by Gwynn White
Ember covered her mouth with one hand, her throat tightening.
“I know what happened to you. It’s what I feared all along and couldn’t stop. I should have taken you away, hidden you far from the Empire’s reach. But you seemed content enough, so I let myself believe embracing Roma life might hide you better than any cave could. Forgive me. The Empire will do anything to capture and tame a wild flicker, especially someone with your unique skills. I should have done a better job protecting you, preparing you for what would come.”
Ember felt her stomach drop. Dai wasn’t talking about the Empire now. He was talking about her gift.
After Ember’s mother died, her father’s devastation was even harder to stomach than the crushing sorrow she’d experienced. He looked at her differently after that, keeping a wary sort of distance. But there had been something else in his eyes, something inward and very, very deep. Now she knew what it was. Guilt.
He knew his daughter was a flare. He hadn’t seen it in her until it was too late, and because he’d failed to prepare her, his wife was gone forever. He blamed himself, not Ember.
“I escaped the Empire and ran to the safest place I knew,” Dai continued. “Earth lies on the boundaries, still within the Empire’s reach and jurisdiction but far beneath their notice. I thought I would be safe here, and I was for many years. I just didn’t consider what it would mean for my daughter. I’m sorry.”
He gestured to the camera. “These people, the Union fighters, are kind. They’ve taken good care of me. They allowed me to make this recording for you. I believe siding with them is a good decision.”
Ember looked at Amai, who was listening with a frown.
Then her father switched to Romani.
My Ember, when I say siding with the Union is a good decision, I only mean it is slightly better than serving the Empire. They mean well, but be wary of their leader. They call her the Daughter. She is the daughter of the emperor, cast out long ago for reasons unknown to me. If you choose to serve her, be very careful. I have yet to discover whether this Union is the antithesis of the Empire or an extension of it.
Good-bye, my light. I look forward to watching you grow from the stars.
I can’t tell you in words how I feel for you. It was the greatest pleasure of my life to be your father.
He motioned to whoever held the camera, and then it went black.
Ember found herself clinging to the tablet in her hands, holding it so tightly she feared it would break. She forced herself to loosen her grip and tapped the screen again, watching it several more times until Amai cleared her throat.
“I’m sorry, Ember,” she said. “But it’s time to evacuate. Most of the other ships have left. I got special permission for you to say your good-byes first, but the Empire will be back en masse, and soon.”
Ember gave her village one last look, then climbed into the transport, gripping her father’s message firmly in both hands.
“What was that language your father spoke?” Amai asked as the transport moved. “And what did he say?”
“Romani,” she said softly. Was Ember the last person who spoke their language? The realization made her physically ache. “He said it was a pleasure to raise me as his daughter.”
Amai nodded, seeming to accept that answer.
They headed back to the camp, Ember’s gaze locked on her feet the entire way. She folded her arms, feeling the strongest pieces of herself crumbling like the buildings around her, and she tried desperately to hold herself together before she fell completely apart.
A ship now stood a hundred meters from the temporary shelter she’d evacuated over an hour before. Workers were taking down the tents and loading the ship with boxes. The shuttle reminded Ember of the one that had whisked her far away from home and clinched her people’s terrible deaths. Did they blame her, wherever they were now? Was her father right? Could they watch her from the stars?
She boarded and found a seat. Then she gasped. The woman sitting in the seat across from her was Bianca.
She launched herself across the aisle and embraced her friend, giving her a quick peck on the cheek. “Bianca! You’re alive!”
Her friend stiffened, then pushed Ember away, her expression murderous. “Don’t touch me.”
“But—” Ember looked around. Bianca’s son and husband were nowhere to be found, and her stomach looked a bit flatter. “No.”
“They killed Gavril and my Luca. Shot them down in seconds. The shock of it was too much. The baby came shortly after—” She sucked in a sob. “It was a girl.”
“Oh, Bianca.”
“Don’t pretend like you had nothing to do with this, Ember. I wish your filthy gadjo father never came to our village at all.” Her friend removed her harness and stomped to the next passenger area.
Ember watched her go, feeling her heart sink to her toes.
Mar stood in the doorway. She cleared her throat. “Um, Amai asked me to give you this. The Daughter wants to speak with you, but not in here.” She motioned to the door.
She followed Mar into an empty storage compartment on the ship. For the second time that day, Ember held a tablet in her hands. She tapped the screen as Mar left the room.
A woman not much older than Ember and dressed in white appeared, frowning at her. “Ember, daughter of Mario Nicholas Lucinello. I had hoped to speak with you before now, but alas, events have made that impossible.” Her mouth tightened in what was probably intended to be a smile. “Is it true you are a flare?”
Ember recalled her father’s warning about his woman. She did seem rather direct, like the daughter of an emperor would be. “I am.”
Her lips tugged upward for a fraction of a second. “You are determined to join the Union against the Empire?”
“Yes.” There was no doubt in her voice this time.
“We’ve recruited soldiers from all over the realm, Ember, but your role will be far more important. You will not train with them or climb their ranks. You will serve under me and me only. That requires absolute trust. Will you submit to a reading when you arrive?”
The Daughter wanted another flicker to comb through her memories to ensure she wasn’t a double agent. She had nothing to hide except a tinge of doubt planted in her by Dai. Determination swelled within her as she made her decision. She would take the Empire down. If this woman became a part of it, she would take her down too. “I will if you’ll do the same.”
The woman’s expression froze, then her calm demeanor returned. “I regret that isn’t possible. You understand why the Daughter can’t be read by a flare, particularly one who is yet untested. Perhaps someday.”
Ember nodded. “I agree to your terms, then, on a different condition. There is a man on the ship I left. A prisoner.”
“Ah yes. The usual request. Give your escort a description of the man, and we’ll add him to the list. Our flickers will search for him. Hopefully we can get him out before his vessel is destroyed.”
It was as far from a promise as the woman could make, but Ember pushed away her irritation. It was better than nothing. There was no way she could waltz onto the ship and save Stefan herself, not when the entire Empire was looking for her. “Fair enough.”
“Good. Then we’ll see you when you arrive. I look forward to working with you.” The screen went dark.
Her father’s words still streamed through her mind as she made her way back to her seat. The room’s occupants began murmuring as she reentered the hold, but she barely noticed.
Ten minutes later they left Earth’s atmosphere. Ember was surprised to see that Mar was right—their ocean was a murky brownish-blue from above. Her world may be imperfect, but it was hers. I’ll return someday, she promised.
Forty minutes later the planet was a tiny dot in the window. Deep in thought, Ember kept her gaze on it until it disappeared completely. What would service in the Union mean for her? Was she switching from one enemy to another? Would they really help Stefan escape, or did they just want her
badly enough to say anything she wanted to hear? Was Stefan’s grandmother right about her—would she shape the universe around herself somehow?
The only person you are destined to become is the person you decide to be.
She turned to see the other passengers dozing. Bianca and Mar were somewhere on this ship as well, finally safe. She wouldn’t rest until Stefan was back at her side, where he belonged. And then she had some serious work to do.
“I don’t care anymore, stars,” she said. “It doesn’t matter why you gave me this gift, because my life is not your choice. It’s mine. And now that I’ve made my decision, I will never apologize again.”
THE END
Ember’s story continues in FLARE: Ember in Space Book Two.
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About the Author
REBECCA RODE is the international bestselling and award-winning author of the Numbers Game series, the Ember in Space series, and numerous novellas. She also dabbles in freelance journalism, producing articles for Deseret News, KSL.com, FamilyShare, and the Daily Herald. She has four children, two cats, one husband, and a ridiculous number of books.
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Star Compass
A Victoria Eternal Novel
Anthea Sharp
Charles Dickens meets Firefly in this tale of an orphan destined for the stars.
Steampunk with a twist! Enter a fantastical world filled with alien spacecraft and Victorian sensibilities, ball gowns and travel to the stars - where a pickpocket with a particular gift makes the journey from the gutter to the stars…
Prologue
Diana Smythe stared out the window of the family carriage and thumped the back of her heels against the leather seat, timing the beats to alternate with the clop of the horses’ hooves. She didn’t want to go visit the Duchess of Penderly, even if the old lady was Papa’s great-aunt or somesuch. She’d much rather stay home and play with her new puppy.
The puppy was small, but Nanny told her he was going to grow into a big dog, so Diana had named him Jupiter, after the largest planet. Maybe he’d even be big enough for her to ride on. And once he was grown, maybe he could even be modded with wings, and they could fly off on adventures together up into the stars.
As the carriage rolled through the streets of London, Diana kept boredom away by watching the horse-drawn cabs and steam-powered vehicles, calculating their speeds and trajectories in her mind. Pedestrians eddied along the sidewalks, and she added them in, too, plus the random dartings of pigeons over the rooftops.
It was a lively scene, full of lines of movement and parabolic arcs she could almost see drawn across the air. Every sudden stop or acceleration changed the dynamics, and she tried to make predictions. Would the hansom cab or the omnibus reach the crossing first? Would a bird dart to the near side of the street, or the far one? Would that lady with a parasol pass the nurse pushing a pram by the time they reached the apothecary shop?
Whenever she spoke about such things, she was either patted on the head or called a very odd little girl. Only once had anyone looked at her like she made sense, and that had been Uncle Xavier. Last year, when she was only seven, he’d insisted on a maths tutor for Diana, although she was the youngest and her older siblings had no such thing.
Papa had sighed and shook his head, but within a week a tutor had arrived. Mr. Tamms had proclaimed himself astonished at her mathematical talent, and soon enough Diana was learning trigonometry and was allowed to do as many sums as she pleased.
Not today, though. After breakfast, Nanny had dressed her in her new frock, the one with the shiny buttons, and told her she was going on an important visit. Diana, engrossed with counting the facets on the crystalline buttons, had scarcely listened, even as Nanny bundled her, along with her brother and sister, into the carriage.
“Here’s a sweet.” Nanny had slipped a horehound candy into Diana’s hand. “Now behave, young miss, and when you come home you’ll be able to tumble about with Jupiter to your heart’s content.”
Diana knew better than to complain, so she’d taken the candy and settled on the far end of the seat. Peter and Claudia squished in next to her, and in a few moments Mama and Papa entered the carriage and sat opposite their children. Diana peeked at them from beneath the brim of her hat.
In truth, she was a little afraid of the elegant, distant creatures who were her parents. She did not see much of Mama, and even less of Papa, although she supposed that would change as she grew up. Claudia had just turned ten, and was deemed old enough to begin taking her meals in the formal dining room with their parents, as Peter had done for the past two years. Diana felt a bit abandoned in the nursery with only Nanny for company during supper.
But there were always her old friends, the numbers and the trajectories. Nanny didn’t know why Diana liked to roll her balls back and forth in the playroom, calculating when to push a smaller one out in order to collide with, or avoid, the others. But Mr. Tamms understood.
Best of all, she now had Jupiter—a constant lesson in speed and motion. Plus he covered her in sloppy puppy kisses and slept at the foot of her bed.
“Are you certain the duchess will aid us?” Mama turned to Papa, a note of concern in her sweet voice. “She is such a distant relative, after all…”
“Don’t fret, my darling. Once she sees the children, and understands our predicament, I’m certain everything will turn out for the best.”
Diana hardly listened to her parents. Most of her attention was taken up by watching the thick plume of steam trailing from a large omnibus clattering down the street toward them. Her parents would never dream of taking public transport about London. That was for the working class, not nobility like themselves.
Still, it looked like great fun to ride about so quickly in a vehicle powered by steam and gears. The omnibus was going at quite a clip; certainly faster than Jupiter could run.
Diana undid the latches and lowered the window a bit, leaning out slightly so she could taste the air as the omnibus swept past.
Something was wrong, though. The lines of travel weren’t parallel. For a moment her lungs squeezed so tight she could barely breathe. It was like watching two of her balls meant to zip past one another instead wobble into a collision course.
“Mama?” she asked in a small voice.
“But what about the debts?” Mama did not hear her, and continued speaking to Papa. “Do you truly think she will agree to cover them?”
“Mama!” Diana tried again.
“Now, Diana dear, no need to shout—”
Mama’s words were obliterated by the blast of the omnibus’s horn.
It was coming too fast.
Too close.
There was a horrible crunch and the carriage spun sickeningly about. Diana screamed as they turned and tilted. She felt herself slipping out the window, and tried to grab on to something—anything—but her scrabbling fingers could find no purchase.
“Diana!” Papa bellowed as she was flung out of the coach.
She tried to tuck her head down, to make herself into a little ball so she would not break her arm the way she had when she’d fallen out of the apple tree last summer. The air was full of the screech of metal, and people screaming.
Then a bigger crash, that sounded like the sky was breaking. A flash of light and heat, and a whump that vibrated through Diana’s chest.
Her head collided with something, and everything went away into the black.
1
8 years later
The pickpocket known as Diver slipped through the throngs at the Southampton docks, her nimble fingers dipping into a pocket here, a reticule there. The pattern of working a crowd had become as simple to her as breathing, the trajectories predictable, and she used them to her advantage.
She knew when a space would open u
p for her to pass through, how to avoid becoming trapped in a knot of people, the way the rich nobs strolled leisurely along without much change in direction, as though they owned the very air. She never lingered too long in one place, and usually only lifted small items: a shilling, a kerchief, a thimble. Things that could be misplaced just as easily as stolen.
She was fast enough to make up for it, though, and her slight pickings grew until she judged that her own well-hidden purse was heavy enough.
Then, with a smile for the gentleman whom she’d just relieved of some coin, and a twirl of her battered parasol, she left the docks. Better to depart now, before raising any suspicions. There was a new policeman on patrol, and she didn’t want to run afoul of the fellow. Word was he hadn’t yet been bribed by the gang runners to look the other way.
Diana wasn’t one of the gang rats, though it cost her a fair bit of her weekly take to maintain her independence. Sometimes she wondered if it was worth it—but then she remembered those first, horrible months on the London streets. And the orphanage before that…
With a clang, she slammed the door on those thoughts. Her past was gone. There was only the present, and the life she’d scraped up for herself. Her independence was one of the most valuable things she had, and bedamned if she would give it up lightly.
She ducked down a nearby alley to transform herself. Off went her skirt and matching jacket, revealing the trousers and work shirt beneath. She traded her bonnet for a plain cap, stuffing her hair beneath the stained wool. Finally, she turned her skirt and jacket inside out and wrapped them around the parasol to make a nondescript bundle.
With a grimace, she scraped some muck from a nearby puddle and smudged her face, especially around the jaw. Best to give the impression she was a boy—she’d learned that lesson some time ago. Diana, the girl who’d grown up in an elegant house in Mayfair, was gone forever, changed to Diver, a scrappy lad from the stews of London.