When they leapt out of fast-travel and into the orbit just outside of Lemuria, Sorrel couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. Madame Abelard had been true to her word—her craftmanship had held up against the forces of space. As she switched seats with the older woman, Sorrel resolved that she’d have to do something to thank her, somehow.
For now, she turned her sights to the watery world of Lemuria on the horizon. Covered in water, it appeared mostly a perfect crystal blue, glowing even on the dark side of the planet. Sorrel once recalled a unit in her school about the capitol of the Society of Worlds. They had a special type of bioluminescence in the plankton and algae in the water, or something, causing it to do that.
Still, even against the crystalline blue glow, the lights of the cities on the archipelagos were stark, little stars on the great seas.
Of course Sorrel had seen pictures before on screens, but it was nothing like seeing the real thing, just like the stars streaking past into rainbows in fast-travel and the black of true space. A part of her knew that this would only be one of yet another marvel coming her way.
Her heart ached for it, thinking of the tall pines of the Reserve back home and the snow falling over the green lanterns and window-gardens.
The radio crackled to life, reminding Sorrel of what was at stake.
“Unknown ship, please identify yourself. This is the Lemurian space patrol. You are not approved on the arrival dockets for any of the spaceports.”
“Well, they’re fast about it,” Coppelius muttered.
Sorrel tapped the ‘speak’ button. “Hello? Can you hear me?”
“We can read you, unknown ship. Please identify yourselves.”
“”Uh, we don’t really have a ship name, we kind of just. . . cobbled it together, but that’s not the point,” Sorrel added hastily. “We’re refugees from Perrault, we didn’t know where else to go. There are—“
She stopped, mentally counting everyone in the room.
“There are five of us on board, we’re not carrying anything, they were bombing out home—please help.” Sorrel’s voice cracked at the end of her plea.
The silence of the next three minutes seemed like an eternity. As they sat there, waiting. And waiting.
Coppelius grabbed the amulet around his neck and cupped the blue crystal into folded hands and closed his eyes. A prayer of sorts, Sorrel could recognize.
“Unnamed ship, you are cleared for landing. Please make your way to the Avalon spaceport.”
“Oh, thank you!” Sorrel cried, and she grabbed Coppelius’s shoulder, shaking it gently. “Thank you so much!”
“You’re welcome.” With that, the radio went silent again, and Sorrel and Coppelius shared a look.
It was time for landing.
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Avalon was one of the southern archipelagos, not where the Society of Worlds met—that was Solaris. But it was one of the larger archipelagos, and one of the larger spaceports, Sorrel realized once they landed.
An entire island was devoted to the spaceport. At the landing strip, there waited a team of several Lemurian constables and Society of Worlds official rangers. There were other ships parked on the same strip, and outside of them was a flood of people dressed for winter—at stark contrast to the locals that Sorrel spotted on the high walkways of the open buildings. They wore the loose, colorful fabrics associated with the native Lemurian textiles that glowed in the dark as the aquatic wildlife did.
The party joined the other refugees outside of their haphazard ship. The rangers and constables came around, offering vouchers of credits for immediate adjustments to the new world and a key to a room at one of the grand hotels. They were asked for accounts about the disaster, to which only Coppelius asked not to be recorded. They acquiesced, but Sorrel and Gwynn both felt as if they had to pay witness to the destruction of their own home.
It was after this that they were all shuffled off to mass-passenger land-speeders to head to the hotel. It was there, the constables told them, that the Governor would personally pay for their housing until the Society of Worlds voted about what to do about the crisis on Perrault.
It was a nice room, as far as Sorrel was concerned. Far nicer than anything she’d ever seen in Hoffman. It was all fine white stone-work, from the tiles in the floor to the pristine walls to the pillars and archways in every doorway and the baseboards with their intricate carvings.
All the color in the room came from the fine textiles in the colorful curtains draped over the windows and walls, the blankets and pillows scattered about on the beds and the sofa itself in a jeweled orange.
It felt like a palace. Sorrel was out of place in such finery, with her grease-stained jacket, worn-out boots, and nightgown, a detail she’d forgotten until she was standing here.
If Celine or Gwynn held any similar reservations, they weren’t showing it. Both had gone about the room, marveling at the fineries and wondering aloud about what a new life in Avalon, Lemuria, would look like.
Sorrel volunteered to take the sofa so her sister and mother could have the beds. It was there that she returned the flight-scarf to her father’s box and tucked it under the sofa. Once she’d done so, she left her mother and sister to appreciate the finery in the current situation, instead taking to the balcony.
The sun was beginning to rise over the endless ocean, painting the clouds pink and violet and turning the sea a deep orange. The bioluminescence was gone, no longer revealed by the night. But stars, that too was beautiful.
In feeling the sea-breeze through her hair, pulling deep red curls free of her loose ponytail, Sorrel realized how small she truly was. Everything had changed, so quickly that she could hardly believe it.
The boy like stardust had crashed onto her world, bringing with him the wrath of an empire.
She had discovered the crystal blade in the forest her family had saved, a magical legacy of which she’d never known.
She’d incurred the wrath of that same empire that chased the boy from the stars across the universe.
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Then she’d had to flee her home as it was turned to ash, all in the hopes of smoking him out.
She supposed Coppelius had tried to warn them. Multiple times. And yet she’d been stubborn, she’d refused to listen.
And yet, she knew she’d do it all again. Even with her home in ash, her future uncertain.
That led her to look to the balcony next door. Supposedly Coppelius had been assigned that room. The officers were handing out room keys altogether, so parties would probably have rooms close together in these hotels.
And yet she saw no sign of him in the other room.
She looked down to the sea and sand below. This was the point where their paths could diverge. He’d probably want them to never see each other again, given all the warnings. Sorrel couldn’t blame him for that.
Admittedly, a part of her did want to ignore the room next door and let him go. Lemuria was a beautiful place to make a new home. It had its own excitement that she never would have found on Perrault. This was a chance to make a new life, maybe become a pilot and a spacer like her father had always wanted, with no obligation to the Bed & Breakfast or the life she had before.
But she could still see the unconscious boy in the space capsule, the uncertainty in his eyes when he first woke up, and the strange sorrow that followed him.
Who exactly was his father, then? What legacy did he hold? Where did the crystal blade come from, and what was it exactly? Who was he, and why did Versailles and the Empire of Annwyn burn down an entire planet to try to find him?
The questions burned at Sorrel, as strongly as the desire to take to the skies and the stars.
For all she knew that Gwynn and their mother would disapprove, would beg her to leave it be as they had helped more than enough and received only misfortune for their troubles, she knew she couldn’t.
She had to know. She had to help him.
No matter the cost.
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“Where are you going?” Gwynn turned around to see Sorrel walking from the balcony to the door, a fire in her deep brown eyes and a stride filled with purpose.
There was a dread in her stomach, a part of her knew what was coming next.
“I’m going to talk to Coppelius.” Sorrel stopped by the door and pulled her boots back on. “Make sure he’s settling in well and all.”
“Briar. . . “ Their mother stopped looking through the holo-channels and her voice took on a sympathetic but cautionary tone. “I’d really rather you didn’t. Leave that boy alone.”
“What do you mean?” From the look in Sorrel’s eyes, the stony expression that crossed over her face, Gwynn knew that her sister already knew the answer.
“I’m proud of you, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t think he needs any more help from us.” Celine’s eyes drifted wistfully towards the larger box of Valiant’s things. “I understand wanting to help. . . but he’s dangerous. There’s something off about him. Surely you can see it?”
“What are you talking about?” Sorrel crossed her arms over her chest and Gwynn internally braced herself.
“While you were out in the forest, I couldn’t help but think about it, all of those soldiers and then the fleet for one person. . . “ Celine trailed off before meeting Sorrel’s eyes. “Maybe he didn’t do anything wrong. But what if he did? What if he really is that dangerous? He’s already led to the destruction of our home, land our family’s held for generations. Maybe we don’t need to be involved any further, before he destroys our new one.”
Sorrel’s mouth opened, then closed. Then it opened again. “But what if he isn’t?”
“I’m not so sure about that, Sorrel.” Celine’s voice was gentle, but firm. “Something’s not right about all of this.”
“But maybe that’s why we should help him—how else will we get answers?” Gwynn recognized the earnestness in her twin’s voice. It was the call to the stars, the curiosity that burned in her blood, the desire to break free. It was the call that Sorrel heeded and Gwynn tried to block out.
“But you won’t.” Celine sat on the bed. “He’ll keep his secrets, and you’ll be left wondering if you ever really knew him at all.”
“Dad kept secrets?” Gwynn couldn’t help herself from blurting it out.
“There were parts of him I could never understand, the parts of him that he left in space.” Celine looked back to her box of Valiant’s things. “He saw something out there that caused him to leave his spacer days behind, I just know it. But he never told me what.”
“I thought Dad left because he was in love.” Sorrel frowned. “That wasn’t true?”
Celine smiled sadly. “It was only a part of the truth. I think you and I both know his true love was the stars. Something happened, for him to leave it all behind. He kept longing to go back, but he wouldn’t.”
“Maybe he knew he was at risk for the star-sickness,” Gwynn suggested.
Celine shook her head. “This was before that. But I’m not talking about your father, Sorrel. This is about you getting in over your head.”
Sorrel blinked, then tilted her head. Something in Gwynn’s stomach lurched. She wanted to throw herself between them, to outstretch her arms and stop her somehow, before things went too far.
But Gwynn couldn’t even bring herself to do that.
All she could do was sit there, uselessly, with her hands folded delicately in her lap as everything fell apart.
“It doesn’t matter if you think I’m in over my head.” Sorrel’s voice was calm, her tone even. But her brown eyes blazed like her hair. “I’m not going to stay here for you. I’m not like Papa.”
Celine visibly recoiled, as if Sorrel had struck her. She opened her lips to speak, but stopped. Never had Gwynn seen her mother so speechless. Even Sorrel’s expression faltered, the sparks in her eyes flickering out. But only for a moment.
“You’ll see that I’m not like him.” She grabbed her jacket off of the sofa, and removed the red flight-scarf from their father’s box underneath. She approached Celine and pressed the scarf into her mother’s hands. “I will come back. Then you’ll see.”
Celine held the flight-scarf limply in her hands. She blinked up at Sorrel, her expression blank.
“I’m sorry, but I have to go.” It was a whisper so inaudible, Gwynn almost didn’t hear her. Sorrel then straightened, the fire back in her eyes.
And so she left, without another word. The hotel room door closed with a quiet click that carried all the finality of their jump into fast-travel, or the closing of their father’s coffin.
Celine broke down sobbing, pressing the flight-scarf to her face.
Gwynn embraced her mother. “It’s alright, Maman, it’s going to be alright.”
Celine resurfaced from the scarf and turned to Gwynn, uncertainty haunting her delicate features. “I’m glad I have you, Gwyneira. I don’t know what I would do, if I lost you too.”
With that, Celine embraced her, breaking down into a new round of sobbing. Gwynn merely hugged her mother tighter. But as she did, she felt a deeper sense of melancholy wash over her. It was a thing she would never voice—could never voice.
Because her twin was so determined to shine bright, Gwynn could never escape the shadows, the supporting role. Her own dreams of adventure beyond the stars would never come true.
Sorrel had all but assured that.
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Sorrel’s heart was pounding as she stepped out into the hallway, the hotel door sliding closed behind her. Lightning coursed through her veins instead of blood, each step felt like it was preceding a free-fall. It was terrifying and exhilarating.
Yet she felt a sense of purpose as she approached the next door and raised her fist to knock. She was meant to help Coppelius, she somehow knew it. Every strange dream, every wild fantasy of what lay beyond the stars—it all led to him, she was realizing.
And now that her home was destroyed, what left did she have to lose?
She knocked on the door three times.
It slid open almost immediately to Coppelius standing there. His indigo eyes were unreadable.
“Sorrel? What are you doing here?”
“I came to help.” She drew herself to her full height.
“You can’t.” His expression grew soft. “It’s my fault you’re here—you don’t need to get yourself involved any further. This is where your role in the story ends.”
He paused, and something Sorrel could only describe as longing filled his eyes. He crossed his arms over his chest, more like an attempt to hug himself than an intimidating gesture. “I’ll never forget you, though.”
“I’d never forget you either.” There was so much loaded into those words, all the things Sorrel was struggling to say, to put into words that made sense. . .
Coppelius froze. In that moment, she knew he felt it too.
“Let me come with you.” Sorrel seized her opening. “I want to help you. And I want to know more about. . . well, all of it.”
She outstretched her arms helplessly. “Magic, your family, the sword we found—this galaxy is so much bigger than I ever thought it would be. Dreamed it would be. I’ve always wanted to be out in the stars, like my father before me. I have to do this.”
Coppelius stared at her for a long time. The silence was deafening. It seemed like a small eternity was passing before Sorrel’s eyes.
“I don’t want to be alone anymore,” he said in a very small voice.
With that, he stepped aside. Sorrel passed through the doorway, with a sense that there was no going back.