Karl Schroeder: Queen of Candesce

To Venera, the churning air and the noise of it all seemed to originate in her own heart. He was alive! Absurdly, the image came to her of how she would tell him this story—tell him about Garth rescuing her, about her first impressions of Spyre as seen from a roofless crumbling cube of stone, about Lesser Spyre and Sacrus and Buridan tower. Moments ago they had been mere facts, memories of a confused and drifting time. With the possibility that she could tell him about them, they suddenly became episodes of a great drama, a rousing tale she would laugh and cry to tell.

She turned to Garth, grinning wildly. “Did you hear that? He’s alive!”

Garth smiled weakly.

Venera shook him by the shoulders. “Don’t you understand? There is a place for you, for all of you, if you’ve the courage to get there. Come with me. Come to Slipstream, and on to Falcon, where he’s imprisoned. We’ll free him and then you’ll have a home again. I swear it.”

He didn’t move, just kept his grip on his daughter while the wind whistled through Fin and the rest of the refugees looked from him to Venera and back again.

“Well, what are you scared of?” she demanded. “Are you afraid I can’t do what I say?”

Now Garth smiled ruefully and shook his head. “No, Venera,” he said. “I’m afraid that you can.”

She laughed and went to the door. Bracing her hands and feet on the cold metal she looked out. The gray turbulence of Spyre’s destruction was fading with the distance. In its place was endless blue.

“You’ll see,” she said into the rushing air. “It’ll all work out.

“I’ll make sure of it.”