Sea of Stars (Kricket #2) Read online

  “I don’t want you to hurt him,” I state forcefully, so that he gets the point. “I mean it. I don’t want anything other than to never see either one of you again.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “It’s true.”

  “Don’t think of the consequences; there are none for us. He brought this upon himself, whatever I choose to do to him. He brought you up in the dark. I thought you couldn’t feel pain, but you do . . . you just hide it well. You need strength, someone you cannot manipulate with your intelligence, someone who gives you boundaries. It’s the only way you’ll ever feel safe.”

  “What?” I pale.

  “I want you . . . your beautiful face, your taste, your mouth full of lies, your sad, violet eyes—I hate them, but I want them.”

  “Kricket,” Trey’s voice says from behind me.

  I whip around, seeing Trey coming toward me on the other side of the skywalk. He’s not alone: Jax, Wayra, and several other Cavars who were incarcerated are with him. Immediately, the Strikers behind Kyon open fire on the Cavars. The Cavars drop to the glass floor of the tunnel. I step between them to the middle of the skywalk, blocking a clear shot to Trey.

  With a wolfish scowl, Kyon barks an order to his men. “Cease fire!” When his eyes return to me, he has a concerned expression on his face. He extends his hand to me. “Kricket,” he says gently, “come here.”

  I glance over my shoulder at Trey again. He must have come from his apartment—he has on one of his black combat shirts, it molds to his muscles like a second skin. Gone is the jet pack that he clung to the last time I saw him. He’s on foot now and has his weapon drawn up to his shoulder, but he hasn’t fired any shots. He’s assessing our situation. He holds his hand up to the Cavars behind him, silently ordering them not to fire.

  “How’d you find me?” I ask Trey, raising my voice to be heard over the chaos swirling around us. Aircraft blast through the air overhead; dogfights between Rafe and Alameeda pilots tear up the sky. Ammunition fire rains showers of orange and red, turning the twilight to day for brilliant moments. Our skywalk trembles as bombs hit the deck of the ship.

  Trey holds up his watch on his wrist; it blinks with a blue light. “We’re tracking the slipshield on your wrist.”

  I lift my wrist, studying the clear sticker that resembles the symbol on a USB port that I’d used to open Trey’s cell door. The small patch is blinking with a blue light. I look back at him and see anguish in his eyes. He doesn’t have a jet pack to reach me. I’m stuck on my side, a world away from him.

  Kyon calls to Trey, “Tell her to come away from the edge. She’s too close—she’s going to fall.” Kyon is no longer wearing his jet pack either; none of the Strikers with him are. It’s a fact that makes Kyon’s jaw clench tighter the farther I lean over the gap.

  Trey’s jaw tenses too, as he steps to his edge of the skywalk. He judges the distance between us. Lowering his gun, Trey touches his wristband again; the flashing blue light stops throwing its pale light on his face. When his eyes meet mine, I see fear in them. “Do you trust me?” he asks.

  I nod my head, whispering, “Yes.”

  “Then jump!” he says. I flinch, my heart pounding in my chest like he struck me. “Do it!” Trey implores.

  Kyon moves behind me; he lunges in my direction, making a grab for my arm. I twist back around to face Trey; he’s watching me, his every muscle tensing, his eyes begging me to move. I take a deep breath before jumping from the edge of the skywalk and lurching into the air toward him. To my surprise, Trey jumps from his side at the same time, meeting me in the air between the broken pieces of skywalk. His arms go around me, hugging me to him while we fall toward the reservoir of crystal-blue water far below.

  CHAPTER 9

  SKYE BELLS RINGING

  As Trey and I plummet away from the skywalk, my hair streams back from my face. Panicking, I’m unable to breathe in more than shallow breaths. The wind is so loud and it tears at our clothes as they ripple in the descent. Trey lets go of my waist, moving away from me so that we’re no longer clutching each other, but only clasped together by his hand in mine. I’m facedown, spread out like a starfish, watching the water growing larger by the second.

  My view is obscured for a moment as an unmanned hovercycle careens beneath us. Recognition dawns on me; it’s Trey’s hoverbike—the same one that brought us here from the palace a few nights ago. Was it only a few nights ago? I think in confusion. The hovercycle positions itself directly under Trey as the hatch opens, allowing him to fall into its open cabin. His legs straddle the seat while he pulls me by my hand so that I fall onto the vehicle behind him. He brings my hand to his waist; I seize it and wrap my other arm around him, gripping him tightly. My cheek presses against his back as I hug him with what strength I have left.

  The hatch closes around us; the sound of the wind is immediately cut off. It’s very quiet, with only the hum of the hovercycle. Trey takes control of the bike; it veers to the right, banking and coming around the other way. Through the sound system of the vehicle, Wayra’s voice echoes as he emits a loud whoop. “Baw-da-baw! I want to do that again!”

  His elation is matched by that of Jax’s voice, as he asks, “Did you see the look on those knob knockers’ faces when we all jumped from the skywalk?” Jax’s hovercycle comes abreast of ours, hugging our side in a defensive position. I shift my face to look in the other direction and see Wayra’s hovercycle as well. A small group of hoverbikes joins us, weaving around buildings. The darkening denim-blue sky is unzipped by choking columns of black smoke. I recognize Hollis. Drex has Fenton on his hovercycle with him. Seeing the destruction of the ship, however, causes their laughter to die down quickly. “We have to evacuate,” Trey’s voice rumbles through his back, tickling my cheek.

  “Do we follow protocol seven one nine—evacuate to ground—regroup—hook up with a ground base?” Wayra asks.

  Trey’s voice rumbles again, “We’re hunted—by both sides. We act like civvies for now until we can make our case with whoever is left to take command. For now, our mission is to protect the priestess against all enemies. Anyone who can’t do that needs to tell me now.”

  They have to pretend to be civilians—lose their identities as Cavars?

  The com is silent; no one speaks up. “Right,” Trey says. “Diamond formation. Make ready. They won’t let us leave without a fight. Kyon has probably diverted every available ship to search for us.”

  At first, I think he’s wrong; none of the big ships pay attention to us as we slink away, heading to the edge of the Ship of Skye. The shields are down, so there’s nothing barring our way from leaving. Darkness is falling fast as we emerge over the lip of the main deck. My heart nearly stops at the fleet of warships beneath us. Trey hugs the contour of the ship, blending in with the dark, hieroglyphic-shaped metal.

  In the next few moments, everything gets turned up way too loud outside. I can’t slow anything down. We’re weaving through the crowd of ships that converges on our small group, firing unbelievably scary weapons upon us. Explosions on the lower deck of the Ship of Skye force Trey to make sharp turns to avoid falling metal and debris.

  We dive into a cloud; I can’t see anything but white, and then dark sky as we emerge. I’m in a bird machine and the only objective is to get low. I clutch Trey’s back; his muscles bunch beneath my cheek. The side of his face lights up in orange and red when a ship near us explodes. He swerves to avoid the explosion. Something hits and then bounces off the lid of our hovercycle. It takes me a moment to realize it was a person. I cringe, tasting fear. Trey’s neck stretches as he tries to keep an enemy ship in his sights so they don’t outmaneuver us. My mind keeps up a steady mantra of go, go, go, go, go . . .

  A gleaming silver ship near us fires off a round of shots that light up the sky with blue fire as it passes right in front of us. I don’t think the shots were intended to hit
us; they were a warning to surrender. Trey’s back becomes damp with sweat, and he growls when we avoid colliding with another ship as it tries to absorb us into its tractor beam.

  Boom, boom, boom, boom, in rapid-fire succession. The vibrations tear into my chest, and my already fluttering heart beats twice as hard from the shock waves. The sky lights up as lightning strikes turn it to the color and texture of marmalade. A loud groan of metal shifting whines above us.

  Above us, a dark shadow looms. The entire Ship of Skye leans over us, careening sideways. As I look up, it topples over, changing direction as it charges toward the ground and into our path just beneath it. Trey stands the hoverbike on its head. We point straight down to avoid being crushed by the tons of ship hurtling toward us. As we bank, g-forces exert too much pressure upon my body. I can’t breathe or think as my world turns to black. The only thing I hear is the sound of ringing in my ears—a bell clanging—a Skye-blue bell.

  My head aches. Night sky greets me as I open my eyes; two moons preside king and queen over the stars. I hear the beautiful, rasping whisper of Trey’s voice, the rumble of it in his chest trembles my cheek. He strides with me in his arms. “Almost there, Kricket,” he says.

  I get a lump in my throat. I ache; it’s a broken paradise to be in pain, but still to be in Trey’s arms. He’s running through the dark to keep me from the cage of Alameeda control. He moves us between concrete buildings that creep into the sky—majestic stems whose flowers are too tall to see. We enter a building into a dim corridor where the elegant sconce lights make rainbow halos until my eyes adjust to them.

  From behind us, other booted feet click in the corridor. It must be the other Cavars. My eyes focus on Trey’s chin, which has a determined set to it. I know I should try to walk, to say something to lighten the moment for him, but nothing about me seems to be working like it should. I’m so tired.

  We emerge into a grand lobby, security at which should be tight, judging by its opulence, but we walk through all the checkpoints unchallenged.

  “You own this building or something?” Gibon asks, as Trey’s face is scanned at an unmanned checkpoint and cleared immediately.

  “No. I designed its security system. I own the ones on the other side of the park. We can’t go there; they may check them. This one is owned by a family friend.”

  “Is he here?” Wayra asks, his voice echoing off the ceilings. No one is about.

  “Not if she can follow directions—everyone here and in my buildings were advised to evacuate to estates outside the city after the palace was attacked,” he responds.

  He continues to the back of the skyscraper, to rooms on the ground floor.

  “She must be cut from amethyst to be able to afford ground-floor suites,” Fenton says in awe; his eyes are wide as he assesses the posh, modern style surrounding us. It’s clear he’s not being sarcastic; all of them but Trey seem to be impressed that we’re bypassing the bank of elevators to remain on the main floor.

  He leads the way to a suite of rooms that encompasses almost the entire side of the building. Once at the grand doors, Trey pauses for a moment for a facial scan to pass over him. It catches my face as well. A loud warning alarm echoes, scaring me half to death.

  Trey’s brows pull together before he growls, “Cease warning. Access code: tonic triad.”

  The tall doors sweep upward, recessing so that we can enter. He knows the floor plan, crossing through the immaculate foyer. Illumination switches on; we enter a formal entertaining area. Three enormous chandeliers fall out of the ceiling to settle above us as they glow with shimmering golden light that makes everything look that much more elegant. In the center of one wall, there’s a cascading water feature; liquid flows over beautiful tiles with a tranquil, satisfying sound. On either side of it are full glass walls that show a large expanse of formal gardens. Low topiaries define beautiful pathways that light up with well-placed ground sconces.

  Trey growls again. “Light protocol for occupy only. Dim to half measure. Set privacy at five. All security up—alert status five—silent alarms active.”

  Immediately, the garden lighting outside dies, so too does most of the lighting in the dwelling. The room we’re in remains lit, but dims to a much lower setting than before. With the lights off outside, the horizon glows red in the distance. Ripples and shocks tremble the ground, just as it had when the bombs where hitting the ship. But now, it’s not bombs but pieces of the Ship of Skye pelting the ground.

  The walls of glass fill with a thickening fog between the panes, darkening them quickly to become opaque. I’m hypnotized by the smoky swirls that make them look as if they’re breathing. It’s somehow better and worse that I can’t see the destruction going on outside. A part of me wants to deny it, while another part of me wants to watch it so that I’ll know the exact moment I need to move.

  Trey turns and I catch a glimpse of Wayra, Jax, Drex, Hollis, and Gibon. Where are Dylan and Fenton? I wonder as I take roll call in my mind, assessing my Cavars. I feel my heart flutter, like I’m missing vital pieces of me. They’re all looking at me with worried expressions.

  “Wayra and Drex, mine the place—find whatever provisions we need,” Trey orders them. “Hollis, you head back toward the lobby—wait for Fenton. It shouldn’t take him long to destroy the beacons on the hovercycles.”

  “Is Dylan with Fenton?” I ask. My voice doesn’t sound like mine. It’s tight, a couple of octaves higher than normal.

  “Kricket,” Trey says, relief in his tone.

  “Where’s Dylan?” I ask again. I can hear panic in my voice, my breaths coming in shallow pants.

  Trey doesn’t answer me. He nods at Jax, a clear indication that he’s to follow us. He walks swiftly to an adjoining room and crosses the large sitting room before leaving it and entering a palatial bedroom. Definitely feminine in design and decor, it has white and lavender tones. Large, velvety-soft chairs with high backs face an opaque, smoke-filled window wall that must also hide the expensive-to-maintain garden outside.

  As he walks by the chairs, it’s clear he intends to put me on the bed.

  “Chair.” I motion to them. I don’t want to lie down. I want to find out where Dylan is. Trey frowns and ignores me. He takes me to the bed and places me gingerly upon it. Jax is next to him; pulling a medical pack from his back, he rummages through it.

  He pulls out the “grandma goggles” from his pack that I know to be an ostioscope—a medical device that performs full-body scans.

  Weakly, I fight Jax, trying to look him in the eyes instead. I croak softly, “Dylan?”

  Jax’s jaw tenses. “They got him, Kricket. He’s dead,” he says with a shrug I know he doesn’t feel. In shock, I don’t fight him when he puts the ostioscope on my eyes. Green lights flash and readouts flicker on the lens, but I couldn’t read them even if I wanted to, because my eyes blur with tears. A single tear slips out, sliding down my cheek. I try to hold the rest back. I don’t cry in front of people. It’s weak. It doesn’t happen. It can’t happen.

  Jax says to Trey, “She has bruises everywhere. Some look several days old—not new, but she didn’t have them days ago. Some of the stages of healing I’m seeing are off somehow . . . they’re not reading right. Three of her ribs had hairline fractures—here and here.” He touches my ribs lightly. “But now they’re recalcified—growing stronger than before, I’d say. Did someone give her a rapid bone regenerator recently? If they did, I can’t find a trace of it in her system—and yet . . . she’s healing at a rate I’m not used to seeing. Still, this has to hurt, Kricket.” He touches my ribs lightly before touching sore patches on my back. “Have you been suffering with these contusions for long? How did you get them all?” he asks with a surly disgust that’s not aimed at me.

  He pulls the glasses from my eyes, but I avoid looking into his. “I haven’t been suffering,” I murmur numbly. “I was drugged most of the time s
ince they pulled me from my cell—I don’t remember much from the last couple of days.” I rub my wrists where I’d been shackled. Thick, yellowish armband bruises tattoo my swollen skin. “I only woke up today—midday.” I meet his eyes. “Did they . . .” My throat squeezes tight. “Did anyone . . .” I inhale a deep breath.

  With a concerned expression, Jax waits patiently for me to ask my question. Finally I ask, “Was I raped?”

  He looks startled. For all his experience, he’s shockingly naïve. He jerks his head to the side, studying the readouts on the glasses again. I look over his shoulder at a point on the wall. I can’t look at Trey; it’s impossible. I don’t want to know what he’s thinking.

  Jax begins to shake his head. “No, Kricket,” he says in a gentle tone. “You must have suffered a beating—your back is—there’s bruising there, but there are no internal injuries evident aside from your ribs. No internal trauma associated with rape. And everything is normal—just like when we did this before.”

  I nod my head expressionlessly, acknowledging his words. It takes a second for relief to flood me and with it, the unbearable need to weep. I hold it back.

  “Are you thirsty?” Jax asks me, pulling a canteen from his pack. He offers it to me. I nod silently, taking the canteen and putting it to my lips. Swallowing big gulps helps to ease the rawness of my throat.

  “Here,” Jax says, taking the canteen from me and shoving a protein bar into my hand.

  My stomach rebels against the thought of putting it in my mouth. “I can’t eat—”

  Ignoring my protest, Jax nudges my arm up, urging me to eat it. “It’s not the same kind as the ones we ate in the Forest of O. Those were especially made to ward off parasites—this one is just nutritious. You need to eat it—your stomach is completely empty—you’re literally starving. Do you want to be the weakest link on our team?”

  He knows me too well. I sniff the protein bar tentatively. It smells like peanut butter. I take a bite and find it tastes good. I chew it slowly, worried that my stomach will reject it.