Starglass

“But, Abba,” Silvan said, “if we got them early, maybe we could get them on our side. Then we wouldn’t risk losing them to the Children of Abel.”

“Silvan!” Captain Wolff snapped, a stern warning in her voice. She slid her gaze sideways, to me.

“What?” Silvan said. “We’re getting married. She’ll have to find out eventually.” He turned to me. When he spoke, his tone was a perfect echo of Captain Wolff’s. Paternalistic. Condescending. “The Children of Abel are this stupid group of commoners. They think they can bring down the Council.”

“Oh,” I said, doing my best to sound bored. “I see.”

“Anyway, I don’t know why you’re so down on my idea, Abba. I’m going to be captain, after all. You’ll have to get used to the idea of listening to me someday!”

“Enough, Silvan.” I heard the danger that lurked beneath Mazdin’s words. It was the same sort of warning my father would issue—the same sort of warning that I always mistook for a challenge. Apparently, Silvan did too.

“But, Abba—”

“I said enough!” And with that roar Mazdin Rafferty pounded his fist against the table.

The dishes rattled like bells. Silvan’s mother reached out and gripped her glass, silencing it. But Silvan sprang to his feet.

“Come on, Terra,” he said. I watched in confusion as he went to the door, wrestling our coats from the hooks. The adults sat in mortified silence. I couldn’t bring myself to look any of them in the eye.

“Thank you for the lovely dinner,” I said stiffly. Neither of Silvan’s parents even dared to look at me. But Captain Wolff gazed up.

“You’re welcome, Terra,” she returned, the scar tissue on the bridge of her nose crinkling. I was surprised by her tone—kind, sympathetic. But there was no time to contemplate that. I scrambled to my feet and followed Silvan out the door.

He thrust my coat at me, then hustled down the road. He held his own wool jacket in his fist, letting the sleeves drag over the cobblestones. He didn’t need it. The heat of his body seemed to broil the air straight through his sweater.

“I can’t believe them. Treating me like that. When Wolff kicks the bucket, they’ll see.”

I buttoned my coat. “But, Silvan,” I said, picking each word very deliberately, “your parents are Council members. The captain is subject to the Council’s whims. You’ll always have to listen to them, won’t you?”

He stalked ahead.

“Hey!” I called. I ran down the cobblestone street. When I reached him, I matched his strides, slipping my arm into the crook of his. But I could tell that he was closed to me. His strong body was hard, tense against mine.

“Hey,” I said, pulling him to face me. For a moment Silvan refused to look me in the eye. So I touched my hand to his chin. His skin was dark against my hands, almost the color of mud.

And then his gaze softened. I saw, for a passing second, the proud little boy inside him. He was just a kid, really, a kid who had gotten his way about a lot of things, but nothing that counted.

He isn’t so different from me at all, is he? I thought, though my stomach clenched with guilt at the notion. The sympathy I felt for Silvan—this small, confusing affection—was wrong, all wrong. I needed to be hard to him. I needed to hurt him.

I needed to look away. But before I could, he caught my face in his hands, leaned down, and kissed me deeply. Soon I was leaning into it, our bodies drawn so close together that there wasn’t any space between them at all.

It was a voice that drew me out of the kiss. A familiar voice. Rachel’s voice.

“Terra?”

Even in the tight crush of Silvan’s arms, shock rang through me. Rachel stood in the golden circle cast down from a streetlamp. Koen stood beside her. His posture was slumped, uncomfortable. Like he was trying to make himself small. Though Rachel was almost a full head shorter than he was, she took up so much more space.

“Rachel!” I called, and without a second thought I broke away from Silvan’s arms. But she hustled off in the other direction.

“Rachel, wait!” I reached out for her, touching her hand. But she tore it away. I matched her pace, but she refused to look at me.

“Terra Fineberg,” she muttered in a low tone, “you are the worst. You’re a lying, boy-stealing—”

“I’m not stealing him!” I said. I wanted to let it all spill out—the Children of Abel, their plot. But when I glanced over my shoulder, I saw that Silvan and Koen were trailing behind us. And both were still within earshot.

“What do you call what you’re doing with him, then? I heard rumors about the two of you. You know how people talk. But I defended you. I told them that my friend would never do such a thing. Oy, I can’t believe I helped you. Giving you a haircut. Telling you you’re pretty. Well, you know what? Koen has just asked me to marry him. Our wedding’s in two weeks. The day we arrive in orbit around Zehava. So how’s it feel?”

I felt a lump rise in my throat. Rachel was still marching forward, taking wide, wild strides. I grabbed her by the arm, turning her to face me.

“Rachel!” I said. “Don’t you know? Don’t you know why I didn’t want to marry him?” I could see it then—the flash of Koen’s hands against Van’s waist. Skin meeting skin. My gut clenched at the thought.

“Why?” Rachel’s question cut me open.

“He’ll never love you,” I said. “He’s a faygeleh.” I’d wanted to defend myself, to show her that I had been the one to turn down Koen. But it was selfish, telling her the truth. I regretted my words instantly.

The pronouncement hung heavy on the air. Rachel turned, looking at Koen. I followed her gaze. Silvan did too. The young Council member slapped both hands against his thighs. He seemed to find this the funniest notion in the world.

“You?” He let out rough, humorless laughter. “You schtup men? Just wait’ll the Council hears about this!”

“No, no, I don’t mean it!” I said, and clamped my hand over my mouth. But it was too late. The words were out, and no one heard me take them back anyway. Rachel was staring at Koen, tears welling.

“Is this true?” she asked.

Koen gave his head a frantic shake. “No,” he said. “It’s not true! It’s not!”

He rushed over to where we stood. I could feel the panic rising off him, like a trapped rabbit about to be felled. His hands shook as he grabbed Rachel roughly by the wrists and pulled her to him. He smashed his mouth to hers, a kiss that seemed to be all spit and tongue.

I wasn’t sure what to do, what to say. I glanced to Silvan, curious as to whether he was buying this outburst. He just rolled his eyes as the pair parted, a silver thread of saliva trailing between them.

Rachel turned to me, glaring. Koen still held her hands in his.

“I can’t believe you, Terra,” she said. “I just can’t believe you. Why would you make up such lies? You’re such a sad, miserable person. Always looking down your nose at everyone else like you’re better than them.”

“No, Rachel . . .,” I protested. But then I felt another wave of terrible, toe-curling guilt. Because I’d let out Koen’s secret. Because I’d been kissing Silvan just minutes before, and it hadn’t had a damned thing to do with the rebellion, or the Children of Abel, or setting things right. I’d done it just because I’d wanted to be kissed.

When my words faded, Rachel let out an exasperated sound. “You wanna know why Koen didn’t want to marry you?”

I didn’t answer, but she went on anyway.

“He didn’t want you because you’re just as screwed up as your crazy dad.”

The words sliced into me like a ceremonial knife. I let out a cry, but Rachel didn’t care. As I lifted my hand to my mouth, she threw an arm over Koen’s shoulders and dragged him down the dark, curving streets.

Silvan came to me. He drew me to his chest.

“Just ignore her,” he said. “She’s a bitch.”