Chapter 10 #2
She nodded because there was no air to speak with. She locked her eyes to his. The violent world fell back. The engines vibrated through his palm, the ship’s will under his will. For a breath she believed because he did.
“Good,” he said. “Hold. We need to get lost in the debris so Vire does not see we have escaped the planet.”
They dove under the edge of a shock front and clawed up through a gap that didn’t exist until he made it exist. Pressure crushed the breath out of her lungs. The ship screamed like a living thing and then the noise died. The view turned cold and star-salted and black.
Silence climbed back into the cabin by degrees. One alarm. Then none. The hum returned. The vibration eased from a snarl to a purr. Her hands shook when she let go of the chair.
She turned to the window. Echo Light hung below them, wounded and still beautiful. The dark crescent smoldered. The rest of the world had already begun to shine again in stubborn patches that spread outward like healing skin.
She let out a breath that tasted like relief and grief. “It’s still alive.”
Apex’s shoulders lowered a fraction. “As it should be.”
Tears filled her eyes. “But not Lume.”
A faint rustle came from beneath the navigation console, followed by a trembling glow. Emmy gasped as Lume appeared, wings dim but steady, her tiny face streaked with soot and tears of light.
The creature’s voice quivered with emotion. “Hurt. Fire hurt Echo Light.” Her tone broke, then softened into a whisper. “Sad… but with you now.” She hovered up and snuggled against Emmy’s shoulder, light spreading like warmth across her collar.
Emmy’s eyes filled as she cupped Lume carefully in her palms. “You shouldn’t have come,” she whispered.
Lume only shivered and murmured, “Home… here,” before curling closer, her glow faint but full of gentle peace.
Emmy held her for a long moment, then glanced toward Apex, who watched in silence, unreadable. The hum of the ship filled the pause between them. Outside, Echo Light shimmered through the viewport like a bruised but breathing sky. Emmy brushed a tear away and exhaled slowly.
The soft rainbow light from Lume’s wings spilled over her hands, mingling the glow with the dim gold of the cabin until it seemed they were still half inside the planet’s light, half in the void between worlds.
An announcement broke the silence. “Council broadcast completes. Confirmed kill report transmitted. Lord Vettar and human consort are declared deceased.”
The sound of Core’s voice in that flat cadence should not have shaken her. It did. She laughed once. It sounded broken and wild. “They think we’re dead.”
“Good,” Apex said. “Let them plan for ghosts.”
She leaned back and closed her eyes, the ache settling into her muscles now that terror had moved on.
The cut on her forearm burned. She looked down and realized blood had run to her wrist and marked the edge of the Valenmark with a thin line of bright red against the brilliant gold and white.
The mark pulsed once. Heat bloomed in her palm and rose like a tide up her arm.
She wiped the blood away with the back of her hand. “What now?”
He didn’t answer at once. He watched the dark curve of the planet until its light had turned the edges of his hair blue. “Now I reclaim what is mine. Now I burn rot out of its seat.”
Her pulse jumped. She recognized the truth in him when he said it. He didn’t posture. He didn’t promise. He announced.
“You think you can take on the Council,” she said.
“I do not think. I will.”
“And me?”
“You are part of this,” he said. He looked down at her wrist where the faint glow had returned. “You were the moment we locked gazes and my mark appeared on you.”
He stood. The space tilted around his height.
He stepped out from the pilot’s chair and came to her side.
The small distance between them filled with heat.
He reached over her shoulder to slide a scorched panel back into its housing.
His knuckles brushed the curve of her collarbone.
Electricity ran down her spine so clean it left her dizzy.
Her voice came out soft. “You saved me.”
“No,” he said. “When you forced the auxiliary thrusters online after the second strike, you saved us both. Without that, the blast would have torn us apart.”
The truth of that threaded the air between them, like a wire pulled tight. Her mouth went dry. She had the insane urge to rise on her toes and press her mouth to the clean blade of his jaw. She could smell metal and heat and him.
He didn’t step away. He held very still as if he felt the same wire. His hand hovered a breath from her face. The Valenmark burned once under her skin.
“Rest,” he said, his voice lower now, roughened by everything he wasn’t saying. He reached out as if to touch her again, fingers stopping a breath from her skin. “You need your energy.” His gaze lingered, sliding over her mouth before he forced himself to step back.
She let out a shaky laugh that was more exhale than humor. “That almost sounded kind.” Her voice trembled with the effort to keep things light, to breathe through the pulse hammering in her throat.
He studied her for a long second, then said quietly, “Don’t mistake restraint for disinterest.” The words came out low and rough, carrying the edge of something like heat held too long beneath the surface.
He moved down the short corridor toward the storage bay. She watched him go with her heart beating too fast. When he turned the corner she closed her eyes and pressed her palms to her face. Her skin still tingled where he had nearly touched it.
The quiet that followed wasn’t empty, but like the inside of a held breath.
She pushed away from the console, her legs unsteady beneath her. The muscles in her thighs trembled as she took a few slow steps to steady herself. Lume stirred from her perch on the console and fluttered to Emmy’s shoulder, her glow soft and tired.
“Echo Light will heal,” the little creature said quietly, voice like a shimmer of bells. Slowly, but surely, her grasp of language improved.
Emmy smiled faintly. “Because you’ll help it.”
Lume’s wings fluttered once. “Maybe. But you and male carry its light now. You keep it safe.”
Emmy touched her fingertips to Lume’s tiny hand. “I’ll try.”
“Try strong,” Lume whispered, her tone both fierce and tender. “Stars listen to brave hearts.” Then she flitted back toward the console and curled into a beam of dim light, her colors fading to rest.
Emmy crossed to the viewport and set her hands on the rim. The stars hung like ice. Echo Light shrank in the dark until the scorched crescent looked like a bite taken out of a jewel. Even so, light kept pushing out across the shadow. Stubborn. Beautiful.
She stayed there until the cabin air cooled the heat in her face.
Then she pushed off the rim and moved down the narrow corridor toward the galley.
The ship had a way of getting smaller when she was inside it alone.
She touched bulkheads as she went. She told herself she was steadying herself.
She knew she was making contact with something similar to his second skin.
In the galley she ran water over a cloth and cleaned the cut on her arm.
It stung as if offended that she had noticed it.
She found a skin sealant in the med kit and smoothed a line over the scrape.
The skin warmed and knit. Then, catching her reflection in the polished metal of the counter, she realized how filthy she was—the torn shift streaked with soot and blood, her hair tangled and dull.
She hesitated, then slipped into the small wash alcove.
Steam filled the narrow space as she stripped off the ruined fabric and washed quickly but thoroughly, the water carrying away ash and fear alike.
When she finished, she pulled on a soft, dark shirt and trousers from the storage locker—too big but clean, the fabric smelling faintly of him.
The mark on her wrist pulsed again as if approving the change.
She watched the little glow without breathing.
It faded like an ember when the engine hum shifted, then returned to a faint steady throb.
She spoke to the air. “Core, how bad is the damage?”
“Hull compromise is minor. Stabilizers will require a full recalibration. Reactor output remains within safe thresholds. Fuel reserves are adequate for two system jumps at combat burn and three at standard burn. Heat signature is masked by orbital debris for four cycles at current drift.”
“So we are hidden, but only a little.”
“Affirmative.”
“What about the Councilor’s ship?”
“The Sovereign cruiser maintains high orbit. Weapon arrays are at low idle. Internal communications indicate satisfaction with results. A memorial broadcast has been scheduled in three units to mark the passing of Lord Kael Vettar.”
The name hit her chest like a thrown stone. She leaned back against the counter. “They are going to celebrate killing him? That’s outrageous.”
Apex’s voice came from the corridor behind her. “Good. My death will distract them.”
She hadn’t heard him return. She turned, and the breath caught in her throat.
He stood in the doorway, shadows cutting over his chest and shoulders, the dim cabin light catching in the silver threads of his hair.
He looked larger than the room, carved from constraint and danger and beauty all at once.
For a moment she forgot the wreckage, the fear, everything but him, especially the way his gaze caught and held hers, the air thickening until it hurt to breathe.