TAP! TAP-TAP-TAP!
The noise goes from the front door to my bedroom window, back and forth. Unrelenting.
I sit straight up. It’s dark. I’m in Poppy’s bed. Had I dreamed it all?
“Poppy!” I shout. “Poppy!” I stand up and run from the room into the hallway, nearly smacking straight into Dorian, who flies around the corner from the kitchen.
I stop and double over, heaving breath, trying not to faint or vomit or both.
If Dorian’s in my house, it wasn’t a dream.
TAP! TAP-TAP-TAP!
It’s coming from my bedroom window.
“Stay here. Please.” Only capable of single syllables, I wave my hand in Dorian’s general direction.
Stumbling to my room, I pull the curtains back and there they are. Those brown eyes.
I open the window but don’t say a word, blocking Nico’s way.
“Can I come in?” he asks.
“No.”
“Please, Veda, I have to talk to you.” The desperation in his voice, the longing in his expression, I almost break down. But I don’t. In this moment, for the first time since meeting him nine years earlier, I close Nico off. He’s not who I thought he was. I’m beginning to think I’m not who I thought I was either.
What I am sure of is that Nico is now on the same side as the people who killed my grandfather today.
And that’s enough to urge me to slide the window shut. My chest burns and my eyes sting from the insides out. Stay strong.
Nico slams his hand under the window frame, stopping me. He sticks his head in. “I’m so sorry I lied. So sorry.” He swallows what sounds like a sob. “So sorry about Poppy.”
Slowly, he pulls his head back out. He’s still wearing his Imperi uniform, his red sash now slightly creased from wear.
I shut the window.
We stand eye to eye, a thin pane of glass between us. I clutch the curtains but pause when Nico puts his palm to the glass. He mouths the word wait.
I glance away, then back to his eyes.
I open the window again and he leans in.
“You have to get out of here, Veda.”
“What?” It’s the last thing I expect him to say.
He’s hiding behind the tree in front of my window, but still glances over his shoulder. “There’s been talk of members of the Night acting as Basso. Spying.” He speaks quickly, quietly, like he’s sharing a dangerous secret. And perhaps he is. “I’m worried with what happened to Poppy today that somehow Raevald knows. Even if he doesn’t, it’s safer if you go back.”
All I can do is nod. He’s right. As much as I want to storm Imperi Hill myself, take Raevald down in a blaze of vengeance, even I know it’s not possible.
Not yet.
He scans the path in front of my house again. “I’m on my way to an emergency meeting now. All soldiers and Imperi officers are required to attend.”
I nod again, still dazed. Still so blurred.
“Veda,” he says, louder, and I jump. “Are you hearing me? You have to leave the island now.”
“Yes. You’re right, yes.”
He places his hands in his pockets. “I’ve got to go. I’m pushing it by being here at all.” I begin closing the window, but he keeps talking. “Just…” He steps closer to my house, leans in, our noses only inches apart. “I need you to know this wasn’t my decision, I had no control over being chosen as heir-to-be, but…” He pauses as if choosing his next words carefully. “I’d have joined anyway.” I can’t hear this right now, but don’t have an ounce of strength left to argue. “That early morning you disappeared, just a few hours after we fell asleep on your floor after cleaning your room…”
“Yes, I remember,” I say drily.
“That day you left with Dorian, when you joined the Night”—it’s dark, but I hear the anger and sadness in his tone, the way he snaps the word Night out like it’s a weapon—“it was the same day I got news I was in the running for heir. But I didn’t care about that, not then. All I could focus on was getting you back. Finding you alive or killing every one of those Night bastards who took you from me. So I joined.” He looks away, then back again. “I thought you were dead, Veda.” The word dead quakes in his throat. “Don’t you see? It was my best chance to either find you or get revenge on those who took you from me.”
Heat prickles in my dried-out eyes. “I’m sorry, Nico, but I can’t see that. Not right now anyway. I can’t begin to see how you’d join them in order to help me. And now you’ll eventually be in charge of them? All of them?” I shake my head, unable to accept the words even as they leave my own lips.
Nico opens his mouth to speak, probably to argue, but must decide against it because he doesn’t say a word, closing his lips with a sigh.
Our eyes locked, tears filling on both sides, a mutual understanding passes between us, the darkness of night closing in all around us.
Things aren’t so simple anymore.
They never will be again.
I slowly shut the window.
But he doesn’t leave. Nico simply arcs his thumb over his heart. Ad astra.
I close the curtains.
Something tears in my chest.
I collapse to my knees, slowly melt into the floor. Lying on my side, I stare at the now closed window and realize how perfect the image is. Locked, covered, pulled tight. Like the curtain at the end of a play. A closed book. Finished.
But I don’t want to be finished with Nico. Not now when I need him most. Not now when I’ve just lost everything.
Because Poppy’s gone too.
What starts as a whimper explodes into unrelenting weeping. I curl into myself for fear I’ll snap in two. I squeeze my eyes closed, locking up like a dam the tears building on the other side. Behind the rising tears, I search and find a memory of me and Nico. So many surface, but one image repeats one after another throughout the past nine years: him arcing his thumb over his heart. The sound, sometimes soft, quiet, other times rough, scratchy, depending on what he’s wearing, if he has gloves covering his hands. But his eyes are always the same. Deep, thoughtful, conveying so much but mostly, It’ll be all right.
The memories fade as quickly as they came when I realize I won’t ever see that image again.
The dam breaks, and, beyond my control, tears fall heavily down my cheeks, pooling on the floor beneath my chin.
I lie in that position, curled up on the cold floor, staring at the window, until my cheeks are stiff with dried tears.
Devoid of emotion, I stand up and rub my swollen eyes. Lacing up my boots, putting on layer after layer of clothing, I know it’s time to go. Get out of this place where everything’s connected to a memory. Where too many conversations and laughs and tears are imprinted.
On my way to the front door, I stop dead when I meet Poppy’s gardening boots all muddied and worn and sitting dutifully next to the front door. More ghosts. This house is suddenly so large, the emptiness so vast, it’s suffocating.
“It’s just me here, Poppy,” I say to his boots. “Only me.”
“And me.” Somehow, in all the … everything … I’d forgotten about Dorian. He sits at my kitchen table, sharpening a blade.
Hearing his voice both startles and comforts me. Mostly, his presence is a pleasant surprise, a realization that kind of shocks me. But this small cottage was getting very dark fast. I thought I wanted to be alone, but my reaction, the slight uplifting of my mood, begs otherwise.
In fact, I’m so glad to see those peculiarly colored eyes of his that I open my mouth to mutter under my breath that I’ll never rid myself of him. That he’s like the sarcastic friend I didn’t know I missed, when I spot a lone white envelope atop the table. My name is scratched across the front in Poppy’s handwriting.
My Veda.
I tear it open as Dorian looks on, pausing his work.
My Veda,
When you read this I will be gone, put back to the earth, the sea, the sky, by will of the Sun. And you, Veda, Lunalette, are the one who will set things right.
I know this is a heavy burden. But you are strong. Brave. Just like your mother was. All you need know is in your heart. What’s right? What’s wrong? It’s all there.
“Yes, yes, Poppy, but why?” you’re asking. “How do I do this?”
Think of fishing. You have to wait … listen … Do that and you will know when it’s time.
You hold the world, the motion of everything, in your hands, in your heart. Wait. Listen.
I love you, my Veda,
Poppy
I look up at Dorian, forcing myself to hold the emotion back. It still feels as if Poppy’s only in the next room. Like he only just jotted this note down and ran out for firewood.
Dorian’s staring, his eyes sympathetic, as he waits for me to say something.
I swallow a hard knot, but my voice still shakes when I speak. “Nico says that the Imperi are meeting tonight. Possibly right now. And if they’re all in one place, preoccupied, it’s our best chance to get back to the Lower.”
“That was generous of him, considering he’s officially on the other side now,” he says, eyes narrowed.
“If you’re thinking it’s some kind of trap, it’s not. He was risking everything to tell me that. Nico wouldn’t lie.” I consider what I’ve said for a moment, thinking how he didn’t tell me he’d joined the Imperi until I saw it for myself. “Not about this,” I add.
“How can you be sure?” I know he’s referring to all that’s happened since we returned only late last night.
And, my Sun, it’s been so much in such a short time. The mere thought sends a deep aching to my chest, unease and tightness turning my stomach.
I push it all down. Poppy. His Offering. Nico wearing that red sash. I look Dorian in the eyes and don’t mince my words. “I know Nico. I’m sure.” I motion toward the back door. “Get ready to leave.”
“Wait. What? I’m the officer here,” he says, giving me a half smile.
“Yeah, but you’re in my house.” I can’t smile, but manage to raise an eyebrow.
His smile broadens and he shakes his head.
As Dorian prepares to leave, I take one last look around my home, one last walk through the hall, my steps leading me to Poppy’s bedroom.
It’s tidy, everything’s in its place yet at the same time too lived in. Too perfect.
Poppy’s gone.
Gone.
They took him from me.
With a deep, deep breath, I rub my fists into my eyes, taking my anger out on the tears that won’t come.
Before I allow myself one final glance around the room, I grab the photo of us from the glassless frame on his bedside table. I pick up his pipe that’s sitting on the chair. I pull out my knife and cut a scrap of the pillowcase from his bed, wrap the pipe in it, and tuck it in my pocket.
Last, I walk to the chest where his copy of Ancient Maritime Navigation sits on top. I thumb through it and, near the middle, in the section on following the stars, is the only photo of my mother. Carefully, I tuck it into my pocket.
Then I leave Poppy’s bedroom, not looking back like I’d planned.
He’s not there.
I walk through the kitchen and out the door of our home. Dorian follows.
I stop when we’re far enough into the forest that it’s safe but I know I can still see the front of our house from where I stand. I glance back. It’s dark, not a single lantern illuminating the space, especially not the lamp over our porch. Without Poppy there to light it, it’s permanently out.
As we make our way through the forest, I picture the High Regent’s face, that look he gave me when he congratulated me on escaping the Night, on slipping through the cracks. He knew then that my grandfather was about to die. He knew and he didn’t show any sign of remorse or sympathy. Not an ounce of decency.
I imagine his smug grin, the way his red sash was so perfectly positioned. I fantasize about shoving him over the balcony.
Tying his sash around his neck.
And a hundred other ways I could have gotten revenge had I known what was about to happen.
But I didn’t.
So, I’ll find another way.
For my mother. For other Basso like us. For Poppy.
The last thing I see before we descend to the Lower is the Sun setting on the horizon, melting into the Great Sea like fresh lemon custard on a fine blue glass saucer.
And how vast that blue glass extends.
I stop, pause a moment. Dorian stops as well but doesn’t utter a word.
Staring out over the Great Sea, squinting hard as I can to spot that one point where surely the Sun and ocean must meet, even if only to brush past each other. It must be a magical place, one where all time and space stop.
I decide that’s where Poppy is, where he’ll rest. There, in the warmth of the Sun, the refreshing sea breeze rushing past him, and with all the roasted pantera fish and sunrise bread he could ever desire right at his fingertips.
Not forever lost—though it very much feels that way right now, the aching emptiness in my chest battling my mind for closure.
But no. It’s Poppy and he’d never leave me. Not fully.
He’s there—I squint—in that place where yellow meets blue, he’s there.
Waiting …
Listening …