The Last Hope

by Krista Ritchie

  I know he felt us. I’m not sure how long, or how strong. But by the ragged breathing and the carelessness with which he pushes a little girl away from his path, I’d say he felt a lot.

  Immediately when he’s at our side, his hands fly to my cheeks. Cupping them as tenderly as he can. It’s the first time he’s really touched me in weeks. And for a strong moment, his emotions double me over. “What happened? Who hurt you?” His voice is coarse with concern.

  “It’s nothing,” I say, shaking him off. It hurts to do.

  His hands fall to his sides, and pain wrenches between us. For some reason, it aches more than the dull throb in my palm. I suck in a tight breath, wanting nothing more than to fold into his arms.

  Mykal grinds down on his teeth, but with his eyes, he searches for my hands. He can feel where the pain is coming from. He knows. I hold my hands behind my back, so he can’t see.

  Mykal shoots me a look like you’re being a real crank. Then, quickly, he turns to Franny and snatches her wrist, lifting it up to inspect the crimson-stained cloth. He slowly removes it and reveals a deep, bloodied hole in her skin.

  “Funny story,” Franny starts.

  Mykal glowers at the word funny, and Stork sidles near us to listen. He ties his blond hair back with a ripped string from his shirt.

  I try to direct the conversation somewhere else, so I ask Stork, “How did you and the others do with your orphanages?” Though I already know the answer. They’d all be in much better spirits if they found the baby.

  Stork shakes his head. “No luck.” Then his gaze lowers to Franny’s hand and his eyes flash with a pained wince. “What happened?”

  Franny continues, “The directions to Lulencrest were a ruse. The tunnels had FTs that wanted us to pay a toll.” She pauses and muses, “I guess a nail through the hand was better than a toe.”

  “You’ve got to be shit—” Stork stops himself short from saying a human phrase and then he smiles bitterly. “Fyke,” he says to cover himself.

  I don’t think anyone heard.

  It’s too loud in here.

  Mykal swings his head from left to right like he’s looking for something, and then he storms away without another word. We all frown.

  “That’s not like him,” I say. He barely comforted me. And I know we’re uncoupled, trying to be apart, but he didn’t even argue to see my wound.

  I watch as he pushes aside a hanging scarf and bends down near Zimmer. They chat for a quick second, and then Zimmer points to a short, dusty-brown-haired boy across the room.

  “No.” I breathe. Mykal’s intentions start clicking. I’m too slow, and Mykal is too determined. I watch him cross the room with angry, furious strides.

  He yells loudly at the boy, who can’t be older than eighteen. “Heya!” Mykal screams. “Eggen Orcastle?”

  The boy appraises him with a laugh. “Maybe. Who’s asking?”

  It’s so quick.

  “Me,” Mykal growls and shoves the boy into the wall. I don’t even see Mykal take out his knife before it’s halfway in the boy’s palm, stuck into the plaster behind him.

  The wail is sickening.

  People shout. Eggen’s friends start to push at Mykal. Bottles break. The last thing I see is Mykal wrenching the knife out of the wall. Out of the boy’s palm. When I lose sight of him, I scream, “MYKAL!”

  “We have to go.” Zimmer has come to our sides. “Now.”

  Not until—

  Mykal emerges from the crowd, unscathed. He takes my good hand, icy blue eyes already set on the exit.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Court

  “What do you want for it?” I ask the Fast-Tracker. We’re on the west side of Montbay. The rough waves unsettle a rickety wooden structure that bobs up and down. A FOR RENT sign hangs on the front door of the house barge. Calling it a house is utterly kind. It’s more of a structure. But there’s a roof and privacy, two things our group badly needs.

  We don’t know how long it will take to find the baby—or if this baby is even real—and we can’t spend our nights on the streets.

  After Franny and I struck out in the tunnels today, we had to find a boat to row through the canals. The abandoned ones were along the west side of the mainwater. So as we searched, we both noticed the FOR RENT sign on this house barge.

  But nothing can be simple.

  The problem—Fast-Trackers all seek something different. And I can’t be certain this one wants bills for rent.

  Colorful tattoos ink the FT’s flesh, gliding up along his neck. He glances back warily at the house barge. “My Influential mother just died in it,” he tells me. “I’d say with that kind of luck, it’s worth more than you’ve got.” He looks between each of us in our group. The others stand back, letting me talk. Out of everyone, they believe I can convince him the best. Let’s hope they’re right.

  “Bills?” I question.

  “Two thousand,” he demands.

  My stomach sinks, but I think the emotion stems from Mykal, since he’s the one who put us in this position. But I don’t blame him.

  “Two thousand bills? For that thing?!” Kinden says in disbelief, pointing a finger at it. Padgett leans into his hip and whispers quickly, probably telling him to keep his mouth shut.

  The FT lifts his chin. “Like I was sayin’, it’s worth more since my mother died there. Take it or leave it.”

  I swallow hard. “What if I had something of equal value?” I question.

  The FT laughs and looks me up and down. “You’re pretty, but not worth two thousand—”

  Mykal lunges forward, already hot-blooded from today. Swiftly, Stork grabs him by the shoulder and pulls him back to his side. Pieces of blond hair fall into Stork’s face, and Mykal lets out a low growl.

  The Fast-Tracker takes a step back. “Heya, keep that one away from me.” He sets a grimace on Mykal.

  “Do you drink?” I ask.

  He full-belly laughs. “Are you a chump? What kind of question is that?” He laughs again. “Do I drink?” He touches his chest. “Have you not heard the stories of Bollow Bormcastle? The Fast-Tracker who lives on the west sea line and can drink any FT to the ground, all the while keeping the contents in his belly during the roughest storms? I’m a fykking champion.”

  Great.

  This might actually work.

  “What if I told you that I had the world’s best liquor? It’s like drinking gold.”

  Stork whips his head to meet my gaze, eyes wide. “No,” he snaps angrily. “That’s mine.”

  Confusion pinches every part of me. I know Stork loves to drink, but I didn’t think he’d be possessive of it right now. Mainly because he didn’t even pack the flask.

  I did.

  Not only that, but he’d always planned to stop drinking as soon as we touched Saltare-1. It’s what he told me. For the mission, he wasn’t going to numb his grief any longer. He’d be focused. Clear.

  But maybe he’s tempted by the flask. I’m not linked to him. I don’t know how far his cravings run.

  “I’m the one holding it,” I remind Stork.

  He glowers and releases his grip on Mykal. “Do you know what I did for that?” He sneers. “No, I don’t think you do. It’s not yours to give away, Court.”

  Bollow swings his head from me to Stork and back to me, lips slowly lifting. Enthralled by this exchange.

  I clench down on my teeth. “If it can acquire a roof for us, it’s worth—”

  “I’ll never get another bottle,” Stork interrupts. “It comes from President Freycastle’s stash.” Those words are a signal, one that I catch.

  Stork’s liquor is a human scotch.

  While I don’t know where he acquired the flask, I do know that President Freycastle governs over this country in Saltare-1, and Stork has never stepped foot onto this planet until this mission. There’s no possibility he stole it from Freycastle. I recognize the lie.

  Stork’s anger is a fabrication to make the liquor appear more valuable.
Clever. I play along, my mouth falling open in shock. “How?”

  Stork rubs his lips. “It was a gift. In exchange for being entertainment for the night. A Fast-Tracker dartboard. Her guests loved it.”

  Bollow lets out a long angry noise. “Influentials have no right…” He stares at the flask, a little more interested than before.

  I hold the flask up, feigning sympathy. “I’m so sorry,” I say softly. “I’m going to have to retract the offer. I can’t give this to you.” I go to pass the flask to Stork.

  “Heya! Wait a second,” Bollow says quickly. “Let’s not make any rash decisions.”

  “It’s worth more than two thousand bills,” Stork seethes.

  Bollow crosses his arms over his chest. “Two days,” he counters. “Heya, that’s better than one night.”

  “Four days,” I counter. That’ll keep a roof over our heads for the rest of the holiday.

  Bollow lets out an agitated sigh. “Fine. For the entire flask.”

  “You have a de—”

  “Wait.” Bollow narrows his eyes at me. “How do I know that flask isn’t filled with piss or ale … or both?”

  I hold it out. “Take a sip, see for yourself. It’s nothing like you’ve ever tasted.”

  He reaches for the flask. “Well, I’ve never tasted piss,” he says and takes the drink. Putting it to his lips, he swigs.

  I watch as he frowns deeply.

  He licks his lips and then stares at the flask with a pinpointed gaze. “What’d ya know. It tastes like gold.” He laughs loudly and then nods to me. “You’ve got yourself four days.”

  I watch as he skips off, singing to the gods as he downs more.

  My pulse finally settles to a normal rhythm, and Stork says to me, “Glad you finally picked up on it, mate.”

  “I’d have been quicker if I thought you were capable of a ruse.”

  Stork smiles. “Sounds like an insult, but I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

  It was one.

  * * *

  As the others enter the house barge, I tell Kinden to hang back.

  That I have to talk.

  The waves thrash against the nearby rocks and wind whips through my hair. I can taste the salt in the air and smell the mold as Franny and Mykal walk farther into the house. She knows what I’m about to do.

  Mykal doesn’t.

  But he’ll be okay with it.

  I know he will.

  Kinden looks me up and down like he’s slowly discovering more of who I am. Court Icecastle. Not the Etian Valcastle he used to know. “Little brother,” he says. “That was quite the deception. You brought that flask all the way here just to barter it.”

  I nod.

  He grins. “They didn’t deserve you.”

  They.

  He’s talking about Saltare-3. Our world. What used to be our home.

  His faith in me never waned, and even now he carries a torch, bright and burning, leading the way for me. How lost I’ve been. How much I needed him. He’s here now.

  And yet, I am playing the ultimate deception on Kinden. He doesn’t know I’m linked to Mykal and Franny. He has no clue we’re lifebloods.

  And this is eating me apart.

  I’m just not certain how to begin. Kinden always makes it easy, though. He rocks on the backs of his feet and tilts his head, waiting for me to speak.

  It takes a harsh beat. “I’ve been keeping something from you,” I say. “And I can’t any longer.”

  He’s here on Saltare-1 for me. To make up for lost time. But how is he supposed to know the real me without knowing this vital piece?

  Kinden glances out at the sun that begins to slowly dip below the water’s edge. Colorful oranges and pinks bathe the sky. “I should be offended you’ve been holding back from me,” he says, “but I’m unsurprised. I knew there was something else.” He looks to me again, strength battling his brown eyes. “You know, you carry yourself like you have a thousand secrets.”

  I do believe only he’d be able to see that.

  “Just one more.”

  He smiles and then his lips slowly fall. “Why now?”

  Telling Kinden about the link is a risk. It allows one more person to know our secret. One more person who could accidentally spill it. So I’ve been waiting to explain everything to him until we’re safe.

  But what if that day never comes? Back in the tunnels with Franny, we could have been killed. So easily, our luck could have turned for the worst. It seems more and more likely we won’t make it off Saltare-1. That’s what struck me most of all.

  I may die here.

  I’ve accepted that today.

  What I can’t accept is leaving Kinden without knowing me. All of me.

  The boy who spent five years in a cold prison—influenced and taught by a criminal. Who was forged from misery and pain only to be brought back to life by this unseen force.

  By Mykal.

  By Franny.

  My lifebloods.

  He has to know before I’m gone.

  “I need you to know why I can’t be Etian anymore,” I say. “I need you to know … before I die.”

  He nods strongly. “Okay.”

  I tell him.

  Everything.

  From the day that I met Mykal. How we came to fold our arms around each other in the winter wood. To the moment Franny woke up in an alleyway, and I could sense the cold, frozen snow falling on her cheeks. The ice that bit her lips. I could feel her pain like it was my own.

  I tell him it all while holding back tears and snot and I watch as his own eyes glass. He’s quiet. Only asks questions when he needs more pieces. And once the picture is filled in, once it’s all said and done, he wraps his arms around me in a brotherly embrace. One filled with years of love.

  And until my dying day, I won’t ever forget the words he spoke.

  “It’s good to finally meet you, Court.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Mykal

  “I suppose you’ll be telling me I was wrong to touch your face,” I say to Court while I scout our private room for the night, the rich interior of the house barge surprising the lot of us. Considering the outside was rightfully hideous. But this boat had previously been owned by an Influential, keeping the inside clean and decorated.

  We divvied up the three rooms. Our cozy corner in the stern has an oak vanity and a double-sized bed, the gold-threaded blanket wrinkle-free. All varnished wooden floors and walls. A fishing net is strung across the ceiling and cradles dozens of nautical-stitched pillows.

  More than anything, I like how the good-working walls deaden noise. No yelling Fast-Trackers from outside can be heard, no hostile hollering or railway sounds.

  Just the hush of water softly pushing against the barge.

  Court leans stiffly against the closet door, his spirits high. Less pressure on his chest, more confidence hoisting his carriage. Earlier, he explained to me how he told Kinden about our link. And then he gave his brother permission to clue in the Soarcastle sisters tonight. There’s a burden gone there, and I’m glad for it. I don’t mind others knowing our secret if Court thinks it’s all right. And he’s more than all right.

  Even free from burden, I thought he’d be gravely serious since we’re down to only one orphanage.

  And because I touched his face while we’re uncoupled.

  No regret gnaws at me. Truth being, I’d do it again.

  “You put a knife through someone’s hand,” Court says with the arch of a brow, “and you think the problem I’d have is with you holding my face?”

  A smile pulls up the corner of my mouth, and I rest my ass on the vanity across from him. “Yeh. You like when I protect you. Makes you feel all warm inside.”

  He rolls his grim grays, but they land strongly on my hard-hearted eyes. “I also love when you hold me.”

  Our cracked hearts mend on each powerful thud.

  And thud.

  And thud.

  No anguish tethered betw
een us, and my smile widens. There’s no one around that we have to hide our connection from.

  “I’ll be touching your face then,” I say. “Right now.” I wait to feel his emotion.

  Brightness floods his lungs, and I step off the vanity.

  Thud.

  Thud.

  Court comes forward. We meet in the middle, eager energy teeming my veins. His veins. I tap his foot and our legs knock together.

  He breathes deeper.

  The Grenpalish in me takes over. I nudge his cheek. I lightly push his shoulder.

  His head sways like a breeze, and his lips lift in a beautiful budding smile. Swelling my heart to the size of mountains.

  And then I cup his face between my two callused hands. “I don’t want to be pulling apart any longer,” I whisper huskily. “Do you?”

  Court clutches the nape of my neck, our breath at the same heady pace. He shakes his head. “I never wanted that, Mykal … but it felt like the only way.” He swallows hard. “We can be together again, now that my brother knows. We’ll just be careful while we’re in the city.”

  I’m smiling.

  His lips begin to lift and then our foreheads press together. Sharing senses all at once. We’re like that for a long moment. Before he breathes, “Do you feel that?”

  I close my eyes for a second.

  It’s a feeling.

  Deep in my blood. A stillness and serenity like I’m floating around in bliss. Doubled. Both of us basking in it. I open my eyes and sink into his. “Why are we feeling this way?”

  His chest rises. “We’ve been living for tomorrow, for the next month, the next year. Living to survive instead of living to just live.” He pauses. “I, more than you, have struggled with that.” His lips near my lips. “I think we feel this way because finally, we’re both living for today. At the exact same time.” A freeing tear rolls down his cheek.

  I feel the wet track drip off his jaw, and we pull into a soul-bearing kiss that explodes light inside of me. His soft lips smile against my chapped ones.

  Thud.

  Thud.

  Breathing. Needing. I hunger forward, our chests melding, and we excitedly shed one another. Shirts off, shorts off, all clothes gone. Hands exploring ridges and carves, stoking a roaring fire.