheeks.

  Anna knelt beside her, glad to have something to do other than watch worry move across Ruby’s face like hands on a clock.

  “Are you all right?” They were the wrong words, but they were the only words she had.

  “Just clumsy.” Ruby rocked back on her heels and pulled her hair into a knot. The effect left her hairline severe, but her eyes remained tired, unfocused. “Waiting is the worst part.”

  Anna’s fingers twisted around the last of the spilled vegetables, remembering the thick lining of Roman’s chest, the enlarged heart muscle that could barely keep up with his boyish energy. “If something was wrong, Thatcher would have finished already.” She wished the words unsaid as soon as they left her lips. It was true, though. As long as Thatcher was still operating, there was still hope.

  “Don’t coddle me.” Ruby fixed Anna with a foggy stare. “I know it’s not in your nature, so just tell the truth. You don’t have to pretend for my sake.”

  Ruby knew her well. Anna didn’t know what her natur
e was, exactly, but it certainly wasn’t this. She wanted to be the person Ruby needed, but she didn’t know how.

  Anna was saved the agony of a reply by the operating room door, which swung open to reveal Thatcher, stubble shadowing his jawline where none had been that morning. Tired eyes found Anna’s for a brief moment before disappearing behind his hands. She forgot, sometimes, how old he was. Streaks of color still stained his graying hair, and his wrinkles were not half so bad as Ruby’s, whose worry lines in her forehead were becoming a permanent fixture on her young face. But now, slumped in his chair with his spectacles askew, his age hung across his shoulders.

  Ruby stood quickly, stew forgotten. “How is he?”

  Thatcher swallowed. “He’s resting now. I don’t expect him to wake for a while yet, but you can sit with him.”

  Ruby knocked a chair to the ground as she rushed around the table. She paused a moment, backtracking to grasp Thatcher’s hand. “Thank you.”

  Thatcher cast his gaze at the floor. “Just doing my job. Go on—go see your son.”

  “Anna.” Ruby waved at her to follow.

  Anna stood, tripping over the chair leg on her way up.

  As she and Ruby approached the door to the spare bedroom, Anna’s skin prickled. Inside, Roman would be sleeping, wounds held together with string and hope. Ruby had waited all night for this, but Anna … Anna had left. She didn’t belong there.