by Ali Cross
But in Nic’s voice, the name fills me with love. Makes me want to be cared for, cherished, as my mother was by my father.
As if he can read my thoughts, Nic places his hand on my back once more and I don’t pull away.
“Why are you sorry?” I ask, still not facing him.
He waits a beat before answering, and I wonder if the question is inappropriate. Maybe I’m sorry is just something you say when other words fail you. Maybe he isn’t sorry at all.
“I’m sorry you’ve been robbed of your parents, of your heritage. I can promise you, it is a great and proud history. I am sorry you missed out on a lifetime of love from your mother and father—because they did love you.”
I feel certain of it too. I can feel it, here in this room, like a living, breathing spirit. Love. It wasn’t perfect, they were too busy for me, they didn’t take the time they needed to truly cherish me, but they did love me. In their own way, they loved me.
“And,” Nic’s breath wisps across my neck, “I’m sorry you have to go through this alone. Or . . .”
I hold my breath.
“Maybe you don’t have to.”
The energy in the room seems to coalesce around us, snapping to attention, raising the hair on my arms.
Nic draws in a sharp breath. “That is, if you would permit me.” He pulls his hand away, and I am left to wonder at the emptiness it creates in me.
The truth is, at first I thought it was presumptuous of him. People don’t touch me. Bad things happen to men who touch me. But now, with the absence of his touch radiating outward on my back like spreading cold, I realize—I don’t care if he is lying to me about who he is. He is the only person probably in all the human race who could be there for me, who could hope to understand me—even if he can’t yet admit the truth.
I shift my weight so I can turn. He crouches very near me, our faces only inches apart, our knees touching. His features are fine, fair skin and full lips that part as his eyes meet mine. He has the hint of a beard starting on his chin and shadows beneath his eyes. He is tired, I realize, so tired it weighs his shoulders like a cape. Without thinking I reach up and push his thick, dark hair back from his forehead.
He flinches, but doesn’t stop me and his eyes don’t leave mine. A shiver works its way up my arm and into my heart as I drop my hand from his hair. It’s softer than I imagined. I want to touch it again.
He seems to have a similar thought because he brings up his own hand, his fingers warm and trembling ever so slightly, to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’ve always wanted to do that,” he whispers. A second later he seems to realize that he has implied a more intimate relationship than just an admiring citizen. I catch his hand in mine as he begins to pull away.
My eyes cling to his, searching. I see the minute metallic gleam in his eyes as I know he must see in mine. I don’t know what it means, but I know it is the mark of how we are different.
His eyes aren’t as pale as I first thought—I realize now they only appear that way because of the deep shadows that surround them. Instead, they are an icy blue. I lean forward, searching deep into his eyes, looking for the truth of him, his truth—and my own.
He brings his hand to my face, rests the back of his fingers against my jawline, traces his thumb over my skin.
I have never dreamed that a touch could be so gentle, so tender. Never dreamed I would want someone to touch me in this way—never dreamed I could want more. I thought my life would be a solitary one, thought I would always be alone. But now . . . now I want this. All of this. I want what my parents had. I want someone who would love me enough to hold me while I die, whose only thought, at the end of their life, would be for me.
Someone whose every thought, every day of their life, would be for me.
As mine would be for them.
Our foreheads touch. My hand is back in his hair, filled with it, drawing him nearer. Our noses touch, then slip past each other. I can feel his breath on my lips, can feel my whole body humming with the need to be closer still, to eliminate all space between us.
“Nico—”
“Stop.” He lurches back, scrabbling onto his hands, pushing away. “Just . . . stop.”
The titanium claws in Gart’s fist had hurt. They had felt like fiery hot death as they carved into my face. But this . . . this feels a million times worse. It feels like a knife in my heart, twisting, burrowing hilt-deep.
I was wrong to hope for more. There can never be more. Not for me. Maybe I’d been cursed along with my people. Maybe the death of my parents had cursed me to a life of loneliness. They had left me. And then, Archibald had discarded me along with the trash.
He hadn’t come back for me. He hadn’t loved me. He was a machine—maybe it had even been him who had betrayed us to the Mind. Betrayed me.
Maybe Nicolai’s family were working with them, seeking the power of our fleet and holdings. Maybe a union between our families was too much of a compromise. Maybe they want it all.
I rise to my feet, looking down at Nicolai who still wears an expression of shock, like he can’t believe what he has done.
“That’s right,” I say. “You have ruined your chance.” The words might be foolish, might be egotistical, but somehow I doubt it. The way his face darkens as he stands, tugging on his jacket, proves he can be just as cold as I.
“As you wish it, Princess.” He tucks his head in that infuriating bow of his and steps past me, careful not to let our bodies touch. When he leaves the room, I call on the ship to close the door and between one thought and the next the room is sealed off from the corridor, locking me in the solitude of my parents’ tomb.
The lights flash red once again and my station pulls on me with magnetic force. We are barely in place, barely restrained before the Mind ship is ripped out of the battle’s fray and catapulted across space. Such a leap will cost us—it can’t be made without incurring damage to our shields.
I am undecided as to whether I wish a safe arrival wherever it is we are going, or whether I wish we had remained and fallen victim to the Mind’s enemies.
Because the Mind must be destroyed—even if that means I die with them.
I leave the royal suite blindly, my legs marching, arms pumping. I turn left down the corridor and walk until there is nowhere else to go. I discover a support transport and take it down, down, down—finally finding myself standing in a massive kitchen.
There is evidence of recent activity here and the tang of blood fills the air. It is a mystery but utterly uninteresting, so I turn to leave. Until I hear raised voices—men’s voices engaged in a heated argument.
I pause, my ears prickling when I catch the words, “girl,” “murderer,” and “stop her.” Turning smoothly on the balls of my feet, I move silently out of the kitchen and toward the voices.
There are three men in a room to my left—one pacing restlessly.
“She murdered Cook—and they’re willing to forgive her in exchange for a room of their own. Whose gonna protect them then? Now she can kill us, one by one, in our sleep.” The speaker moves closer to the door and I can hear his breathing, as if he’s been training hard. “It’s up to us to protect them. That Sera has to be stopped.”
The others mutter their agreement and it sounds as if the men are huddled together now, plotting to end Sera’s life. I lean against the wall, half listening to them, half filing through my thoughts and feelings about all that has happened.
And though I try to avoid it, my thoughts circle around to the moment with Serantha in the royal suite.
Her parents’ remains were right there—I am distracted momentarily by that thought. Why had the royal couple’s remains been left where they died, yet I had seen no other evidence of the many others who lost their lives here nine years ago. I don’t have to ask the ship to know it would have pleased the Mind to leave the king and queen as a reminder to any who might question their strength.
That is how Serantha found her parents. What must she
be going through if she truly spent the last nine years ignorant of her identity?
I know she felt the connection between us—how could she not? I felt it—felt the tug between our symbiants, the promise of our Bond.
And yet I abandoned her. Just like everyone else.
I slip away from the men. I won’t abandon Serantha to their heartless revenge. I cannot reveal myself to her, but I will protect her. Whatever else I do, I will protect her.
After Nic is gone, I wander the rooms that had once been my own but now feel far lonelier than the kitchen. Everything is cold, unused, dead. Whatever joy I felt in learning who I was is stolen away in this death trap. I curl up on the wide, extravagant bed that had been mine as a girl.
The ship wakes me with a start. There are communication streams flying through the databank and we are approaching a vessel about one quarter our size. New Oregon. I scramble to my feet and run toward the transport, tapping my fingers against my thigh impatiently until I burst into the command center.
“Princess,” Nic says without looking up from the controls. His attention is focused, but it doesn’t seem like he is actually doing anything.
“Respond to their hail.” Frustration tinges my words—he knows we’ve come this far for the express purpose of finding a safe haven for my people. Why does he remain silent?
“I thought the honor should belong to you.” He swings around in his chair and looks up at me. He seems so condescending, like I can’t do a single thing for myself. I reach past him to the controls, not caring that my shoulder jams against his jaw.
“New Oregon, this is . . . we’re a . . .” I lean back and, though I hate myself for it, look to Nic for guidance. He shrugs, a smirk on his face. I decide to go with ignorance. “I don’t know the name of our ship. We’re just humble kitchen staff—our masters have left us. We need a safe haven.” I look back at Minn and Dillon who sit near one another on the floor against the wall. “We need a place we can call home.”
There is a long pause on the other end and then finally, “How many are there? We are small and life is hard here.”
“Life is hard everywhere. It’s the people that make a place a home,” I say. I don’t know if I believe that, but the words are there and out my mouth and I can’t take them back. Plus, if it helps New Oregon take my people, then they were the right words, whether I believe them or not.
This time the silence stretches long until I feel certain they won’t answer. I glance at Nic, but he has his head down so I can’t see his face.
“Your majesty?” The voice is choked with emotion. “Can it be?”
The very air prickles my skin and I feel everyone’s eyes on me. Minn gasps. Nic gazes at me, but I refuse to acknowledge either of them.
“No, our king and queen are dead.”
Another long silence follows. “And how many people are there, then?”
“Twelve,” I say.
“Sera, that’s—” Minn leaps to her feet, but I still ignore her.
“Just twelve.”
“You can dock, we will take your people. Sending the docking codes now.” The com ends with a chime, but I remain forward, my eyes glued to the looming shape of New Oregon—a utilitarian gray blob that fills half of the viewing window.
“Minn, Dillon? Can you please get the people ready?”
“But . . .” I feel Minn step closer. Feel her reach for me. But I keep my back stiff and straight and I don’t turn. “Okay,” she finally says as she turns away.
“You too, Dillon.”
“As you wish.”
They board the transport but I still don’t turn, don’t watch them leave. Don’t thank them for their help, their service, their belief in me. Before I lose my nerve, I open a new com.
“Calling all Mind Elite. This is—”
“Stop! What are you doing?”
“Serantha of the House of the West. I would like—”
“Stop!” Nic lurches to his feet and reaches around me to shut down the com.
But the ship is under my command, built to obey me. An electrical charge surges upward, burning his hand. He cries out and stumbles backward.
“I would like to negotiate the terms of my surrender.”
There is no response, but I know I’ve been heard. I end the com and finally face my once-betrothed.
He slumps down into the seat next to me. “What have you done?” His face is pale white and he trembles—with rage or fear, I don’t know.
“We should have just enough time to offload everyone before they come for me. You might want to consider hiding out on New Oregon for a while—unless you want the Mind to capture you, as well.”
“They don’t want me. I’m just a soldier.” But his words lack conviction.
I know he can see the truth on my face. That I know exactly who he is, that he is certainly not just a rebel soldier.
“I need to dock the ship. You’d best join the others.” I turn away from him and stare at the controls. The ship doesn’t need me, it is perfectly capable of docking itself. But I concentrate on the commands flying across the monitors anyway, fighting the burn of tears in my eyes.
I feel Nic stand and move toward the transport. Every step he takes away from me fills my body with a new surge of sadness. But I don’t move, don’t tremble. I learned to hide my sorrow long ago.
The transport activates and shoots away and I let my shoulders slump forward, suddenly unable to hold back the rush of tears.
“Serantha.” He puts his hand on my shoulder. I jump to my feet, jerking away from his touch.
“I thought you left! You have to go.”
“No,” he says, pressing me against the console. His eyes are sharp as knives as he stares at me, glares at me. “I will not allow you to sacrifice yourself this way.”
“You can’t stop me.”
He steps closer still, his body touching mine. “You are being selfish. Can’t you see that? The future of humanity rests with you—and you’d throw it all away by giving yourself to them?” His voice has risen, and even though we stand face to face, he yells, his voice booming through the room.
“I’m saving them!”
“No, you’re not! Why are you so blind? Why do you refuse to see? If you give yourself to the Mind, they will kill you! If they kill you, everyone else will die, too.”
“You’re being crazy! They’ll be safe here.”
“Why can’t you see? It’s not just your death they want—they want the death of all humanity. We’re not talking about the people on this ship, Serantha. We’re talking about all of humanity. Everyone.”
I keep my gaze down, refusing to look at him, refusing to let him see the tears that fall despite my orders for them to stop. Now he places his hands on my cheeks. They spark feelings of warmth, of rightness and belonging that only force the tears to flow faster. He brings my face upward so I have no choice but to look him in the eye.
“Humanity is worth saving, Princess. There are millions of us, depending on uh—on you. You can’t let them down like this.” His voice falters and his eyes flick away. “You can’t,” he restates with more force.
We stand there, each of us refusing to admit the truth. He refuses to admit the truth.
His face burns with rage and his eyes are like electric sparks. I try to pull away, to free myself of his grip, but he only holds me tighter. And then he presses his lips to mine.
Every part of me explodes. I was nothing, but now I am everything. I feel it all with acute knowing. My ship, New Oregon and the communications shared between our docking interfaces. I feel the particles of the walls, the floor; feel the electrical currents zipping through the bodies of the people below as they ride the transport to the docking level.
Just before it is all too much, my awareness comes zipping back to me, through the lifeblood of the ship, through the very air around me, up my limbs and into my own heart, my own mind.
Then there is just this, Nic—his body pressed against mine, his lip
s moving against my own. He groans and I echo him. We grasp at each other, wanting, needing to be one, to be as close as we can possibly be.
My lips sizzle against his as pleasant and painful currents course from his lips to mine and back again. My cheeks feel damp and I know they aren’t only my tears, but his as well.
Because I know what he is feeling, know what he is thinking.
As he knows everything there is to know about me.
The currents race past our lips, upward on our faces, coursing mirror circles around our heads. I know what it means. And he knows as well. We are one.
The ship docks and Nic pushes himself away.
He has just felt all of me—taken more than just a kiss. I watch as the red threads winding across his forehead fade away until there is no indication they had ever been there. He swipes his hand across his lips, as if trying to wipe away any trace of me.
But I am good at protecting myself—I always have been and I won’t let that change now. I refuse to wipe away the tears, choosing to let them dry on my cheeks instead. I won’t give him the satisfaction. I pull myself straight. Shoving away from the console I say, in as cold a tone as I can manage, “I’m going to ensure my people offload safely and I expect you to leave with them.”
I move toward the transport, then stop just short of stepping inside it. “I don’t care where you go. New Oregon, or take a pod—there’s one left.” Now I turn fully around, letting my gaze cut into him. “Wherever you go, I don’t ever want to see you again.”
I think I see something in his eyes then, but as I steal myself, Nic does, too. I enter the transport, commanding it to take me to the docking bay.
At last we come to a stop and are released from our restraints. I stand sandwiched with my pod-mates as we await the moment we are free to perform our duty.
They—to secure the Capital and detain any survivors.
I—though my comrades are unaware of it—to find and protect Serantha from them.
Energy is fed to my body through the ship, building until it is almost impossible to contain.