Sea of Stars (29 page)

The open-palm slap to my cheek from his rough hand makes my face turn away from him. Blood sprays outward through my parted lips in an array of red. If I hadn’t been in a fight before, the sting of it might’ve shocked me. I never know whether to clench my teeth or loosen my jaw when I see it coming. If I clench my teeth, I usually end up with a few loose ones. If I loosen my jaw, I run the risk of biting down on the soft, fleshy tissue inside and shredding a hole in it. The best thing to do would be to duck, but that would be counterintuitive, since I want him to hit me.

His green eyes lean near mine; his breath is warm on my rapidly swelling skin. “Does a priestess feel pain?” he asks.

Lowering my forehead, I drive it into his nose, hearing it crack as blood spurts out to spatter my cheeks and his. As I reel with dizziness and an aching skull, I try to smile when I murmur, “Yes. Do you?”

“Careful,” he groans, his nose bleeding profusely as he smiles. “Don’t make me fall in love with you, priestess.”

“Shut up.” I spit blood. “Uhh, that’s so much worse the second time,” I say to myself, trying not to groan as I gather my courage. “Okay, I’m ready. Hit me again, and then take my picture.”

It’s extremely scary how quickly Kyon responds to the images that Giffen sends to him. What’s also frightening are the layers of signal blockers Kyon is able to hack through during each of the communications Giffen engages in with him. Giffen has to cut the connection off a few times so Kyon won’t trace our location.

Seething over Kyon’s lack of cooperation, Giffen glares at me. “Your Alameeda intended is a sneaky, blond wacker!” he says with disgust, but it sounds less dirty somehow because his speech is so refined.

“He’s not my anything, lost boy,” I state calmly, wishing I could brush my hair back from my throbbing face. They haven’t uncuffed me from the chair, even though I agreed to all of their demands. I guess I’m just untrustworthy.

Giffen scowls at me. “Don’t deceive yourself. The moment he returns you to his home you’ll be made his consort.”

“You say that like it bothers you.”

“Why should it?”

I shrug, which seems to bother him more. He gets surlier. “He wanted to communicate with you last time to verify that you’re alive. When I contact him now, be brief. I need to tell him the location of the exchange before he can track the signal.”

I don’t argue.
What’s the point?
“Let’s do this.”

Giffen eyes me suspiciously, glancing uneasily at Raspin. Raspin is watching me as if he expects me to disappear at any moment and take with me his ability to get back his truluv, which I think might mean his “soulmate.”

Giffen makes the connection. Kyon answers, “You keep ending our conversations just when they’re getting interesting.”

“Have you located my consort?” Giffen asks.

“I have. She’s a bit untidy, but nothing you’re not used to, I’m sure.”

Charming
, I think.

“Let me see her,” Giffen demands.

His jaw eases somewhat when a feminine voice comes through the communicator saying, “Gif?”

“Are you well?” he asks Astrid, relief in his tone. I groan inwardly,
He’s so bad at this!

She’s not allowed to answer him. Instead, Kyon asks, “What of
my
consort?”

Giffen glances at me. “According to her, she’s not your consort,” he states vehemently.

I glare at him with a what-the-hell-are-you-doing look on my face. He doesn’t have to argue about something as stupid as my commitment status.
What happened to “be brief”?
I say with my eyes. Giffen glares back at me with an I-can-say-whatever-I-want-to look.

Kyon growls, “She belongs to me—make no mistake. If you do not show her to me in the next few breaths, I will kill your consort in the most painful way imaginable.”

Giffen’s jaw clenches. He taps a few buttons before sliding his communicator onto a small table he has placed in front of my chair. Kyon’s head-and-shoulders image appears as a holograph, being projected from the communicator like a video speakerphone. He doesn’t look happy about the state I’m in.

“Resist, did you?” he asks with a grim look. “How is that working out for you, Kricket?”

“I have it all under control.” I try to smile but my fat lip and puffy, black eye hurt more when I do. I wince and sag a little in my chair, letting my actions belie my words. “You don’t have to come get me. I can find another ride.”

“It’s not an inconvenience. It’s probably on my way,” he says quietly.

Giffen barks out, “Diadem Rock—in two parts.”

“I will be there—and, oh, if you touch her again, I will cut off both your consort’s hands.”

“If you fail to deliver Astrid in one piece, Kricket dies.”

Giffen ends the communication.

C
HAPTER 16

D
ARKEN THE STARS

R
aspin’s knife is drawn as he walks toward me. I flinch for a second, worried about what he intends to do with it. When he moves behind me and gathers my hair in his fist, ready to slice it off to help me heal, I growl, “Stop! Don’t cut my hair! It’ll look suspicious if you do!”

He hesitates.

“You shouldn’t know about what my hair does when you cut it. It’s one of their secrets. He’ll wonder how you know, and then he’ll wonder why you would help me when you were the ones who beat me up.”

Raspin drops my hair. Instead, he touches the tight cuffs that pin my hands behind me. He enters a code, and they spring open. I almost can’t move my arms—their stiff ache is excruciating—but I slowly bring them in front of me, then bend over at the waist and hug myself. “You want to help me?” I ask Raspin when he hovers in front of me. He stares at me in an oafish sort of way. “When I save Astrid’s life for you, you owe me. The only payment I’ll accept from you is in the form of protection. You owe me Trey’s life, Raspin. No matter what happens, you have to protect him.”

I wait as he crouches down to my eye level. “It takes the best in us to tie ourselves up fer love.”

“Did my father teach you that?” I ask with a bitter laugh. “Love is the worst, Raspin. It sets fire to us just to see who it can kill.”

He looks at me almost helplessly. From behind him, Giffen nudges his shoulder with a canteen. Raspin takes it from him and holds it out to me. I drink, trying hard to ease my tight throat.

“We have to go,” Giffen says in a quiet voice from behind Raspin. “Would you like to change before we leave?”

My torn and bloodstained lilac dress is a tale of sorrow. It’s also grass-stained and split up the side, exposing my right leg and most of my thigh. I wouldn’t actually care all that much, but thinking of facing Kyon in it makes me feel even more vulnerable. “Is Charisma still here?” I ask.

“Is she the older or the younger female?” Giffen counters.

“Younger.”

Giffen goes to the doorway; one door still hangs askew from Raspin’s rampage. He speaks to a couple of armed men in the corridor outside.

When Charisma enters the room, she gives a soft cry, seeing Trey bleeding and unconscious on the floor. Her face pales, but she fights it as her voice hardens. “Trey needs medical attention. Will you let us tend to him?”

Giffen seems to remember Trey. He appears about to argue with her, but Raspin pushes them both aside, clearing a path to Trey. He picks Trey up and hoists him over his shoulder before staring at Charisma expectantly. They start to leave the room together, but Giffen stops them. “You can get someone to treat him,” he instructs, “but then you have to bring back something for Kricket to wear—something she can travel in.”

Charisma’s attention is drawn to me for the first time. She blinks back tears when she sees my swollen face. I lift my chin because I don’t need pity. “Bring me what I wore here, Charisma,” I murmur.

“All right,” she replies in a weak voice.

She leaves the room, and with her departure I’m alone with Giffen.

Giffen paces for a bit, every once in a while looking in my direction. I confuse him, I can tell. I haven’t tried to bargain with him, or attempt to get him to change his mind. I haven’t asked him any questions about himself or the other lost boys, or Astrid, or Pan, or the prophecy. It’s bothering him.

“Are you hungry?” he asks me in an irritated tone. “Do you want something to eat?”

“No. Kyon will feed me; it’ll give him something to do. He’ll want to show me how well he can take care of me.” I don’t really know if that’s true. I just want Giffen to stop talking to me.

Giffen’s frown darkens and he becomes surly again. “He won’t be able to care for you long. He’s going to die like the rest of them!”

I don’t reply.

Giffen resumes pacing. In a few moments, he pauses to evaluate me. “You’re nothing like her.” I raise my eyebrow, wondering for a moment whom he means. “Astrid,” he says, studying me. “You’re nothing like her; she is all heart.”

I don’t react, except to say softly, “Well. I guess Pan picked the right one, then.”

That response was not what he was hoping for from me, because he looks a little like I punched him in the stomach with my remark. “She’s part of the prophecy too, did you know that? We have to protect her,” he says cryptically.

“Then protect her.”

“It’s what I’ve sworn to do.”

“Well, from where I’m sitting, you’re not very good at it.”

The silence stretches on for a bit. When he doesn’t stop staring at me, I look at him with a level gaze and ask, “What? What do you want from me, lost boy? Do you want my understanding? Do you want me to say it’s okay that you’re kidnapping me and trading me to the enemy?” I keep my voice calm but full of scorn. “Do you want my forgiveness because you’re just doing what you’re sworn to do?” I shake my head before looking up at the ceiling. “If I had a nickel for every time I’ve found myself in this same situation, I could
buy
this
entire
planet!” I straighten and meet his eyes again. “So get away from me with your whining for absolution. You get
nothing
from me!”

In the very next moment, Charisma enters the room with clothes piled in her arms. Her eyes shift from me to Giffen. We both look primed to kill each other. She hurriedly comes to me, getting between us in an attempt to shield me from him. “I brought the clothes,” she says in a voice that’s an octave higher than normal due to fear. I rise from the chair, ready to get on with this. She turns toward Giffen, “Please excuse us while she changes.”

His handsome jaw hardly unlocks as his mutters, “I’m not letting her out of my sight.” He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall.

With reddening cheeks, Charisma faces me. “It’s okay,” I murmur to her. I shrug off the black jacket, exposing my silver crested starcross armband Trey gave me. Giffen is at my side immediately, lifting my arm and tugging it off me.

“What’s this?” he asks.

“It’s mine!” I try to grab it back from him. He moves it out of my reach above my head.

He backs away from me and studies the starcross in his hands. “I can’t let you keep this,” he replies.

“You can’t keep it! It’s mine!” I retort with a thread of desperation in my tone. “It doesn’t belong to you.” My stomach churns.
I’ll never get it back now that I’ve shown that it means something to me. I know better.

Giffen surprises me. “I’ll keep it for you.” There’s honesty in his high handedness. “You’ll get it back. I promise. Now hurry. We’re running out of time.”

Taking the tight legginglike pants from Charisma, I slip them on underneath the lilac dress. I turn away from Giffen, ready to pull the dress over my head, when I feel his hand on my back. I shy away from his touch, looking over my shoulder. He’s staring at my back. I try to see what has caught his attention. Long, deep scratches are almost entirely scabbed over and rapidly healing themselves. I must’ve gotten them when Giffen hit me with his telekinetic energy. It had lifted me off my feet and I’d landed on my back, skidding across the ground.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you like that.” He’s not lying.

I turn away from him, lifting the ruined silky fabric over my head so that my entire back is exposed to his remorseful gaze.
Stew in it, lost boy
, I think, while putting the black blouse over my head. I grab the dirty, black jacket from the chair, easing it on gingerly. As I turn around, I gather up the front of my shirt, wiping it with the sweat, dirt, and blood from my face. It makes a disgusting pattern. “There,” I say to myself, letting my shirt drop down again. “Now I look like I’ve been through something.”

“We have to go,” Giffen growls. He’s angry with himself for showing me emotions he shouldn’t have in the first place.

Hurriedly, I turn to Charisma. “Will you do something for me?”

Her violet eyes brim with tears. “Anything. I will do anything for you,” she assures me, not even knowing what it is I’ll ask her to do.

“Will you give Trey one of your Crystal Clear Moments? The saer?”

She nods her head in confusion. “Of course,” she whispers.

“And will you tell him it’s from Kitten?”

“Yes. Anything else?”

“Yes,” I lean near her ear and whisper, “Please tell him that I’ll take care of his soul until he finds us. I’ll be expecting him soon.”

Charisma starts to cry. She hugs me, forgetting about my hurt back. I endure it, returning her hug.

“Take care of Victus and the family,” I whisper to her.

“I will,” she whispers back.

When I straighten, I look at Giffen and nod. He takes me by my arms, pulling them behind my back once more and cuffing me. “Let’s go.”

He takes me outside toward the falconlike ship. Ground sconces illuminate the pathways leading to it. There are also floating orb lights hovering several feet above us, casting a soft phosphorus glow all around. It’s nearly dawn; the spectral light is shining on the horizon by the ridge. As I pass through the courtyard, armed men in Comantre uniforms clutching machine-gun-like weapons crowd nearer, trying to get a look at me. One of them hurries over to Giffen, matching our steps. “You shouldn’t do this,” he says sternly, staring at Giffen’s profile. “It’s not right. He didn’t authorize this.”

“It’s the only way to get Astrid back,” Giffen says, looking straight ahead, never missing a step. “We need someone on the inside with eyes on the Brotherhood. She’s perfect for the job.”

“How are we going to face him and tell him that we handed over his daughter to the Alameeda?”

“
We’re
not going to tell him.
I’m
going to tell him.”

“But he won’t—”

Giffen jerks hard on my elbow as he stops and faces the soldier at his side. This one has long, straight brown hair and soft brown eyes. “You want Astrid back alive or not?” he seethes.

“Of course I do!” The soldier is aghast at the question. He glances past Giffen and gives me an apologetic look.

Giffen starts striding toward the aircraft again, pulling me along with him. In frustration, he calls over his shoulder, “Don’t worry, Fidar. This one will have the Alameeda begging us to take her back.”

He guides me up the ramp and into a large bay. Fluorescent lights come on, turning our skin tone a pale whitish blue. This part of the ship is probably used for loading and unloading cargo and for transporting troops. High-backed seats attached to the walls run the length of the aircraft on both sides. Giffen turns me around and uncuffs one of my wrists. Guiding me to a jump seat, he puts his hand on my shoulder and presses me into it. The seat belts crisscross over me as he snaps the other cuff to the handrail by my head, locking it. “Don’t go anywhere.”

The comment was made to get a reaction from me. I just stare at him with loathing. With a frown, he straightens. He wants me to say something—he needs it. He’s okay when he’s fighting with me, but the quiet between us bothers him.

When I don’t oblige him, he turns his back on me and closes the cargo bay door, then disappears farther into the ship. There is an emptiness in the dim, pale light of the cargo bay. Nothing is familiar. Lights flash, blue, red, yellow, and green on a control panel on the wall. Instruments buzz and beep at odd intervals. It’s agony, this unfamiliarity. My hands begin to shake first, and then my legs—my knees bounce from it. I look down at my hands, seeing streaks of dried blood smear my skin. Rubbing them together, I can’t get their marks to go away. My teeth chatter like I’m cold, but I don’t know if I am or not, because I’m numb. I make hacking sounds with my breath, because I can’t seem be able to get enough air past the lump in my throat.

The ship lifts off, moving straight up fast enough for me to lose my stomach. I clutch the belts surrounding me. Normally, this would’ve scared me and brought on a panic that we might crash. Now, it has the opposite effect: it calms me.
We might crash. If we do, this ends.
Another part of me whispers,
I need to know the future . . . I need to prepare . . .

“I wish to see the exchange at Diadem Rock,” I murmur. My icy breath curls out before me and I leave my body.

Giffen’s large hand is cupping my chin as he kneels in front of my jump seat. “Kricket,” he says while shaking my head to try to get a response from me.

Groaning, I mutter, “Are you really shaking my head right now? It already hurts like a spix kicked it, so stop!”

“Getting in touch with your spirit animal, were you?” His question is flippant, but there’s relief in his tone that he can’t hide.

“Yeah, it said to give you this.” I raise my middle finger at him. He stares at it, because the gesture means nothing to him.

“I should take your finger?” he asks.

“I hate you,” I reply, burying my head in my hands. I know I must be ghost-pale, because I feel like all the blood has left my brain.

“Good”—his lips turn sullen—“because they should be here soon. I’ll set up contact with you in a few rotations.”