He follows the lights, which point us in the direction of a vessel floating alongside The Parallax. I recognize the flyer as a space pod, which will ferry me from Moon Dancer the rest of the way onto the ship, kind of like a drawbridge over a moat. It’s a way for the Determinists to ensure they’re only admitting who they want.
As we approach, the pod unfolds like a flower to reveal a small central platform where Lament can land. And yet, rather than touch down immediately, he pulls Moon Dancer into a hover.
“It’s not too late,” he says. He keeps his voice even, but his face is carved in deep lines. “We can turn back.”
“We can’t,” I say. And then, because I hate how he’s looking at me right now: “It’s going to be fine.”
He seems, if anything, less convinced.
Without thinking, I unthread my lifestone from around my neck. The stone is warm. It’s often warm these days, like it’s been sitting in the sun. I squeeze the zurillium in my fist, then offer it to Lament.
He scowls. “What are you doing?”
“I’m giving you my lifestone.”
His eyes dart from the object to my face and back again. “I thought lifestones only work one way. If you give me yours, you’re keepingmesafe.”
“I—” I’m blushing now. “Yeah. I know.”
“So how does that help—?”
“I want to know you’ll be okay,” I say in a breathless rush. “When I’m in there. If something happens. Which it won’t, okay, but if itdoes, I’ll feelbetter knowing you have this. That… that the Determinists can’t come for you.”
“Hartman.” Lament shakes his head. “I can’t take your lifestone.”
My blush deepens. “Why not?”
“Because it’s just a story. It’s not real.”
“I know that. But can’t you—can’t you just take it anyway?” Shit, I sound pitiful. “I mean, just in case?”
He looks torn. And I feel like an idiot.
“Never mind,” I say quickly, trying to shove the stone back under my shirt in a humiliated rush. “You’re right. I’m being stupid. Forget I asked.”
He leans past my headrest and reaches to grab the hand holding my lifestone. I freeze as he curls his fingers around mine. “Wait.” His voice is rough. “I’m sorry. If it’s important to you, I’ll take it.”
The relief is so intense, I forget I’m supposed to be upset. I unclip from my harness, turn around on my knees in the gunner’s seat to put us at eye level, and thread the stone around his neck. It glows—a single, bright pulse—then fades back to normal.
Lament touches the zurillium. “It’s warm.”
I’m not sure if Lament remembers that giving someone your lifestone is an act of love. It’s the same as handing them part of your soul, and it’ll keep them safe, even (maybe often) at the risk of your own safety. My mother gave me this lifestone, and supposedly, that means it’ll keep me out of death’s way. Now I’m trading my protection for Lament’s.
Lament holds my gaze. I want, desperately, to know what he’s thinking, but there’s no time to ask.
“Are we going down?” I try to sound cool and unconcerned, but I probably just look strained.
Lament tips Moon Dancer into a short dive toward the space pod. He lands neatly on the proffered platform, which seals us inside and pressurizes. Lament pops Moon Dancer’s cockpit open, but as I start to climb out, he grabs my arm and says, “You better come back.”
Our faces are close. “I will.”
He looks almost like he did the day we met: angry and in pain and trying to hide it. “Promise me.”
I suddenly feel like I’m coming down with a fever. I’m aware of his mouth. The deep blue-green of his eyes. “I promise.”
He gives me a final, searching look. Then he lets me go.
28
