Page 110 of The Space Between Stars

She froze. Something swelled inside her, raging to be free. Her hands squeezed into fists. Her stance widened. “Let me see him!”

Their eyes locked in contest, neither moving, neither caving.

Then her father picked her up, tossed her over his shoulder, and strode toward the hatch into the berth. For the time it would have taken to spew a stream of profanities, she was too shocked to do anything. Then she flailed. Kicked. Pounded with fists. She brayed like a fated beast, Chaos curse any scrap of propriety.

Her father pinned her arms to her sides with brute strength. She fell still. He would not do this to her for nothing. Hot tears were dripping down her cheeks by the time they made it into the hold and he set her on a crate. Her brief moment of composure ended.

“How could you?!”

“Fankalo.” He set his hands on her shoulders. “That is not the same boy you lost in Kaidech.”

“I’ll be the one to make that assessment,” she snarled, trying to shake off both her fear and her fury to maintain face in the presence of the man she respected above all others.

His nostrils flared. “Go to my quarters. Wait. I’ll let you see him, but… I want the medics to look him over first. We’re going to sedate him.”

Sedate him? This was lunacy. He was unconscious—the clear victim of a shipwreck. He needed food. Water. Warmth.

Her teeth clenched so hard her head began to hurt, but one look from her father stopped any possible refusal in its tracks. She spun away from him and stomped the whole way to his cabin.

She slammed the door, restraining a shriek. It was fine. All would be fine now. They had Calver. The moment she thought it, the light of her brother snapped into darkness again.

Time passed. Time spent clutching at her knees in her father’s hammock and trying to ignore the bad Luck that encircled her. Zeb brought her dinner that she couldn’t find the stomach to eat. He didn’t speak to her, but the wrinkles in his face sagged in solemnity.

He knew what was happening and she didn’t. Kindling to her fury.

An hour or more ticked by. The porthole in her father’s room grew dark. They must be back on course towards the Rollard Isles, but the bad Luck only thickened with every passing breath. What was about to happen that all of the Casowhatan warned her against? Fankalo shuddered. She wasn’t going to keep sitting around to find out.

As she reached for the door, there was another knock. This time, Mitek pushed his way in.

Without knowing why, she threw her arms around him. He stiffened in shock that mirrored her own. Ribbings of the elbow, celebratory fists, kicks in the ass: those were all acceptable interactions. But never an embrace. Not like those she’d shared with Calver in their youth. Especially not with the way Mitek had taken to gallivanting off with every girl in Chira’na. But suddenly—here, now—pressing her face into his neck seemed to be the best thing a person could possibly do.

“Brat,” he whispered, voice hesitant. What in fucking Chaos was it that everyone knew but her? “Captain Keane said you can come and see him.”

She took what felt like her first full breath in hours and released him. They both shifted awkwardly, and Fankalo sought to cover her embarrassment by reaching for the door.

“But wait.” He grabbed at her arm. “There’s… something wrong with him, Brat.”

She shook him off. “What do you mean? Is he hurt? Is he drugged? Just tell me, what is going on?!”

Mitek fiddled with his tunic sleeves. “It’s like he’s some kind of animal.” The unease visible in her usually egotistical idiot made her skin squirm. “And he’s got all kinds of things under his skin. Half of them ripping through.” Mitek made a face like he felt sick. “Covered in more scars than there are stars in the sky. And burns. And… a Tume’amic brand. And—”

She shook her head. “Maybe it isn’t him.”

“He looks like you. Just like you.”

Where moments before she had been determined to bolt out the door, now she didn’t want to move. Suddenly, the room didn’t have enough oxygen.

“You should just go and see. They’ve got him sedated in the brig.” Mitek braced a hand on the doorframe, like he felt as unsteady as she. “He keeps trying to hurt people. And himself. Your father let the dosage wear down for a bit, so that you could have a chance to get eyes on him.”

“You mean speak to him,” she insisted. He was a person. Her blood.

Mitek only stared at the floor. Chewing his bottom lip, he took a few plodding steps away from the door so she could move past.

The brig was on the ship’s lower level, two down from her father’s quarters and on the opposite side. As she went, her magic darkened until she had to fight the urge to run. She usually had to focus to feel Luck at any capacity, but now foreboding pressed around her unbidden. It was a walk toward certain doom.

Calver. It should be the only thing that mattered. We have Calver.

They rounded a corner. The section they usually used to store wine and potatoes was occupied by an enormous form. He wore shackles on his arms and his legs. Outside, her father and Turiel, his primary guard, stood wearing grave expressions.