Phoebe North - Starbreak

I couldn’t help but shake my head to see it. All those gold-threaded cords.

But their guards were upon me almost as soon as I arrived. They didn’t have guns; those were ours, hidden in our houses, waiting for some opportunity to be used. But they did have knives tucked inside their thick belts, shining blades sharpened to fine edges. I knew the wickedness that a knife like that could bring, and so I held up my palms.

“I have no weapons!” I shouted. The rumble of conversation that had been brewing across the stateroom stuttered to a stop. For the second time that day, all eyes were on me. But despite my upturned hands, the guards still grabbed me by either elbow.

“Do you pledge your allegiance to the Council?” one of them growled. I flashed my gaze down to his dagger, then up again.

Lie! a voice intoned in my head, so urgent that I couldn’t be sure if it was Vadix who spoke or if the thought was my own. But I was no good at lying. No good at following my better instincts—or his, either.

“I pledge my allegiance to no one!” I spat, shaking the guards off. But their gloved hands found me again, and fast. “I’m here to speak to Silvan Rafferty. I come on behalf of the Children of Abel. I have no weapons. Will you strike an unarmed woman down?”

The guards grappled with me, but my words did their work. The Council citizens, who roamed beneath a dark glass sky, all gazed up at me. They saw; they watched. They were disapproving. If anything, our leaders had always been about the appearance of propriety. Their murders were buried under lies. Fallen bookshelves. Cancer. Their guards would never kill me with an audience.

I hope you’re right, Vadix said, and this time I was sure the words were his. I stiffened my spine, resisting the guards’ grip. Finally their hands fell away.

“Take her to Rafferty,” one of them grumbled. The guard to my left looped her arm through mine, dragging me across the marble floor.

“Come on!” she shouted, though we stood far too close for shouts. I winced as we headed toward a wide stone staircase near the back of the room—passing dozens of cots, a whole army of Council families.

I was taking staggered steps up the wide steps when I saw them. Solomon and Miriam Meyer, Hannah’s parents, rising up together from their cot. They reached out for me even as I was yanked up the stairwell.

“Terra!” Solomon called. “I’ve heard Hannah is back. Is she all right? When will she come join us?”

I resisted the guards’ hands. Mordecai’s words echoed in my mind. The people needed a leader, one who could give them strength. Even at times like these.

“She’s okay. She says she loves you. She’ll see you soon.”

One of the guards gave my arm a yank and dragged me up the stairwell.

The last time I’d been in the command center, just a week before, I’d wondered at the blinking dials and ancient machinery—this strange, secret place, hidden from most of the ship’s inhabitants. But now that I’d grown used to the idea, the room just seemed dusty and ancient, the computer terminals all edged with rust, the screens feathered with cracks. More surprising were the two figures who stood in front of the wide viewer, staring down at the planet overhead. Silvan and Rachel, shoulder to shoulder, holding hands. Rachel turned first, her eyebrows lifted at my arrival.

“Terra, you’re here!” she said, dropping Silvan’s hand and rushing toward me. Before I could respond, she’d cocooned me in a hug. But Silvan stayed where he was, his feet fixed to the metal floor as Rachel talked and talked. “Silvan was worried you were still plotting your way back to that planet. But I knew you’d come around. Oh, I’m so glad you’re here!”

“I—” I began, and then stopped, pulling away from her embrace. I wasn’t here for Rachel—and I certainly wasn’t here to join her on her journey. I stared at Silvan. Garbed in white, his muscular arms crossed over his chest. I think he knew the truth, that I hadn’t come for her.

“Hello, Silvan,” I said.

With that, his mouth softened. Standing there, in the Zehava’s vibrant light, he looked so handsome . After days among the unwashed shuttle crew on Aur Evez—and then two more with the tired-eyed rebels on the ship—I was struck by how hale he still appeared. Shining black curls graced his shoulders. His skin was deep amber and freshly scrubbed. And his linen shirt was so clean that you could practically count the fine threads. He moved past the center console with measured grace, coming close.

“Terra Fineberg,” was all he said.

His eyes, edged with dense lashes, were dark enough that they almost appeared black. I tried to read the emotion there. I saw pain, confusion, maybe even a drop of desire. And heaps and heaps of pride. But that couldn’t even begin to compare with what I felt, standing there with my former intended, and my old best friend.

“I guess congratulations are in order,” I said. “I’ve heard you’ve declared your intentions to each other.”

Silvan looked surprised. But Rachel reached out, putting her smaller, darker hand on his.

“I know you wanted to be with me when I told her about the engagement, but I just couldn’t wait, Sil.”

“We’re going to be married in the captain’s stateroom,” he said stiffly. I felt my throat go tight. There had been a time—just one week ago—when Silvan and I were going to be married there. But that had never happened. The riots did instead. And then I ran off.

“Just like you always planned, Rachel.”

She glanced down, nodding shyly.

“Mazel tov,” I said, and then glanced toward the viewer.

They think I’m going to be there to celebrate with them, I found myself saying to Vadix, as I stared at Zehava’s continents, faint blue in her endless night and pinpricked by a thousand artificial stars. He was out there somewhere—if only he could have been here with me. I don’t want to hurt them, Vadix.

Terra, came Vadix’s response. But I don’t think he quite knew what to say to calm me, to quiet all my fears and guilt. He only said my name again, soft and sad. Terra.

“What’s it like?” Silvan asked, the velvet tenor of his voice almost enough to pull me out of my anxious haze. I snapped my head back, staring at him.

“Silvan!” Rachel chided, but her new husband rebuffed her.

“I’m allowed to ask. What’s it like there, Terra?”

I thought of the endless ice fields. The craggy mountains that jutted up toward the sky. I thought of her forests, dancing below us in the night like a whole crowd of bodies, and of the ocean that stretched on and on and on. I thought of her beasts. The Ahadizhi. Raza Ait, and the sparkling cupola. All those plants growing and growing through the false summer. I thought of one plant. Vadix. Mine.

“It’s wonderful,” I said softly. I thought of his three-fingered hands, dark against my hip. And his belly going red in his lust for me. I thought of his lips, of deep kisses, of everything we’d done on that long night. Of everything he’d done for me since. Begging the senate to let us return, working day and night to see me safe. I felt his mind stretch far, up and up and up like a vine, touching mine—and that was only a wavering shadow of his real caress. “It’s so much better than we ever imagined.”

“Bah,” Silvan said, and with that single, gruff syllable, he washed away all those memories. All that hope. “It’s no good with people there. It will never be really ours .”

Silvan leaned forward, the heels of his hands resting against the center console and all his weight resting against his hands. He was gazing down into the terminal embedded there, those smoldering eyes distant with thought. They were beautiful eyes, but I didn’t like the emotion behind them. Like he was owed something.