Page 74 of The Space Between Stars

{What are you doing?}

I’m not sure.

Calver let his soul pour into the core. It came to life again. This time he leaned in, feeding it more and more until it levitated from his hands. Its light grew brighter, then brighter still. Escape. There was still a way out.

{Don’t!}

I won’t do it anymore. I’m not his pet.

{You must Survive.}

No. That’s what you do.

{Your sibling is still alive and searching for you.}

The light went out instantly, blanketing Calver in darkness.

You’re lying. The world around him seemed deadly sharp, his mind thrumming so violently it threatened to deafen him.

{I’m not.}

They’re all dead.

{Only your mother. You made the assumption. I never confirmed it. I only ensured that you survived.}

How do you know?

{She sends ripples through the Fates.}

Calver tried to breathe. He couldn’t. A heaving sob cracked his chest. It was unbearable. The Survivor melded around him, dulling the ache in his back, dampening the agony in his memories.

{Sleep,} it whispered.

Calver didn’t argue.

EIGHTEEN

FANKALO

Year: 739 Post Cataclysm: 9 Years Previously

Location: Shrokan District, Seraphinden

It was the fifth day of Spring. Following a highsun snack of fava and figs, Fankalo relaxed into her hammock aboard the Rapture. Dirty toes curling into the netting, she pulled the second of three notebooks into her lap.

Like the first, its paper was crisp, the ink so fresh it still shone beneath the lamplight. And also like the first, it left the feeling in her gut that the thing she sought from its pages was a phantom.

Her share of two successful raids and six smuggling operations had landed her enough silver notes to bribe a judicial scribe. She’d requested copies of the oligarchy’s reports from 733, 734, and 735 Post Cataclysm. Something in them would surely hold a clue as to why the Nelfinden government had allowed the Tera’thians to lay scourge on one of their port cities without counterattack. Something would give her an idea of what happened to her brother.

She skimmed the notes. They were all related to distortion rights again. It might have proven easier to bottle flame than find any mention of the Tera’thians.

A familiar set of bouncing footsteps crossed the deck above her hammock. She squeezed her eyes shut. Just what she didn’t need: a distraction.

Mitek entered the berth. “Ho, Bratty!”

“Ho, Mitek,” she grumbled.

He stood next to her like he wanted her to say something. When the deckhand wasn’t handing the deck, he usually bothered Cam first—or Zeb. Then, when they had both had enough of him, he tried to rope Fankalo into mischief.