“To not drink?”
He nods once. “I just need someone to care. Support. That sort of thing, dove.”
My eyes almost glass with his. “Stork, I already care about you.” I tell him words that have never been truer. “And I’ll try to be the best support in the entire … Milky Way.”
Just hearing Earth’s galaxy again hoists both of our lips. In the future, we were coupled. We had a baby together. How long did it take us to fall for one another so completely that he confessed his love for me?
I smile wider.
Because I have time.
Glorious time to wait and find out.
Kinden calls Stork back over to the radio, and I continue on toward the captain’s chair where Court and Mykal talk quietly. They both keep glancing out the nearest porthole, a direct view of Earth. The planet seems to grow larger and larger as we approach.
Court cradles Zima, the baby conked out like she’s been through three blizzards tonight. Though I never imagined I’d be a mother—I know Zima won’t just be raised by me. Court has already told me as much. If we were to reach Earth, they wouldn’t put the responsibility solely on my shoulders. She’ll have Court and Mykal and Stork.
She’ll be so very loved.
“Franny, do you remember when we found you?” Court asks. I glance up at both of them. Mykal rests his bottom on the armrest of the captain’s chair and then slings an arm around Court’s hips, pulling him closer. Their lips rise and rise.
“That’s not a day I can easily forget,” I tell Court.
“I know it’s one of the worst days of your life,” Court says. “But it’s one of the best days of mine.” Tears prick our eyes. I’m not sure who’s the source. I’m not sure I care.
Mykal adds, “And mine, little love.”
My heart swells. I never truly understood love and friendship until I met them. “But you’re wrong,” I tell Court. “It’s not one of the worst days of my life. Not even close. Not anymore.”
He tries hard not to cry more by pinching the bridge of his nose, and after a second, he says, “I know what I want to see. On Earth.”
Mykal and I share a look of surprise.
Court hardly ever knows what he wants outside of goals and missions and survival. Mykal is simple. He wants the trees—if there are any. Maybe that makes me simple too because I want to see the human cars. To fly in one.
For Court, he never really told us. Of course we guessed, but guessing for him is different than hearing him say the words.
“And what’s that?” I ask.
“Spring.” He glances between us. “I read that’s when the snow just begins to melt.”
We each begin to slowly smile again. And I feel their heartbeats in my chest.
Humming at the same lively rhythm as mine.
FORTY-FIVE
Mykal
Truth being, I’ve had plentiful opportunities to ask Stork about Earth. Once he’s been freely spouting facts, that is. But I never spoke up.
I knew and I’ll be knowing that ugly surroundings can’t frighten me away. I’m used to ugly, and no matter where we go, the happiest I’ll ever be is with them.
Reaching Earth together is the mightiest victory. Everything else is just an extra blessing.
I hold Court’s hand, and I step out onto the earth. A crisp cool breeze brushes our faces. Gentle and kinder than the cold. We stand on the grassiest greenest hill that my two eyes have ever seen, and I stagger—I’m staggering to a tree.
Sliding down the sturdy trunk, I sink into the soft grass and Court is watching me stare out at the forest-blanketed hills and valleys. Snow-capped mountains edge across the horizon. A bird flaps through the melted blue sky, and not far from our place, an antlered animal grazes in the peace that I’m feeling. Children’s laughter catches the wind, Stork’s cottage back behind us.
“Just for a moment,” I tell Court, not aching to leave anytime soon.
He sits next to me, his arm up against mine, and as his beautiful grays meet my awed eyes, he tells me, “We have longer than a moment.”
My lopsided smile rises, and I hook my arm over his shoulder. “That we do.”
FORTY-SIX
Court
Three years later
To live and not just survive. I never imagined I could stop and breathe and simply look at the trees that Mykal loves so immensely.
But I have for three whole years. I have seen and felt and breathed all of Earth’s four seasons, some shorter than others, some more pleasant. But even the hottest days and the coldest months, I would not trade.
And today, on the first day of spring, I’m in the earthen woods.
All around me, towering firs and spruces rustle in the gentle wind. Snow melts off vibrant green leaves and drips melodically off branches. Droplets falling to the mossy ground and smooth rocks.
Glowing orbs drift in midair and cast warm blue light in the woods. The sun hasn’t risen yet, but we wait for dawn, as Grenpalish tradition decrees.
Nerves flap inside my stomach, and I straighten out my leather jacket that Mykal stitched, my favorite piece of clothing he’s ever made me.
I’m standing in front of a beautiful, strong-willed Hinterlander with a crooked smile more powerful than seven suns.
Mykal stands in front of me, a twenty-one-year-old man who has light in his gray grim eyes.
Music is already in the crisp, spring air.
Our life is here on the countryside. Where we first landed the starcraft. Where an overgrown forest sweeps a picturesque valley and animals graze along rolling hills. We’re a short hike from the cottage: a massive marble-columned structure that serves as a home for us and many others. It’s a communal space with draped archways, a courtyard, and even a shallow pool.
We quickly realized the interior of the Lucretzia, which we’d spent months on, was replicated to resemble Earth’s cottages. In case the planet was lost, the admirals wanted the people aboard to feel at home.
So three years ago, when I first stepped through the archway and featherlight curtains brushed my cheek, I looked down at the mosaic tile and everything felt so familiar.
And now, the cottage and this land do feel like home.
I take a readied breath. My eyes skim the man I’ve loved—the man who is about to be my husband.
Light fox fur drapes along his broad shoulders, and his winter wheat hair lies as messily as the first day we met. Mykal holds a river wreath in his hand, one he made with plump red berries, twigs, and ferns. Crafted crudely in his large callused hands, but it resembles everything I adore about him. Simply, it’s gorgeous.
The wreath in mine is more methodical. I went to the babbling brook he loves and plucked wildflowers along the bank. I spent weeks weaving.
He eyes the wreath for the first time, and his breath deepens as his chest swells.
Our friends are gathered in a circle around us. Each one rattles a stone in a wooden cup, the sound belonging in nature, but it’s created for Mykal and me.
I can feel Franny smiling already. Out of the corner of my eye, I see our lifeblood shaking a cup with a face full of happiness. She has flown an aerovan. Many times, and yesterday Franny said that she’s less afraid of death. Each day is easier, better.
And we are safe. All of us.
Thanks to the baby. Zima Bluefall has grown quickly, and in three years, she looks like a sprightly green-haired child but she’s intelligent beyond her age. We all dote on her and offer wisdoms passed down from those who raised us. My future self was correct in the hologram. It took time to find the coordinates to a safer galaxy and gain permission from neighboring planets to reside there.
Just last month, Zima teleported Earth to the Lalli Kai Galaxy. When she’s older, she’ll know just the enormity of the role she’s played. Until then, she is just a child bouncing in the woods. Playing with a wooden bird that Stork poorly whittled and rattling a stone in a cup at his feet.
He curves his arm around Franny. The
fleet has given Stork time to rest for a few more years, as he should. His other arm and hand, a bronze prosthetic, grips a wooden cup and stone. He makes music with many more who are circled around us.
My honest brother. Kinden is smiling, brimming with pompous arrogance and also encouragement. Padgett rattles the cup beside him, their hands clasped together.
Young Gem has an arm around Nia, and beside them, Arden and Barrett play flutes while a little girl strums on a fiddle. They each spent three months learning the instruments and Grenpalish songs.
Mykal grins wide as the tune carries with the wind and birds chirp overhead, all in harmonious unison with the shaking of stones.
There are more friends around us. More people that we’ve met on Earth. People that Mykal says are too good to hate.
Love flutters inside my chest, and Mykal blows out a lungful, his heartbeat racing in anticipation.
I only look at him.
He’s only ever had eyes for me. Even when I couldn’t appreciate myself, even when I lost all belief in everything. He still loved me.
I wipe a tear that drips down my cheek.
He laughs and rubs beneath his eye. “Gods bless, yer gonna make me start cryin’ already.” The more he smiles, the more my nerves subside.
I wanted today to be perfect for him, and I already feel that it is and it’s only just begun.
Melted snow squishes underneath my boots, and I capture Mykal’s hard-hearted blue eyes again. They fissure through me. Pure joy swirls through him. But the emotion is mine too.
“Just like you imagined?” I ask, only a foot away from him.
His lopsided grin overtakes his face. “More.” He nods to me as light starts to bleed from the sky, the sun rising. “You ready?”
I nod back. “I’ll go first, then.”
“I imagined that too,” he says. “You know what that means. Yer still predictable.”
“But never as predictable as you,” I quip.
Fondness passes strongly and beautifully and wholeheartedly between us, and as the sun crests, I take the next step.
“Mykal Kickfall,” I say and watch him kneel at my feet. His homeland runs in his blood, no matter how far away we are from Grenpale. There is only one way I wanted to wed him, and it’s the way he knows. “With my heart. My spirit. My strength and my soul. I will love you through eras. You’re mine, as the gods see it, as I feel it, as you will it.”
He rubs a fist at his cheeks.
I place the crown of wildflowers atop his blond hair, and then as he rises, I kneel at his feet.
The berried wreath is still in his hand. He takes a big breath. “Court Icecastle.” He says my name with so much pride.
My throat swells.
“With my heart,” Mykal tells me, “my spirit. My strength and my soul. I will be loving you through eras. Yer mine, as the gods see it, as I feel it, as you will it.” He sets the berried wreath on my dark brown hair.
Tears sting my eyes, my heart overflowing. I rise, and our friends begin to walk around our bodies and let soft ribbons fall to the earth, creating a colorful circle along the ground.
Everyone sings, “Heya, heya, you’re together! Heya, heya, you’re forever!” Merriment flourishing, and the music fills the woods.
Mykal and I draw into each other’s arms where we’re safest, and as our lips meet, our bodies pull together in a powerful kiss. Emotion ripples between us like an endless river. I clench his hair between my fingers, and I feel his smile against my mouth. I feel my smile rise in kind.
I feel as though his lips are my lips and my lips are his lips. Dizzying and brightening and loving.
We are together.
We are one, and we are two and then three, and finally, we have found real, everlasting peace.
Also by Krista & Becca Ritchie
The Raging Ones
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Krista & Becca Ritchie are New York Times bestselling authors and identical twins, one a science nerd, the other a comic-book geek. With their shared passion for writing, they combined their mental powers as kids and have never stopped telling stories. Graduates from the University of Georgia in Biology and English & Journalism, respectively, the twin writing duo now lives in Atlanta. The Raging Ones was their first young-adult novel.
Visit them online at kbritchie.com, or sign up for email updates on Krista here and Becca here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Acknowledgments
One: Court
Two: Franny
Three: Franny
Four: Franny
Five: Mykal
Six: Mykal
Seven: Court
Eight: Stork
Nine: Court
Ten: Franny
Eleven: Franny
Twelve: Franny
Thirteen: Mykal
Fourteen: Franny
Fifteen: Court
Sixteen: Court
Seventeen: Court
Eighteen: Mykal
Nineteen: Franny
Twenty: Mykal
Twenty-One: Franny
Twenty-Two: Mykal
Twenty-Three: Franny
Twenty-Four: Court
Twenty-Five: Franny
Twenty-Six: Franny
Twenty-Seven: Mykal
Twenty-Eight: Franny
Twenty-Nine: Court
Thirty: Franny
Thirty-One: Mykal
Thirty-Two: Court
Thirty-Three: Court
Thirty-Four: Mykal
Thirty-Five: Franny
Thirty-Six: Stork
Thirty-Seven: Franny
Thirty-Eight: Court
Thirty-Nine: Mykal
Forty: Franny
Forty-One: Court
Forty-Two: Mykal
Forty-Three: Franny
Forty-Four: Franny
Forty-Five: Mykal
Forty-Six: Court
Also by Krista & Becca Ritchie
About the Authors
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously.
First published in the United States by Wednesday Books, an imprint of St. Martin’s Publishing Group
THE LAST HOPE. Copyright © 2019 by K. B. Ritchie. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Publishing Group, 120 Broadway, New York, NY 10271.
www.wednesdaybooks.com
Cover design by Lesley Worrell
Cover photographs: waterfall © Napaporn Nonth/Shutterstock.com; stars © Footage Lab/Shutterstock.com
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Names: Ritchie, Krista, author. | Ritchie, Becca, author.
Title: The last hope / Krista & Becca Ritchie.
Description: First edition. | New York: Wednesday Books, 2019. | Sequel to: The raging ones. | Summary: Franny, Court, and Mykal escape prison with the help of a mysterious stranger and join him on a mission that will determine the fate of humanity.
Identifiers: LCCN 2019008125 | ISBN 9781250128737 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781250128744 (ebook)
Subjects: | CYAC: Science fiction. | Survival—Fiction. | Love—Fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ7.1.R5756 Las 2019 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019008125
eISBN 9781250128744
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purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, extension 5442, or by email at [email protected].
First Edition: August 2019
The Last Hope Page 34