For Darkness Shows the Stars (11 page)

E
LLIOT SWAYED UNEASILY IN
the saddle. This was not like Tatiana’s pony, on which she’d learned to ride, nor like the chestnut mare her father had bought her sister after their mother had passed. Mounting the Innovation horse, even though it was a mare, felt more like climbing on the back of an elephant.

She understood now why the Innovation horses had made their masters such an enormous fortune. The Innovations had a monopoly on them; they only sold geldings and mares, and thus far, the attempts to breed the mares with normal horses had not yielded out-of-the-ordinary results.

Elliot’s mare was named Pyrois, while Felicia rode on the back of the other mare, Aeos. “The horses of the sun,” she said as they rode out past the fence that encircled the barn.

“Indeed,” Felicia replied. “Unless your father sees fit to rename them.”

Elliot laughed. “My father is not the most inventive man, even when it comes to names. Tatiana was the name of my mother’s mother, and Elliot my mother’s father.”

“Did you ever find it strange,” said Felicia, “that they gave you the name of a son?”

“My mother knew she’d never have one,” Elliot said. She led them into a fallow field to cut across to the woods. “There were . . . complications during my birth.” But they were edging perilously close to ground Elliot feared to tread. She didn’t want to talk to this woman, this healer, about how Elliot’s mother had survived the day of Elliot’s birth when Kai’s and Ro’s mothers had not.

“Did you name these horses?” she asked quickly. “I have long been a fan of Greek mythology.”

“I did. I am fond of it as well.” Felicia coaxed Aeos into a trot, then leaped over the split rail that bordered the field. Elliot gritted her teeth and followed, amazed that such a tall horse even needed to jump the barrier.

“I chose Andromeda’s name, too,” she added when Elliot caught up. “Do you think it suits her?”

“No,” Elliot admitted. “The mythological Andromeda was a damsel in distress. Chained to a rock, forced to wait for Perseus to save her. But Andromeda Phoenix seems very little like that.”

Felicia gave her a look as unreadable as any of Andromeda’s. “I think she’d like to hear that from you.”

Elliot was quite sure not. She’d gathered that Andromeda, perhaps alone among the Cloud Fleet, knew exactly what she had once been to Kai. “Perhaps she can say it’s for the sky Andromeda, the galaxy you can see with the naked eye. I have read about it in the books, though I know you can’t see it here. It’s supposed to be very beautiful. Since Andromeda Phoenix is an explorer, it’s a good name for her.”

“You should definitely tell her that. We tried a few others, but nothing stuck, and this is closest to her old name, Ann. She’s still adjusting to it, and to life as a free Post.”

“I thought she ran away from her estate as a child,” Elliot said.

“She did.” Felicia looked out over the fields. “Not all Posts who run away from their estates wind up free.”

Elliot led the way to a path that cut through the woods, but her mind whirled with questions. Where had Andromeda gone, if it was not to an enclave to be free? How had she found her way into the Fleet? How long had Kai been a member of the Fleet and how had he met the Innovations? But she knew those questions would just raise other ones in Felicia’s mind, so she stuck to something simpler.

“Why do the free Posts change their names?”

“Why should we keep the names that mark us as secondary citizens?” Felicia asked. “I was born on a Luddite estate and given the name Lee. I was told who and what I was allowed to become. We give the Reduced one-syllable names because they can’t handle anything more. But I am not Reduced. When I left that life, I left those limitations as well. I chose my own name.” Felicia smiled at her. “If you were a Post, you would want that choice, too.”

Elliot pretended to rearrange her grip on the reins, letting loose strands of hair fall into her face to cover her thoughts.

They broke through the other side of the woods, scattering fallen leaves in their wake. They’d reached the lower fields now, and the baron’s racetrack. The shoddy state of many of the fences delineating the fields, as well as the unkempt gardens and crumbling, vacant Post cottages, seemed even more noticeable beside the neat lines of the racetrack and the shiny pavilion. Elliot could only imagine what Felicia thought.

“When your father is gone, will Tatiana be the new Baroness North?”

“No. My cousin will inherit. His father was my father’s older brother. By some arguments, the land should be his now, since he’s of age, but he left when he was very young.”

Actually, he had been banished, but there was no need to air all the family’s dirty laundry. Elliot spent a few minutes pointing out the sights and the boundary of the estate, then started up the road that led to the Boatwright estate and the sea. The path before them grew rocky, and Elliot slowed their pace as the horse whinnied and picked its way up the steep slope.

Pyrois’s hooves slipped sideways on a patch of scree, and Elliot bit back a shriek as the horse raced to right herself. The mare took off, clambering up the hillside while Elliot clung to her neck for dear life. When they reached level ground, the horse stopped, snorting and tossing her head.

Felicia cantered up and reached out to soothe the animal. “There, there, Pyrois.” She stroked Pyrois’s ears and neck, and the horse leaned into the woman’s touch, calming instantly and making Elliot even more embarrassed.

Elliot struggled to catch her breath. “I told you I wasn’t good at riding.”

“So, Tatiana is the horsewoman in the family,” Felicia said with a smile clearly meant to put Elliot at ease.

Elliot forced a laugh. “Yes. She takes after my father. I take after my mother—I like plants more.”

“With your name, I wonder you aren’t a Boatwright like your grandfather.”

“I might have been had my grandfather been able to keep the yard open long enough for me to learn. He became ill when I was still very young. My mechanical skills are—rudimentary at best.”

They’d been taught to her by a boy who now delighted in detailing exactly how poor they were.

“Maybe we should return you to the shipyard now,” Elliot said. “I’d love to see your work. After all, I’ve shown you mine.”

Except she hadn’t. Not really. Elliot wondered what the Post would think of her wheat—her desperate rebellion, her miniature heresy. Would she be appalled? Would she be proud?

And why did Elliot care so much what she thought?

“I am glad to see the shipyard in operation again,” she added. “Especially for so worthwhile a project.” And she’d been dying to get a glimpse at the Fleet’s work. She’d only resisted because Kai had made it clear that, to him at least, she wasn’t welcome.

“I’m glad you approve,” said Felicia. “There are those Luddites who have no desire to reestablish contact with the rest of the world.”

“I have always wondered what else was out there.” She and Kai had spent years fantasizing about it.

They rode along the cliff that bordered the sea, and as a salty wind wound its way through her hair and swept across her face, Elliot began to breathe easier. Off to the west, the shallows glittered golden in the sunlight and gave way to a darker blue in the deeps.

The shipyard was situated at the northernmost bay of the island. Beyond it, the land rose steadily upward like the prow of a boat jutting into the sea. No buildings graced this high plain, and it wasn’t used for crops or pastures. Before the Reduction, the area had been reserved and off limits for development, and though the rest of the world had changed, this hadn’t. Back when the Boatwright estate had been fully functional, they didn’t need the land for their own food, and they derived all their extra income from shipbuilding. And now Elliot simply didn’t have enough resources to devote to working this steep piece of land. It remained lonely and wild, and beautiful—a testament to a history that even the Reduction could not obliterate. It had been through this portal that Elliot’s Boatwright ancestors had first come to these islands.

Whenever things got particularly bad on the estate, Elliot escaped to the cliffs to stand on the very edge, to stretch out her hands and feel the wind pulling at her, threatening to carry her away like she was nothing more than one of Kai’s gliders.

Today, however, she was weighed down, by her own thoughts as much as by the giant horse she rode. As they steered their mounts toward the narrow path that cut through the cliff to the shipyard, Elliot gave one last, longing look at the promontory, at its rocky sides and the towers of broken rock that stood beyond. At the water that circled around it, turquoise on the side of the sea, blue on the side of the ocean. They were too low to see now where the waters mixed, where the constant upswell of warm and cool sent swirling, ghostlike ribbons of sediment up from the depths and as far as the eye could see. When she was young, her mother had told her stories of the old days, when the bridges to the rock towers remained intact and the Boatwright family had revered the cliffs and promontory as a sacred spot, the way that the Norths honored their ancestors through the underground sanctuary. But though the Norths never thought back farther than the Reduction, the Boatwright line was older, and they chose to remember that part of their heritage, too.

She hadn’t been to the promontory in months. All summer, she’d been too busy with her experiment and trying to find a way to feed the estate. Then she’d been occupied with preparing for the Cloud Fleet’s arrival and the harvest. And now, since they’d come—she’d avoided her grandfather’s lands.

“Are you all right?” Felicia asked, as the horses picked their way down the narrow slice between the cliffs. “Should we have taken the supply route instead of the footpath?”

“I’m fine,” Elliot replied through gritted teeth. She should be a better horsewoman than this. Her father would find her an embarrassment. Felicia Innovation no doubt thought her pathetic.

“I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable back there,” Felicia said. “I have spent so much of my life caring for young people like you. It’s become a bit of a habit.”

Even when the young person in question is a Luddite, and not a homeless runaway Post. Elliot could finish that thought on her own.

“I would like us to be friends, if possible, Elliot,” Felicia said now, as the path ended on the shipyard beach. She stopped her horse and waited for Elliot to draw up beside her. “The Groves come to our house often for visits, but I’ve never seen you. I understand it might be difficult, to see a bunch of strangers have the run of your grandfather’s house—”

“No,” Elliot said. “That’s not difficult. I’m glad to see it filled with people again. I think he would be, too.” She’d been avoiding the Boatwright house because of Kai. But maybe it was time to stop. However much it hurt to be near him now, a stronger impulse prevailed.

Elliot wanted to hear Felicia’s thoughts on treatments for her grandfather. She wanted to know where the admiral planned to take this wonderful new ship of his. She wanted to hear more about life in the Post enclave. She wanted to know what Donovan and Andromeda and even Kai had seen on their travels. It had been weeks since he’d walked back into her life. She should be over the worst of the pain by now. And if avoidance wasn’t helping, then it was time to try a different method, before the Cloud Fleet finished their mission here and left, with Elliot none the wiser about their lives and their knowledge.

She still loved the man who called himself Malakai Wentforth. She knew that. But that didn’t matter, just as it hadn’t mattered four years ago. Then, she’d chosen to stay behind. But it didn’t mean she wasn’t curious. It didn’t mean she didn’t want to stand at the edge of the cliffs and stretch her face out toward the sea, toward a world she’d never be allowed to know.

Dear Kai,

Come back. Come back for me. I didn’t mean it. I’ve changed my mind. I can’t bear this, Kai. I can’t bear this farm, this life, this world without you.

You’ve only been gone a month, but it feels like a year. Tatiana lives to torture me. She brings up the Posts’ exodus from the Luddite estates at every possible juncture. And Ro misses you, too. She gives me a sad look whenever I go to see her, and I am alone. She doesn’t understand where you’ve gone. I think she’s afraid you have died.

I am afraid you have died. I hate not knowing where you are. If you’re safe, if you’re hungry, if you’re alone, if you’re afraid. I don’t know what risks you’ll take, or who you’ll meet. I don’t know if they’ll love you as I do. If they’ll protect you as I’ve failed to do. Tatiana revels in sharing with me horrible stories about what happens in the Post enclaves. I am sure they cannot all be as wicked as she says—after all, most of the runaway Posts just want better lives for themselves. But I spend my nights lying awake in my bed, praying that you do not let yourself be harmed.

I also pray that you still care for me. That one day you will understand why I made the choice I did. That one day, I will understand it better, too, for right now, I just hate myself for it. I know it’s right, but I didn’t know how hard it would be.

I wish there was a way to send you this letter, but I’m also glad there isn’t. Because then I would be weak enough to go through with what I’ve written above, to follow you wherever you’ve gone, and if I did, what would happen to the North estate and all the people who depend upon it for survival? So instead, I just turn this letter into another little glider to add to my collection.

I miss you. May God keep and protect you, wherever you are in this world.

Yours,

Elliot