Chapter 62
Sixty-two
Training continues to be a combination of past methods we’ve covered, and I can’t help but wonder what is in store for the last challenge.
As promised, Orion has delivered three dresses to my room for me to choose from for the upcoming ball.
I invite Aria, Celeste, and Merri over to help me decide, despite the gnawing pain reminding me that the last time we were all together, we were whole.
This is painful, but isn’t that the point? The pain reminds us of what we lost—of who is worth remembering.
The girls bring their dresses as well, and I thank the stars that the Kosmos aren’t forcing us all into the same dress again.
The mood is subdued, but there is support within the silence that lingers between us.
A collective trauma response, the loss of Lenny, weighs heavily in the air.
And while it is sad, it feels like a productive type of sadness—a reawakening.
Aria selects a pale lavender chiffon dress, the sheer sleeves outlined in luminous silver threading.
Celeste chooses a form-fitting silk dress in a deep blue that could pass for black.
The front dips to her navel, the back revealing a train embroidered with stars, leaving a trail of stardust in its wake.
I select an A-line gown in twisting, velvety black, contrasted with pearl-white silk.
The fabrics criss-cross over my breasts, looping around my neck in a halter design.
A low back dips suggestively, covered by a sheer cape draping dramatically over my backside.
The cape clips to my shoulders with matching pendants of an eclipse—the moon passing over the sun.
A symbol of transformation. I am the light and the darkness. This is my rebirth.
The night before the ball, I perused the shops in the city after divulging my plan to Brinn.
She informs me that the rebellion’s display at the fourth game has raised questions and interest. Gossip is spreading about an uprising, with more people expressing their disinterest and concern with the Order.
It turns out that behind the pretty colors and luxury, people don’t approve of being controlled by a higher, entitled group.
I’m pleased with the progress; however, the heavy weight of expectation has my stomach in knots—being the expected savior is burdensome.
She informs me that meetings are being held biweekly to discuss progress and concerns on the third day of the cycle. Brinn lines the pastry window with chocolate muffins on the day of the meeting to signal that it is on. It’s subtle, brilliant, and effective.
I located a store that sold handcrafted leather goods.
The shopkeeper, an older man, helps me find a thigh strap and holster for my dagger.
The dress doesn’t have pockets, and I don’t intend to enter the Cosmic Hall unarmed.
His shop is small, warm from the forge he fuels with his fire magic.
After purchasing the accessories, I head back out into the night, only to jump as a lurking figure pushes off the wall outside the shop.
“Are you following me?”
Leo’s eyes twinkle. “I was wondering what you were up to.” He pulls me towards his body in one tug, pressing a kiss to my lips.
“Where have you been? I feel like I haven’t seen you at all.”
“You’re not the only busy one around here.”
“So mysterious,” I mutter, frustrated by his non-answer.
Leo grasps my hand with his as we walk through the colorful city. “It would be nice to stay here, wouldn’t it?” He ponders the thought aloud.
My stomach sinks. “One of us will, Leo.”
He pauses, jaw clenching. “Maybe we both can.” What is going on with him? Where are these thoughts coming from?
“And how would that work? Only one of us will win. The other is to return to our home planet. We’ll never see each other again.” I spit the words out, each one angrier than the last.
“We will figure it out, Zell.”
All of my fear and frustration bubble to the surface. “Figure it out? That’s delusional. We’re out of time, Leo. There’s no way we are going to be together.”
“If that’s how you want to look at it, then we won’t be.”
I scoff at how unaffected he is, dropping his hand. “Leo…”
“Maybe we were always meant to be star-crossed lovers.” He forces nonchalance into his tone, yet I see the way his body is tensing.
“So, that’s it, then?” Is this happening? I’m dizzy as the emotions pelt me.
“I’m willing to figure it out, Zellie. You’re the one acting like it’s impossible.”
“Because it is!” The words explode from me, causing onlookers to glance our way with concern.
“Just…” he pauses, trying to find the words, “have some faith, alright?”
My lack of faith is concerning, yet I refuse to admit it to him.
I can’t shake the feeling that something is off with him.
Did I push him too far away in my grief?
Did I do this? Regret and anxiety flood my system.
Are we going to pretend the end isn’t barreling towards us?
Forcing a tight smile, I respond, “Alright.”