Starglass

“We’ll start as soon as Captain Wolff arrives.” Silvan had decided that the captain would perform our ceremony. I didn’t object. It seemed like a suitably dismal choice in light of the match we were about to make.

“Good,” I said, and swallowed the rest of the wine. Silvan flagged down a waiter to bring us two more glasses.

As we waited for the captain’s arrival, his family meandered over. His older sister offered me a limp handshake, holding out her hand like it was a piece of fragile glass. His grandfathers took turns at thumping him on the back. His mother watched me, gaze murky with disapproval.

“Mazel tov, mazel tov,” one of his grandmothers said, clutching my hand in her age-marked paw. As we descended into small talk, I gave Silvan a weary look. But he was busy whispering to his father about something.

Mazdin wore a black wool suit with gleaming buttons. His specialist cord was bright against it. He and his son should have been a perfectly matched set. But despite his fine garments, something was wrong. His olive complexion had gone sallow; there was a sheen of sweat over his brow, and fat droplets tumbled down his cheeks. His skin had a waxy cast. Between sips of wine he gritted his teeth as if his stomach would not be calm.

I knew that look—sickly, nauseous. It’s how Momma looked the day before she died.

I turned away. I wouldn’t let myself think of it, of how Mazdin Rafferty’s life was dwindling down before all our eyes. I wouldn’t let myself feel guilty or sad. This was the fate he’d chosen for himself nearly four years ago when he’d killed my mother.

I drank down my second glass.

An hour passed like that. I was caught in a vortex, only able to keep afloat through one cup of wine after another. The captain’s stateroom began to take on a glittery quality as the night dawned. In the distance I heard the clock bells chime out twenty o’clock. A frown darkened Silvan’s features.

“Where the hell is Captain Wolff?” he asked his mother, who fluttered her lashes at him.

“Language, Silvan,” she said. “I’m sure she’ll be here soon.”

“Ready to be married, Son?” Silvan’s father said, setting a hand on his back. Then he broke out into a rash of hacking coughs. I winced, but before anyone noticed, a shout rose up from the crowd.

“Look!” someone called, and everyone turned.

Night was setting in across Zehava. A sliver of black shadowed the planet, enveloping the water and mountain ranges and mulberry-bright jungles. And on the northern continent, as the night blotted out all color, something was happening. The planet seemed to be flickering to life—sparkling pinpricks of light dotted the landscape in the darkness.

A hush fell over us. It was Silvan who finally spoke, whose deep voice lifted above the whispers of the almost-silent crowd.

“Lights,” he said. “But that must mean . . .”

I sucked down the last of my fourth cup of wine and finished his sentence for him: “Zehava is inhabited.”

The room erupted in conversation. But I didn’t say another word. I just sank down onto the cold floor, my dress spread around me like a pool of gold. I watched Zehava flash and twinkle overhead as night made its progress across it.

Silvan’s family drifted away, gossiping with the other Council members about this new development. Even Mazdin staggered off. But Silvan crouched at my side.

“People,” he said, laughing coarsely. I think he’d had too much to drink too. “On Zehava. If we’re not the first people there, it’s not good for much, is it?”

I didn’t know what to say. I only shrugged.

In our silence I didn’t notice the captain’s daughter approach. Not until her shadow was cast down over me.

“Captain Wolff needs to see you in the command center, Talmid Rafferty,” Aleksandra said. “It concerns the shuttle crew.”

Silvan scrambled to his feet, using my shoulder for leverage. For a long moment I just sat there, watching as he disappeared through the noisy throng of people. But then something shifted inside me, snapping. I stood too, holding my skirt in both fists as I ran.

“Silvan! Wait!” I cried as I slipped into the lift beside him. Aleksandra narrowed her eyes. I just cast my gaze away, ignoring the heat that spread across my cheeks.

“The captain didn’t request your presence,” she said. But I held my jaw firm.

“Silvan’s my husband. I go where he goes.”

“You’re not married yet,” Aleksandra said as the door slid shut. Still, she peeled off her glove and pressed the button with her bare finger. The lift gave a lurch, then began its ascent through the glass-walled shaft that tunneled up through the bow of the ship. As we lifted I could see the dome’s topography laid out behind me like a map. The labs, their metal roofs gleaming purple in Zehava’s light; the dark stone forms of both the school and library; the rolling fields and the clock tower at the center of the pasture; the forests, whose trees poked up from the lower levels; and the narrow, shadowed place in the distance where the districts were. I squinted at the glass. People were pouring into the dome in droves. They flooded the pastures and the fields, rushing the clock tower. From this far away they looked like ants—ants swarming the body of some dead thing, tearing it to pieces.

“What’s happening?” I asked, my breath fogging the wall of the elevator. I hadn’t been speaking to anyone in particular, but Silvan’s answer came quickly.

“Celebrations, I’m sure.”

Aleksandra snorted.

“What?” Silvan asked, with heat in his voice. He hated being laughed at.

“The commoners are revolting. The riots began as soon as night fell on Zehava.”

“Riots?” I cast a worried glance out toward the clock tower. I remembered what Van had said about mutiny. I should have been happy. Everything was going according to plan. But Rachel was out there, and I’d only just sworn to keep her safe. . . .

No one spoke as the lift dinged into place. Silvan marched out, his shoulders straight. I began to follow, but then I saw how Aleksandra hung back.

“I’d like a word with your intended, Talmid Rafferty,” she said. Silvan’s brow lowered. I guess he was getting used to it, though—to people wanting to talk to me but not him—because he only sighed.

“Sure, be my guest,” he said, then left us in the lift. I watched Aleksandra listen for the fade of his footsteps. Then she let the door of the lift close and didn’t push any buttons. I was trapped in the tiny space with her. I stared down at the corner of the dark lift, fleeing her gaze.

“You can’t hide from me, Fineberg,” she said. Her hand touched the hilt of her blade. I braced myself—this was it, I supposed. Time for my own throat to be slit.

“No,” I agreed. “I can’t.”

But to my surprise she didn’t unsheathe her knife. Instead she only rested the heel of her hand there, letting out a deep sigh.

“We know what you did. Mazdin Rafferty’s illness is unmistakable.”

“I—” I began. Then I just closed my mouth again. Really, there was nothing to say. I’d done it, disobeyed the orders of the Children of Abel.

“Such a waste! It would have been easier to enact our plan without Silvan standing in the way. Boy fancies himself a leader. He’s bound to fight me for control of the ship at some point. I told them we couldn’t trust you. But Hofstadter insisted you had nothing to lose.”

“Told them?” I asked. “Do you mean . . . the leaders of the rebellion?” I tried to imagine who they might be—muscle-bound fieldworkers, maybe, conspiring between rows of corn. But Aleksandra just regarded me carefully, a smirk curling her upper lip.

“I meant my trusted advisors.”

I stared at her for a long time, feeling my heart drop into my gut.

“You lead the rebellion?”