“I’m not a people person.”
“On the contrary, you’re everything they want. I’ve watched you at the Rafe palace. You have an innate ability to adapt—be what they want you to be.”
“Most people don’t know what they want. What they want changes daily.”
“You’ll change with it.”
“And Excelsior?”
“You’ll find out his plans,” Kyon replies. His arms wrap around me from behind and pull me against his solid chest. He’s so warm, a balm against the cold, mountain air.
“I’ll see what I can do. Let me lie down so you don’t have to catch me when I leave.” I try to move back inside, but Kyon doesn’t release me.
“Later. You’re weak.”
“I’m okay.”
“You’re not,” Kyon disagrees. He takes my hand and leads me back inside my room. Positioning me in front of an enormous full-length mirror, his hand touches my chin as he directs me to look at my reflection. Dark circles hollow my eyes. Kyon’s hand skims over my skin, descending to the front of my neck. He fondles the beautiful flower on the black-ribboned choker at my throat.
My voice is shallow when I murmur, “What kind of flower is that?”
Kyon’s reflection in the mirror studies me with eyes that miss nothing. “It’s a copperclaw, Kricket. They’re extremely rare.”
His finger skims the ribbon that fastens the flower to my throat. Meteorlike fire burns beneath my skin wherever he touches me. His eyes follow his fingertips as they glide over the silken threads.
“Do you like the flower?” he asks.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t like flowers; they die.”
“Copperclaws endure. Once they bloom, they never die.”
“Never?”
“Nothing that I will ever give you will be ephemeral, Kricket.” He gently nudges my hair aside. Bending to me, his lips caress my bared skin. As soft as moonlight, his mouth whisper-kisses promises of bliss. Sharp-edged desire howls through my body like a scream at midnight.
I make a small sound of pleasure and lean my back against him, closing my eyes. My knees weaken and I’m strung out and shaky from the intoxication he’s offering. His hand moves to my waist, turning me around so that I face him. Opening my eyes, his blue ones are a sea on fire. “I need you, Kricket,” he murmurs.
My breath catches. He kisses me. His silken tongue strokes against mine. An aching ecstasy chases through me, proof that I’m dark and broken inside. A cage closes around my heart, sealing it in glass. My heart beats against its transparent confines, knowing that when it sledgehammers hard enough, it will shatter and die from a thousand cuts.
“What do you want from me?” I ask against his lips.
“Everything.”
“I can’t give you that.”
“Then I’ll take it,” he says. He kisses me again, letting me go only long enough to pull his shirt off over his head, dropping it on the floor. He’s unbearably handsome.
One of his hands weaves in my hair, while another goes around my back, pulling me to him as he captures my lips again. He lifts me up in his arms and carries me with him to the bed. Sitting down on the edge of it with me on his lap, he grasps the back of my dress and pulls it apart. The buttons fly off in every direction.
I press my lips to his heart and breathe his name. “Kyon.” The stone-heavy weight of it drops in ripples on his flesh, sinking against the depth of his skin until it’s gone. Gently, I disengage his hands from me. His eyes are devouring as his gaze promises to make a meal of me. Rising from his lap, I back away from him, as I would from any extremely dangerous thing.
Kyon rises from the edge of the bed and slowly stalks me. I bump into the door frame behind me and adjust, backing through the doorway into the lavare. Only steps away from me, Kyon growls, realizing that I mean to escape from him. I push the button on the door frame and the door drops down from the ceiling between us. Standing there, facing the barrier, I wring my hands, terrified that he’ll open it—even as my wildly beating heart presses up against its glass cage, hoping to be cut.
It becomes apparent that he’s not going to break the door down. I turn around to the mirror across from the door. I can hardly look at myself. Am I Kyon’s consort? And if I am, what will that do to Trey? I reach up and untie the black ribbon from my neck. Holding it for a moment, I stroke the petals of the copperclaw before abandoning it on the vanity.
Going to the shower, I turn on the water as hot as I can bear. I strip off my silver dress and get in. I don’t let myself cry until water runs down my hair and covers my face. I can’t even be honest about my tears to myself. I have to hide them. I rub the area of skin over my heart, trying to ease its painful ache. Then I sit down in the shower; the water pelts me as I bring my knees up to my chest and rest my chin on them. I need to see Trey. I have to figure out what to do now. My skin turns cold even under the heat of the water.
I slip outside of my physical form. The transition is finger-click fast. It’s as if I inhale a breath in my shower and exhale it in New Amster. I recognize this Gothic, dust-covered entranceway I find myself in. It’s the building that guards the passage to their secret city.
The sweet scent of brown sugar assails me when I ghost-move through the majestic, crumbling corridors of the outpost. Matchstick men puff on cig-a-likes, venting the fragrance into the air. It makes me shrink away from them. I associate the aroma with Defense Minister Telek. It was the last pleasure he had before I’d poisoned him . . . well, other than the threats to my life. He took great pleasure in those.
Sifting through the decadent decay of abandoned wealth, I slow when I see Trey. He’s attired in a New Amster uniform, sitting alone near a broken-out window in the darkness and staring at the empty streets. They’ve given Trey a freston, which he has propped up on the window frame, ready to use to defend their position. If the form I have taken is my soul, then my soul aches for him.
Crouching down next to him, I grieve in a way I haven’t since this has all begun, not with tears, but with discoloration. I’m a watercolor, bleeding luminosity in smearing swirls of sorrow. I’ve never seen him like this. Trey is hollow. Empty.
I barely hear someone else approaching. “May I sit with you?” Pan asks as he towers above us. He’s little more than a shadowy silhouette in the darkness. Moonlight shines on Trey’s eyes as he looks up. He gives Pan a brief nod. Pan approaches and sits down beside Trey. Leaning against the same wall, Pan offers Trey a cig-a-like. Trey shakes his head.
“You don’t smoke?” Pan observes.
“No,” Trey replies, refocusing his attention out the window. Streaks of light from Sinter, the larger moon, fall on his eyes, highlighting their violet brilliance.
“Kricket’s mother, Arissa, made me quit when she was alive. She said it was bad for me,” he says. His voice has a deep, sleepy dragon’s tone to it. Holding a stylized smoker in his hand, he spins it between his fingers. “I don’t smoke it. I just carry one around as a reminder.”
I stare at Pan, studying all of his features. He’s a hazy memory. I don’t think he’s aged at all, but it’s been a long time. He smiles, as if remembering something, or maybe it’s from the ridiculousness of him quitting smoking only to find himself in an apocalyptic situation—I’m not sure. His smile does something to me, though; it sparks a memory of the two of us on the sidewalk in Chicago. I used to like to wave at taxis as if they were a parade of floats in a carnival come to town. He used to play along, lifting me up for a better view of them.
“I was impressed by your ingenuity with the drones,” Pan says to Trey.
Trey’s lips show his disgust. “You like the way I can annihilate mass amounts of people with just a few keystrokes?”
“It’s war,” Pan says flatly. “They were toasting the demise of the House of Rafe when it happened. The House of Alameeda will level the House of Wurthem when they no longer need them. You saved many more lives by taking a few.
One city. Now they’ll turn their eyes to the House of Alameeda in suspicion.”
“I think the cost was too high.”
“Your cost?”
“Mine. Theirs,” he says in desolation.
“History will show the sacrifice as just.”
“Will it?” He obviously doesn’t believe that.
Pan doesn’t respond to that; he simply twirls the stout cylinder of the smokeless inhaler between his fingers.
“Was there something you needed?” Trey asks coldly.
“What’s she like?”
“Your daughter?”
Pan nods.
“She’s a loner,” Trey replies. “She pays her own way. She’s someone who doesn’t know her place, or if she does, she doesn’t abide by the rules. She’ll see right through your lies. She’ll steal your heart without even trying. She’ll blanket you with a million whispers in the night while she holds your hand as if she’s the only one who fits it right. You’ll want to carry her bones inside your bones.”
“So she’s like her mother,” Pan says softly.
“Your people say that Kricket is still alive?”
“Yes,” Pan replies. He studies Trey and adds, “Don’t look so guilty. You haven’t done her wrong, as they say in Chicago.”
“What would you call it then?” he asks bitterly.
“A little bit of circumstance, fate, manipulation.”
“What about you? Do you think you’ve done her wrong?”
“I haven’t done her right.”
“Is there a difference?”
“I hope so.”
“Why did you leave her alone on Earth?”
“For the same reason she left you—there was no other choice.”
“You didn’t have a choice?”
“Not really. Kricket has a destiny, Trey. If you get in the way of it, you’ll pay . . . and pay . . . and pay.”
“You talk in evasion and riddles. Come back if you ever want to have a real conversation,” Trey growls. He grasps his gun and checks the setting.
“You want to know how we’ve come to be here? Time has conspired against us, Trey. My family has a part to play in the future. My consort was an extraordinary creature. She could see the light of future days. ‘So many possible futures,’ she would say. ‘Where to begin?’” He laughs, but there is very little humor in it.
“Arissa saw the future like Kricket does?”
“I don’t know what Kricket sees or how she sees it. She was a child when I left her. For Arissa, it was a violent explosion of atoms, tearing her away from her body, projecting her into the future.”
“Sounds familiar,” Trey admits. “You still haven’t answered my question, though. Why did you leave Kricket behind on Earth?”
“Her mother told me she’d bring about the destruction of Rafe,” Pan says. His fingers deftly wield the cig-a-like as if it’s a baton. “Arissa sifted through so many possible futures, looking for one where we could all be together. She could see nuances in time—the other infinite possibilities, not just the dominant markers. Can Kricket do that yet?”
“I don’t know,” Trey replies. “Are you saying that Arissa saw options in time in which things could be changed?”
“Yes, but the problem Arissa had in changing the future was that there was so much time between her and the events that she was seeing. Trying to change time that far out is difficult. Time always tries to right itself. The changes have to be drastic if you want to affect the distant future, or it will find another course to come to the same conclusions.”
“What exactly did Arissa see?”
“She saw several possible futures at war with each other—all of which were attempting to become the dominant marker—the event that happens.”
“According to Arissa, what event presents itself as the dominant marker?”
“Excelsior Ensin becoming Emperor of Ethar.”
“Are there other possible markers?”
“The best one we found for Rafe is one in which Astrid rules Ethar as our empress.”
“Where does that leave Kricket?”
“In the middle of a war. Her future is liquid.”
“What do you mean?”
“Kricket’s future takes the shape of the glass you pour it in.”
“I still don’t get it.”
“Pour her into time with a certain set of circumstances and she becomes a world ender. Give her a different set of circumstances and she shapes time in a whole other way. One thing is clear about Kricket, though: she’s a catalyst. Events start and end with her. She’s the person who can ensure that the worst-case scenario will happen or that it won’t.
“We tried to hide her on Earth, knowing that she’d trigger the fight between the Houses on Ethar. Her keeper, Giffen, was assigned to her to prevent her from ever returning to Ethar. Giffen tracked the Alameeda who came to Earth to find Kricket. There have been several teams sent to search for us over the years even before Kyon Ensin.”
“What happened to the ones who came looking for her?”
“Giffen killed them. He was tracking Kyon and his associates. He didn’t realize that Rafe soldiers were also dispatched to Earth at the same time. You slipped through and he missed you.”
“What would’ve happened had he known we were there as well?”
“He would’ve tracked you and killed you.”
“And if he was unable to kill us, what then?”
“He would’ve killed Kricket before she crossed over into Ethar. That was our preemptive plan. The worst has happened, though. She slipped through, and the House of Rafe has paid the price for my inability to control the events that led Kricket here.”
“You mean because you didn’t kill her, this is your fault.”
“If I had killed her when she was a child, Rafe would’ve survived.”
“Do you really believe that? Do you think Excelsior Ensin would never conceive of a plot to gain power if Kricket hadn’t come here?”
“Of course, we don’t know. We only know that if I had been able to eliminate her, she would no longer play a role in it. Now we prepare for the events that are coming. Kricket’s role in the future isn’t finished. There’s still a chance that we can shift the events to the best-case scenario.”
“How do you propose doing that?”
“Kricket will have to get close to Excelsior Ensin.”
“For what purpose?”
“Assassination.”
“Kricket is not a killer!”
“Then we’re all dead. Excelsior knows about the threat to his future from Arissa. She gave him the information when she was a child. He was like a nice uncle to her. She had no idea who he was until later.”
“And who was he?”
“He was Arissa’s creator. How much do you know about Amster?” he asks, looking around the beautiful Gothic cathedral-like building they are in.
“It’s been a ruin for around a thousand floans—ever since the Black Math plague swept through most of Ethar,” Trey says.
“That’s right. What most people don’t know is that the plague had its origin here . . . in this building. Did you know that this used to be an institute that was founded and run by Excelsior Ensin?”
“No.”
“He worked extensively in genetic enhancement. He also dabbled in germ warfare.”
“You’re suggesting that Black Math was not an accidental mutation?”
“It wasn’t. It was a well-designed plan to rid the world of masses of people while he secretly worked on an enhanced race. He and his team designed and perfected genes—powerful genes and deadly viruses. Working in conjunction with a small group of leaders, Excelsior and his extensive connections administered the plague to their own populations and held the antidote aside only for those who they deemed worthy of it. This building is the place where the virus was conceived. Here—”
Pan stands up and pulls an orb from his pocket that’s no bigger than a large gumball. He touches t
he top of the orb. It glows golden and lifts from the center of his palm to float in the air above his head, casting soft light around them. Pan walks to a nearby pillar and uses his shirtsleeve to rub a brass plaque on the wall and wipes away the dust from it. The plaque now clearly says: ENSIN INSTITUTE.
Pan straightens and says, “The headquarters that you awoke in after you were brought here is Excelsior’s ex-residence. I enjoy irony, Trey. I thought it would be fitting that the very place that spawned him would also be the place from which to stage his demise. This city was his domain. He owned it, but he grew tired of it, so he decimated it. That’s who he is.”
“Give me a team. I’ll take Excelsior out.”
“You’d have a difficult time getting close to him. Even the gifted men I have ferried out of Alameeda aren’t able to get close to him. Priestesses guard him. Kricket is in a much better position to assassinate him, because she won’t even have to try. He’ll bring her to him.”
“When?”
“Soon. Excelsior grows malcontented. He wants another New World Order with just himself at the helm. He’s finished with the shared power of the Brotherhood. He’s willing to seize it all from the very people who were his allies a thousand floans ago.”
“Why not use germ warfare again, since it worked so well last time?” Trey asks.
“He can’t risk it. Two plagues? Too many leaders who were involved in Black Math are still alive to realize the similarities in the situation. No, he needs a distraction from what he plans. Kricket is that distraction. She’s the prophecy, come home to her people. He can use that to his advantage to keep the focus on her while he devises a way to take the throne from her. There’s still one small problem for him, though.”
“What’s that?”
“Kricket is fated to kill him.”
“What happens if she succeeds?”
“We’ll use New Amster’s military to place Astrid in control of the four remaining Houses. She’s also the daughter of Arissa—she’s a priestess born of two houses and two worlds, as the prophecy indicates. They’ll accept her as their leader.”
“Why Astrid, why not Kricket?”
“Astrid has been raised to be empress her entire life.”
Darken the Stars Page 18