The Stars We Steal

by Alexa Donne

  “Here, let me do it now, and then we’ll find the others.” Evgenia offered her index finger while I powered up the tab.

  “I’m sorry to spring this on you,” I said as she inserted her finger and the unit drew her blood. “I would actually love your help with a dress, if the offer still stands. I don’t have that many nice dresses.”

  “Are you trying to impress someone specific? Eh?” She waggled her eyebrows at me comically. Then the tab unit beeped, and she withdrew her finger. I logged her submission and hit the prompt to sterilize the finger scanner, like Captain Lind had shown me.

  “Uh, no, I don’t even know who else is invited to the dinner party.” Was I horribly transparent? That I knew Elliot would be there, and wanted to look my best? Looking good was the best revenge. Hope he enjoyed courting my sister right in front of me.

  Evgenia didn’t press any further.

  “Well, let’s go find the boys so they can get scanned,” she chirped, and off we went.

  Max and Ewan provided their fingers without even a shrug, which lulled me into a false sense of security. Because when we got to Elliot, whom we found reading in the lounge, he did anything but make it easy.

  “Why do you need this all of a sudden?” he grilled me.

  “Captain Lind insisted. She was reviewing everyone here for the Valg and realized I’d never had you all cleared. She’ll have my head if I don’t get it sorted.”

  “It’s not so bad; only hurts a little,” Evgenia chimed in helpfully.

  “You’re telling me that every single Valg participant from off-ship had to submit to a background check? Or is it just the rabble?” Elliot growled. And with that, I felt our little truce collapse in on itself. The twenty-four hours in which we were civil to each other had been nice, but now I could see I-want-to-see-you-suffer-a-bit Elliot back in full force.

  I stuck to the script. “I’m just going by my aunt’s instructions.”

  “And you always do what she says, right?” His eyes burned with accusation. This was about more than just a request for a background check. Elliot expected to get a rise out of me, but he got none. No, I shrugged and countered.

  “I don’t know what the big deal is, El. Don’t you want to stay for the rest of the Season, take my sister out on dates? She was so excited when you mutually matched.”

  I heard Evgenia gasp but didn’t take my eyes off his. Elliot’s nostrils flared as he exhaled a shock of breath. “Leo—” he said, but whether he intended to argue or explain, I didn’t wait to find out. I cut him off, delivering my sweetest smile and nudging the DNA tab forward, an innocent offering. Finally, he gave his finger over, and I couldn’t help but feel that I had both won and lost something.

  Nine

  I delivered the DNA tab to Captain Lind as promised, and I returned to the Sofi several hours later to be made over. If Evgenia had a problem with Elliot’s and my sparring, she didn’t show it. I found her as bubbly as ever, and a dress was already laid out for me when Carina and I arrived. It was a vintage 1920s magenta-and-silver beaded-silk drop-waist dress that made me think of The Great Gatsby or an Agatha Christie story. Evgenia clapped twice, ordering me to spin. I was sure I looked like a disco ball crossed with a sugary French confection.

  “Where did you get all of these, Evy?” Carina asked, surveying Evgenia’s bursting wardrobe—previously Carina’s wardrobe—her fingers wisping over intricate, lustrous beading and silk skirts. She, of course, had had her pick of Evgenia’s dresses, and looked stunning in a deep-turquoise ruffled-and-tiered evening gown that showed off her tapered waist and slim hips. I was wearing the one and only dress of hers that would fit me.

  “Oh, there are plenty of vintage sales on the Lady Liberty, Versailles, and Saint Petersburg,” Evgenia replied breezily. “Whenever someone misspends their digicoin and falls on hard times, the family fashion heirlooms are the first to go. I’ve scored a lot of pieces from private ships merging with better-off ones, too. There are lots of old private ships going out of commission.”

  I thought about my mother’s beautiful antique ball gowns in storage and who might purchase them when we finally gave up on the Sofi and sold everything off in desperation. Our ancestors had kept prize pieces from the twentieth century’s most famous designers, though nothing that predated a 1950s Dior. I had to wonder about the fleet citizens who would have been rich and well-to-do enough to rocket off into space with actual 1920s pieces in such good condition.

  Now that I thought about it, perhaps these were replicas from the 2020s. Even so, they were nearly two hundred years old and in impeccable condition. And I couldn’t help but feel sad for the previous owners, wherever they were in the fleet now. If they had made it.

  Following the theme of Old World Meets Pale Imitation, Klara decided to hold her fancy dinner party on the digi-deck. The compartments they’d used for speed dating were gone, and a long and narrow table was set in the middle of the large space. Four dozen candles—real ones—flickered low, sultry light onto a table packed with enough food to feed twenty, though we were only a party of six. And the setting Klara had chosen was a different style of ballroom than the one located two decks above. There were gilt wall accents and giant portraits of comely high-class ladies and stern-faced men in uniform on all sides.

  “The ballroom is still being restored from the fire,” she explained, but really I think she just wanted to show off her access.

  So few people meant there was no avoiding awkwardness with Elliot, and indeed, because of Klara’s seating arrangements, I ended up in the middle of his and Carina’s flirting path.

  The table was too large for the six of us, so the ends went unused and we sat three on each side. Klara and I held the middle positions on either side, with Lukas and Elliot flanking her, while I had the girls on either side. I frowned across the table to my left, an elaborate candelabra positioned just so to allow Lukas’s appraising gaze to fall squarely on my décolletage. Thankfully, the 1920s were not a decade that favored hoisted cleavage.

  And from my right came Elliot’s gaze . . . which grazed straight past me to my sister, seated directly to my left. For her part, Carina simpered his way, eating her salad with a level of care that could only be to please him. While my eyes desperately wished to flick Elliot’s way to analyze his every look at my sister, I refused to give him the satisfaction of my attention. And Lukas’s appraisal made me want to fling myself across the table at him with my butter knife, so it left me to intently focus on my cousin. Or her profile, really. She angled herself toward Elliot and seemed to lean into him.

  “Read any good books lately, El?” she asked. “You always had the best recommendations. Like that amazing Romanovs biography. I absolutely devoured that one.”

  “Really?” Elliot and I said practically in unison. A seven-hundred-page exacting biography of the last tsars of Russia wasn’t exactly my cousin’s speed. But she nodded emphatically at Elliot.

  “I adore the bloody and beautiful tsars and tsarinas,” she said, while Elliot asked, “And what was your favorite part?”

  “It was a bit dry at first,” she started slowly, and I caught just a hint of force behind her smile. Aha—I wasn’t wrong. No way she’d actually read it. She continued to hedge. “And I read it so long ago . . . but I’d have to go with Catherine the Great. I can’t believe she was shipped off to Russia at fourteen and married off to her crazy cousin! It’s like something from a dramatic romance novel!”

  I’d told her that tidbit about Catherine the Great. I’d read the Romanov biography. I was the one with so much in common with Elliot. What was my cousin playing at?

  “Complete with uprising and coup,” I threw in slyly.

  “And lesbians!” Evgenia chimed in. Klara looked confused, so she clarified. “Well, bisexuals, technically. Ekaterina had both male and female lovers.”

  “How gauche.” Klara raised a carefully groomed brow. Evgenia scowled at her across the table.

  “Hot,” Lukas said. Des
pite his countering my cousin, I threw a dinner roll at his head and thankfully did not miss.

  “Oh, aren’t you two cute!” Klara’s tone was cloying, a wicked spark in her eyes. “I should have seated you next to each other, shouldn’t I?”

  “Why would you do that?” I asked through gritted teeth.

  “You’re courting, aren’t you?”

  “What an antiquated term,” I deflected.

  Klara nudged Lukas in the side and play-whispered, “Leo’s shy.”

  “No, she’s stubborn,” he said. “You didn’t say yes to me at speed dating. Playing hard to get, then?”

  “I rated everyone no,” I said. “I’m not interested in this stupid dating competition.”

  “But don’t you have . . . financial problems?”

  His false sympathy made me wish for the nearest airlock so I could throw him out of it. And throw in my cousin, for good measure. She’d fixed onto Elliot like a laser, her intentions more than clear—Klara wanted Elliot, and I was a threat. Meanwhile, I watched my sister deflate next to me, unable to keep up with talk of books and verbal sparring. Bizarrely, I felt bad for her—she had a crush on my Elliot, and he seemed to return the sentiment, which spread white-hot fire through my insides. Jealousy. Despair. Anger, at myself, mostly. And yet she was my baby sister, and I hated seeing her miserable.

  “Speaking of playing hard to get, Elliot, you rated me a no as well,” Klara segued, batting Elliot playfully on the shoulder.

  “Uh . . .” he stammered, squirming in his chair. To my left, Carina unexpectedly bloomed, spine zipping up straight and a brilliant smile spreading her cheeks. She was back in play. I shoved a roll in my mouth, drowning out my groan.

  “That’s okay, I forgive you,” Klara said, razor’s edge in her voice. “But anyway! Tell me what you’ve been up to the last three years,” she said. “I feel like I’ve not been able to properly interrogate you since your arrival, and I want to know everything.”

  Interrogate was the poorest possible word choice, given the background-check situation, but Elliot responded like a pro.

  “There’s not much to tell,” he started. “I moved to the Lady Liberty, then made my way to the Saint Petersburg, starting out at the vodka distillery, nothing special. I met Count Korevsky—”

  “A family friend,” Evgenia interjected.

  “The count promoted me and introduced me around—”

  “This is where I come in!” It was Evgenia again. “He was too adorable, so I introduced him to my brother, and everyone became fast friends. Then Ewan introduced him to James and, ipso facto, now Elliot is the heir to the Islay!”

  “Uh, yeah, that’s the broad overview.” Elliot smiled, taking a sip of wine. Evgenia was like his hype woman.

  “What does that mean, exactly?” Carina asked, trying to reclaim Elliot’s focus. “And didn’t this Islay person have a son or daughter to pass their ship on to?”

  “Oh, his name’s not Islay,” Elliot corrected, latching onto the least pertinent of her questions. “The ship is named after a place, not the family. He’s called Thain. James Thain. And, no, he’s childless, and he lost his First Officer some years ago to, uh, illness. I just came along at the right time, and he’s training me to take over the family business.”

  “Whiskey’s not that popular, is it?” Lukas asked, hiding a self-satisfied smirk behind a sip of his wine.

  “No, not as popular as vodka, as far as spirits are concerned,” Elliot answered politely, playing the airs-and-graces game like an old pro. “But I have ideas for increasing its profile among the fleet. With all due respect to vodka—” He nodded at Evgenia, who demurred, then looked down the table at Lukas and continued pointedly, “Whiskey requires a bit more appreciation and, in many cases, education.”

  I nearly choked on my own laughter, trying to play it off as a cough, and found Elliot’s eyes on mine, burning with something I couldn’t place. Not anger, like before. Relief? No, maybe it was the low light playing tricks.

  “Well, you’ll have to teach all of us to appreciate it, El,” Carina said, stealing his focus once more. At least it wasn’t Klara this time.

  He grinned, rifling around for something under the table. A few noisy clinks later, and he triumphantly plunked a dusty bottle onto the table. “Great minds think alike, Carina. I brought some prize Islay whiskey for everyone to try.”

  “Blech.” Evgenia further expressed her disregard by downing the rest of her champagne and refilling her glass.

  “Hey, all the more for us,” Elliot teased. But then he frowned. “Do you have glasses?”

  Panic crossed Klara’s features, the champion hostess challenged at her sport. I scanned the table; Elliot was right—we had champagne flutes, wineglasses, water glasses, elaborately decorated china, real silver utensils, candelabras, centerpieces . . . a full spread, but no tumblers for the unexpected liquor. Klara snapped her fingers twice, beckoning her maid, Nora, over from the shadows. I’d forgotten she was there.

  “We wish to sample some of Captain Wentworth’s fine whiskey,” she said, and promptly Nora disappeared again.

  “I’m technically not a captain yet,” he objected.

  “You’re too modest.” Klara’s voice tinkled like a bell, melodic and sweet. I’d never properly appreciated her skill at flirting. Did Elliot really like this stuff? He seemed to now.

  “When will you become captain, then?” Carina asked, a seemingly innocuous question, but then Elliot blanched.

  “When Captain Thain dies, presumably,” he replied glumly. The mood of the entire party promptly plummeted through the floor. Then, fortuitously, Nora returned with the glasses.

  “Wonderful!” Klara clapped her hands gleefully. I shared the sentiment. Pour me a stiff one, please. Elliot filled five tumblers with amber liquid and passed them around.

  First I smelled it, tentatively. It did indeed smell earthy, similar to the mossy peat that sustained plant life in the Scandinavian’s greenhouse park. I’d forgotten the smell, here mixed with the tang of alcohol, and something else I couldn’t quite place. Like a spice whose name I’d never learned.

  Then I sipped. Bitter and burns came to mind as I tried to keep my features carefully neutral. I did not want to appear uncouth, too simple to enjoy such a refined drink. I swallowed it down. More burning. I surveyed the rest of the party, pleased to find Carina grimacing, Lukas confused, and Klara also carefully and suspiciously neutral. Then when she smiled wide and declared it delicious, I knew she was bullshitting. She found most wines too acidic and “like cat piss” to be drunk, and always reached for the fruitiest alcoholic option when presented—there was no way she cared for this spicy, earthy, burning stuff. I myself didn’t hate it, but I now got what Elliot meant by it needing education and appreciation.

  “It’s, um, interesting,” I said.

  “You don’t like it?” I couldn’t read Elliot’s tone. It didn’t exactly sound judgmental. I took another sip. This time the burn was almost pleasant.

  “Just interesting,” I repeated.

  “I think it’s”—Carina coughed—“great.” Everyone couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculous lie as she sputtered first from the remaining kick of the whiskey and then in indignation at our finding it so amusing.

  “Don’t worry, it took me a while to get into it,” Elliot reassured her. This time, however, I could read him properly. He was lying to spare her feelings. Carina recovered quickly, beaming across the table at him. I returned to my glass of whiskey and took a bracing sip. This time, I just about liked it.

  Ten

  I suffered the flirting tug-of-war between Carina, Klara, and Elliot for another hour, becoming so desperate for relief at one point that I willingly talked to Lukas. Finally we moved on to the dessert course, and with each bite of crème brûlée, I counted down to freedom. But then Klara had to go and suggest dancing.

  “Nora—” She beckoned her maid to come forward. “I know the servants like to throw parties on off
nights. Is there one tonight? Think we could crash?”

  “Um, yes,” Nora said, voice small, tentative. “I could . . . take you as my guests? I’m sure no one would mind.”

  “What do you think, everyone? You up for it?”

  It was the best idea my cousin had had all evening. Dancing was always a yes from me. I nodded enthusiastically. Carina clapped her hands at the idea. “Below decks? I’ve never been!”

  “Isn’t there the Scandi Club we could go to?” Elliot asked, voice strangely tight. “It’s much nicer.”

  “Oh, yes, we haven’t been there yet,” Evgenia chimed in.

  Klara waved him off. “We’re already down here. And it’ll be fun, partying with the help.” She winked at him, and I saw Elliot clench his jaw so hard, the muscles in his neck jumped. Had she completely forgotten where Elliot had come from? She must have, to have her sights set on marrying him. I resolved to pull her aside later tonight, confront her about her newfound ambitions.

  We finished our drinks and left our mess on the table for some poor servant to clear up, exiting the digi-deck area over to the other side of the deck. To get there, we had to make our way up one level via a public stairwell, then wend our way around a corner and a back hallway to a set of stairs labeled PRIVATE PERSONNEL ACCESS ONLY.

  And then we were back down on the same level but on the other side, and in a different world. The servant-class quarters on board were still pretty nice, all things considered. There was just . . . less of everything down here. Less light, less heat, less food, less water, less space, less leisure. Captain Lind had put them on a rations system for water, food, and heat years ago—but only them. I couldn’t help but think of Freiheit and their graphs, showing food supplies, population, and distribution. The Sofi had been on rations for years, and I knew how tough it could be. It was strange to realize I had more in common with the servant class than my royal cousins.