Chapter 27 #2
“That’s not true.” He sounds so serious. “I’m just not willing to put you in a position that makes you uncomfortable. Ever.”
Which is incredibly touching. And very him. But also not exactly helpful at the moment. “That’s good to know, but I’m fine. I can do this in the air.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Vera taxis her Sky Runner beside ours and gives a salute, which Lament returns.
Behind her, Caspen and the others are loading up The Bargainer with boxes that contain an array of explosives, fighting equipment, escape tools.
Lament presses a button to seal the cockpit’s glass dome, and everything goes silent.
A countdown comes in over our headsets as the flight deck depressurizes and the metal doors open to reveal outer space, but I’m not really paying attention, partly because I’m still working out the backward controls (I won’t tell Lament, but it’s totally hopeless) and partly because I’m once again battling a feeling of overwhelm.
My senses are straining, my mind racing ahead, wondering how Moon Dancer is going to fly, wondering how Lament will.
Vera gets her Sky Runner airborne first, disappearing smoothly out into space, followed by Caspen’s much larger cargo craft, which hops and stutters its way through the portal.
And then it’s just Lament powering up Moon Dancer, shifting gears, and almost without warning we’re off the deck, gaining speed, blasting forward and I just—
Oh.
I’ve flown with dozens of pilots over the years.
ARCAN Aviation Academy is known for their flight program, and many of my fellow cadets were great aviators.
But flying with Lament is … it’s different.
And I don’t know if it’s because it’s him, or it’s me with him, but I’ve never felt so weightless, so perfectly in tune with a craft.
We slip away from Skyhub until it’s nothing but a speck against the blackness of space, moving seamlessly, elegantly, soaring through the void.
With less than an hour until arrival, The Parallax’s coordinates have activated in our system, and we follow them out of Skyhub’s sector, past solar systems and space stations and planets, entire worlds filled with people living lives we’ll never know.
Lament increases our speed, though I never feel the change in force.
I only see the stars smeared to beams as we sail by.
I take it all in. The starlight against deep black, the quilt of passing colors.
And I know it’s blatant of me, but I want to see Lament’s face right now, so I turn all the way around in my seat and just …
look. At him, there behind his control panel, his eyes flitting between the dashboard and our surroundings, his hands manning the dual joysticks.
His face is more at peace than I’ve ever seen, lit up from the glow of his monitors and a few nearby stars.
In a strange way, he looks less real here, all the angles of his features cutting into the dark.
Nose and chin, curves and lines. An ephemeral ghost given bones.
I want to touch him, make sure he’s not a figment of my imagination.
Because that’s how it feels sometimes. Like I’ve dreamed him up.
Lament’s eyes flick down to me. He gives a self-conscious smile. “What are you doing?”
I don’t know. I don’t know. I just … I’m having all these feelings. All these confusing, conflicted feelings. I want to touch Lament again. Get one hand in his hair, the other up under his shirt, kiss him like I kissed him yesterday.
I need to stop. I’m not—I can’t—this isn’t supposed to be happening, not right now.
I’m tangled up in a Determinist plot, about to risk my life for an uncertain outcome, and Lament is Lament.
He’s got his own monsters to battle. His own shackled past. Except, we’re here, aren’t we?
Flying together when I wasn’t sure we ever would.
And maybe that’s why my mind has decided to go down this path, now of all times, because this moment is delicate and unlikely and important.
A solar eclipse, blocking the light and somehow making that a wonder.
“Destination spotted,” Lament says into his headset. “Prepare to approach.”
I look out the window and see it. They’ve taken The Parallax out of stealth mode in preparation for our arrival, and it’s larger than I’d imagined.
Almost beyond comprehension, actually. The craft is entirely black, and I think it must be coated in Skeleton Paint, which absorbs 100 percent of all visible light.
Either that, or they’ve found a way to activate Stealth Mode on individual sections of the spaceship.
To my eye, it looks like parts of the body are missing, just vanishing into the blackness of space.
My brain is still struggling to grasp it when a series of red lights appears along the ship’s side.
“That’s us,” Lament says darkly.
He follows the lights, which point us in the direction of a vessel floating alongside The Parallax.
I recognize the flyer as a space pod, which will ferry me from Moon Dancer the rest of the way onto the ship, kind of like a drawbridge over a moat.
It’s a way for the Determinists to ensure they’re only admitting who they want.
As we approach, the pod unfolds like a flower to reveal a small central platform where Lament can land. And yet, rather than touch down immediately, he pulls Moon Dancer into a hover.
“It’s not too late,” he says. He keeps his voice even, but his face is carved in deep lines. “We can turn back.”
“We can’t,” I say. And then, because I hate how he’s looking at me right now: “It’s going to be fine.”
He seems, if anything, less convinced.
Without thinking, I unthread my lifestone from around my neck. The stone is warm. It’s often warm these days, like it’s been sitting in the sun. I squeeze the zurillium in my fist, then offer it to Lament.
He scowls. “What are you doing?”
“I’m giving you my lifestone.”
His eyes dart from the object to my face and back again. “I thought lifestones only work one way. If you give me yours, you’re keeping me safe.”
“I—” I’m blushing now. “Yeah. I know.”
“So how does that help—?”
“I want to know you’ll be okay,” I say in a breathless rush. “When I’m in there. If something happens. Which it won’t, okay, but if it does, I’ll feel better knowing you have this. That … that the Determinists can’t come for you.”
“Hartman.” Lament shakes his head. “I can’t take your lifestone.”
My blush deepens. “Why not?”
“Because it’s just a story. It’s not real.”
“I know that. But can’t you—can’t you just take it anyway?” Shit, I sound pitiful. “I mean, just in case?”
He looks torn. And I feel like an idiot.
“Never mind,” I say quickly, trying to shove the stone back under my shirt in a humiliated rush. “You’re right. I’m being stupid. Forget I asked.”
He leans past my headrest and reaches to grab the hand holding my lifestone. I freeze as he curls his fingers around mine. “Wait.” His voice is rough. “I’m sorry. If it’s important to you, I’ll take it.”
The relief is so intense, I forget I’m supposed to be upset. I unclip from my harness, turn around on my knees in the gunner’s seat to put us at eye level, and thread the stone around his neck. It glows—a single, bright pulse—then fades back to normal.
Lament touches the zurillium. “It’s warm.”
I’m not sure if Lament remembers that giving someone your lifestone is an act of love.
It’s the same as handing them part of your soul, and it’ll keep them safe, even (maybe often) at the risk of your own safety.
My mother gave me this lifestone, and supposedly, that means it’ll keep me out of death’s way.
Now I’m trading my protection for Lament’s.
Lament holds my gaze. I want, desperately, to know what he’s thinking, but there’s no time to ask.
“Are we going down?” I try to sound cool and unconcerned, but I probably just look strained.
Lament tips Moon Dancer into a short dive toward the space pod. He lands neatly on the proffered platform, which seals us inside and pressurizes. Lament pops Moon Dancer’s cockpit open, but as I start to climb out, he grabs my arm and says, “You better come back.”
Our faces are close. “I will.”
He looks almost like he did the day we met: angry and in pain and trying to hide it. “Promise me.”
I suddenly feel like I’m coming down with a fever. I’m aware of his mouth. The deep blue-green of his eyes. “I promise.”
He gives me a final, searching look. Then he lets me go.