Their Fractured Light: A Starbound Novel (47 page)

It’s not until I drag myself upright again that reality reasserts itself, and I look up to see Tarver standing braced, arm outstretched and holding a gun—the old kind, the kind that fires a bullet, that must have come from the undercity—pointed straight at Jubilee.

The shards of her Gleidel lie scattered around her feet, and she’s cradling her hand, shocked still. Some detached part of my mind tries to calculate the odds of someone making that shot—of firing across the room and hitting the gun out of someone’s hand as they’re still moving.

“Are you okay, Lee?” Tarver’s voice is low and tight, and for a moment we each stare stupidly at him, trying to understand the question. “Your hand.”

She nods, ashen-faced, then glances toward Flynn, who’s still armed with the second of our two guns, pulled from beneath the shop’s counter.

Tarver follows her gaze, his own eyes falling on Flynn. “Would you care to try?” he asks him, voice still quiet, still eerily calm. But Flynn just shakes his head, unable to take his gaze away from Jubilee, still huddled on the floor amid the pieces of her gun.

My body’s still tingling with shock, my ears still ringing from the gunshot. For a brief instant I think my mind’s giving up entirely, as a patch of shadow somewhere beyond and above the rift swims, blurs, shifts. Then I realize what I’m seeing.

Gideon.

He’s climbing down, slowly, from the jagged hole in the roof, harness and rope allowing him to rappel silently. I can’t see his face from this distance, but he pauses partway down, and somehow I know he’s looking back at me, lying in a heap on the floor. I jerk my eyes away before anyone else can see what I saw, and pull myself up with an effort so he’ll see I’m okay.

Tarver’s got Lilac’s attention on him—everyone’s attention on him. I try as hard as I can to keep my eyes on Tarver—but though I’ve always been able to control even the most minute variations in my expression, suddenly it’s a struggle not to reveal anything by watching Gideon. Trying with all my heart to make sure I don’t draw attention to the boy creeping quietly through the dark, carrying a virus that’s either our last hope of stopping her, or the end of the world.

From within my prison, I reach out to the girl they brought back. I catch flashes of her life through her eyes, so brief she cannot know I am there. A sea of faces and cameras as she describes a shipwreck. The glint of a gemstone held between two fingers and a young man’s face looking up at her. A house, half-built in the wilderness, the sky thick with stars.

And the blue-eyed man.

Each time I see him I push harder, but the girl’s mind is strong. She draws nearer and nearer to my prison and still I cannot breach her defenses. All I need is one chance, a single moment to slip inside her mind, escaping my prison forever.

Then, another flash. A blond girl in a ball gown, holding a weapon. A shattering sound. A blinding pain shooting through us both.

And for an instant, Lilac LaRoux’s guard falls.

MY THROAT’S HALF-CLOSED IN
panic, and it’s only as Sofia stirs again that I can breathe. I force my shaking hands to still, flex my fingers, and creep forward once again.

“Lilac, darling,” Monsieur LaRoux says from his place on the floor. “Can’t you just get rid of them all?”

I’d forgotten he was there, and so had the others, judging by the way their heads snap around.

“Their little toys make it so hard to see where they are,” Lilac replies. So the shields are reaching far enough to protect me—to protect all of us, since nobody’s eyes have turned black just yet. “We’re still missing Giddy,” she continues, and behind that smile, that nickname that infuriates me coming from her, there’s a note of steel in her voice that sends a bolt of ice straight down my spine.
Prey,
that voice says.
That’s what you are. And I want to play with you.

“Bloody Marchant boys, always late,” LaRoux mutters.

“My father doesn’t understand,” Lilac says, addressing Sofia, who stands her ground—albeit swaying slightly—meeting her eyes. “He’s chosen to see what he sees now. How could he ever face the truth? He took my freedom from me. My life. My death. He took everything, for his own gain.” For a moment it seems she’ll say more, but her eyes close, and her shoulders round, tension singing through her frame. A ragged breath later, she’s straightening once more.

“The others,” Lilac continues, “they don’t understand either. The rest of my kind, on the other side of the rift…They wanted to find out if humanity is worth knowing, worth learning from. We’d been alone in our universe until your ships started ripping through it, and we thought there was something to be gained from reaching out to you.” She breathes out, sharp, disgust in her eyes. “They know nothing. I’m the one who’s been here since the start. I’m the one who’s seen what you really are.”

“Lilac?” LaRoux’s voice falters—there’s an edge to it, something rough and raw. It’s the part of him that understands what’s happening, buried under layers of willful misunderstanding and incipient madness.

“The five of you,” Lilac whispers, ignoring her father as her eyes rake across us. “And Lilac, this insipid, weak-minded idiot I’m forced to wear. Six souls, linked in ways you cannot possibly comprehend, set on this path to lead you here, now. Every one of you has seen the worst of humanity, and you were meant to show us whether you were worth knowing.”

I wish I had the luxury of stopping, of reeling after hearing these words. The idea that our paths were destined to intersect—that I was always going to be here, facing the woman my brother died for, in love with the girl whose father died in the explosion that brought Jubilee and Flynn together, watching Lee’s former captain gazing at Lilac’s face with his heart in his eyes—I can’t breathe.

“But the truth,” Lilac goes on, her eyes burning, “is that we never needed any of you. We never had to look any further than the man who opened the very first door.”

She turns finally to look at LaRoux, still huddled on the floor, who gazes at her with a pathetic hope in his eyes.

“We will start with our keeper,” she whispers. “We will give him the same pain he has given us. We will take his family from him, and all he knows, and every soul who has ever touched him. And then we will close our world to you forever, cut you off from each other and keep you from spreading like the disease you are. We will keep him alive, to watch. And then, once he has realized the thing he has done—then we will leave him, howling, in the darkness that will claim you all.”

Jubilee gasps, one hand flying to her gut as though she’s been punched. She’s swaying on her feet, her gaze distant. She’s in some other place, some other moment, just now.

“Lee?” Tarver starts to step forward, then jerks to a halt as Lilac’s hand lifts to forbid him movement. But Flynn’s already by her side, his hand creeping toward the gun at his hip. I don’t know if he has it in him to fire it.

“One of my kind said something rather like that to her, in another place,” the whisper replies. “I saw it in her mind up on the ship, before…” Her hand lifts, then dives toward the ground, fingers spreading to casually mimic the explosion as the
Daedalus
crashed. “I quite like the sound of it. Seems fair, don’t you think?”

I force myself to keep moving—I’m so close to the rift now, and I can feel the thumb drive in my pocket, pressing into my hipbone. Such a small vessel for such a deadly weapon, for the virus I crafted from Sanjana’s notes. My one bullet. My one chance.

Lilac gasps suddenly, bowing her head, lifting a hand to run it through her hair—the first sign of anything out of place, disheveled.

“Careful,” Sofia says, lifting her chin. “You’ll ruin your hair for the cameras.” She’s playing for time now, time for
me.

“Hardly,” Lilac replies, but there’s strain beneath her amusement. “They’re trying to come through. I won’t let them.” The words are murmured, almost to herself, though her eyes go to the rift, the doorway to her universe.

“Lilac, I—” Monsieur LaRoux starts to speak, but Lilac cuts him off with a slice of her hand.

“Do excuse him,” she says, light once more, as though he’s an embarrassing inconvenience, like an uncle who’s had one too many drinks at lunch. “Family. You know how it is.”

Sofia steps forward, and though her whole body’s shaking, there’s a strength holding her spine ramrod straight. “No,” she says, soft but clear.

“I’m sorry?” Lilac lofts one brow.

“My father died, thanks to what he did.” Sofia lifts a hand, to point one trembling finger at LaRoux. “So I’ll never have another chance to ‘know how it is.’ Jubilee lost her parents, thanks to what he did. Flynn lost his sister in a war sparked by what he did. Gideon lost his brother, thanks to what he did. And Tarver—” Her voice breaks, and she sucks in a rasping breath, forcing herself onward. “Tarver lost Lilac, thanks to what he did.”

I shift my weight forward another step—I’m so close to the rift now, the blue sparks are lighting up my vision. The crackle of electricity distorts their voices in my ears, making every hair on my arms stand on end—each movement feels like I’m passing through cobwebs.

They’re trying to come through.

That’s what she said. She means the other whispers. The blue sparks surge and push, the center of the rift glowing bright. They’re trying to come through—and she doesn’t want them to.

What does it mean, that she doesn’t want them to?

“So you cannot forgive him,” the whisper in Lilac’s skin supposes, gazing at Sofia’s defiant figure. “Nor can I. Yet you seem to object to his punishment. You should applaud it.”

“No,” Sofia says again.

“No?”

“Every one of them kept their hearts open, despite what he did.” Sofia’s hands are fists at her side. “They still love. They still trust. Even he loves, monster that he is. He let his love for his daughter guide his actions.”

“Love,” Lilac repeats, that one syllable imbued with utter disgust. “We once thought that was something to be admired in you, learned from you. Turns out it’s just part of the disease you call mankind.”

Flynn and Jubilee stand side by side, hands interwoven, as Flynn shifts his grip on his weapon, his jaw squaring.

Tarver stares at Lilac, his desperation writ on his features.

“Love,” Sofia echoes, but with a softness, an ache in her voice that’s the perfect opposite of that disgust. “And trust. And most important of all, the thing you’ve forgotten in all your talk of fate and predestined paths…choice. That’s what makes us human. Love and trust…that’s what we’ve all chosen, over and over.”

Love, and trust
. The things that make us human.

They could have been mine, if only I could have leapt. If only
we
could have leapt.

I pull the thumb drive from my pocket and ease my weight forward infinitely slowly, infinitely carefully. The shaft of light creeping in through the broken side of the
Daedalus
illuminates my face as I draw close, and as if she can’t help it, Sofia turns her head to meet my eyes.

I wish I’d had a chance to tell her.

The agony on the soldier’s face as he realizes I am not his girl. The terror flooding a thousand minds as the ship begins to fall. A million voices silenced as the city burns. The ease with which I can twist their minds, all this girl’s strength mine now.

It all fades in comparison with watching the blue-eyed man’s mind crumble. His desperation to believe I am still his Lilac, still the little baby in his arms with the peach-colored hair and the dreamy blue eyes, is a vengeance far sweeter than I could have imagined.

Him I will save for last. I will let him see me, know in his heart that I have taken his daughter from him, while he scrambles to convince himself of a lie. The torture in his own soul is far greater than any pain I could inflict upon him now.

But the rest of mankind…they deserve justice.

I
HAVE
TO LOOK AWAY
. I can’t let Lilac follow my gaze and spot Gideon, and I can’t let Jubilee or Flynn see him either, in case they panic and try to shoot Lilac. But I can’t tear my eyes from his, the blue light of the rift bathing his face.