The Wandering (The Lux Guardians, #2) (10 page)

I bite the inside of
my cheek. That’s not true. I have Miya, and her family will become
my family in time. Her sister is still suspicious of me, watching
me from the corner of her eye every few minutes, but she’s started
asking me questions about Miya and the years we’ve been friends.
And Thomas is a gentle, trusting child. He never held any wariness
about me. But it’s not the same, not really, and I miss my
sister.

Timofei sinks against
the railing beside me, his arms hanging over the sea below, his
dark head dipped. “It’s a lot of pressure,” he says, “to get
everyone to Bharat—especially when our communication is so sketchy.
But I’m alright. I’m coping.”

“Sure?” I look for
signs that he’s lying but his face doesn’t twitch. He nods, looking
my way for a second before his attention returns to the water.

“I missed you,” he
says without warning. “When I was at the base and you didn’t know I
was alive. I missed you.”

“I know.”

Before I realise what he’s doing, his hands are in my hair
and his mouth is on mine, soft and scorching. Tremulous. My heart
is gripped by a sudden pain. I wanted this. I
really—
God
, I
needed this years ago. But now?

I stumble away from
him, my heart pounding hard against my rib cage. “I can’t,” I force
out. My throat feels swollen, thick with tears that I blink
back.

“I know.” His reply is
quiet, disappointed, but not surprised. “I just needed to try.”

Even though it makes
no sense, even though I have nothing to feel sorry for, I
apologise. Twice. Timofei clasps the back of my head and brings me
close, my face to his shoulder. He’s taller than me now, I realise.
We used to be the same height. I draw in a breath and steady
myself. He still smells the same—deep and sharp and bitter.

“Don’t worry about
it,” he says into my hair. “I mean it. Don’t worry. It’s okay.”

He releases me, gives
me a look I can’t decipher, and then he’s walking down the deck and
away from me.

I don’t know what to
think. I don’t know what to feel.

I let myself cry.

***

Honour

15:23. 14.10.2040. The
Free Lands, Northlands.

The boat staggers into
the harbour. The sea elbows us one way, then another. Rain batters
the ship, a hundred fists pounding the wall. Most people are out on
deck watching as we attempt to come into this northern town but if
I go outside I know without a doubt I’ll be sick. At least in our
cabin, curled into a ball under the beige cover, I can convince
myself the floor isn’t moving. I am home, in our small room in
Forgotten London, with my sister beside me. At least one of those
things is true. Tia’s hand is small and cool in mine, her long hair
brushing my shoulder as she leans over me, worrying.

The boat jumps
suddenly, lurching forward what feels like a full mile. My head
slams back onto the pillow. My sister is thrown into the wall.
“Tia?” I scrape myself up, crawling to her. I clamp my mouth shut
on an unwanted bout of sickness, willing my stomach to settle.

Horatia touches her
head gingerly and then shows me her fingers. No blood. I let a
breath I didn’t know I was holding hiss through my nose.

When I’m sure I won’t
throw up, I ask, “Do you feel dizzy? Is everything blurry?”

She shakes her head
twice.

“Okay.” I rest my
forehead on hers, fever hot against soothing cool. “That’s
good.”

The rising sound of
shouting voices sifts under the cabin door. I pick out Alba’s, loud
and sharp and commanding, but I can’t hear any distinct words.

“We must have
crashed,” I say, getting to my feet. I hold out a hand to help Tia
up; she surprises me by taking it. “Let’s see how bad it is.”

The deck is crawling
with people, most moving aimlessly. Alba and other Guardian
leaders—who I’ve finally begun to recognise—are weaving among them,
calling out instructions, shouting for action or calm or something
else I can’t hear over the buzz of apprehension.

The front of the boat
has crumpled. We’ve sailed right into a stone wall that looks as
ancient as it is clearly indestructible, and it has wrecked us.
We’re probably sinking right now. It’s probably a good thing we’re
walking from now on.

“Everyone okay?”
Dalmar edges his way down the path, toward us.

“Fine,” I say. “Just a
bit banged up.”

He looks me over, then
Tia. He takes her chin in his pale hand, turning her head to
inspect a cut. “Just a scrape,” he says to himself, then to us:
“Okay. Get your things. The walkway’s already been put down and you
should be able to get off soon. Honour, how’s your sickness?”

“Bearable.”

“Good.” He pats Tia’s
face, claps my shoulder, and weaves his way back into the crowd.
The crush of Guardians swallows any sight of him.

I look around for
anyone I recognise but everyone is a stranger. Tia’s fingers curl
around my hand; she squeezes it just slightly, enough to tell me
something I fail to understand. She smiles, patient, and guides me
around white leather jackets, sharp elbows, and overstuffed
backpacks until we reach her destination. Branwell. The tight hand
around my heart releases me. Finally, someone I know.

“Oh my God, Boy
Wonder.” Marie Fitzgerald is as bright, pale, and unnatural as the
last time I saw her, when she came to my room to deliver the news
that I was a time bomb made by the President. The sarcasm is new,
though. “What did we do to deserve this honour?” She elbows Priya,
her permanent companion, with a grin. “Honour—get it? ‘Cause his
name is Honour.”

“Very funny, M.”

Bran separates himself
from them, stepping forward with a tired smile. His copper hair is
messy and wavy as always, but his skin is a shade closer to white.
“You don’t look so well,” he says, echoing my own concerns about
him.

I shrug. “I’ve not
been sick yet, so I think I’m doing pretty good.”

“Small victories,” he
says. “And how are you, Horatia? Holding up?”

Tia nods, one corner
of her mouth lifting up in a smile. Does she like Bran? I’ve never
asked her. It’s suddenly important that she does.

“I’m glad to hear it.”
Bran steals my attention back with the tone of his voice. It’s soft
and warm and familiar, the way he talks to me. I realise I’ve never
heard him speak this way to anyone else. “Personally, I can’t wait
to be rid of this ship. I’ve never missed solid ground so much in
my life.” He laughs a little, breathy and … uncertain? Tia makes
him nervous?

I
guess I can understand why, from his point of view. He’s only ever
known two sides of my sister—the fierce warrior of Forgotten London
and the silent widow of the free lands. Neither version of my
sister makes you feel at ease, but at least I know what she used to
be like, that she’s caring and selfless to a fault and would walk
half a mile just to find you the perfect gift. It helps me
bear
this
Horatia’s silent, unflinching stare. But Bran doesn’t have
anything to help him bear it, and I can see he’s
wilting.

I scramble for
something to say, but I can’t remember what he last said. I got so
caught up in his nerves that they’ve become my own. I ask the most
useless, basic question just for something to say. “Are you okay,
Bran?” I add, “Is it the sea?”

“Yes.” I notice the
little lines of tension around his eyes and mouth soften as he
meets my eyes. “Yes, it’s the sea. I can’t stand it.”

Tia catches our
attention by raising her arm, pointing. People are leaving the
boat, the crowd of Guardians lessening as the thick of them
leave.

“Oh thank heavens,”
Bran breathes. He turns without a second thought and heads for the
exit.

I tuck my sister’s
elbow into mine. We share a relieved glance as we follow Branwell
down the emptying deck to the pier.

Even when I’m on
steady ground, I’m still swaying like the boat. I sink onto the
asphalt road and put my head between my knees.

“Here.” Soft hands
touch my forehead, pushing back my short, matted hair. I only know
it’s Hele because she speaks and Tia doesn’t. She puts a bottle of
water in my hand and I begin to gulp it down before she tells me to
sip it instead.

Hele sinks to the
ground at my side, her hair a messy knot on top of her head. It
must be raining because the pale orange strands are darker, the
colour of rust. I wait for her to speak but she just waits. Waits
for me to come around. Not pushing or encouraging, just sitting
with me.

As The Guardians
unload all of their stuff from the boat, I slowly regain the
feeling of being myself. I lean back on my elbows, letting the
midday sun warm my face as the rainclouds begin to dry up.

“I’m never going on
one of those things again,” I say and Hele laughs, brushing
raindrops from her freckled cheeks.

“Let’s hope you never
have to.”

“We’re just walking
from now on, right?” I look at her from the corner of my eye.

“Maybe.”

“What’s Dal say?”

“He says we might be
able to borrow an aircraft.”

“From who? Officials?
No one has aircrafts.”

“Yes.” She chuckles at
my expression of disbelief. “From Officials.”

“And by borrow …”

“We mean steal.”

“Right.” I shake my
head, closing my eyes to feel the sun on my eyelids. The heat is
perfect and I never want it to leave, so of course it fades. The
rain returns, jealous of the attention. I guess you can get showers
of sun as well as rain. After a while I say, “You realise that’s
crazy, right? Stealing an aircraft? And impossible.”

“For us, maybe. But
the Manchester council has made promises.”

I peel my eyes open,
sitting up. “Promises to steal us an aircraft?”

“Promises I’m not
allowed to share.” She presses her palm to my cheek and then climbs
to her feet. “I’ve already told you too much.”

“Why did you?” I push
myself off the tarmac, my knees creaking when I stand.

“Dalmar asked me to.”
Hele’s whole face becomes softer when she says his name. I wonder
what that’s like, not for the first time. Having someone. Loving
someone.

“Wait,” I say, catching up. “He
asked
you to?”

“Yes.” Her purple
dress brushes the wet floor as she starts walking, the bottom of it
trailing through a puddle; Hele doesn’t care. “He knows you hate
surprises, that you’d rather be prepared. He wanted to tell you
himself, as soon as he found out, but the Guardian council is so
busy with preparations and arrangements that he’s been sucked away.
He’s been so busy.”

I walk faster to match
her pace. “Too busy?”

“Of course. He’s
giving everything he has to them. To us.”

“We should kidnap him,
force him to spend time away from work.

Hele’s peal of
laughter brightens the misty grey townscape. “When?”

“When’s the next
meeting?”

“Tonight, I
think.”

“Then.
We follow him and just as
he’s about to go in, we steal him. Take him to some abandoned pub
and have a family night. Just us. No stress or worrying
allowed.”

Hele stops walking
without warning and hugs me tightly. Her dress is cold and dripping
but her embrace is warm as the sun. She touches my cheek with the
back of her fingers. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Being so kind.”

“But I’m—”

“Don’t argue with me,
I’m thanking you.”

I close my mouth.

“I don’t say this
enough, and I know Dalmar doesn’t either, but I’m so grateful to
know you. We both are. I wouldn’t want to lose you for
anything.”

I duck my head.

“You’re a sweet, sweet
boy, Honour.”

“I’m only three years
younger than you, stop calling me boy.”

She hugs me closer,
wrapping both arms around my shoulders. “But you are a boy. I know
you’re hard on yourself. I know you blame yourself for a lot of
things. But you shouldn’t. You’re still so young, and it’s not your
fault any of this has happened to you.”

My throat is tight. I
clench my jaw.

“Go,” she says,
releasing me.

“What?”

“Go, explore, wander.
Go do what you used to in Forgotten London. I’ll watch your sister
and your friends. They’re my family too. Go and be carefree for an
hour.”

“I can’t.”

“You can. Nothing
important is going to change in an hour. Please.”

I shake my head.

“I promised Dalmar I’d
stop your worrying. If I go back and tell him you’re even more
worried now, he’ll be twice as distressed.”

“That’s emotional blackmail.” I lean up and kiss her cheek.
“
One
hour. No
longer.”

“Don’t hurry
back.”

“You’re such a pain,”
I say over my shoulder, heading up a sloping road. Hele smiles
wide. She knows I love her.

With nothing to do and
nobody to watch over, I stand on the top of a hill and watch the
angry waves of the sea. For a while I just let my thoughts run
away. I’ve been repressing, not letting myself think about what I
was told yesterday so I could act normal. So no one would be able
to tell anything was wrong. But something is wrong and it’s eating
away at me.

How many years did I
lose? I remember a life of scraping by, barely living, on the
streets with my sister. But now that I seriously think about it, my
memories could span just a few months, or even one. I should
remember more than this.

I swallow the lump in
my throat. No worrying, that’s what Hele said. No worrying.

I distract myself with
the landscape. This area of the town is populated with short, wide
buildings. Instinctively glancing around myself for
shadows—Officials—I see a flicker of motion from the corner of my
eye. It’s Miya, up at the blocky, blue building marked as Port of
Hull. I lumber up the hill, not enjoying the return of the ache
behind my knees.