Starflight (29 page)

She watched their linked hands and fell silent for a moment. “Hey, do you think you’ll ever come visit me?” she asked. “When I’m living on Vega?”

“Visit? If I can’t clear these charges, I’ll be your permanent sofa crasher.”

“I mean it. Be serious.”

Doran didn’t say so, but he was only half joking. He had a new theory about why his father had sent him to the outer realm, and if he was right, neither of them would ever be free again—at least not within the Solar Territories. He’d have to start over in the fringe. Assuming anyone would hire an eighteen-year-old business intern with no useful trade skills.

“Wait.” Solara brushed a thumb over his knuckles. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

“I don’t know,” he told her. “I think I figured out what Infinium is.”

“What’s that got to do with sleeping on my sofa?”

“Remember what I told you about my job collecting new elements?”

“Yes,” she said. “For product development.”

“Sometimes we find one that’s too unstable for fuel but perfect for blowing things up. When that happens, my father destroys the sample and deletes all the data from our archives. He says he doesn’t want to be responsible for creating the next weapon of mass destruction.”

“And that’s what you think Infinium is?”

“It makes sense,” Doran said. “I think my father discovered something dangerous, and the Solar League got their hands on it. That’s why he sent his men to steal it from the transport and why he sent me to the fringe. Maybe he wants me to destroy what’s left of Infinium before the League finds it.”

“A government conspiracy?” she asked. “That’s a little far-fetched, isn’t it?”

“Have you got a better idea?”

“Actually, I do.” She rolled onto her side to face him. “Let’s quit talking about Infinium and enjoy our shore leave.”

When her amber-green eyes locked on his and she unleashed that dimpled smile, all of Doran’s worries dissolved the way springtime melted the last dregs of winter. As he lay so close to her in the soft grass, their hands linked between them, it was easy to forget everything but the dusting of freckles on her cheeks and the scent of powdered sugar on her breath. His heart ticked to a new rhythm, one that warned he was in trouble. Because this girl had left a mark on him, deep down where time wouldn’t erase it.

He used his free hand to cup her chin. “I’ll visit you.”

“Promise?”

“Just try to keep me away.”

Relief flickered on her face, and it warmed him inside to know that he’d left a mark on her, too. “Now back to our shore leave,” he said. “What should we do next?”

She unlinked their fingers and pushed to standing, then peered across the schoolyard toward the town square. “I heard there’s a hayride around here somewhere. Want to check it out? I’m too full for anything else.”

“All right. But on the way, let’s walk down the vendor street again.” He wanted a souvenir of this perfect day, a physical memento to hold when Solara’s hand was on Vega.

“What are you looking for?” she asked.

He lifted a shoulder. “I’ll know it when I see it.”

But after making a full pass along the vendor tables, he hadn’t spent a single chip. There was no shortage of goods for sale—wood-carved figurines, ceremonial knives, handmade candies, body art, and every type of jewelry imaginable.

None of it reminded him of Solara.

They crossed paths with Kane, who was haggling over the price of the Eturian prayer necklace that’d caught Cassia’s eye that morning. Kane had obviously returned to the ship for more money, because he opened a pouch of fuel chips for the vendor to see. The poor bastard really had it bad. Doran decided not to interrupt them. Instead, he veered away and led Solara to the town churchyard.

Once there, they climbed aboard a wooden skid padded with fresh straw and hitched to a hovercraft that had seen better days. The craft lifted them into the air just high enough for their dangling feet to skim the tops of the tall weeds, then it set off at an easy pace. They sat with their shoulders touching, swaying together as the hovercraft towed them through the field and into the woods beyond. Doran never thought he would enjoy something so simple as a slow glide through the trees, but when the ride was done, he paid for them to go again.

Once the sun dipped below the horizon and two moons arose to take its place, they walked to the community center, which was decorated like a barn with hay bales, wood planks, and a scattering of straw on the floor. The dance was already in full swing, filling the night air with a chorus of fiddles and stomping feet, along with the musky odor of too many bodies in one place.

A young man slouched near the entrance, both arms folded across his chest and clearly unhappy with the job of collecting admission while his friends were inside. But he perked up when he spotted Solara, grinning and wagging his eyebrows. “Hey,” he said. “Want to have some fun?”

Doran frowned at the guy and settled a hand at the base of Solara’s spine. “That’s why we’re here.”

Unfazed, the local extended a hand, palm up. “Good. That’ll be three bits.” After receiving payment, he dug into his pocket and produced a leather pouch, then handed them each a piece of dried apple. “Enjoy,” he said, and waved them inside.

That seemed odd, but Doran didn’t question it. He and Solara popped the bites into their mouths and walked inside to join the party. It only took an instant to realize he wasn’t chewing on apple. Bitter and musky, it tasted like bad fungus. He glanced around for a place to spit it out while Solara clapped a palm over her lips and did the same. Soon they found a waste receptacle in the corner and cleaned out their mouths.

“What was that?” she asked. “Some kind of mushroom?”

“A rancid one,” he said, and spat again into the trash bin. “But it’s nothing a cup of cider won’t fix.”

That did the trick. With their palates freshly cleansed, they took to the dance floor.

Doran had no idea how to move to this kind of music, so he captured Solara’s waist between his hands and led her in a basic quickstep. As soon as she gripped his shoulders, he knew she couldn’t dance to the music, either, but they eventually synched their steps well enough to follow the crowd’s circular path around the room. Embracing their clumsiness, they laughed and twirled until the band changed the pace with a slow ballad.

This was what Doran had secretly hoped for. He pulled Solara closer than he probably should have, and when she didn’t object, he eliminated another pocket of space between them. She locked both her wrists behind his neck and rested her chin on his chest, grinning up at him as they moved in a lazy sway. Her cheeks were flushed pink, and her eyes practically glowed from exertion. In that moment, he wondered how he’d ever believed she was anything less than spectacular.

She glanced at their fused bodies and told him, “The nuns would say we’re not leaving enough room for the Holy Spirit.”

It took a second for Doran to find his breath because she’d stolen it. “That’s all right. The Holy Spirit doesn’t belong here. He would just get in the way.”

The longer they clung to each other on the dance floor, the lighter Doran’s limbs felt. It started in his toes as a fizzy sort of warmth and bubbled through his veins until a sensation of euphoria overtook him, stronger than any champagne buzz he’d ever known. And strangely, the music sounded better. The vibrations created so much pleasure inside his ears that he rested his forehead against Solara’s and groaned.

“Hey,” she said. In the seconds since he’d last looked into her eyes, her pupils had grown wide and chased away all the amber. “Do you feel kind of…drunk, but not? Like all your skin is trying to float away?”

For some reason, Doran found that hilarious. He began chortling and couldn’t stop. “I think I know what that mushroom really was,” he said between chuckles.

“The magical kind?”

“Uh-huh.” And if he felt this blasted now, he was lucky he hadn’t eaten the whole thing. He worried about how sick he’d feel in the morning, but then a ticklish warmth settled over him like a blanket, and a delicious shiver rolled down his spine.

Solara peered up at him with a wide grin. “You’re sparkly.”

He noticed that she was, too. Her skin shimmered as if she’d dipped her face in diamond dust. He cupped her dimpled cheek and simply took her in, so moved by the girl staring back at him that it hurt to breathe. “And you’re beautiful,” he told her. His gaze landed on her birthmark, followed by the sudden urge to trace it with his tongue.

“I’m not beaut—”

Before she could finish, he tipped back her face and licked the base of her throat. Her skin was salty with a hint of sweetness layered beneath, so perfect that he did it again and again, until she let her head loll back. He wanted more, so he moved to the side of her neck and sucked a trail from ear to shoulder, right there in the middle of the crowded dance hall, without a care for who might see.

When she pushed away, her eyelids were heavy. “Is it hot in here?”

“God, yes,” he said. “So hot.”

“We should get some air.”

“Air is good. Let’s do that.”

They ran outside, and a dozen heartbeats later, he had Solara flat on her back in the cool grass behind the barn, her legs wrapped tightly around his hips while he lay atop her and sucked his way down the other side of her neck.

His heart was about to explode and he couldn’t catch his breath, but nothing mattered except tasting more of her skin. When he reached the base of her shoulder, he tugged aside her collar to expose a fresh patch, and then raked his teeth across her flesh. The drug had somehow rerouted half his nerve endings to his tongue and the other half to his ears, because everything below the waist had gone numb while all her little noises and sighs vibrated his eardrums in a surge of pleasure that made him see stars.

“Doran,” she whispered.

He lifted his head to glance at her lips, and it struck him that he hadn’t kissed her yet—something he’d fantasized about for weeks. But when he lowered his mouth to hers, he felt nothing. There was no brush of skin, no meeting of tongues, no thrill of contact. The deadened sensation reminded him of a trip to the dentist.

She must have sensed the invisible barrier, too, because she turned her face aside and panted, “It’s not working. I can’t feel you.”

“Me neither.” He shifted his weight to one elbow and paused to catch his breath. “My lips are numb. My skin’s numb. Everything’s numb.”

She pushed his chest, and he rolled off her and into the grass. After their breathing slowed, they lay there for a while, side by side, occasionally giggling or commanding the moons to stop spinning. Doran was about to say that the mushroom they’d eaten would make a better anesthetic than a drug when a thought struck him and he sat upright.

“I know what I want for a souvenir,” he said.

“Yeah?”

He took her wrist and brushed a thumb over the delicate skin there. “Let’s get matching tattoos, so we never,
ever
, forget this day.”

Her lips parted in a gasp of delight. “That’s a great idea!”

“Really? So you’ll come with me?”

“Of course I will,” she said. “Let’s hurry before we change our minds.”

“Rise and shine, you crazy kids.”

Someone kicked Doran’s boot, jerking him into consciousness. He didn’t have to open his eyes to know the sun was up. It pierced his brain right through both lids, causing his whole head to throb. Groaning, he rolled onto his side and clutched his temples. Something dry and scratchy tickled his hands, and he cracked open one eye to find brown grass beneath him.

Grass?

“You look kind of rough,” came the voice again. It sounded like Kane. “But hey, at least you’re not naked on the lawn of First Pesirus Presbyterian. There’s no living that down.”

“Nope,” Cassia added. “I can testify to that.”

“The captain said to get your drunk asses on board—his words, not mine,” Kane said. “We should’ve lifted off an hour ago.”

Doran pushed into a sitting position, though half his muscles ached in protest. “We’re not drunk,” he whispered in a dry throat. Damn, he was thirsty. He glanced beside him and found Solara lying next to the barn wall, massaging her forehead with one hand, and a strip of white gauze covering the wrist below it.

At the sight of that bandage, all his memories from last night came rushing back in a sucker punch to the face. He didn’t have to look at his wrist to know it was covered, too. And the skin there wasn’t numb anymore. In fact, it burned like hellfire.

“Oh no,” he said. “What did we do?”

It was a hypothetical question. He recalled every word, every giggle, every clumsy grope, and, most of all, the ink-stained needle that ensured he would never,
ever
, forget any of it. Doran had wanted a souvenir, and he’d gotten one—in the shape of four antique pirate swords curving into a figure eight.

The symbol for the Brethren of Outcasts.

Have fun explaining that to the shareholders,
he thought.

Solara slung an arm over her eyes. “Please tell me that was a dream. Please tell me we weren’t inked by a retired accountant who took up body art last month.” Then she peeked beneath her bandage and whimpered. “Nope. Not a dream.”