The Last Hope

by Krista Ritchie

  In the starcraft, I can almost taste and feel the ritual. Like only just yesterday I hiked through my village with the crunch of snow beneath my boots and with a friendly gust blowing my unruly hair.

  I whisper a blessing in my head.

  I shall do good, be good, and honor thee in greatness and glory. For ye shall know the mighty winds do sing songs of Wonder, of Victory, of Death.

  Dipping my fingers in my blood, I draw a line from my forehead, down my nose, lips, chin, and neck. I mark three scarlet lines beneath my eyes.

  “Let the gods hear my roar,” I pray and touch my right hand to my right shoulder, left hand to my left shoulder. Right hand to my mouth and then up to the sky.

  As I stand, Court eyes my face and shakes his head stiffly. “You should staunch your nose with gauze.”

  I smile crookedly. “Are you doctoring me?”

  He sweeps my gaze, almost asking if he’s reading into my words right.

  I nod to him.

  His lip hikes. “Would you like me to?”

  “I think my prayers will be working all right,” I tease.

  He rolls his eyes.

  I add, “I’d like to do a lot of things with you.”

  Court subtly checks the cockpit, and his body tenses. “We should be more careful.”

  I see what he means.

  The man-boy is spying on me. Studying the red markings on my face with too much hidden in his eyes.

  I stare him down, and he only stares harder at me.

  So I take a seat next to Court and grind my teeth. “Holy Wonders, what I’d give for dry root.”

  “Your ear?” Franny jests.

  “I could spare one,” I smile.

  “Court’s ear—”

  “Never.”

  We look to Court to see if he’s smiling.

  He’s watching the cockpit. Lips not lifting, but his stomach flutters and he breathes deeper than before.

  I grin.

  Franny swallows the last bite of her food and asks me, “How come you never taught me that prayer to stop my nosebleeds?”

  I check my nails for any more meat bits. “Because you never disgraced a god.” I tell her how I lost the fight in the brig, and clearly the loss mattered to the God of Victory. Or else my nose wouldn’t be dripping.

  Frustration crosses her brows.

  We still don’t know why her nose has been bleeding on and off, and I suspect that’s another question she craves answered.

  I turn back to the man-boy.

  He’s still looking at me funny. His blue eyes could sketch my features for how long and deep he observes. Tracing all my brawn, all my crooked bones and gnarled hairs.

  I lean into Court, arm against arm, our touch hitching our breath. And I ask in a coarse pant, “You think he wants to romance me?” I don’t know the signs as well as Court.

  Something jumps into his throat. Swallowing hard, he tries to subdue his firm protectiveness. “I’m uncertain,” he admits.

  I grimace. “But he knows I belong to you.” I said as much in the brig.

  Court licks his lips. “He may be Saltarian, but we don’t know where he was raised, Mykal, or who he really is.”

  I lean my head back. “You won’t be letting him try anything—”

  “He’ll never,” Court says powerfully, looking me right in the eye with forceful promise. “I can’t even bear the thought.”

  He speaks truth. His muscles clench, and hot breath expels from his nose. He’s been grinding his teeth more than I.

  I find myself smiling, and I’m not sure why.

  He rolls his eyes, but they drift over to the cockpit. The man-boy has suddenly unclipped his straps, and he’s standing out of his pilot seat.

  Franny raises her fork like a weapon. “What are you doing?”

  He saunters over to us. Finally taking his beady eyes off me. “I need the med kit.” Where Franny hit him, dried clumps of blood tangle in his blond hair.

  He looks all right to me.

  “Heya, man-boy,” I call out and point to the empty cockpit. “Who’s flying the starcraft while you’re walking about?”

  “It’s on autopilot.” He approaches the corner booth and nears Franny’s end.

  She scoots closer to Court. Giving the man-boy room at our table. Which is the only table. Maybe she thinks if we’re kind to him, he’ll be granting us answers. I trust her with her own plans, but my guards are still mountains high around him.

  He stays standing for a moment. And he massages his jaw with a wince. We watch as he sticks two fingers in his mouth. In a hard tug, he yanks out a molar.

  I must’ve knocked it loose.

  I grin wider at Court. “Power of the gods.”

  Court rolls his eyes again. Morose in thought.

  As the man-boy slides in, I hold out my hand to him. “In battle, we take what we earn,” I say.

  A dry smile hoists his mouth, but he’s lost in my bloody markings and eyes again. “You think you earned my tooth?”

  “I loosened it.”

  “I pulled it out myself,” he combats.

  “Doesn’t matter.” I wag my fingers for the molar.

  He blinks a few times and shakes his head. “No.” He tucks the tooth in a pouch on his waist. His skirt has no pockets. “You’re not taking anything else of mine.”

  I dunno what he’s talking about. “I’ve taken nothing from you. Yet.”

  He unbuckles his heavy-looking armor in silence. Pulling off the bronze breastplate, letting it clunk to the floor. “We’re on a straight course to the Lucretzia.”

  Court watches him with a keen eye. Which is making me feel better. Court can outwit any man, lady, and person alive.

  Court taps his thumb to the table. “The Lucretzia?”

  From the med kit on our table, the man-boy removes gauze, tubes of ointment, and pills, and he says, “A ship that belongs to the Earthen Fleet.”

  Franny flinches. “You work for Earth?”

  He laughs shortly, their gazes latching. “Lord, I’ve never heard anyone say it like that. I do more than work for Earth. I’m devoted to the planet and the people.”

  “Bludrader,” Court says in thought. “Saltarians call you a blood traitor because you’re against your own people.”

  He’s quiet to answer. I see the look in his eyes. Staring at us with as much caution as we brandish for him. Prey, we each are, circling one another.

  Unfreezing, he untwists a pill bottle. “That doesn’t alarm any of you? That I’d betray my own people?”

  We each shake our heads. Him being a blood traitor holds no heavy weight.

  Not long ago, we stole the Saga starcraft from StarDust. From our planet. In an act of treason. We became enemies of Saltare-3 before we even knew we were human.

  Before we even knew we were born enemies.

  “Fascinating,” he says, and he doles pills into his palm. And he’s realizing the label on the bottle is written in a language we can’t read. “Do you want a painkiller?” He rattles the bottle at Court. “You don’t look so hot.”

  “No. I don’t trust you.”

  He throws back the pills in his mouth and swigs from a leather flask. “That’s fair,” he says after swallowing. “But let me remind you, I’m the one who risked my limbs to retrieve you three.”

  “And we’re risking more than our limbs,” Court says smoothly.

  Franny has lowered her fork. “Why’d you help us?” she asks.

  He swishes his flask. “I already told you, there was a trade—”

  “What kind of trade?” Court asks. “You may believe we’re intellectually inferior, but we’ve all noticed how you walk around answers.”

  “It’s aggravating,” Franny points out.

  The man-boy leans back and looks to each of us. “You want answers, I get that. But they don’t come for free.”

  My pulse ratchets up, and I realize the source is Franny. Heart beating faster.

  Court and I set withering
glares on this man-boy’s head.

  His brows rise. “What? You think I don’t see how this ends? Me, giving you every harrowing answer you’ve ever searched for. You, stealing this ship and flying away. But not before you shove me out so I can float endlessly in a wasteland of space.” He takes a swig and licks liquid off his pink lips. “I’m not that bloody naïve.”

  Court stops drumming the table. “You’re bluffing. You don’t know anything.”

  “On the contrary, mate.” I don’t like the sound of that word. “I know everything.” He caps his flask. “Like how three humans ended up on Saltare-3. I even know the day you were born. Let’s just say that I carry every answer you’ve ever sought, and since it’s my only leverage, you can believe that I’m not giving a single detail to you without something in return.”

  Hells.

  Court glares darkly. “What makes you think we care about answers to any of those questions? We’ve moved on. We don’t need to know.”

  The man-boy sways back in soundless worry. Uncapping his flask, he takes a larger swig.

  Silence ekes, and I sense a brutal pressure sitting on my chest. Mixed with heavier breathing. Franny—she hangs her head. Gazing haunted at the table.

  Something’s not right.

  “Here’s what’s going to happen,” Court says to the man-boy. “We’re going to take this starcraft. We’re going to fly out of here. Now, you can either—” He stops short, quiet.

  We’re both choking on breath. Trying our best not to show it. Distress constricts my throat like a damned beast landing on my neck.

  Stomach curdling next.

  Court’s hand slowly rises to his heart as though he feels a great pain.

  I try to inhale for all three of us.

  The agony …

  Court grits out, “Franny—”

  “I want to know these things,” she says from the core of her being. It grips me.

  Rips me open.

  Tries to cut me in three. I won’t be letting it. I won’t.

  “I can’t bear the thought of walking away from these answers,” she professes. “Even if I’m indebted to someone for something. To this wart.” She gestures to the man-boy on her right.

  He’s eyeing Franny with too much curiosity.

  “A life lived without knowing where I came from, who I am,” she says, “it’ll tear at me every day. I would’ve searched for centuries for these answers. You know that? And someone is right here offering them to us. I can’t let that go. I can’t.”

  I want to reach out.

  Hold her hand.

  Something.

  Anything, but I’m left suffocating beneath her riled emotion. It’s always been Court and me. From the start, it was us, and it’s not fair to her—but I won’t be leaving him.

  I can’t.

  But I don’t want to leave her either.

  I can’t.

  My heart is already broken. I’m fearful of Court’s answer. He can be stubborn, and I’m not sure I can convince him otherwise.

  Court’s face contorts, trying to shield her emotion.

  It hurts feeling it.

  But I think it’s supposed to hurt.

  Franny doesn’t wait for Court. She sniffs loudly and asks the man-boy, “How many bills for the answers? I don’t have much…”

  “You don’t have anything,” Court says like a real crank, but his remorse comes quick. Sinking in my gut.

  Franny makes no qualms about his words.

  His eyes sear the longer she ignores him.

  The man-boy focuses on Franny. “Lucky for you, I’m not looking for money. I need your help with a mission. It’s the last one. If unsuccessful, the Earthen Fleet will have no choice but to go to war with Saltare.” He adds, “Earth is your rightful home, whether you’ve been there or not. You’re human. Protecting the planet is in your best interest.”

  “We’re looking for a peaceful planet. Not a war zone,” Court shoots back.

  I jump in, “We’re not fighting for a whole lot of people we’ve never met. Never known. Could be a whole lot of foul-mouthed goats.” Who said humans are worth fighting for?

  Not I.

  He looks me over with more bitterness. “I don’t give a shit what you want to fight for, whether it’s for your boyfriend or your religion.”

  I laugh hard. He’s not so wise. “I have no Boy Friend.”

  “Court is your boyfriend.”

  My grin fades. “No.” I expel a gruff breath. “Court is more than just a friend.”

  Court stands like a pillar. Wholly guarded.

  The man-boy flashes an irritated smile. “Just listen,” he says, “the mission has nothing to do with fighting. We’re trying to prevent a war from even happening.”

  Court holds his hip, pain flaring. He clears his throat. “And let me guess, you’ll refuse to offer us the details regarding this mystical mission. Just like everything that comes out of your mouth could be a lie.”

  My pulse is slamming in my chest.

  Franny.

  Court is unwilling to trust a soul. Franny trusts too easily. And I’m stuck head-and-foot in the fucking middle.

  Being shred apart.

  The man-boy takes a pause and then edges closer to the table. “It’s a retrieval operation.”

  We listen.

  “We have to recover something that’s on Saltare-1,” he continues. “That’s all I can say right now. I’m many things, but a liar is not one of them. It’s why I’m evasive. I could have lied from the jump and saved myself the trouble.” He pushes himself to his feet and walks to a comms unit. Opening a cabinet, he grabs a bottle of amber liquid. “Scotch.” He smiles dryly and bites off the cork with his teeth. Taking a gulp.

  While he collects four glasses, Franny spins to us, eyes reddened. Mine burn with hers. “You can leave,” she tells us, her voice cracking. “I’ll find you after—”

  “Stop,” Court interrupts.

  I shake my head at Franny so hard it may fly off my neck.

  Pain balls up in her lungs. “I can’t … I can’t put you two in danger.” She almost chokes.

  We’re all caught between each other’s needs.

  Court suddenly extends his arm across the table. Toward Franny. He opens his hand.

  She fights tears. “What are you doing, Court?”

  “Will you take my hand?”

  “Court—”

  “Will you please take my hand?” he repeats in the softest voice he can muster.

  Thank the gods. I see what’s happening. I put my arm around Court. I could kiss this handsome crook. I could cry.

  She places her hand in his, and she breathes in what I already feel.

  Calmness whirls tenderly inside Court. He’s made peace with this decision.

  Gently, he tells Franny, “You chose us once upon an era. You chose our grand, delusional plan to flee your home when we asked. And now, you’re asking us.” He nods twice. “This time, we’re choosing you.”

  Tears prick her eyes. And mine and his.

  “Are you sure?” she asks us both, wiping her nose.

  I reach out and put my hand atop theirs. “Yeh, little love.” Not worrying about concealing my lilt.

  Truth being, I can’t stop looking at Court. My pride for him surges in my bones, my veins, my blood. I know how much strength this took him. How much strength exists. We’ve spent our life surviving, and returning to a Saltare planet, just for a bit of knowledge, is everything Court had run from.

  Court nods to Franny again. “I can do this. You’ve both taken care of me, and it’s time I take care of you.”

  “I’ll never forget this,” she whispers—but our heads turn. Hushing quickly as the man-boy returns to our table.

  Bottle wedged in the crook of his arm, he places four crystal glasses down. “When the crew on the Lucretzia make deals, we end them with scotch.”

  Franny pushes the glass away. Her eyes scorching his face. “We do this,” she says with bite,
“and you give us our answers each step of the way. Starting now. Tell us something we don’t know. Like your name.”

  He pours amber liquid in only one glass and leaves the bottle on the table. Clutching the crystal, he takes a single step backward.

  And he says, “I’m the son of Kian and Briana Kickcastle.”

  I recoil. Not breathing.

  That’s my pa.

  My ma.

  “You’re my brother,” I choke out, staring him up and down. Down and up.

  He has lighter blue eyes, lighter blond hair. I’m shorter but more muscular. Pale, the two of us, but his chalky white skin isn’t weather-beaten from the slap of cold wind. He has no lines in the creases of his eyes. No noticeable scars.

  Still, we look alike.

  We’re brothers.

  I have a brother. Just like Court has a brother.

  “No,” he says.

  And he takes another step back.

  I shoot up. “What do you mean, no?”

  Court stands, grasps my waist. “Mykal.” He knows. He’s smart enough to see what I’m missing.

  I’m left wading head-deep in snow.

  His fingers tighten on his glass. “My mother only had one child. She died giving birth to me in Grenpale. My name is Stork Kickfall.” He raises his glass to his lips. “Cheers.”

  SIX

  Mykal

  My mind lags behind my body, and I charge. Ripping out of the hands of the boy I love, I charge toward another who I don’t understand.

  Stork has been stepping back, expecting my outburst, but he only tries to protect his liquor from harm. About to shield the crystal behind him.

  I smack the scotch out of his hand.

  Glass shatters at his feet, and he huffs out an irked breath. A chill reaching his gaze. “You’re confused, I reckon, and dim—”

  “You make no damned sense,” I say between gritted molars.

  “Dim is another word for—”

  I shove him against the cabinets and comms station, a headset falling off a hook. Dangling by a cord. Stork is bare-chested. No longer hiding behind his strange armor.

  But the knowledge of the day he’ll be dying protects him better than any metal could.